#I have a feeling I'm going to have a field day editing all of these later on

[adobe-outdesign]

Review shiny eevee and evolutions?

For sake of ease, we're going to group these by how good their shinies are, starting with:

The "I don't think you tried at all" shame corner (Glaceon, Leafeon, and Flareon): Doing all of these at once because I have the same issue with all of them: they are WAY too similar to the original colors, leading to incredibly boring and underwhelming shinies.

Glaceon: Just ever-so-slightly lighter than the original; the sprites had a tiny bit more contrast but not much. I would recommend making the whole thing white, which is a nice snowy color; sure, it does kind of share shiny Eevee's palette then but Jolteon and Espeon are both green so it probably doesn't matter.

Leafeon: The body is a tad darker, but good luck noticing. You could make the body a light green for something monotone, you could make the leaves brown or red, something autumn-y; literally just anything else would be better.

Flareon: Flareon the least bad of this group and mostly suffers from 3D conversion (its old sprites were more red while the old shiny sprites were more of a brownish gold). Easiest fix would just be to make the shiny a purer yellow like the above edit, or you could swing the opposite and do a deep red instead.

The "fine, but why?" corner (Jolteon and Espeon): Both of these ones are nice and high-contrast, and are very easy to spot compared to the non-shiny versions. The only issue with them is that the greens here feel very... random? They're not bad, but they don't feel natural.

Espeon: I like that it looks a bit like a space alien, but that really has nothing to do with the actual 'mon itself. For a Pokemon associated with the sun, you'd think they'd go for a yellow with a blue gem or something like the above (would tie it into Umbreon's shiny). At the very least, the green they chose feels way too dark for Espeon; a nice light, minty shade would've helped a lot, especially with a yellow gem or something. Also, I dislike that it has three different accent colors (red, purple, and blue).

Jolteon: The shade of green here works a lot better than the one used for Espeon, but it's an odd choice for an electric-type; once again, not bad, just odd. I would've just gone with a cyan-ish blue, which is still high-contrast but much more on theme.

The "actually good shinies" corner (Vaporeon, Eevee, Umbreon, and Sylveon): These ones are all bangers; lots of contrast and with color choices that feel natural for each.

Vaporeon: While this one borders on not having much to do with the theme, purple is at least close to blue hue-wise, so while it's not necessarily very water-y it doesn't feel like it's completely coming out of the left field either.

Eevee: Eevee's whole thing is that it's supposed to be plain and normal, so neutral colors are a must. The very light cream they used here stands out compared to the darker brown originally used but still works with the concept. Using a cream instead of pure white also allows it to keep a tiny bit of color. (I'm not posting an image of the g-max here, but I think it uses the same cream so no issues there.)

Sylveon: Sylveon doesn't actually change its hues; instead, it opts to swap its secondary and tertiary colors. This can be a risky gamble, but it works here because there was so much more pink in the original design compared to blue, so the change still really stands out. Because it uses the original palette in different proportions, it also doesn't run the risk of the colors feeling too random. Also it's trans, so that's a bonus.

Umbreon: Umbreon's shiny is a banger and you don't need me to tell you that. Swapping accent colors can be risky because it's not always that noticeable (see that Lunatone review I did a few days ago), but the yellow was such a prominent and bold part of the design that the blue swap stands out, helped by the fact that it pops really nicely against the black body is a nice "nighttime" color. Swapping the eyes to yellow further helps differentiate it, and it keeps the kind of "eerie" look that the original's red eyes invoked.

Overall: Vaporeon, Eevee, Sylveon, and Umbreon have great shinies. Espeon and Jolteon have okay shinies that are high-contrast but don't feel very natural. Glaceon, Leafeon, and Flareon barely change and are just plain boring.

[littlemissayu]

Hi, I really love your twisted wonderland fics, especially the ones where the twisted wonderland boys are being fathers, had me fangirling for hours!!! So I was wondering if you could do a Twisted Wonderland Boys x Reader: WEDDING EDITION!! (Proposal, Ceremony(with Wedding dance song), Honeymoon(kinda saucy)), Also with some Chaotic shenanigans? I've been watching a lot of Rom-Com movies lately, especially My Best Friend's Wedding.

A Quick Trip to The Alter

A/N: I wanted to write some sort of wedding headcanons so thank you for the suggestions!! I really love domestic so its nice to get to do it. It might have taken me a while to get to this due to working on something separate, but now I'm gonna spend some time trying to update more.

A/N#2: I don't remember the last time I was editing this but geez, it's taking me long to post anything at all, I've had ZERO inspo the whole summer, and now school's starting up again by the time I'm writing this author's note, but let's hope I get this out b4 September lol. Let's also hope somehow school will motivate me to be more active in posting A/N#3: I lied I wasn't gonna get this out before September, I apologize. As I am writing this authors note it is 9/17/24 and i've only finished Riddle's part....

Pairings: Heartsabyul x FEM!reader (romantic)

Proposal-

It's romantic obvi, he's so awkward, not to mention atp that he's proposing you guys have been dating for 5 years MINIMUM.

It was a sunny afternoon and the two of you were having tea out in your backyard right by the newly blooming roses. The table was filled with white rose red and (ur fav color). As you two were sitting Riddle was so obviously nervous, and when he spoke up you could hear the nerves in his voice.

“ Dearest, we’ve had a wonderful 5 years together, you’ve been the greatest addition to my life. Without you I feel like a kingdom without its ruler, lost and chaotic”

Riddle’s face was redder than his hair you might’ve mistaken him for a Christmas tree skirt.

“There is nothing more fulfilling than spending all my days in your presence. Your absence is my worst nightmare and your smile is my greatest treasure. A treasure I want to cherish for the rest of our existence”

You finally notice the black velvet box in his hand. He drops to a single knee in front of you, at your mercy. Looking up at you with pleading eyes he ask-

“My Darling Rose, will you become my Queen of Hearts?”

Ceremony-

The ceremony is in a banquet hall, filled to the brim with red and roses. Your favorite color and the blood red compliment the white decor and clam lights.

Riddle was at the end of the aisle, the nervousness on his face was evident. Trey as his best man at his side Cater in tow. And when you finally walk down the isle it's like time freezes in place, and his heart stops, seeing you all done up in your stunning attire, hair, makeup, and just everything about this moment was perfect. His heart warmed, a feeling of home washing over him.

"My dearest, Y/N, you are my peace and my home, everything that I am and will be is with you. The name on my heart is yours. I will spend every second of everyday devoting myself to you and our love. Being your husband is a title I will cherish for all my days"

Wedding song: Young and Beautiful - Lana Del Rey(instrumental orchestral version/Great Gatsby ver.)

Riddle would want the first dance to be romantic and classy just like you guys and this entire wedding, so y'all are totally slow dancing to this song, because the orchestral version just sounds romantic and grand(especially the ver. from the lady on TikTok who was walking down the isle to it iykyk)

Honeymoon-

I feel like ya'll would go somewhere in the country side, whatever the equivalent to the french countryside, where you guys will be in a beautiful vacation home there surrounded by fields of wildflowers and small fruits growing on bushes nearby, with a small town down the road. While Riddle would enjoy going out into he town with you and learning it's history and culture, he'd also enjoy other honeymoon activities in the comfort of your comfy vacation home, besides even the bedroom is so gorgeous it's only right to use it for one of it's many purposes.

Proposal- It will catch you so off guard. Picture this it's a night after a long day at the bakery and the two of you are walking home together as usual. He asks to walk a long route because it's more scenic and your like sure so you guys are walking and you stumble across a huge willow tree, specifically a weeping willow and you see two initials one are his and the one at the end of the plus has your first initial and his last initial so you joke how it would take a wedding ring to make that happen and he just says "So let's make it happen, Y/N L/N, would you make the decision to not only share a last name, but a lifetime together?"

Ceremony-

I dunno why but I'm convinced yall get married in a garden or something. Think about it a nice forest with luscious trees and greenery, complemented by the fresh white and complementing amber color, as you make your way down the isle the standing their a we smile on his face as you come down the isle. His family and yours watched the two of you in awe and filled with love in their hearts and their eyes.

"Y/N, so much is beautiful about you, your eyes, your hair, your teeth, your smile, your warm embrace, and your sweet face. But nothing can compare to the beauty of your love, the most precious gift anyone could give me. Now I don't have to waste a second yearning for your love cause now I'll wake up to it in the morning and it'll give me the peace I need to sleep at night. I will spend every second of everyday trying to give you the love you give me tenfold and more because you are so worthy of that love and anything you could ever ask for. Thank you for being mine."

Wedding Song: Just the Two of Us by Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr.

Vintage, romantic, classy. This is the song Trey would guide you in an intimate waltz with all his friends and family watching. Romance is in the air and everyone can feel the love between you two. And while the two of you are waltzing he's whispering all the things he plans to do to you the minute you're left alone.

Honeymoon-

Now if you've noticed I am RUNNING with this greenery theme but you two would spend your week away together on a lovely lake house that you rented for a week(or however long). The sweet sounds of birds chirping and the sun peeking through the small crack in the curtains as the sounds of the outside relaxed the two of you. The smell of the forest filled your nostrils from the small crack in the window. resting you head on his bare chest and the two of you are cuddled up under the covers. No view the lake could give would be better than the sight of him on top of you.

Proposal-

Think about it like this, the two of you are on a vacation together and he takes you to a private romantic dinner to commemorate your last day there (and take some cute pics for the gram). You finish taking pics and he mentions the beauty of the view. "But it would be more beautiful if you were in a wedding dress" you turn to look at him "And why would I-"

"How about a diamond to become a diamond for starters?"

Ceremony-

An evening/late afternoon ceremony. It's in a gorgeous town hall with marigolds and roses to compliment the warmth from the love that was bouncing off the walls. And as you walked down the isle in a dress that complimented and flattered you in ways that didn't seem possible. And as Cater looked at you, making steps closer and closer to be his wife, his heart melted. Only you could tell that at this very moment he wanted to shed a tear(ugly cry) at the sight of you. Everything in this moment felt complete.

"Thank you for giving me your love and affection. Nothing about you could ever compare to the love of anyone else, you are my home and my heart rest in your hands. Your delicate loving embrace holds my heart dear and guards it from the dangers of the world. My love for you is everlasting, every second of everyday my love for you will increase tenfold and all I want is to serve and love you the way you deserve as not only the fantabulous person you are but the way my wife deserves"

Wedding Song: Die with a Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga

Man maybe it's just cause I'm obsessed with this song, but I can just picture Cater and his new stunning wife dancing in the romantic lighting of the wedding reception to this heart warming song, that makes me wanna fall in love with someone so baddddd.

Honeymoon-

Whatever the equivalent to Greece in twisted wonderland that is exactly where your going. Think mamma Mia vibes. Maybe you're on an island, an island by the mainland with a Airbnb (well the test equivalent) that's right near the water with a stunning view, and you guys are near a market place too. You're out on the balcony where you're looking out into the sea as your husband wraps his arms around, his bare chest out and his head resting between your neck near the bruises and marks from the night before were, ones that he made sure were their himself.

Proposal- A part of me wants to say that he just randomly asks one day while you guys are eating dinner but I'mma trust him and say that he put some effort behind this because he loves you. So let's say you two were at a dinner with his family, and strangely enough the topic of marriage is brought up every so often. "You know lilies are pretty wedding flowers" "Don't you think that a summer wedding would be better than a winter wedding?" "Isn't the idea of settling down just darling, especially if you've been dating for a while, just seems like the logical next step doesn't it?". The only reason you weren't heavily suspicious is cause they always pondered out loud when you two would tie the knot. So by the time you left you hadn't really thought much about it. As you two head back to the car Ace asked if you wanna take a walk by the park that was only 20 minutes away walking and you were down. The walk was mostly quite the two of you just enjoying the scenery that there was to appreciate in the Queendom. Once you get to the park you two are walking deeper and deeper when you notice a small empty area near the flowers where fairy lights are set up? The fairy lights are hanging up on the branches of two trees and it was stunning, Rose petals dabbled around the area and you look at it in awe as your distracted you hear Ace clear his throat and you turn to him, on a single knee.

"Y/N, we've been together for, a while and I think I'm ready to spend my life with you, not as my girlfriend but as my wife, so would you like to be my wife?"

Ceremony-

An intimate wedding in a stunning garden. And there is totally fairy lights because when I think of Ace for some reason I think of fairy lights. Like imagine the fairy lights entangled in the seat to light your way to him and all the Rose petals and the smiles of your families. A beautiful arch adorned with roses the color of blood and ones a pure white as a compliment. Hints of gold everywhere really harp on the warm feel. Ace looks at you smirking, trying not to laugh, not cause anything's funny, just cause the fact this is even happening feels so unreal, you're seriously about to become his wife.

"Y/N, thank you choosing to stay by my side. I can be a hassle sometimes, you tell me as much, but you've never left. You've loved me and cared for me every step of the way. I plan to spend the rest of my days living up to being the perfect, or somewhat perfect, husband you deserve. I don't think I'll ever reach that standard but I'll do my damned hardest trying to. If you were to cut my heart open all you'd find is you, anything and everything about you. That is what I live for, to be your husband."

Wedding Song: I Think They Call This Love by Elliot James Reay

This song is so damn romantic and if Ace had to define you guys love I'm confident this is what he'd pick. If you haven't heard it listen to it please this song is so good and I really think it embodies Ace's love. If you've read my Rom-Com song picks you'll understand why, this song and that one have the same vibe in my opinion.

Honeymoon-

Yall totally going to like the TWST equivalent of Portugal. Imagine site seeing, Ace would say it's boring but he'd secretly be invested in the beauty of the culture and history. Especially all the palaces and market places. He loves it, the views are fabulous, the foods fantastic and the people are great. But his favorite part of this place isn't the white sand beaches, the detailed architecture or even the culture that was built into the place. His favorite part is when you two are left alone in your resort room when he's left to be between the warmth of your legs. Eyes to eyes, skin to skin. Yeah that's definitely the best part

Proposal-

He's nervous af. Sweaty palms, racing thoughts, stuff movements. This man is STRESSED. You two are taking a romantic blastcycle ride at sunset when he stops a cliff with a stunning view of a valley. You can just feel the nervousness radiating off of him and you rub his forearm to calm him, chuckling you ask him what's up and his face becomes flushed as he looks over his shoulder to the view right by the two of you as he begins to speak

"Y/N, you know that I love you.I'd do anything to ensure your happiness, even if it was without me. You're special to me, and that's why I hope you can have your happy beginning with me. Will you marry me?"

Ceremony-

Totally in a like a small chapel, with friends and family surrounding the two of you. The blue chrysanthemums and white jasmines decorate the chapel. The soft music of the wedding march playing as you make your way to him. He's sobbing. uncontrolably. You're just such a vision in white, you're beauty filling him with warmth but his love for you is really what has him in fat tears running down his cheek as he looks at you ever so lovingly, making your way to the start of your life together, forever.

"Y/N, I can barely describe my love for you. It transcends any word or saying or thought. I treasure anything and everything you say, do, think, or express. Your joy is precious and I'd do anything to preserve it and help it grow. I will do my best to be a dutiful and worthy husband. No gem could compare to the pricelessness of your love, everything I do will be to show my love for you."

Wedding Song: Line without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery

I have zero logical explanation behind this pick besides the fact this songs like Deuce, not voice wise, but tone wise. Something about this song is so moving and so Deuce kind of love, like this is how he would describe his love for you, but to him it'd never feel like enough, there's so much more to his love for you.

Honeymoon-

Sweden(the TWST equivalent ofc), like imagine you two staying in a quaint yet busy cute Swedish town. The warm lighting of the place and the warmth of the food, the people, the culture. Imagine waking to the sight of pure snow sitting on the buildings and people starting there day, the smell of fresh winter and the warmth of the hot chocolate warming you right up. But nothing can compare to the warmth you get from your now husbands bare skin against yours, warm and comforting. Your limbs entangled together under the sheets, very satisfied from the night before.

A/N: the fact this took me months get over with is ridiculous, let's hope the school year somehow, motivates me to write more. I dunno I guess when I don't feel busy I forget about all my writing but when I feel busy I wanna write desperately. Anyways, Ik I always say this then never release anything BUT FLOOD MY INBOX BABES. I will force myself to sit in front of my computer til I get something out of myself. You guys have great ideas and I'd love to recieve more to release more content, besides the ones I think of ofc.

If y'all think this deserves to be a series lmk, I think I'll actually be up to it

Heartsabyul Masterlist

TWST Masterlist

Grand Masterlist

[simp-ly-writes]

The Comment Section (pt.2)

─────── · · A Social Media AU Fic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Commenters are starting to get more and more worked up the longer you and Spencer grow apart.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, angst, attempt at comedy, more angst, light swearing, fluff, mutual pinning.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | PART ONE | PART THREE | PART 3.5

─ · · A/N: thank you all seriously for the comments and support on the first part, hope you all enjoy this next one equally as much :)

─────── · ·

Super Smash Bros: Battle of the Chosen's

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] Like 100k | Dislike | Share | ... 7.75M subscribers 1.1M views 2 weeks ago click to expand

4,683 Comments

username97 2 weeks ago Dear Diary, its day 14 and there are still no videos of Spencer and (name) together. username05 2 weeks ago Always love the Shayne and Spencer duo, but can they go back to their partners now? username39 6 days ago When's the next episode of Bored AF?? username22 6 days ago Okay, but why haven't I seen (name) in any gaming channel videos lately? I haven't watched in a while, can someone get me caught up? ▼ 12 replies ↳ username66 5 days ago So Spencer didn't exactly explain to (name) that FNAF was not the simulation-type game or party/table-top that they are used to playing but a horror-simulation. (name) got really scared and then super annoyed at him and they haven't been seen together in videos since then. ↳ username69 2 days ago They're overreacting, has to be doing this for views or attention. No other explanation. ↳ username66 1 day ago (edited) (name) is their own person with their own emotions and friendships. In the field they work it intermingles with life and the lives of so many others in ways that people like us will never get to experience correctly. They are entitled to their own feelings and if they think Spencer broke their trust somehow- they can act however they want however right or wrong that appears to others. ↳ username69 1 days ago Well maybe you both should just grow the eff up and shut the h*ll up. ↳ username01 1 day ago Maybe you should do the same username69? Can't even swear like a real fucking adult. username51 just now And so the Chosen Universe Lore expands... username81 just now first.

─────── · ·

Guess That Smosh Skit!

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] Like 62k | Dislike | Share | ... 7.75M subscribers 477k views 2 weeks ago click to expand

2,199 Comments

⚲ Pinned by Creator SmoshGames ✓ 2 weeks ago Both new and old shows are coming soon, what are you hoping to see next? ▼ 765 replies ↳ username01 2 weeks ago Tell Spencer to buy (name) flowers, on theirs hands and knees begging, or write them a card- anything!!! ↳ username33 1 hour ago Spencer and (name) recreate famous ********** scenes. * [this comment has been censored for interfering with Youtube's Community Guidelines; for more information press HERE] ↳ username39 6 days ago BORED AF PLEASEEEEE. username20 1 hour ago Please, please, please bring Olivia back more, her small mutterings always have me rolling on the floor XD username24 3 hour ago I 100% forgot about the Every [Blank] Ever series! So good to see bits of it again! username55 2 weeks ago Anyone else keep rewatching old videos and fan-edits of (yourshipname)? I'm gonna keep acting like nothing ever happened like some other people...

─────── · ·

my favorite (name) and spencer moments :)

(Yourshipname) Updates [Subscribe] Like | Dislike | Share | ... 1.12K subscribers 217k views 3 years ago click to expand

999 Comments

⚲ Pinned by Creator (yourshipname)updates ✓ 2 weeks ago Thank you for all the support on this video recently! I wish it didn't have to come from this though... P-P username55 2 weeks ago Even before they both appeared on camera officially, there are so many background clips of them sitting together, sharing food and vacations in pictures, even pet-sitting?? Like c'mon, theres only so much a girl can take (╥﹏╥) username11 30 minutes ago This comment section is for our collective tears ಥ_ಥ username09 just now 19:45 My favorite clip ever of them, its so soft. Spencer with his eyes closed as (name) fixes their hair in the background of TNTL behind the screen. They're so effortless with one another... username03 1 week ago Lets make a thread! Post your favourite (yourshipname) moments underneath this comment! ▼ 173 replies ↳ username97 1 hour ago Spencer and (name) sharing a kickstart during DND sessions. Spencer and (name) sharing a kickstart during DND sessions. Spencer and (name) sharing a kickstart during DND sessions. Spencer and (name) sharing a kickstart during DND sessions. ↳ username66 2 days ago (name) being so excited over beating an Elden Ring Boss on stream that she runs and kisses Spencer on the cheek before brake dancing in the background while Spencer stares blankly at the camera, cheeks red and eyes wide. MWAHAHHAHA ↳ username04 just now Would have to be (name) dropping the burrito under the table and Spencer placing his hand above their head so they don't hurt themselves 𓏗ᵕ𓏗 ↳ username02 3 days ago 2022 Truck Simulator: Spencer, hand on their knee driving. It is my kryptonite. ↳ username15 1 hour ago (name) dancing with and twirling Spencer after Smosh the Sitcom. I want it as a GIF and framed. ↳ username11 4 days ago Has anyone mentioned their San Diego panel together? That whole hour is surreal, the head resting on shoulders, gripping one another in laughter, holding hands- speaking into the mic at the same time. OR HOW THEY WERE WALKING THE FLOOR TOGETHER IN MATCHING COSPLAY AFTER. ↳ username06 1 hour ago Darts and how they acted like one another. ↳ username32 30 minutes ago 27:49 Chosen Spencer pinning (name) to the wall during that interrogation bit changed my brain chemistry. ↳ username03 just now Wow, this is most responses I've ever received- thank you everyone!! ↳ username17 15 minutes ago 17:12 Them taking a power nap together at the same desk. username33 just now How have we entered a new era of how every "Where's Anthony?" is now a "Where's Spencer/(name)???"

─────── · ·

It's Awkward... (Who Meme'd It?)

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] Like 62k | Dislike | Share | ... 8.29M subscribers 565k views 1 week ago click to expand

5,199 Comments

username08 1 hour ago That meme coming from Ian was wild! ▼ 199 replies ↳ username87 30 minutes ago 16:16 Dog in Burning House: "Spencer when (name) doesn't want to play games with him - "this is fine, I am fine"" XDDD ↳ username02 20 minutes ago I would have never expected Ian to make that meme out of the list. ↳ username44 5 minutes ago IKR!? Like up against Alex, Courtney, and Trevor? No wonder no one picked him for it. ↳ username87 just now But we all are forgetting the best clip after: 17:12 Spencer proceeded to slip off his chair and hide underneath the table while Amanda was screaming defence and pointing fingers at the crowd. Has to be in the top 50 moments of all time. ↳ username44 just now YES! I love how the whole cast was AFTER THEM. They live for their relationship just like us. <3 username24 3 hour ago The editing team needs to be spotlighted more, BC all their memes were straight fire!!! username08 1 week ago You know when Shayne is hosting that its gonna be a good video ▼ 8 replies ↳ username97 5 days ago Doesn't Shayne already host most of the videos? ↳ username08 5 days ago That was the point- all the videos are good...

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: want a part 3 anyone? what do you want to see happen next?

[imaginespazzi]

Part 7: Home

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to (us)

(In which with bittersweet feelings, a nostalgic writer, finally writes the end of the story)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 7.1K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my loves! I can't believe we've actually reached the end, who would have thought huh? I'm not sure if there will be an epilogue, mainly cause I don't know what I'd write but never say never. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter and if I've done the end I pictured justice but I really hope y'all like it anyways. There's a fair amount of creative liberty taken with WNBA logistics but please just accept it for the plot. Per usual, did I edit? Yes. Are there grammar mistakes and typos anyways? Yes. As always, let me know what you liked and disliked. And finally, to all my lovelies who have liked, reblogged, commented, sent in an ask, dm-ed me or simply just silently read this fic, I just wanna say thank you guys so, so, much, y'all have made writing every word worth it and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it <3

August 2018

Paige swears, tonight, there are stars in the Minnesota night sky she’s never seen before in her life. The summer sky has darkened with nightfall, yet the shine of the moon and its companions make it still seem ever so bright. Or maybe, it’s just the girl lying next to Paige that makes tonight feel luminescent, sparkling with the promises of something not quite like friendship that Paige has never felt before. She’d spent the whole day with Azzi at the Minnesota State fair, trying to suppress these new butterflies in her stomach that seemed to have taken birth over their time in Latvia. Or well, maybe they’d been there from the start, but they’d really only started this dance of theirs, the one that makes Paige feel all tingly when Azzi smiles, over the course of this summer. 

“Paige it’s cold, stop hogging the blanket,” Azzi chastises, breaking Paige from a trance, as she tugs on the pink and purple blanket covering the two of them, “I knew we should have brought two of them.”

“It’s barely on me” Paige argues for the sake of arguing but she shifts anyway to allow the younger girl to pull the blanket, so clearly meant for one person, a little more towards her, “besides, it’s about sharing body heat.”

“You’re not even warm enough to share body heat,” Azzi mocks as she makes a show of tracing a finger down Paige’s arm and everything in the blonde feels like it’s been lit on fire at the touch. And she wonders if Azzi feels it too, the electricity, the sparks of this could ruin me that scatter through her veins before finding themselves setting her heart ablaze. It’s too much and Paige shakes Azzi’s hand off with a little more force than she means too. 

When Azzi sends her questioning look, she splutters through an excuse, “your hands are cold too. Can we just do the boring shit we’re here to do.”

"Stargazing is not boring,” Azzi says indignantly, opening the little stargazing booklet she’d brought with her, flicking through the pages looking for something specific. 

To be honest, sitting still in an open field and squinting at the sky trying to figure out a distant constellation isn’t really Paige’s brand of entertainment. She’s a fidgety person by nature, constantly embroiled in the urge to be moving. But Azzi had brought it up the other day, with pleading eyes and a hopeful grin and well, sometimes it felt sinful to deny Azzi of anything she wants. And that’s how they’d ended up at a campsite, not too far from the State fair, lying on the grass, heads tilted towards each other, with a single blanket shielding them from the summer breeze. 

“Okay,” Azzi says after a while, using her fingers to point out a pattern in the sky, “I think that one’s Cassiopeia.”

“If you say so,” Paige nods, not really sure what she’s supposed to be looking at. 

“Paaaaige,” Azzi whines, “focus.”

“Dude I can barely see anything, the fuck am I supposed to focus o-”

Before Paige can finish her sentence, she feels herself being pulled by the younger girl, the side of her body fitting into the crook’s of Azzi’s like a perfect puzzle piece. She looks over at the brunette, and the protest dies on the tip of her tongue, as she realises just how close Azzi is to her now, all semblance of air leaving her lungs. Paige gulps, eyes tracing every inch of her best friend’s face, stopping of their own accord at Azzi’s lips, before guiltily flashing back to meet the younger girl’s eyes which are just as focused on Paige. And it feels like there’s no force in this world right now that could make either of them look away. Except maybe the force of friends don’t do this. 

“Just focus,” Azzi breaks contact first, turning her face back at the stars, before gently grabbing hold of Paige’s hand so she can guide it in the pattern of the constellation. And Paige still doesn’t really see it, doesn’t even particularly care about seeing it, but if it gets Azzi to hold her hand, soft skin putting light pressure against her palm, she thinks she’ll try to see some random lines in the sky forever. 

“It’s pretty.”

“You don’t see it do you?”

“Nope,” Paige’s grin widens when Azzi chuckles, shaking her head fondly. Something in her blooms, delighted at being the reason for that. And she’s always prided herself in being funny, she thinks of herself as a little bit of a comedian really, but she’s never wanted to make anyone laugh quite as much as she wants to make Azzi laugh. 

“Well that’s enough stargazing for us then,” Azzi rolls her eyes, closing her little booklet and making a move to sit up but Paige is quicker, pulling the younger girl back down and interlocking their fingers. Her own overeagerness causes a tinge of embarrassment to race up her cheeks, and she hopes it’s dark enough that Azzi won’t see the pale pink blush taking over her face. 

“It’s peaceful out here,” she says quietly, sounding shy even to her own ears and she can’t help but wonder when the hell that happened, “you wanna stay a little longer?”

“Yeah okay let’s stay longer,,” Azzi agrees  and sometimes when Azzi speaks like that, her voice lyrically soft with a secret smile hidden in it, Paige wonders if maybe it would be okay to hope for, to feel something more because maybe, just maybe, Azzi feels it too. 

“You know you should come to the state championship,” Paige says after a second of silence, trying to keep her voice nonchalant but she can hear the wishfulness bleeding into it anyways. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that in March? That’s like months and months away.”

“Yeah but- well-” Paige shrugs, cheeks burning just a little bit, “you probably wanna book in advance cause like tickets and stuff you know?”

“You don’t even know if you’ll be in the state championship. There’s still a whole season to go.”

“Oh I know. I know we’re definitely gonna be there.” Paige smirks, cockiness back in full-fledged form. 

“Then I’ll be there,” Azzi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you better win though Bueckers.”

“Watch me,” and she’s jutting her chest out in arrogance sure, but really everything inside her is swelling with something else, a feeling she’s starting to understand a little too well, a feeling that terrifies her, a feeling she doesn’t think she’s quite ready to let herself feel yet, “it would be nice you know, to win a championship together at some point.”

“I don’t think my parents would be on board with moving to Minnesota.”

“I’m sure I could convince them,” Paige feels a little giddy at the thought, “but I meant more like college, like UConn.”

It’s a topic they’ve stumbled upon a couple of times, with each other, and with the other girls at Team USA. And as much as Paige would love for her other teammates to follow her to her dream school, she’s practical enough to know they might have other priorities. But the thing is that with the rest of the girls, it’s just something she’d like to happen but with Azzi, now that Paige has said it out loud, she’s beginning to realise how desperately she wants that, her and Azzi, on the same team, fighting the same battles and winning the same wars, together. 

“Don’t think you can win a national championship without me Bueckers?” Azzi smirks, twisting her head towards Paige, eyebrows cocked in arrogance. 

“Of course I can,” Paige’s face softens, the vulnerability that only ever seems to come out around her best friend seeping on to her features, “but I think it would be fun to win one with you. Someday.”

“Someday, “ Azzi whispers back, giving Paige’s hand a light squeeze, and then her eyes widen at the sky, “holy shit is that a shooting star? Oh my god Paige look up, quick, it’s beautiful.”

In the dark of the night, a rare flicker of gold shoots across the obsidian Minnesota sky. Paige has never seen one before but it seems fitting really, that she’d see one tonight. 

“We have to make a wish,” she whispers and Azzi, never one to really believe, rolls her eyes but she follows Paige’s lead, closing her eyes. And the thing is Paige could wish for a lot of things really, but she finds herself thinking of only one word that sums up all she could ever want: someday.

***

August 2026 

They’ve been playing against each other for years now and yet the thrill of the face-off still hasn’t quite worn off. Back in the handful of games in high school, it had been quickfire friendly trash talk, two best friends going at it like the competitors they were. College had been drastically different, each game, each play, underlined with the tension of two people who still hadn’t quite figured it out. But Paige thinks her favourite version of them as opponents is definitely this one, the one where they might be on different teams in the WNBA, but off the court, they both know they’re on the same side, together. 

Their relationship isn’t quite a secret; it would have been impossible to hide if after the kiss at the 2025 national championship. But they’d kept as quiet about it as possible, skillfully dodging media questions, wanting to shelter it from the prying eyes of the public. It makes playing each other on national television, just that little bit more entertaining, trying to keep things as cordial as possible. If Paige’s hands end up just a little too close to Azzi’s waist, lingering a little longer than necessary against the patch of skin she’d marked with a hickey earlier this morning, and it makes the younger girl shiver, then that’s just a tactic to win. And if Azzi breathes seductive thoughts of what she’d like to do after the game when guarding Paige, and it makes the blonde want to turn around and kiss the smirk off of her girlfriend’s lips, well that’s just another innovative defensive strategy. 

“Be a good girl for me and move,” Paige whispers, the double entendre in her voice apparent, as she tries to dribble the ball past Azzi. There’s only a minute or so left in the last meeting of the regular season between Paige’s Lynx and Azzi’s Mystics -funny how that had worked out-  and the score is painfully close, with the Mystics closing in on the Lynx’s two point-lead. 

“Always a good girl for you P,” Azzi smirks, her voice the quietest it could possibly be, but Paige hears her next words like they’re on a loudspeaker in the area,  “it’s why I’m wearing your favourite purple panties.”

It takes a second, a second where Paige’s eyes gloss over with lust, as her mind rushes back to the last time she’d seen, the last time she’d touched the silky undergarment, for the ball to be stolen from her hands. She’s a step too slow to recover and by that time Azzi’s already scored the easy lay-up to tie up the game, a mischievous grin adorning her normally stoic game face. 

On the other end of the court, Napheesa draws a foul and Paige and Azzi end up next to each for free throws. Paige is seething, unsure if the heat curling up her spine is from the game or the girl standing next to her. 

“Sorry baby, all’s fair in love and war right?” Azzi teases, pinky brushing against the blonde’s, “I’ll make it up to you later if you want.”

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Paige practically growls. She does want, in fact she’d like it right now if it was possible. Two years they’ve been together, longer if you count the inbetween, and still, every time Azzi lights a match, Paige feels herself burn just as brightly as the first time she’d felt that magnetic pull. 

“Learnt from the best,” Azzi hums with a grin as Napheesa hits both free throws. 

The rest of the game passes in a blur of frenzied shots and hurried fouls but the Lynx pull out an eventual, much-needed win, to better their chances of clinching a higher seed in the playoffs. After missing the playoffs in 2024, the Lynx, despite having relatively low odds, had secured the no.1 pick and there had never really been a doubt that they would pick Paige. She’d helped the team get back to the playoffs last season but they hadn’t made it out of the first round. A championship doesn’t seem quite possible yet, but Paige has her fingers crossed that they’d at least make it to a semi-final this time. 

“The two of you are terrible at this,” Aaliyah’s the first person to hug Paige during the handshake line, “I thought you’d jump each other’s bones in the middle of the game today.”

“We’re not that bad,” Paige rolls her eyes at her former teammate. She high-fives a few more of the Mystics team until she gets to Azzi, who’s already smiling, despite the loss. The cameras are quick to crowd them, clearly wanting a more sensational picture than the one they’re likely to get. Still, despite the unwanted attention, Paige lets herself nestle into the crook of Azzi’s neck. 

“You owe me twice tonight,” she whispers into the younger girl’s ear, “one for the win and one for that bullshit you pulled on the court tonight.”

Azzi’s voice is breathless when she replies, “I can give you way more than two.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.”

***

“With the new rules, after this season you’ll be a free agent, have you given any thought to that?”

Waiting for the Lynx’s turn in the media room, Paige hadn’t been paying much attention to the questions being asked to the Mystics players, her focus solely on how hot her girlfriend always looked post games. But the words ‘free agent’ pique her interest. The W had changed the rookie contract rules for first round draftees to two years and that meant both Paige and Azzi would be free agents after this year. But while it hadn’t reached the media quite yet, the Lynx were likely to use their core designation on Paige. Which meant the only one of them making any decision about next season would be Azzi. It was a subject the two of them were cautiously tip-toeing around, using the shield of distance to avoid talking about what it could mean for them. 

“I’m focused on the season, this team and the rest of our games. I’m not really thinking about the future,” Azzi answers diplomatically. 

“You’ve obviously got very strong ties to the DC area but you also went to UCLA, if the Sparks or maybe even the Valkyries, considering your connection to Steph Curry, were interested, and there have been rumours that they are, would you consider it?” the same reporter prods. 

“Again, I’m not currently thinking about any of that,” to anyone else Azzi probably sounds neutral but Paige has studied the sheet music of Azzi’s voice to the point where she knows what’s hidden behind every note, behind every little indent. The tinge of irritation is masked by a smile, but the line of questioning is clearly unappreciated. 

“And what about the Lynx?” the persistently oblivious reporter continues and this time Paige sucks in a breath, “you have some ties to that team don't you? Have you given some thought to maybe going there?”

Azzi’s eye twitches ever so slightly, “the Lynx just beat my team. The only thoughts I have right now are about how to beat them next time.”

That elicits a laugh from the media and finally the rather obtuse reporters seem to understand that he’s not going to be able to pry anything newsworthy from Azzi’s mouth. But even if he hasn’t achieved his desired effect, he’s succeeded in making Paige’s mind start running in circles. She hadn’t let herself think about it yet, the potential of Azzi joining the Lynx, the potential of playing with Azzi, the potential of finally just being with Azzi. Because facing the potential for all of that, facing all the things she wants means also facing the potential that maybe Azzi doesn’t want any of that. 

***

The air in Paige’s living room is thick with a suffocating tension as she and Azzi sit on opposite ends of the couch. It reminds Paige a little bit of the before, a dreaded version of them she’d foolishly thought they grown out of, until something reminiscent of their past problems had reared its ugly head, and suddenly it feels a bit like she’s playing a losing game. 

“Will you please stop that,” she bites out, referring to where Azzi’s foot is incessantly tapping on the wooden floors, “it’s giving me a headache.”

Azzi’s eyes narrow, flashing with irritation, “is it my tapping or the alcohol giving you a headache Paige?”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Paige says through gritted teeth and Azzi scoffs. 

It’s a lie. After both teams were done with post game pressers, she, Azzi and a couple of the other girls had ended up at a local bar as they often did when the other team didn’t have to fly out til the next day. Paige had been tense the whole evening and trying to pretend not to be, especially when Azzi could see right through her façade, had only made the whole thing worse. She wasn’t one to drink too much, always happy just being sufficiently tipsy but then she’d gotten in her head too much. And when the first shot didn’t quite hit the way she needed it to, she’d kept on going, receiving worried looks from all the girls, until Azzi had finally stepped in. The ride back from the bar had been a sobering experience, one look at Azzi’s stoic face, giving away her irritation. 

“That’s why you still reek of tequila?” 

“How the fuck would you know? You haven’t come near me all night.” 

“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me Paige. I tried to talk to you all night til you decided you wanted to act like freshman frat boy,” Azzi spits out, hurt and anger colliding in her voice, “we barely get to spend time together during the season and the one night in forever that we do, you pull this shit?”

They haven’t had an argument like this since they’ve been officially together, the kind of argument that has them balancing on a delicate tight rope, too afraid to take a step backwards in their relationship, and too prideful to take a step forward towards each other. 

“I didn’t think you cared about spending time together during the season,” Paige accuses and there’s a sensible part of her, one that’s currently being held captive by the dangers of liquor, that knows it’s a ridiculous allegation. 

Azzi stares at her, lips opening and closing in disbelief, “excuse me?”

“It’s pretty simple really Azzi. If you wanna spend the whole season together, the option is right fucking there, but I- I can’t even tell if you’re interested in taking it,” Paige is pacing now, teeth gnawing at her lips like they always do when she’s nervous. 

“What- what are you even talking about?” Azzi asks, clearly confused. 

“Free fucking agency. They asked you about it and you said you hadn’t thought about it at all. That’s really great to hear Az, really great to know you haven’t thought about how that could literally change our whole fucking life,” and even as the words waterfall out of her mouth, Paige knows she’s being unreasonable, but the mix of stress and alcohol churning in her stomach is just enough to keep her from taking the words back. 

“I didn’t- that’s not even what I said. Jesus fucking christ Paige,” Azzi rubs her face, looking defeated.

“So you have thought about it then?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, “ Azzi throws her hands up, “but I wasn’t gonna tell the media about all of that. But you- you seriously think I haven’t thought about what this means for us? You don’t- do you really think I’m not thinking about you- about us- while trying to make this decision?”

“Well you definitely didn’t think of me- of us- when you chose UCLA,” Paige’s eyes widen at her own words, knowing immediately that of all things she could have said, those were the worst ones, “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

In front of her, Azzi has gone deathly still, face completely devoid of emotion, until the first tear drops and all of Paige’s anger dissipates, the guilt clawing back with full force. 

“I thought we were over that,” Azzi whispers, voice trembling, as she looks down at her hands, “but maybe we’ll never be over that.”

“We are,” Paige sinks to her knees in front of the younger girl, tugging Azzi’s hands into her own, “we are over it. I just- it just slipped out.”

Azzi’s quiet for a moment before she pulls her hands out of the blonde’s grip, sidestepping her as she stands up and Paige feels empty and cold and just a little bit broken. 

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, peering up at Azzi through tear soaked eyelashes. 

“I think I should, before anything else just slips out,” Paige flinches and Azzi’s expression softens, “I know- I know you didn’t mean it like that but I just- I need some space.”

Panic filters into Paige’s lungs, wrapping its dirty hands and squeezing so tight that she can barely breathe. She’s not sure when she’ll see Azzi again, now that there’s no more Lynx-Mystics games left in the regular season and it’s unlikely with their expected seedings that they’d meet at some point in the playoffs. It’s not like distance is new to them, but in the last two years, they’ve only ever said goodbye with an i love you attached to the end. 

“Are you-,” Paige gasps for air, “are you leaving me?”

And it must be written all over Paige's face, just how petrified she is of this moment, because that's all it takes for Azzi to rush back into Paige’s space, hands cupping her cheeks, “oh baby of course not. I just- you’re still drunk and I’m upset and I don’t want us to say anything we don’t mean. And I- need time to think about free agency and I think you- you need time to think about why that slipped out.”

Paige sighs, melting into Azzi’s touch as the knots in her stomach begin to untangle themselves, “you’re so logical.”

“Someone has to be,” a half-smile flitters across the younger girl’s face as she wipes at Paige’s tears, “we’ll figure this out okay? Just- just give me a little bit of time.”

Give me time. It’s a familiar line, so similar to what Azzi had asked for when she was making a decision about college and Paige would be lying if she said there isn’t a part of her that’s terrified fate is going to make them repeat the same mistakes. But part of growing up, Paige surmises, is letting time test you with the same trials and tribulations, and the next time, coming out of the other end on the right side. 

And so she squeezes Azzi’s hand, matching the younger girl's half smile, with a soothing one of her own, “okay.”

***

November 2027 

Paige doesn't know when she ended up in a love triangle with Azzi and the state of California but she wishes she was competing against an actual person. At least then she could throw a punch at the other guy. The W season is barely over and it seems like every front office has thrown themselves headfirst into convincing free agents to join their team. There’s a couple of teams interested in Azzi, but no one seems to be trying harder than the Los Angeles Sparks. Paige thinks whoever gave that city a name meaning “the angels” could not have been more wrong because really it’s a city full of devils constantly trying to steal her girl and no she’s not being dramatic. 

They’re supposed to be leaving for thanksgiving dinner when Azzi’s phone rings and Paige can’t help but roll her eyes when Cameron Brink’s name flashes on the CallerID. The Sparks seemed to have put her as head of their recruiting Azzi campaign and Cam had been diligently doing her part. 

“Azzi, Cam’s calling again,” Paige yells out to her girlfriend who’s still not quite finished getting ready.

“Can you pick it up?”

“Do I have to?”

“Paige,” Azzi whines and Paige sighs, hitting the green answering button. 

“The amount of times you’ve called my girlfriend this week, Brink, should I be concerned?”

“Jealous I’m replacing you as her favourite blonde?” Cam’s voice always sounds like she’s smiling and Paige can’t help her own smile. Goddamn Cameron Brink for always being the sweetest soul on this planet. 

“As if,” Paige scoffs, “it’s a holiday Cam, give the recruiting a rest.”

“Hey, I’m just calling to wish her a happy thanksgiving,” Cam defends. 

“Mmmhmm where’s my thanksgiving wish?”

“Oh please, the two of you are basically a unit. Wishing her is wishing you,” Cam is quiet for a second before speaking again, “the Sparks would be a good fit for her Paige.”

Paige sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m not the one you’re gonna have to convince.”

“I know but you know your opinion means a lot to her. I know you want her in Minnesota and she'd be good there too and I- I know it isn’t my place to say any of this but just- just don’t discourage her from doing what’s best for her,” there’s not a hint of malice in Cam’s words, there never is, but they pierce at Paige’s skin anyways. 

“Okay I’m ready, hand me the phone,” she’s saved from having to answer by Azzi waltzing into the living room and prying the phone from her hands. 

Paige watches silently as Azzi talks animatedly with Cam, noticing the way her girlfriend’s smile widens while talking about certain spots in L.A. They’d subconsciously decided not to breach the subject of free agency after that night. Paige hadn’t interfered in any of the Lynx’s conversations with Azzi, deciding that this time, she’d stay out of it. It hadn’t been easy, every little bit of her itching to pitch why the Lynx were the perfect fit, why Paige was the perfect fit, but she was determined to give Azzi the space -the time- she’d wanted. This time she’d leave the choice solely up to Azzi and whatever she decided, Paige would find her happiness in that. 

“Paige you ready to go,” Azzi waves a hand in front of Paige’s face, eyebrows raised in question when the older girl doesn’t make a move to get off the sofa, “hey, you good?”

“Cam says the Sparks would be a good fit,” Azzi stiffens at Paige’s words. 

“Paige-”

“She’s right,” Paige concedes, fingers fidgeting as she averts Azzi’s gaze. 

The younger girl blinks at her, clearly not having expected that, “she is?”

“Yeah. They need a shooting guard and you,” Paige smiles, reaching out to pull Azzi onto the couch with her, “you’re the best there is.”

“I wouldn’t go that far-”

“You are to me and it’s why I want you on the Lynx,” they both let out a breath with that. It’s not a secret of course but Paige hasn’t said it out loud before. 

“Paige-”

“But it’s okay if you don't wanna be on the Lynx, if you wanna be on the Sparks or stay here with the Mystics or on any other team, if you think it’s the right move for you and for your career then that’s fine. It’s okay and you don’t- you don’t need my permission or anything of course but I just- whatever you decide, I’ll support it okay? What I said that night about UCLA-  it wasn't- it wasn’t about you. I thought about it like you asked me to and it’s me. I was scared that I would fuck it up again and I’d lose you again-”

“You won’t,” Azzi grabs Paige’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze,  “I won’t let you.”

“I know. I know now that whatever happens, we’ll be okay. And so you can choose whatever team you want and it won’t- it won’t affect us, I promise. It won’t be like last time I swear. When you make your decision- I just- I don’t want you to make it for me or for us, cause you and me? Baby we’ll be just fine no matter what. Wherever you go and wherever I am, we’ll make it work, just as we have for the last two years,” Paige smirks, “besides I kinda enjoy kicking your ass.”

Azzi lets out a snort as she climbs onto Paige’s lap, thighs straddling her hips, “you really had to ruin it with that last part huh?”

“Was getting a little too sappy for me,” Paige mumbles and when she looks up, the emotions floating in Azzi’s eyes make Paige’s heart stutter. Because no one else gets this Azzi. This Azzi, who wears her heart on her sleeve, who lets her walls down, only for Paige’s eyes to see, only for Paige’s mind to memorise, only for Paige’s heart to keep. 

“You mean it?” Azzi whispers, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face, touching lingering, “you’d be okay with anything?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Paige cups Azzi’s cheeks, brushing her lips against the younger girl’s, “whatever you choose, we’ll be fine. No matter what, I believe in us.”

***

January 2028

Paige groans when her phone rings at 2 a.m., fumbling around in the dark trying to answer it. 

“I swear you better be dying if you’re calling me this late,” she grumbles into the phone, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Not quite,” Azzi says, and Paige’s eyebrows furrow at the amount of background noise she can hear behind her girlfriend. 

“Dude where the hell are you at 3 in the morning?” she asks, now a little more awake as she sits up. 

“I uh- I had a bit of a revelation,” and Paige can practically picture Azzi, wherever she might be, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lips. 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know. I know. Shit, I was supposed to do this in person. I had a whole plan but apparently being with you has made me impatient,” Azzi rambles. 

“You’re still not making any sense,” but Paige’s heart is starting to beat erratically fast in anticipation. 

“I had this realisation while I was in the gym today, it was really quiet and peaceful and I was fine you know- all day I was fine- just doing daily routines and then I just- I missed you. I miss you all the time do you know that?”

Paige does know, knows it far too well. Sometimes she thinks missing Azzi comes as naturally as breathing, an innate part of her day to day, a constant ache that she’s felt since she was 15. 

“I miss you too,” she whispers. 

“And I’ve learned to survive with that feeling, with missing you constantly. I mean it’s been more than 10 years at this point, how could I not? But what I realised today is that just because I can- just because I can live missing you- doesn’t mean I want to.”

“What are you saying Azzi?”

“DC is my childhood. My family is close to there, it’s part of where I grew up. It’ll always be my first home. And LA is where I found myself, my identity, and for a while it felt like home too.”

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, hands gripping the phone as tight as possible, wrapping that one syllable in emblems of give me forever. 

“But my forever home isn’t in DC or LA and it’s not really in any other place either because-  Jesus this might be the clichést thing I’ve ever said but-,” Azzi lets out a chuckle, “my home is wherever you are Paige. Wherever we’re together, that’s home.”

It feels a little bit like the end of a drought, the wetness on Paige’s cheeks like the rain that comes after. In the pitch black of her room, phone clutched closely to her ear with Azzi’s words floating through it like a swan song, Paige swears she’s never felt the world glow quite like this before. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Beating your ass has been fun as hell but I think we’d make a pretty good team Bueckers.”

And it’s a good thing Paige’s walls are soundproof because the delighted whoop she lets out practically vibrates around the room, all previous wisps of tiredness completely gone from her body. Azzi lets out a tearful laugh and Paige wishes they were together right now so she could tattoo this happiness onto both of their skins. 

“The greatest team ever,” Paige affirms, “When are you com-”

“Attention passengers Delta Airlines Flight 1248 to Minneapolis will be boarding soon, please have your passport and ticket ready to check at the gate.”

“About that,” Azzi says shyly as Paige’s mouth drops open at the announcement, “I uh- I had a moment of spontaneity.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with my overthinking girlfriend?” Paige demands and Azzi giggles on the other end of line.

“I know it’s last minute, like really last minute and it was meant to be a surprise actually but I just- I really wanna see you. Is that okay?”

“Is that okay? Fuck Azzi, it’s all I want. Baby,” Paige breathes out softly, “come home.”

*** 

Time isn’t going nearly fast enough Paige thinks as she checks the arrivals board for the nth time. She’d tried for about four seconds to fall back asleep after hanging up the phone but her entire body had been buzzing with excitement. And so she’d gotten to the airport far earlier than necessary, and had maybe one too many cups of coffee if the jittery shake in her left hand is anything to go by.

She swears she feels her before she sees her. The air is electric as if the whole city, the whole state is waiting for Azzi too, for them to get their elusive forever. This moment feels like years in the making, and Paige is ready, ready to grasp it and make it hers. And then there’s Azzi, a clearly chosen-at-last minute wrinkled t-shirt, eyes drooping from the tiredness from not having slept all night, baby hairs in a frenzy across her forehead. To Paige, she’s still the prettiest girl in the entire universe. 

Azzi’s eyes scan through the airport until they land on Paige, a dazzling smile illuminating her exhausted features. It’s the exact same smile that Paige had first elicited from her on the flight back from Argentina when she’d told Azzi she had a feeling they'd make great friends. It’s her Paige smile. The world is still for a second, everything melting away except them and the whispers of the journey it had taken them to get to this point. Every delicately placed step towards each other feels like an ode to every year they’d spent apart. And then Paige is running, not caring about everyone else around her. She jumps into Azzi’s arm, all 6 feet of her, tangling her legs around the younger girl's waist while her arms fasten around the neck. It forces Azzi to let go of her small carry-on, not caring that it falls to the floor with a thud, as her hands wrap around Paige’s back, steadying her girlfriend’s weight on top of her. 

“You’re here,” Paige whispers, still a little in disbelief, “you’re really here.”

“I’ve been in Minny plenty of times before,” Azzi quips, adjusting her balance to properly hold the girl clinging to her like a koala. 

“Shut up you know what I mean. You’re here forever this time.”

“Well I don’t know about forever- OW,” Azzi shrieks, as Paige pinches her arm, “do you want me to drop you woman?”

“You’re never allowed to leave.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Good because it definitely is a threat,” Paige says before pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, “welcome home baby.”

***

October 2028 

There are moments in life you remember forever. Sometimes you know they’re going to happen, sometimes they take you off guard and sometimes, it’s a combination of both. The Minnesota Lynx’s journey to the WNBA finals this season had always felt inevitable but the journey there, for a team that had unexpectedly fallen to the 4-seed despite pre-season clamour of them being number one, had been filled with bitter losses and moments of pure uncertainty. In a way, it perfectly mirrors Paige and Azzi’s relationship. 

There’s 11 seconds separating the Lynx from their 5th championship trophy as they lead the Sky by two points. The crowd is up on their feet, ready for their cheering to turn into roars the minute the final buzzer rings. Paige has the ball in her hands on the inbound, Coach Reeves yelling at her from the bench what to do, as she makes eye contact with Azzi. There are no words, not even a gesture that the other team might be able to interpret, but they know exactly what play they’re about to run.

Truth be told it hadn’t been the seamless transition the two of them had expected when Azzi joined the Lynx. They’d been naive to think years of not playing together wouldn’t have affected the backcourt chemistry they’d had almost instantly once upon a time. The first few games, there had been an embarrassing disconnect between the two of them that had resulted in a nasty berating from Coach Reeves and a subsequent argument between the two of them that had lasted into the next morning. It had taken several more practices, and a couple more games of flailing around, for them to finally become the duo Paige had always known they would. 

The game buzzer beeps and Paige throws the ball to Azzi who immediately returns it back to her, and then she’s running off screen after screen to get herself open on the wing, her sweet spot. Paige dribble penetrates into the paint, dragging an extra defender with her as they try to prevent her from getting a layup, the other defender blocks her from stepping back into a pull-up. Azzi’s defender has a momentary lapse in judgement, falling for the age-old trick of thinking she should help on defence, and that’s all it takes. A second for Paige to see Azzi open on the corner and pass it to her. A second for Azzi to shoot it. 

The three-pointer falls through the next with a perfect swish. Dagger shot. 

A small smile flits across Azzi’s face, the only emotion she’s shown all game and Paige can’t help the much larger grin that starts to flash on her own face. She can almost taste victory on the tip of her tongue, the two seconds left in the game are the only thing separating her from finally getting her version of the things we live for. Behind her she can hear Coach Reeves yelling at them to not foul, the 5-point lead enough of a cushion for them to withstand a last minute shot. But the Sky barely make it over midcourt and when Marina Mabrey heaves up a last second prayer, Paige doesn’t bother to see if it goes in as the buzzer sounds throughout Target Arena. The Minnesota crowd explodes in noise and colour as confetti falls from the sky. 

Despite the chaos of everything, Paige has never seen Azzi clearer than in this moment. Since she’d met the girl, in all of Paige’s prayers about winning a championship, one thing had always been constant, that when they’d come true, they’d come true with Azzi by her side. And she had been. The high school state champion, the college national championship, Azzi had been there for both but on the bleachers, as a spectator and as Paige’s biggest fan. But this, winning a championship with Azzi as her teammate, as her ally, as her partner, means something more. This win is theirs. 

“Do you remember when we saw that shooting star?” Azzi says softly, as they find their way into each other’s arms, not caring that there’s a thousand cameras capturing their every move. Paige pulls Azzi closer to her, every inch of her body pressing into the other girls until she’s not sure where she begins and where Azzi ends. 

“That was years ago,” Paige remarks but she can see it clearly, two young girls underneath the stars, unaware of what their future would be but sure that the other would be in it. Those girls would probably laugh at how long it had taken Paige and Azzi to figure out what had seemed so simple back then. 

“Yeah, yeah it was. Do you remember what you wished for?” Azzi asks, smiling when Paige nods, “do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“What did you wish for Az?”

“Before we saw the star you- you said it’d be nice to win a championship together someday. And so I-,” Azzi looks down shyly, “so I wished for someday. I wished for today.”

Paige stares at Azzi, drinking in the sincerity on the shooting guard’s face, silently letting herself absorb the meaning of Azzi’s words. And then she lets out a laugh because of course of course. 

“I didn’t realise I’d said anything funny for you to be laughing at me,” Azzi scrunches her nose, looking slightly offended. 

“God baby no,” Paige cups Azzi’s face, and she thinks this smile on her face will last forever as long as this is her reality, “I’m not laughing at you. I just- do you know what I wished for?” 

Azzi shakes her head. 

“This. The same exact thing you did. For someday.”

It’s not quite the shade of blue Paige had imagined them in, the Lynx blue its own shade, something inbetween UConn’s navy one and UCLA’s sky one. But it’s perfect nonetheless. And when Azzi crashes her lips against Paige’s, someday feels a lot like forever and always.

[youunravelme]

it's nice to have a friend

author's note: this is a little all over the place, but i saw a tiktok edit of seven by taylor swfit and then thought to myself, what if i ignore all my wips and wrote childhood friends to lovers with a hint of childhood trauma? and this was born. and if the timeline isn't perfect with reality, oh well. i'm but a human girl. also!! if you have ever experienced or currently experiencing abuse, please know that it was never your fault. you don't deserve to be treated that way.

pairing: mat barzal x reader

summary: wherever mat went, you were never too far behind or the one where you are childhood besties

warnings: cursing (as always), mentions of parental abuse and alcholism, tumultuous childhood, drinking, mentions of sex

there was a saying that floated around in your elementary, middle, and high school days, surrounding you like a warm oversized cardigan.

wherever mat went, you were never too far behind.

the saying could also be flipped, the two of you stuck to each other like glue.

mat, despite not being one for fights, had a bad habit of running his mouth whenever you were concerned. in fourth grade, he used newly learned vocabulary words to berate a girl who made fun of your beat up shoes and nearly got detention for it.

and you had a nasty habit of squaring up with anyone who looked at mat wrong, even if they towered over you.

your friendship worked well because of it.

age eight

you could remember summer days swimming in the pool with mat and liana, laughing as you and mat teamed up against his little sister until his mother scolded the two of you when she started crying.

but there was always a darkness that sat in the corners of your memories like fingerprints that had damaged an old photograph.

you didn't have to try to remember your parents' screaming and yelling at each other, just like you didn't have to try to recall the smell of alcohol on your father's breath. it didn't take any effort to remember the way your hands shook when you locked your room at night and climbed out of a second story window to go to mat's.

you could feel the splinters digging into your fingertips as you climbed the trellis up to his window. you could still feel the way your stomach dropped when you slipped and fell halfway up in the pouring rain, nearly breaking your arm in the process. you could still hear nadia come out and usher you inside moments before mat's eight year old feet came pattering down the stairs.

he didn't even give you time to explain, he just wrapped you up in a hug.

it took you that long to understand it was never raining, it was just tears.

the next week, you found yourselves at the park laying on your backs in the grass.

"what would you do if a genie gave you one wish?" mat asked out of the blue.

the summer sun kept you warm as the breeze kept sweeping in and blowing strands of hair into your face.

"get far away from here."

"would you bring me?" mat asked.

you turned your head to look at him only to find him already staring. "i wouldn't go anywhere without you." and you meant every word, spoke them with as much conviction as an eight year old could have.

mat reached out and squeezed your hand in his own.

"what would you wish for?"

he shrugged. "to be bigger."

you furrowed your brow. "why bigger?"

"so i could protect you better."

age nine

at nine, you and mat were playing cards in your room when the front door slammed. it was like you were on autopilot. of all the times that had happened, mat was never home with you. immediately, you were locking your door and shoving things in your backpack, pulling mat towards the window and climbing out as quickly as you could. the two of you ran to your bikes and biked all the way to an empty field where you collapsed in the tall grass and cried.

mat immediately brought you into his arms, hushing you and running his hand down your braids.

"what if--" he started stopped abruptly to clear his throat. "what if you stayed with me and liana and mom and dad? we could get bunk beds and a night light, if you want, and you wouldn't have to lock the door."

you just sobbed harder into his chest and shook your head.

it's not that simple, you wanted to tell him. but i wish it was.

age thirteen

you never moved in with mat, never got to get the bunk beds, but by middle school, your mom moved the two of you out of your old house. it was then that he started packing two lunches, one for you and another for himself.

things hadn't changed much since leaving your dad in that shitty house full of demons. you still spent most of your time at mat's house (your mom was working). still spent your saturdays going to his tournaments and games. you still cheered him on and let him cheat off your homework on sunday nights.

things shifted though, regardless if you wanted them to change or not. time, you found, never gave a shit about your opinion, thoughts, or desires.

because it felt like just yesterday, you were riding your bikes down the street, racing each other back home.

now, you were helping mat draft msn messages to a girl he had a crush on in your biology class. there was an uncomfortable sensation in your stomach that was comparable to the time you got food poisoning, but you couldn't place a reason for it.

you could paint the pink on his cheeks as the girl replied.

and you would've given anything to be the reason for it.

maybe it was silly, a small crush for the sheer convenience of it all. maybe it was the fact that he'd saved you so many times from the darkness that always seemed to follow you. maybe it was because he was a tether for you, pulling you back when you went too far in your head.

so when he laughed at something she said (which wasn't even really funny), you wanted to go back to the times the two of you would cloud gaze in the middle of the day just so you wouldn't have to be home.

age fifteen

you knew mat was a kind person, knew he was handsome and a good hockey player, that was never in question.

you just didn't realize other girls realized it too.

mat always walked in front of you in the hallways because he could make way through the crowds in ways you couldn't. (he grew like a weed over the summer and while you hated how you couldn't reach things when he held them above his head, you appreciated the way crowds moved out of the way for him).

you were used to him being in front, his grip light on your wrist as he tugged you behind him. you weren't used to walking behind his new girlfriend, chloe, who had the honor of walking beside him.

mat used to tell you how much it irritated him that people would take up so much space in the hallway and make it impossible to move around them.

but there you were, an awkward moving triangle of your best friend, his girlfriend, and you trailing pathetically behind.

chloe was cool. she never felt threatened by your friendship with mat, which might've hurt your feelings if you were delusional. you knew you had no chance with mat, so you'd take him in whatever form you could get him.

lately, that looked like spending time with liana in the stands at mat's tournaments. you would both do your homework before dissolving into gossip sessions while you braided her hair.

chloe even showed up for some games, smiling and cheering as he played. at one game, he scored and came up and tapped the glass in front of you, pointing at you and smiling.

they broke up two weeks later.

age sixteen

you openly cried when mat left for seattle. you were used to times when mat had hockey camps and would be gone for two weeks, a month at a time. but he would be gone indefinitely now.

and leading up to the day he was leaving, you thought it would be harder on you, considering mat hadn't shown anything but excitement. but when it came time for him to leave, he wouldn't let you go.

both of your moms had to pry you apart with promises that he would call and text as soon as he got to seattle.

and he did.

he hadn't even gotten into his new home when he was facetiming you.

you did your best to smile as he showed you around his new place, but your eyes were watering still. he was indefinitely two and a half hours away from you.

"you okay?" he asked when you stopped responding.

you gave him your best smile, but knew he wouldn't buy it. "just miss you is all."

he nodded, eyes going blank for a second before you saw water appear in them. mat wasn't as emotional as you were, and he for sure wasn't as teary eyed as he used to be when you still lived with your dad, but his eyes were watering all the same. "let's just treat it like summer camp," he said. "i'll be back before you know it, and if you need something, you can always call me."

you had no intentions of calling him with your problems, but then your dad showed up at your house screaming and beating the door and calling for your mother while she was at work. the doors were locked, he had no way in, and the police were on the way, but your hands were still shaking.

you couldn't run to his house to hug him anymore.

so you called him sobbing.

he picked up on the second ring.

he was lounging in bed, playing call of duty or something like it. "hey--" he cut himself off and paused his game, jumping out of bed. "what's wrong?"

"my dad," you sobbed.

mat was back in coquitlam in three hours, holding you tight to his chest and rocking you back and forth. you were openly weeping into his shirt, clinging to him. you weren't gonna let him go, and mat wasn't willing to give you up either.

you and your mom spent the night at the barzal's, with her taking the guest room while nadia brought a twin mattress into mat's room under the pretense that you would sleep on it.

you didn't.

everyone knew that you got into mat's queen sized bed and clung to him all night long.

just like everyone pretended that mat wouldn't have to leave in two days to go back to seattle.

just like you pretended like you wouldn't absolutely shatter on impact the second he left your sight.

age nineteen

when mat was drafted to the islanders, you stopped breathing. sure, it was dramatic, but you only moved into vancouver for school.

mat was moving across the fucking continent.

but he came back to seattle, and for a moment, the world was right again.

until he went to new york full time.

and the full weight of his absence hit you like a damn eighteen wheeler.

you'd watch him on the tv, when you used to watch him live in much smaller stands. you used to use puff paint to make t-shirts with his name on it, now they were selling his jersey in the arena he played in.

he didn't pick up the phone as much as he used to. he would respond to your texts days later until you stopped texting him altogether.

you should've seen it coming, especially when you saw him hanging out with instagram models and going out to bars. were you really expecting him to sit at home and wait for you to call him with a panic attack?

you had to get a grip.

so you did.

you threw yourself into your studies, pretending you didn't know his game schedule or stats. and when a cute boy named thomas came along and took interest, you allowed him to get to know you better.

you told him you grew up in coquitlam, that you were an only child, and your favorite school subject growing up was english.

(you never told him that your favorite color was the shade of mat's eyes, that you haven't spoken to your dad since the night your mom left him, or that every night, you fall asleep to career highlights of the best friend you haven't spoken to in months).

you learned he was a business major, something that should've been a red flag, but you were so focused on proving to yourself that you could be loved, that you overlooked it.

you went on dates, had sex, made plans for the future, met each other's families.

but he never met the barzals, despite the fact that you could drive to their house blindfolded.

no, they felt like a precious secret. the world could have number 13, they could have the calder memorial trophy winner, but you would not allow them to have the little sister whose hair you braided, the mother who brought you inside after you wrecked her trellis, the father who covered your scraped knees with bandaids and neosporin when your biological one was drunk at 2pm.

you might have lost mat to the awful curse called distance, but you would not lose his family.

you couldn't afford to lose them too.

now thomas, you lost a month after you turned twenty when you found him balls deep in your freshman roommate.

you went back to your apartment and cried, because it hurt, but mainly because you realized how alone you were. you had no one to call other than your mom or liana. but liana didn't even know about thomas, and your mom was dating a new guy now.

your thumb hovered over mat's contact for five minutes before you locked your phone and just went to bed.

age twenty-three

you were single for a whole year before you met dawson. his brown eyes and salt and pepper hair captivated you.

you were hooked, despite the seven year age gap.

he gave you the number to a good psychologist to help you work through your past and was willing to listen to you talk about it or sit in silence when your therapy session was emotionally exhausting.

he remembered your favorite flowers and brought a bouquet of them to your college graduation and kissed you in front of your mom and the barzals (minus mat, but that was a given at that point).

and on your twenty-third birthday, he proposed.

you said yes while actively trying to forget the dreams you and mat had when you were six.

you were building a fort in his bedroom with thumbtacks and blankets and sheets you'd stolen from around his house. when the project was complete, the two of you found yourselves laying in it, staring up at the blanket canopy shoddily held up by thumbtacks pushed into the wall.

"do you wanna get married?" mat had asked randomly.

"only if i get to marry you," you replied.

mat smiled a toothy grin, it was the only time you remembered him having imperfect teeth, given that he'd just lost his two front teeth. "i thought the same thing!"

and it was the most honest you had ever been. though, that wasn't a strange concept, most people were the most honest when they were either children or drunk. and considering you stayed far away from alcohol (guided by the anxiety in your stomach and the advice of your therapist), your childhood memories held the most truth.

despite not having seen him in years, you still thought of him often. you tried to see if you could remember the sound of his laugh without looking up an interview. you tried to recall the way his hair felt through your fingers.

but you couldn't.

it was crazy how much he meant to you as a child, how you still remembered the order in which he ate his breakfast, but you hadn't spoken to him in years.

you found yourself sobbing at the kitchen table one night as you poured over who to invite to the wedding. liana was a bridesmaid, mike and nadia had to be invited.

but what about mat?

you felt sick to your stomach at not inviting him. when you were in high school, when you'd gotten a grip on reality, you believed he'd walk you down the aisle in lieu of your piece of shit father.

but you hadn't spoken to him in so long.

though you couldn't imagine which would suck worse, not inviting him, or mat rejecting the invitation.

that was how dawson found you, sobbing over photos from your childhood that you wouldn't let him see. and when you tried to talk to him about it, he suggested talking to your therapist.

he broke off the engagement two weeks later. he said he didn't feel "the spark" anymore.

age twenty-four

you'd been out of college for two years now and all you had to show for it was debt and a stupid piece of paper. you were working in a coffee shop ten minutes from your mom's house and wishing you could've gotten out of coquitlam like mat did.

maybe this was your cursed existence, going to the grocery store wondering if you were going to ever run into your father again.

you'd just gotten off your shift at the coffee shop when you stopped by your local grocery store to pick some things up for dinner. it was supposed to be a normal day, but you turned the corner out of an aisle and damn near ran into someone.

"sorry, my bad--"

you looked up and suddenly the earth stopped in its rotation. you hadn't seen in him years but you'd know him blind.

his hands were around your elbows, keeping you upright. his touch almost burned you. it was an uncomfortable feeling, like putting on jeans you loved and realizing they don't fit anymore.

you pulled away, ducked your head, and started walking the opposite direction without another word.

but you should've known he would follow you, like a moth to a flame. or maybe that wasn't the right analogy, you were used to being the bug while mat was the light of your life.

but he followed you like there was a string attached to your wrists and he wasn't used to you pulling in an opposite direction.

he managed to catch up to you in the self care aisle right in front of the menstrual products. any other man you'd known would've shied away from standing in front of the tampons and pads as you deliberated which products to get, but mat's eyes wouldn't even leave your face.

you should've known he was going to come back eventually. you'd avoided seeing him in the offseason pretty well considering you were off doing internships and working out of town in the summer.

but now you were stuck in a dead end job with no passion for anything anymore, feeling more alone than you had ever felt before.

and because nature or god or the universe hated you, naturally, that was when mat showed back up.

when you had nothing to show for the years you didn't speak.

you could see the wheels turning in mat's head as he tried to think of something to say. it was an interesting turn of events that simultaneously sent an ache straight through your heart. when you were kids, he never hesitated to say exactly what was on his mind. now, he was deliberating.

"you wanna come over for dinner?" he asked. "mom's making tomato soup and grilled cheese."

you wished you could've denied him, it would've been smarter in the long run. mathew michael paul barzal could get you to do anything, and you hated that even after all those years, he still could.

you found yourself sitting at his old kitchen table surrounded by his family, dipping your grilled cheese into the soup like you were six years old again.

except the difference now was you were laughing with liana, sitting next to liana, instead of mat.

you'd occasionally meet his eyes from across the table, but it wasn't the same.

when you were kids, you sat next to each other at every opportunity. when you were kids, mat pretended to steal food off your plate. when you were kids, you knew everything about each other.

but you were adults now. and he was effectively a stranger you knew too much about.

after dinner, everyone scattered. you tried to leave, but mat caught up with you.

"what're you doing tomorrow?" he asked.

"working," you replied.

he nodded and looked around. "can i see you?"

you wanted so badly to say no, that you were busy, but as much as you wanted to pretend that he didn't, mat knew you better than anyone else, even if he had been absent for five years.

you ended up going for a walk in the park the next day, deciding that getting dinner wasn't worth the headache of mat getting recognized.

his hands were shoved in his pockets with a baseball cap pulled down low over his face. if you were brave enough to look over, you could still see his eyes taking glances at you.

"how's your mom?" mat asked, immediately jumping into topics you'd planned on ignoring.

you shrugged. "fine."

he nodded and scuffed his feet along the sidewalk. "how have you been?"

"fine." you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. you didn't mean to be cold, you meant it even less when you looked over and saw mat desperate for connection with you again.

in the end, you could never really deny him anything he wanted.

"life sucks right now," you admitted. "feel like i've wasted my life away here."

mat nodded along. "didn't you say your genie wish would be to leave?"

"i think my words were to 'get far away from here.'"

"you know," he started. "new york is far from here."

you couldn't help yourself. you looked up at him and saw the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "are you being serious?"

he nodded. "as a heart attack."

could this be the moment? the moment your life suddenly comes back into color? things haven't felt right since mat left for new york, and maybe moving, being with him all the time, would fix whatever existential crisis you were currently having.

the two of you were packing up your childhood room a month later .

you were on a flight to new york city two days after that.

mat was bouncing on his toes when he picked you up from the airport, having come home a few days early to get his apartment set up.

"you have to meet tito," he said as soon as the both of you got in his car. "you'll get along just fine. my childhood best friend meeting my other best friend? things couldn't be more perfect!"

you smiled though you felt like dying inside. no wonder you two lost touch, you were too ashamed to message him and he was too busy befriending his entire hockey team.

the apartment itself was large. larger than you could've ever afforded, even in coquitlam. mat brought your bags to your room and gently placed them on the floor.

"do you need any help unpacking?" he asked.

maybe a bitter part of you wanted to say no, but you'd waited for this moment for years. you nodded and mat's face lit up like a christmas tree.

while he was putting your clothes away in the dresser, he told you about his team, about his career, and all that you missed. he tried to ask about your life, but you kept up the story that nothing much had happened to you. and for the most part, you weren't lying.

you hadn't spoken to your dad, you hadn't dated anyone seriously in the last year (you conveniently left out the failed engagement. you just got into town, and couldn't afford a plane ticket to fly back to coquitlam just to bail mat out of jail).

but mat was more than content to listen to your work stories from when you were working at the coffee shop. he asked questions along the way, and momentarily, it felt like everything was headed back to normal.

you shooed him out of the room so you could shower. it was kinda incredible how a nice apartment meant that his shower was better than any other one you'd ever had growing up. when you stepped out into the nicely updated bathroom and changed into some gym shorts and a t-shirt, you felt the full weight of your insecurities hit you all at once.

your mat lived down the road from you. he had a twin bed until he was fifteen when his mom could no longer ignore the way his ankles hung off the end. he had posters of sidney crosby hanging up on the walls of his bedroom.

but this mat had expensive bathrooms and egyptian cotton sheets. you didn't get to see it yet, but you were willing to bet he had state of the art kitchen appliances that he didn't fully understand how to use outside of making eggs.

you were fully ready to walk into the living room, where you heard mat clicking through what must've been streaming services (because he could afford all of them), and tell him moving here was a mistake. too much had changed, he didn't know you anymore.

but you walked out and saw blankets and sheets strung up, pinned to the walls with pillows on the floor.

almost on cue, mat's head popped out from the makeshift fort, a bright smile on his face. "i don't have bunk beds, but i thought this would be a nice alternative."

you could've cried. you almost did.

but you sat down on a pillow and watched a movie with him instead.

two months later

mat had introduced you to anthony the second week you lived in new york. anders and matt you met the next week. the rest of the team you met over the course of the two months you'd lived with mat so far. they were all nice, and you could see why mat was so enthusiastic about his job, his passion for the sport aside.

you met his "not-girlfriend" as tito called her the day before. ashley was nice enough, but clearly not in the same tax bracket as you, who had recently gotten a job working at an indie bookstore while you worked on grad school applications.

you pretended to be too busy to notice the ache in your chest when he held her hand, remembering chloe and the nasty sensation internally of insecurity bubble up. you weren't dumb enough to not know you were jealous, insecurity was a closer friend than mat was, you'd known her longer.

and if comparison was a sport, you'd be making more money than he was at this rate.

because if it wasn't the way ashley laughed, it was her smile, or her stomach, or the gap between her thighs.

or the fact that mat looked at her with something more than a savior complex.

you stupidly agreed to go out to a bar with him, ashley, and a few islanders that night. it was dumb, you knew that going in, but you were finally with mat again, why wouldn't you spend every free moment with him?

it turned out to be a mistake.

you were left sipping a diet coke by your lonesome while he was dancing with ashley. you knew you shouldn't have done it, it was a bad idea, but you found yourself at the bar asking for a shot of literally anything the bartender would give you.

but anthony slid into the seat next to you a beat later and fixed you with a knowing look. "where's your diet coke?" he asked.

your mouth dried up when the shot was placed in front of you. your heart was pounding and for a moment, it felt like you could've thrown up.

when you didn't respond, anthony nodded and stood up. "wanna go take a breather?" and he sounded so genuine that your eyes immediately welled up with tears as you nodded.

the two of you walked outside and stood in the cool air, letting the wind hit your wet cheeks.

you looked out onto the street while anthony texted on his phone. "do you want to go home?" he asked as soon as he slipped his cellphone back into his pocket.

you shrugged. "i don't know what i want."

that was a lie. you wanted to go back to a time where mat was just your best friend, before he was number 13 for the islanders, before he won the calder memorial trophy. you wanted your best friend, the one who raced you down the neighborhood streets on bikes, who drove three hours to see you when you had a panic attack.

you wanted a childhood that wasn't tainted with the darkness of your father's mistakes. you wanted to be able to go into a room and not immediately check if you could lock the door. you wanted to be able to fall asleep in a dark room without being deathly afraid.

mat was outside a second later, huffing and puffing like he'd just run a mile. his gaze was fixed on you almost immediately, while he ignored the way ashley hung off of him. "what's wrong?" he asked. he even went as far as to pry ashley off of his body so he could frame your face in his large hands.

in the corner of you eye, you saw anthony usher ashley back inside while you and mat had a staring contest. "what happened?"

you shook your head and tried to speak, but more tears spilled out. mat nodded and pursed his lips before grabbing your hand and walking you home.

he didn't say anything else until the front door shut behind you. you had no intentions of staying in the common area, you just wanted to curl up in bed and cry yourself to sleep out of shame and pity.

"what were you doing at the bar?" mat asked before you could go anywhere. "you still had diet coke in your glass."

your throat seized up at feeling caught, but you stood your ground.

"i didn't think you drank," he continued. "mainly because--"

"because my dad's an abusive alcholic? yeah, you don't need to tell me that, mat, i already know."

"so if you know that, why did tito see you order a shot from the bartender?"

you threw your hands up in the air and shrugged. "i don't know, mathew. why do you invite me to bars when you know i don't drink?" he didn't have an answer. "you don't get to shame me for considering having a drink when a bar is the only place i get to hang out with you during the season!"

"that's not--" but he cut himself off. "what're you talking about?"

"i hardly see you! why did i move across the continent if i have to go to a scary place just to spend time with you?"

"i--"

"i mean it's not fair, you left and now i have to pay the consequences of it--"

"i'm sorry, what?"

"you left--"

"i heard you. did you forget the part where you stopped contacting me?" you rolled your eyes to keep yourself from crying even more. "uh uh, don't do that. don't blame me without taking accountability for this friendship ending."

you blinked.

but mat wasn't done. "because i always called you back when i missed your calls. you were the one who stopped texting me."

"you were too busy!"

"i'm in the nhl! did you expect me to just be laying around my apartment all day? i have practices and meetings and games at weird times, but i always made sure to get back to you."

you said nothing, the tears welling up behind your eyes, but you kept them in. the verbal lashing from mat was enough, you didn't need to further embarrass yourself by crying too.

he kept going, yelling and waving his hands around, occasionally pacing and dragging his fingers through his unruly hair.

but you zoned out.

you could hear glass bottles rattling as your father came up the stairs. you sat on your bed, hoping to god he'd just keep walking. mat was out of town for a tournament, and you were grounded.

your dad stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at you. your heart was racing in your chest and you wanted nothing more than to text mat, but your mom had your phone. "what're you lookin' at?" he slurred.

it was only 1pm.

and your mom was still at work.

but he apparently didn't feel like bothering you because he turned into his bedroom and shut the door.

you could feel the air release from your lungs before you went back to reading your book.

but the peace never lasted long. thirty minutes later you could hear him yelling and screaming obscenities before he opened his door. you launched yourself out of bed and slammed your own door shut, quickly locking it with an efficiency you'd learned at a young age. the door handle rattled and you flinched backwards, nearly tripping over clothes on the floor.

but you weren't a stranger to this situation.

you opened the window and climbed out.

but he was ready for you this time because he was at the front door screaming at you as you rode away on your bike.

you didn't stop pedaling until you got to the park where you collapsed on the grass and cried.

something in your face must've changed, because mat stopped yelling and looked at you, really looked at you.

"hey," he said, voice much quieter than before. "where'd you go?"

you shook your head, tears falling down your face uncontrollably.

"don't do that," he said. "don't shut me out." mat took a step closer to you, but you immediately stepped backwards. he breathed your name, but something in his eyes shifted, like he could read your mind. "i'm not him," he whispered. "i'm not your dad, i'm not going to hurt you. you know me, you know i wouldn't do that."

"you left," was all you could say.

mat nodded. "i did, but i didn't leave you, okay? i would never leave you." he closed the distance between you and held your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the constant flow of water from the corners of your eyes.

"but--"

he shook his head. "no, you mean too much to me to leave you, okay? you're my best friend. if you had called me and needed me? i would've been there as soon as i could."

"you would've been too busy--"

he pulled back, a bit bewildered. "when have i ever been too busy for you?"

you held your tongue, knowing that it wasn't him per se.

"what is it?" he asked, his eyes searching your own. "what aren't you telling me?"

so you told him about how you hadn't talked to your dad, and even though you were thousands of miles away, you were still scared he'd find you and ruin your life even more. you told him about thomas, about how you thought he could be the thing that fixed you, but he cheated on you.

you told him about dawson, who was older and more mature. you told mat how dawson got you going to therapy which you thought was a good sign, until you realized he never actually wanted to talk about your bad days. he proposed, you said yes, and then he broke off the engagement when he saw you sobbing over invitations.

your eyes were too blurry to see the way mat's jaw clenched, but you could feel him pull his hands away.before you could even stop yourself, you stretched out for him, but he was just out of reach.

"mat, what," you weeped. "what's wrong?"

"you were engaged?" he mumbled. "you were engaged and didn't tell me?" you expected him to look mad, but the only thing reflected in those deep brown eyes was hurt.

"that's why he broke up with me, i was crying over childhood photos while trying to figure out if i should invite you even when we hadn't talked in years." you shrugged pathetically and gave mat a watery smile. "guess he thought it was too immature of me."

mat's hands were clenching and unclenching by his side, like he couldn't decide what he wanted to do with them.

"please don't hate me," you whispered. "i don't think i could handle it if you hated me." but he didn't say anything, mat just resulted to pacing the living room. "i think my dad fucked me up beyond repair." your eyes never left his profile. if he wouldn't look at you, that was fine, you'd continue to stare at him. "i think i'm too codependent and messed up for anyone to love me." mat's head snapped up at that comment.

"i mean," you continued. "i wasn't enough for my dad to get sober, i wasn't enough to not get cheated on, i wasn't enough for someone to marry me. maybe it's not them. maybe i'm the issue."

"no," he said immediately, shaking his head in the process, crossing the room until he could pull you into his chest. "no. that's not true."

"yes it is! my dad doesn't love anything more than alcohol--"

mat cut you off. "anyone would've been proud to have you as a daughter."

"thomas wanted my freshman roommate--"

"thomas was an idiot."

"dawson couldn't handle me when i wasn't happy--"

"fuck him too. he was thirty dating a college student."

"and you left and i--"

mat pulled you back far enough to look you in the face. "and if i could do it all over again, i'd take you with me." he pressed his forehead against yours. "here's what we're gonna do, we're gonna make a fort and watch the mighty ducks. and tomorrow, we're gonna find you the best therapist money can buy and set up an appointment because i don't like you talking about yourself this way." your stomach twisted at the idea of therapy, hesitant because of dawson-- "and i wanna hear as much as you're willing to tell me, okay?"

you nodded.

"now, i need to see you smile so i know we'll be alright." you gave him a watery smile right before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "there she is."

you held onto each other for another minute before reluctantly letting go to gather blankets and pillows.

four months later

you hadn't been able to make it to many of mat's games until tonight when they played the devils at home. you sat with sydney and grace and their kids.

earlier that night, you'd gone to your therapy session and cried your eyes out. after years of feeling like you weren't a human being worthy of love, you just started seeing value in just existing.

and mat was as supportive as ever. he gave you space after therapy sessions to process until you were ready to talk to him, if you wanted to. the two of you made plans to hang out at cafes and central park rather than at bars every weekend.

"look at your man go," grace nudged you with her elbow. "he's feeling good tonight."

"i'm sure it has everything to do with you being here," sydney commented. "i've never seen that man more in love than he is right now."

you could feel the heat crawl up your neck as you shook your head. "he's my best friend."

"a best friend who loves you so much, he's willing to keep things platonic for your sake."

almost immediately, an insecure thought popped in your head, but you stopped it in its tracks, imagining the thought on a conveyor belt, moving down the belt until it was out of sight completely.

your shoulders relaxed.

you deserved to be loved, and it if was mat, great.

if not, you'd still have him as your best friend.

a buzzer sounded through the arena and a quick glance at the ice told you all you needed to know. mat was skating into a cluster of his teammates, smiling wide before pointing up at where he knew you were sitting.

grace and sydney jostled you around a little while fans, male and female alike, screamed at the idea of the mat barzal pointing at them.

when the game ended (5-4 with the islanders win), you followed sydney and grace down to the locker rooms. you met up with the other wags and smiled when they greeted you. some chatted and passed time while others rocked babies in their arms. you however were anxiously looking through your photos on your phone, specifically the album labeled mat that you'd had since you'd first gotten an iphone. you didn't glance up until you hear the sound of doors opening.

mat was the seventh person out, not that you were counting. he wore a bright smile when he saw you standing there and immediately crossed the distance between the two of you to wrap you in a huge hug.

"how was therapy?" he asked.

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. "why do we always talk about me?"

"because i care." he lightly nudged your shoulder. "so how did it go?"

"it was good, actually," you remarked. "figured out and accepted that i deserve love."

if it was even possible, mat's smile got wider. "yeah you do."

"and maybe there are people waiting around for me to figure it out..." you trailed off before shyly meeting his gaze. and before you could stop yourself, before you ran out of courage, you stood on your tiptoes (like you've been doing since he hit his growth spurt in seventh grade) and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips.

you lingered for a moment before pulling away and loooking up at your bewildered best friend whose mouth was wide open.

"what?" you asked. "did i read that wrong? sydney and grace said--"

"that's all i get?" he asked. "i've waited for this since i was six years old and i don't even get the real thing?"

you furrowed your brow. "what're you talking about? six years old?"

but mat was leaning in and capturing your lips with his own. "six year old mat had the biggest crush on six year old you," he said.

"and what about twenty-four year old mat?"

he kissed you again. "head over heels for you."

age twenty-six

after a less than stellar playoff run, you and mat headed back to canada for a portion of the off season, mainly to visit family.

but it was also nice to get out of new york, even if it was just for a short period.

in hindsight, you should've known something was going to happen. your mother, nadia, and liana took you to get your nails done and to grab lunch while you were out shopping. but you were so caught up in how nice it was to be back home (words you never thought you'd ever say), you paid no attention to the lack of mat time.

so when you walked into the backyard of his parents' house and saw a giant projector screen with blankets and pillows strewn about to make yet another fort, you almost cried.

mat's head popped out from the middle with a smile on his face until he saw the tears in your eyes. "why're you crying baby? this is supposed to be happy!"

"i love you" was all you could blubber out.

mat laughed to himself, taking your hands in his own. "i love you too baby." he knelt down and the tears kept coming down your face. "ever since i was a kid, i thought i'd be the one walking you down the aisle to the man you'd marry because i never thought you'd be crazy enough to fall in love with me."

you scoffed. "i'm definitely the one batting out of my league here, mathew."

"don't talk about the love of my life that way," he said before continuing on. "we've gone through a lot together, and i couldn't imagine getting through life without you by my side." mat took a deep breath. "so tell me, do you wanna get married?" mat asked.

you nodded through your weeping. "only if i get to marry you," you smiled.

[whumpgifathon]

Hello! And welcome to my brand new whump gifmaking challenge! I'm your host @aceofwhump and I'm excited to bring a whump challenge specifically created with gifmakers and visual artists in mind.

The challenge begins August 1, 2024!

Rules:

All gifs posted must be made by you. Do not just post gifs using the gif keyboard and claim them as yours and do not repost other people’s gifs. No AI-generated content please.

Various mediums are welcome! So long as the visual art aspect is the focus you can make whatever you want. Yes this is primarily a gifmaking challenge so everything is geared towards that but any visual art is welcome. If you draw, make moodboards, edits, videos, etc you’re welcome to participate!

You can use the prompts however you like. There is no wrong way to use a prompt. Feel free to interpret them however you wish. If you think it counts as whump? It's whump! Make it! Angst, comfort, emotional whump, small things, big things, it all counts so no need to over think it.

Tag all potential triggers (things like emeto, gore, nsfw, blood, eye whump, rape/noncon, etc.) When in doubt, tag it.

Tags to use when posting so I can find your ppst: #whumpedit, #whumpgifathon, #whump gifs

Please try to include the show/movie title, character names, and episode number (if applicable) somewhere either in your tags or in the post caption. This way anyone interested in watching it can find it easily.

An example of a way you can caption your gifsets:

@whumpgifathon | Day #: "prompt description" Show/Movie title, episode number, character name

And here's the prompt list!!! I hope you guys like it and find it inspiring but not overly challenging!

Remember that this is a relaxed event!!! I just want to offer my fellow visual artists some inspiring prompts and an opportunity to have some fun. So sit back, relax, and have fun!

Text version below:

Whump Gifathon - August 2024 Prompt List

Day 1: Space Oxygen Deprivation | Time Loop | Experiment

Day 2: Feeling Sick Fever | Infection | Delirium

Day 3: Environmental Earthquake | Storm | Hypothermia

Day 4: Captivity Chains | Caged | Rescue

Day 5: Water Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

Day 6: Skills Try out a new technique you haven’t tried before using your favorite whump trope as inspiration!

Day 7: Emotional Crying | Panic Attack| Fear

Day 8: Hospital Ambulance | Intubation | Waking Up Disoriented

Day 9: Battlefield Explosion | Gunfire | Field Medicine

Day 10: Temporary Effects Blinded | Amnesia | Poisoned

Day 11: Recovery Sling | Pain | Seeking Support

Day 12: We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Straight Jacket | Forced Injection | Hallucinations

Day 13: Aesthetic Highlight your favorite whump aesthetic

Day 14: Sleeping Nightmares | Exhaustion | Passing Out

Day 15: Trapped Impaled | Buried Alive | Locked Inside

Day 16: Western Cauterized | Bitten | Hanged

Day 17: Comfort Hugging | Blankets | Gentle Touch

Day 18: Broken Broken Bones | Emotional Breakdown | Broken Spirit

Day 19: Relationships What is your favorite type of whumpee/caretaker relationship? Platonic? Romantic? Familial? Show me!

Day 20: Blood Bloody Hands | Bleeding Out | Covered in Blood

Day 21: Fantastical Nonhuman | Resurrection | Magical Healing

Day 22: A Knock to the Head Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

Day 23: Travel Gone Wrong Car Accident | Plane Crash | Train Delrailment

Day 24: Magic Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

Day 25: Period Drama Pick a time period of your choice and highlight the whump!

Day 26: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying Grief | Resuscitation | Presumed Dead

Day 27: Superheroes Overused Powers | Powers with a Side Effect | Villain

Day 28: Torture Beaten| Flogging | Choked

Day 29: Restrained Zipties| Rope Leash | Medical Restraints

Day 30: First Aid Ice Pack | Stitches | Bandages

Day 31: Colors Highlight a specific color in your art

Alternate Prompts:

"Stay With Me" Begging Heat Exhaustion Bedside Vigil Self Surgery Taser Scar Reveal Collapsing Protective Electrocution

[etherealily]

𝟡 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Darker. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You should be grateful.

════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ════════════════════

He wasn't supposed to text you. He was supposed to take the beating you'd given him for being a prick, like a man, and shut the fuck up about it.

But here you were, midnight, staring at the chat that had started it all.

'yo, u up?'

You rolled your eyes, going back to your scrolling.

'I hate seenzoners.'

You liked his message.

'That's so much worse.'

'The fuck do u want?'

Nate Jacobs sent a voice message.

You could have just ignored it. You could just block him. You could just… stop. But the allure was far too much. The urge of finding out what he wanted was too strong.

"Guess where I am."

He could've just texted that. No need for a voice message, but he was Nate Jacobs.

"I don't know, the psych ward?"

"You wanna know? You'll have to drive and follow my instructions, though. You trust me enough for that?"

Ha. No fucking chance. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Oh, so you'll text me, but won't see me in person?"

His voice was oddly sultry, as if he'd either just woken up or hadn't slept for days. Most likely the second one.

"Bingo. Go to sleep, Jacobs."

And then he sent you a picture of him from the bleachers of your school's football stadium - how the fuck did he get in?

"C'mon, don't you want to see what our school looks like at night?"

Uh, yes. But with him? No.

"It's 12:05, ASSHOLE. No fucking way."

"This is the scene where you cave and meet me and we have a cute little nighttime school montage where we sit and talk about life."

You listened to that message a good four times before you stopped laughing.

"This is the scene where I block you."

"I will come over if you don't come to the school. Uh, y'know, if you want your parents to think you're fooling around with the QB."

"I will literally shoot you if you come within fifty feet of my house."

"Come. I'll make it worth your while."

Was it possible to hear smirks?

"I'm not coming, Nate."

No way he was actually at the high school. It was probably an insanely good edit.

"You will be."

The FUCK was that supposed to mean? Not like he could force you to show up.

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure. Fifty bucks says you show up to the high school tonight."

"Not blowing fifty bucks on anything, even if I do win."

"What's it going to take for you to come? Look, I-I know it's been weird, and I might've scared you, but that's… that wasn't my intention, I swear."

Yeah, his intention was just to show you what his blood looked like. You liked his message once more, rolling your eyes.

"Dude, seriously, I swear, I'm not like, a serial killer or anything. You can bring pepper spray, a taser, whatever, if it makes you feel better. I'm just- okay, fuck, you're right. Dumb idea, trying to convince you like this."

Wait, okay, good. That was good. He was getting the message.

Another voice message.

"I forgot who I was talking to. You leave me no choice."

"What?" No.

And then, you received a video. He was teetering off the edge of the top-most row of bleachers. With a gun at his head.

"Come on, Y/N, this is getting really sad, that the only way I can grab your attention is by almost killing myself."

"I don't care. Do whatever. Not falling for it this time."

═════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

"FUCK!", you yelled, as you found yourself running frantically through the school football field for the second time in two weeks.

You'd actually kept your word for a while, pushing out every Nate-related thought for a good night's sleep - you didn't fall for it.

Until McKay called and informed you that Nate wasn't picking up his phone - and that his last message was something along the lines of : 'Call Y/N if you don't hear from me in the next couple of minutes'.

He was deranged. Playing Russian Roulette with his own life was absolutely deranged.

"You actually showed."

GOOD, he was still alive, meaning you could kill him.

You didn't speak. That would simply complicate things, because then you'd have to look at him.

"Plus, you didn't flinch when you saw me. Think that's a win for me in the trust department."

You stood there, glaring at him as he jumped down from the bleachers, even doing that dangerously, as if he was a cat with nine lives, or he was playing a video game and would just respawn.

"You know, you could say something."

He wasn't getting impatient, though, like his tone was trying to portray. No, he was getting more amused. He liked this. He liked the fact that he got you to come to a basically abandoned-for-the-holidays-high school at midnight. He reveled in it.

"Like hey, Nate, thanks for convincing me to actually live a little for a change instead of staying cooped up in my house.", he suggested.

You punched him.

Yeah. You kept running across that field till you were close enough and you punched him right then and there.

You full-on punched him, shoved him back, slapped him, clawed at him. "Stop FUCKING doing this to me! STOP! You can't FUCKING do this to me!", you screamed, hitting him repeatedly on his chest.

He took every beating, and the fact that it seemed he was trying not to laugh just egged you on even more to actually kill him, make his nose bleed, make his head fall clean off his egotistical body.

Eventually, though, it seemed even Nate Jacobs had his limit. He grappled against your hands as he held them between both your chests, clenching his jaw. He wouldn't risk saying anything, seeing as your eyes were already burning with tears.

"You…", you cried out as he shifted his grip on your hands to only one hand, wrapping the other around you. "…Can't keep…"

"Shh, shh, I know.", he muttered as he rested his chin on your head. "Shh, I had to."

"No, you didn't."

He kissed your head, then your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and stopped for a moment, hovering over your lips but not touching them, as though he was more scared than you were. "You know I did."

You wondered if he could taste the tears, whether he relished it. Knowing what little you did of him, he might have.

"I would've come."

"No, you wouldn't have. Shh." He was right, but there had to be some other way.

"You know what, sweetheart?"

It was sickening how he could do this to you and then use words of endearment against you.

"You should actually be grateful."

And that's when you noticed that he was actually gripping onto your hair, tightening it when your face didn't show any contortion due to pain (only contortion due to unbridled rage and the urge to stab him with your car keys).

"I usually hurt people to get what I want. With you, I'm hurting myself."

You fought the urge to say 'so fucking what?'

"You're not bleeding, baby, that's what you don't get. You're untouched, and safe, and not bleeding. Me, however?"

What was his point? That he was being a gentleman by scaring you half to death instead of having a normal adult conversation?

"I'm bleeding. I'm hurt. I'm in pain. But I'm still holding you."

He said it with exaggerated magnanimity, like he was doing you a favour, or something, like all your problems, trauma, worries, stress, had just disappeared because he was holding you in his 'big strong arms'.

"Then stop!"

"Neither of us wants me to stop holding you."

"I do."

He grinned, knowingly, with a subtle shake of his head. "No, you don't."

"Let me go."

"No."

"Let me go, Nate."

"Fine. Because you called me Nate and not Jacobs.", he nodded, letting go of you and throwing up his arms. "Don't hit me again."

"Was McKay in on this?"

He frowned momentarily, before realization swept over his face. "Shit. Yeah, no, he wasn't. I should text him, huh?"

Oh, now he was asking if he should be a courteous human being?

You watched him loathingly, as he typed out what you guessed was a half-assed apology.

'Sorry, McKay, I'm good, man. Chicks, y'know?' or some absolutely fucked up shit like that, to be sure.

"Done. Now, will you stop being so square and enjoy the fact that you're here at school at midnight?"

"What?" Enjoy?

"I'll bet this is your first time out at midnight period, let alone your first time out at midnight somewhere you're not legally supposed to be."

"Why am I here?"

The condescending look he gave you set your teeth on edge. 'Oh, poor, naive girl. Of course she doesn't even know why she's here. This is why I told her to stay in my grasp. She never listens.'

FUCKING ASSHOLE.

"You're my good luck charm. My good luck charm, but I heard you're fucking Shane. You can't be doing that."

The softness in his movements, the gentleness, it had either completely stopped, or entirely overshadowed the fact that he had put you through yet another nerve-wracking event that would raise your blood pressure.

Shane who, Shane who, Shane- oh. Shane.

Not so much fucking as went on one date with, but it was better for everyone if Nate thought you had already gone that far.

"Why not?"

"He's a punk."

"You're one to talk."

"Look, he plays defense. What if you're just, like, intensely fortunate? Can't have him sneak in a quickie before the game and then he's lucky."

It's like he wanted you to punch him again.

"He's on your team. You'll win anyway."

He shrugged, as though he could see where you were coming from, but was about to respectfully absolutely ruin your argument.

"I like to win."

"Not a team player, are you?"

"Never claimed to be."

══════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

He was so clearly getting frustrated with your lack of response - the initial dopamine and thrill of being a disgusting element of surprise by shooting/not-shooting himself in the head gone.

But what could you say?

You'd already ghosted Shane after the date had tanked, so technically there was no reason for you to still be here. The chances of a 'lucky quickie' were virtually zero.

And so, you just stood there, the two of you, with inexplicable rage pooling within.

Your senses were heightened, your emotions wilder than the crazed look in your eyes as he stood there, looking down at you like an adult looking down at their childhood toy. As if you were the naivest, most precious, pathetically adorable thing he owned, reminding him of a simpler time.

At this point, even a rabbit's foot had been treated with more respect than you.

And you hated every moment of it because it was thrusted upon you, just like the silence of the eerie, void-like field you two were in.

"Why are you like this, Y/N?", he groaned, with the nerve to sound tired.

You? Why were you like this? What about him?

"You're… so cold." His hands flexed as if they were about to move from your hair to your throat. "Just… let loose, please. You're the reason I'm winning, I'd at least like to get to know you!"

"Oh, so this is like, an interview? Is she good enough to be associated with me? You think you're hot shit? Dude, I- you gotta realize how fucked up all of this is."

You were practically pleading. Acknowledge your absurdity, Nate Jacobs, please.

"Hey, whoa, look, you chose to associate yourself with me. Not my problem, ok?", he spat back, clearly happy with the return of banter.

"I didn't choose any of this!"

"You requested to follow me after I followed you. You chose not to block me after I followed you."

"You're putting this all on me?"

That's what normal people do ; they follow people back! He was grasping at straws, but it still seemed as though he had an iron grip on them.

"There wouldn't have been a first time if you didn't care so goddamn much." Like he was mocking you. You almost screamed. You almost hit him. He was so nonchalant.

But that… rang true. However, the humanitarian in you was adamant that there was absolutely no one cold enough to shrug off a video of someone slicing so effortlessly into their palm and exposing their blood so unabashedly.

Well, except Nate Jacobs himself.

"But, y'know what, Y/N?", he said, clearing his throat, matter-of-factly. "That's all in the past. Because now, now, we're going to sort out this arrangement between us and everything will go back to normal."

Normal? Normal as in, both of you go back to being strangers? Unlikely.

"Arrangement?"

"How this thing is going to go. Before every game, you fist-bump me. You don't touch any other players whatsoever, Blackhawk or otherwise."

Great, he was policing who you could fist-bump now.

"I- you brought me here at midnight for this?"

"Uh, no, I brought you here at midnight for fun.", he replied, scoffing. "But since you wanted to be all violent and physical, I thought we should stick to business."

Did he mean to be this insufferable? Was it a bit? There was no way an actual human being could act like this, yes? There was no way anyone could think that this was a justifiable response to a genuine question. Right?

At this point, you didn't know anymore.

Nate Jacobs had officially stumped you.

"If I say okay, can I leave?"

"No, you cannot leave, but you definitely can go sit over there and think about your little attitude before I bring out the tequila."

He burst out laughing at your annoyed face, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder in an oddly possessive display of 'familiarity'.

"Relax. Loosen up, like I said, and you'll be fine.", he snorted, and that was your only indication that he did not, in fact, actually wish to put you into time-out.

The insane man with a gun had a sense of humour, apparently.

"You brought tequila?"

"I told you, the whole point of tonight was fun and getting to know the reason I'm winning better. So, sit."

You sat, still glaring up at him. You must have looked absolutely fucking cute or something, because he pouted at you before reaching into a duffle bag you hadn't noticed before and whipping out two bottles of straight tequila.

"Body shots?"

"Jacobs…"

"I'm joking, I'm joking. You'll come around soon, though. They all do."

Great. That's brilliant. You'd been reduced from a stranger, to a bitch, to a joke, to now a stereotype. This was just spectacular.

"Why me?"

That question seemed to genuinely catch him off-guard.

Good. Now he knows what this past week with him has been like.

"Hm?'

"Why me? Why am I the good luck charm?"

"I don't know."

"You could just be a really good player. You don't know, you haven't gone a single game without it, so you assume you're winning because of it."

"The third game was the one you weren't there for. You must remember hearing about it, though? Most embarrassing game for East Highland, I swear. 34-nil? That was shameful. That's why I decided, fourth game onwards, I wouldn't have to risk it because I got you."

Shit. That actually made sense.

"Okay, now you tell me.", he began, slightly turning the bottle in his hand around and examining the contents, curiously. "Shane Crestin? Seriously?"

"What?"

He scoff-snickered, taking an impressively large gulp before answering. "Y/N, the guy's a tool."

Look who's talking.

"He asked me out after the game."

"So, he knows you're my good luck charm.", he said, quietly, like a king trying to figure out where his men's loyalties lay.

Did Julius Caesar have a girl who he gaslit in order to get her to watch him in battle because of superstition? If so, she'd have been the first to stab him.

"Of course he knows, you made a huge spectacle of it that first time."

"Oh, yeah. But still, what a bastard. Trying to steal my lucky girl and her luck like that."

You needed to do a lobotomy on this man, seriously.

It wasn't even like you could ask him what the hell that meant because that would just bring him immense amounts of joy.

"You're not drinking. Why?", he inquired, opening the second bottle and forcing it to your lips.

You frowned as you held onto it. "I don't drink."

"Oh, bullshit. Come on, drink, don't be a nerd."

"I said no, okay?"

"Wait, do you not want to drink around me?"

He was really going above and beyond to break the 'dumb jock' stereotype, wasn't he?

"I can't believe it.", he continued, leaning back on the bleachers as he watched your face. "After all this, you don't trust me."

After all this, he said, as if he had spent his entire life working solely for your benefit. Like a tired mentor.

"I mean, dude, this is like… such a bitch move, you know that? I'm just trying to be nice."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Nate."

"Uh, trust me? Thought we were cool now, Y/N. You think I'm going to get you blackout drunk then have my way with you? Rape you? Are you scared to be around me? At midnight? In a quiet, empty football stadium where no one would think to look for you?", he questioned, still holding your gaze as he lifted his bottle to his mouth.

The elaboration of that statement unnerved you.

"I don't think you're going to rape me, I'm just-"

"Just scared of the possibility?"

"Don't take it personal, but-"

"There's no other way to take it. You're all but accusing me of assault. I thought you were different."

Was that meant to make you melt? 'Oh, no, I'm just like everyone else in that I don't want to end up in a ditch somewhere, the horror!'

"Maybe I'm not.", you shrugged.

"But you came. Tonight. No one else would have. So maybe you're a judgmental bitch like everyone else, but you've at least got your stupidly huge heart going for you."

If you strained your ears, that almost sounded like a compliment.

"Uh, thanks?"

"Drink, Y/N. Please."

Oh, fuck it. You needed that goddamn tequila to shoot through you with a vengeance.

"There we go.", he mumbled, watching you. "Dude, look at you."

"Hm?"

"You're finally badass."

His eyes lit up as he saw your finger enter the scene. He chuckled for a moment. "I'm being serious. I mean, you've beaten me up, what, three times so far - once in front of the entire school - and now you're doing underage shots with me at night at school, which is like, two illegal things at the same time."

See, that's where the difference between the two of you lay.

He thought that was being a badass.

You thought that was being a dumbass.

══════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

"…So yeah. That's why I joined football, basically. Made me feel, like, stronger and more in control, I guess."

This asshole had just told the most human story, and now you had to see him as a person. The cunt.

You watched as he stood in the middle of the field, aiming and shooting at the banners that were strewn up all around the field.

God, he was so fucking terrifying.

How does he play Russian Roulette to bait you into coming one minute and then reload and shoot at banners like a child with his first Nerf the next?

"Control. Yeah, that tracks."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You want everything to go your way. You get pissed when other people do things of their own will."

"Can't argue with that.", he shrugged, as he turned his back to you and shot another banner, impressively shooting right in the centre of the 'O' in a 'GO BLACKHAWKS!' sign. "You know how to shoot?"

"No."

"You should learn."

"I'll get right on that.", you scoffed, as you observed your tequila bottle intensely, ignoring him coming back to rest his feet on the bleachers from your peripheral vision.

"Open your mouth."

"What?"

"Humour me."

"I've humoured you enough tonight."

"Please? Pretty please?"

You rolled your eyes, but opened your mouth. You had no idea what you expected, but it sure as hell was not him stuffing the barrel of his gun in there. You suddenly felt the tequila evaporating from your bloodstream as he slapped your hands away after you tried taking it out, like anyone would. Shit, it hurt. FUCK.

"Just relax.", he whispered, so soothingly that he might as well have been talking you through a panic attack. "There's nothing to be scared of."

Besides the hot gun you've got basically lodged up my throat.

Suddenly, the amount of danger you really were in began to materialize in your head. He was right. It was midnight. It was spring break. It was at high school. No one would think to look for you there.

"Are you scared?"

Oh, God. He was one of those freaks who got off on these things.

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do.

"You think I'll shoot you?"

You shook your head.

"Kill you?"

You shook your head.

"Then why are you scared?"

Honestly, it was the fact that he wasn't going to do either of those things, and decided to shove a gun down your throat simply for shits and giggles.

"You need more tequila."

WHAT?

You frowned, but nodded. Anything to get the gun out of your mouth.

He poured it straight from the bottle into your mouth, watching with sick satisfaction as you swallowed, and you realized that he was psychotically drunk.

"How's that? I do it all the time, y'know? Hot metal plus cold tequila equals the best fucking night ever."

Um, ew. No. But that would be super unwise to say.

"You shove a gun down your throat then take a shot?"

"One of my more dangerous drinking games, yes. God, dude, look at you. Like, you're so fucking uptight, loosen THE FUCK up!"

You were unsure how much 'looser' you could get - you were already going along with his 'dangerous drinking game'.

"I am!"

"Not enough. Not even close. You need more."

"We're all out.", you said, (thankfully) pointing at the empty duffle bag next to him.

"Oh.", he sighed, slumping down next to you and using the duffle bag as a pillow. "Just- I don't get it. What is it about you?"

"That makes you get suicidal?"

He snorted, softly. "That makes me so mad?"

"You're mad?"

"Not like angry-mad. I mean like… crazy-mad. Like I go mad around you."

Five-year-olds could explain things better than him, but, to his credit, he was shitfaced.

"Really? Thought you were born that way."

"I mean, last week? When I kissed you? I don't do that shit. But it was the only way to shut you up. I-ugh. It's you, Y/N. Just fucking up my brain, one game at a time."

"Oh, oh, so you being a psychopath is because I didn't show up to one game?"

"When you're constantly worried about someone needing to be there, you do crazy things. Like cut yourself. I would have done it, too, seriously."

"I know. That's why I came."

"So, we weren't entirely strangers, huh? You knew me a little, at least?"

"Uh, no, we were definitely strangers."

"Now? What are we now?"

"Uh… friends?" You didn't mean that. You wouldn't be his friend if it killed you.

"No, I think I'd know it if we were friends." Phew.

"So, you tell me."

"What? No, you've been in charge this whole time, you tell me."

He just said you'd been in charge.

One offhanded, sweeping statement, and he'd shifted all the blame on you as easy as pie.

How did he do that?

It was obvious what he was referring to: the fact that none of these interactions would have happened if you just hadn't given a shit in the first place.

The fact that every single move of his had been linked to you, in whatever this weird everybody (except you) ante, sketchy poker game he was playing was supposed to be.

And it unnerved you.

Because in some twisted way, it was true.

"Acquaintances."

"But we've kissed.", he reminded, diligently and unwantedly. "Acquaintances - and classmates, before you suggest that - don't just kiss."

"Dude, then what do you want to be?"

Shit. That was what he'd wanted all along. For you to ask in exasperation, to give you his interpretation.

"You know, just… an average relationship between a man and his good luck charm." He inched closer, his hand loosening its grip on the railing as if it was going to do something, but there was no more tequila to reach out for.

There was only you.

And reach, he did.

First, his hands were on your cheek, like they had been a half hour ago. Then, suddenly, they were in your hair, and his tongue was trying to coax your words out of you directly from the source.

And you just let it happen.

If anyone knew why you let it happen, you'd have loved to start a suggestion box.

But you had a funny feeling that the only person who knew why was Nate Jacobs himself.

Fat chance he'd tell you.

[zapreportsblog]

❝HUSBAND❞

✭ PAIRING : Edward Cullen x Reader

✭ FANDOM : Twilight

✭ SUMMARY : When Edward proposed to Bella he expected her to accept after all they were mates? Right? Wrong! Bella rejected edwards proposal breaking his undead heart in the process, not being able to withstand the aftermath Edward leaves home; only to return 2 years later but this time he’s married?!

✭ AUTHORS NOTE : I already know there is a story on here called the same story with the same cover (on quotev at least) mines had been edited to a clearer form, (again on quotev) that was my old account, (marveluserlovesmarbel again on quotev was my old and very first account) one of my first actually. If I can remember the login information from it I’d log back in and post my stories from their over here but for now enjoy the remake of said story :)

✭ QUOTEV VERSION

✭ CHAPTER ONE : A Proposal in the Flower Field

The warm breeze danced through the lush, sun-kissed meadow, carrying the scent of wildflowers that blanketed the ground in a vibrant tapestry of colors. Edward, his face radiant with anticipation, gazed at Bella, whose 19th birthday was just around the corner. He had planned this moment for weeks, determined to make it the most memorable day of their immortal lives.

"Edward, this is beautiful," Bella said, her eyes shimmering with wonder as she took in the breathtaking scenery. She had no inkling of what was about to transpire.

Edward smiled, his golden eyes alight with love. He guided Bella to a secluded spot in the field, one they had visited countless times, a place filled with memories of their deepest conversations and stolen moments. It was here, among the swaying flowers, that he would make the most important request of his existence.

Bella's heart quickened as she realized the gravity of the moment. She turned to Edward, her breath catching in her throat. "What's going on, Edward?"

He took her hands, his voice trembling with emotion. "Bella, for over a century, I've existed in the shadows, my heart forever frozen in time. You, you're my light, my reason for being. Your love has given my life purpose, a warmth that I never thought possible."

Bella's eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill over. "Edward..."

He dropped to one knee, his hand reaching into his pocket to reveal a glistening diamond ring. "Bella Swan, you are the love of my existence. Will you do me the immeasurable honor of becoming my wife?"

Bella's heart soared as she gazed down at the ring, her eyes meeting Edward's, brimming with adoration. She had imagined this moment so many times, had dreamt of the day he'd ask her to be his forever.

But then, in a soft, trembling voice, she spoke the words that would shatter Edward's immortal heart. "I'm so sorry, Edward."

His golden eyes widened in disbelief, the world around him seeming to slow as he searched her face for understanding. "Bella, what is it? Is something wrong?"

Bella took a step back, her hands trembling. "Edward, you mean the world to me, but I can't say yes. I can't become a vampire, not at this moment in my life. I have so much I want to experience as a human, to grow old with my family. I hope you understand."

Edward remained frozen on one knee, his mind reeling, unable to comprehend the weight of her words. Bella turned and began to walk away, each step an agonizing echo of her decision. She didn't realize that with her 'no,' she'd shattered not just his proposal but his very heart.

Edward watched her silhouette grow smaller in the distance, the vibrant flowers around him now feeling like a painful reminder of his shattered dreams. He remained on one knee, in a heart-wrenching silence, his love for Bella eternal, his heart forever broken.

After what felt like an eternity of just kneeling in the flower field, Edward finally stood and rushed back home, a turbulent whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Bursting into the house, he didn't utter a word, his face a mask of anguish. Carlisle and Esme, concerned by his disheveled appearance and the raw anguish in his eyes, attempted to get an explanation for his erratic behavior.

"What happened, Edward?" Carlisle asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Edward's eyes burned with anger and heartache. He scoffed bitterly and spat out the words, "She rejected me."

At first, Carlisle and Esme couldn't comprehend what he had just said. It seemed unfathomable that Bella, whom they'd come to love as their own, would refuse Edward's proposal. Edward's frustration boiled over, and he threw a lamp against the wall, shattering it into pieces. Tears of venom welled up in his eyes, and he uttered those devastating words again, but this time with a crestfallen expression, "She rejected me."

Esme rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him, offering solace in the only way she knew how. Carlisle joined them on the bed, his gaze full of concern. 

Edward, his voice trembling with pain, explained how he had proposed to Bella in the flower field, how he had imagined a life of eternal love, but she had chosen a different path. He couldn't bear to be near her now, the pain too great to endure.

”I…I can’t stay here. Knowing that she’s here. Knowing that I’ll have to see her everyday for the rest of my life.”

Carlisle and Esme exchanged glances, understanding the depth of his despair. "Edward," Carlisle said softly, "you have a place in this home, wherever you choose to go."

Esme added, "You can always come back, and please, promise to call and check in every now and then."

Edward nodded, his gratitude evident in his eyes. With a heavy heart, he bid farewell to his siblings: Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie. Each offered words of support and love as he prepared to depart on his journey, leaving behind a life he had hoped for with Bella. As he stepped out into the night, he knew that he carried with him the weight of a shattered dream and the support of his vampire family, who would always be there for him.

[breaddwoo]

-Just a Few Scratches-

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader

word count: 4.36k

warnings: injury/blood

desc: you get injured trying to solve xavier's problems for him. silly you :)

a/n: im having a field day writing all my fic ideas :)) can't decide if the next one will be another xavier or wednesday

edit: pt 2 is now posted! 🦭

"fuck, fuck!" xavier yelled, sprinting across the field of pine needles before him and leaping over bushes and rocks.

cold sweat dripped down his flushed face; he could feel tears sting the back of his eyes. xavier felt like he could puke as he ran, but only one thing occupied his mind:

"(y/n)!"

> > >

-5 hours prior-

“are you doing okay, xavier?" you ask with worry. after class you had to stay late to ask the teacher something, so it was a surprise when you found xavier sitting on a bench in the hallway with his head in his hands.

he jolted. looking up, he seemed tired. really tired. you noticed the purple bags under his eyes and the way his breathing appeared to be unsteady.

xavier tried to smile, but it instantly fell off his face when he met your gaze. he bit the inside of he cheek to keep salty tears from spilling out of his eyes.

"I... " he began, but it came out as a strangled sob.

the sight of his pitiful state filled you with worry, and you picked up your pace as you sped over to him.

standing in front of xavier, you ask, "have you been sleeping? you look like a wreck."

xavier laughed at this, quickly wiping away a tear that dared to escape, "yeah, i know. I'm just.." he looked down, "I'm just really stressed."

you stepped closer and he pressed the top of his head to your stomach, refusing to look at you as he loosely wrapped his arms around your waist.

you began to move your hand to pat his head, but hesitated. "can i...?"

without hearing the rest, xavier said, "please."

this consent allowed you to weave your fingers through his hair. "do you want to talk about it?" you asked in a low voice, afraid that somehow, despite the hall's vacancy, someone would hear this sensitive conversation.

he was quiet for a few moments, considering his words.

"it's... wednesday. i'm so, so tired of her- of her blaming me! always saying i'm a mass murdering monster! it fucking hurts and she keeps finding new evidence that genuinely makes sense, " his voice is strained as he tightens his hold, "but i can't do anything to convince her it's not me. and she even found my art studio, which just makes me look worse."

seeing him like this made you want to cry, but you restrained yourself because this wasn't about you; this was about xavier.

"i'm so fucking scared that she's going to get me locked up. i can't even blame her- all of the evidence points directly at me! and these nightmares, they plague me in my sleep and i wake up screaming and then i can't go back to sleep so i've just been painting that fucking thing so i-" his rambling is cut short when he hiccups through his frustrated tears. he felt angry and hurt and afraid.

you leaned down to hug his head, pushing his face into your tummy as he sniffles. "i'm sorry, xavier. i wish there was something i could do."

xavier looked up from your (now wet) shirt to say, "just listening is enough. don't worry about it, hopefully everything will fix itself soon."

and as he rested his head once more, an idea came to you.

there's a way to help xavier.

> > >

three knocks and wednesday was ready to order thing to strangle the person at the door.

she lifted from her desk, about to tell off the perpetrator for interrupting her writing time. when she opened the door, however, she recognized you as the person that xavier constantly follows around.

"enid isn't here," she said point blank, beginning to shut the door. you stick your hand out and risked amputation to make sure it doesn't close, "actually, im here to see you."

wednesday narrowed her dead eyes, "go on then. explain."

"i need to know where the hyde's lair is."

wednesday's facial expression didn't change, but you could tell she was confused.

"why don't you ask xavier? he would know."

the fake smile that you wore to feign being nice dropped. instead, you replaced it with a tight, irritated line on your lips.

"haha, yeah, i would. yknow, if he were the hyde. but here i am, asking you. why do you think that is?" you said all this with a lighthearted tone through clenched teeth.

wednesday could read the passive aggressiveness of your words but decided to press on, "try looking at his gallery of police evidence. that would give you the answer you're looking for."

with that, the door closed and you soon heard the sharp clicks of a type writer. you knew she was talking about xavier's art studio, but he hasn't allowed you in since people started dying around the school.

you decided that the only way to enact your plan would be to sneak into the renovated shed. sneaking in you could do, but distracting him for enough time to find something was completely different.

fuck, this is gonna be hard.

> > >

in the end, enid was your best bet. your plan was for enid to ask him for help on a subject and get him to tutor her for a bit in the library.

she agreed immediately, hoping it would also make ajax jealous; it was a win-win situation.

though, when she asked, you would not tell her why you needed her to do this in the first place. she was skeptical but trusted that you were doing it for a good reason.

finding the studio was easy, you had been there so many times that you knew the trail like the back of your hand. you were xavier's rock after his breakup with bianca, so it made sense that he'd commonly invite you to paint with him in his secret hideout.

when you made it there, you took no time to begin searching every single art piece for a deeper meaning. xavier mentioned that he was having nightmares about the foretold monster, but wouldn't allow you to see the art "for your own safety".

there was nothing of value on the walls and canvases, so you turned to plan b.

you bent down to the trash, fishing through it, hoping you'd find something important. about ten pieces of paper had been uncrumpled by the time you found something worth your dumpster diving.

"there it is!" you excitedly whisper-scream to yourself.

it was a drawing of the monster in front of a familiar cave. though its name and exact location eluded you, there was someone who would know those exact details.

later, after asking eugene if he knew anything considering you'd seen him working alongside wednesday on the investigation, you set the final steps of your plan in motion.

it is here that you will find out who the hyde is, if only to relieve xavier of his stress.

> > >

"enid, we've gone over this topic, like, ten times. i think you're just a lost cause," xavier said in exasperation. he had been attempting to teach enid the different geometrical formulas but she hasn't understood a single word he's said in the past two hours.

xavier, giving up, grabs his phone off the library table to check his notifications.

"huh, that's weird."

"what?" enid asked.

"(y/n) hasn't texted me. usually she'd have sent several messages asking to hang or something by now," he frowned, his expression a dark overcast.

enid, feeling something was off, finally broke, "uhm, well, (y/n) kind of asked me to distract you. im not really sure what for, but she did mention something about an art studio?"

xavier's heart lept in his chest. "what?"

"yeah, sorry, i felt she had a good reason but now i'm a little worried, " enid replied with an awkward laugh.

he wracked his brain for any reason that you might have had to go to his studio. a surprise? was she curious about the paintings i wouldn't let her see? why would she need to sneak around to do it?

instead of searching for an answer that wouldn't come to him, xavier stood from the table, gave a small "thanks", and left the library in a hurry.

at the studio, he found nothing amiss. none of the paintings were gone and nothing had been moved.

that's what he thought, however, until he saw the trash can laying on its side in the corner of the room. kneeling, he sifted through the scattered, unfolded papers.

his eyebrows knitted together in further confusion. what is missing?

then it hit him:

the drawing of the hyde's lair.

xavier didn't know exactly what you were up to, but he knew with every fiber of his being that it was definitely dangerous. he was absolutely terrified.

the doors burst open as xavier ran out of the studio, an unwelcome gust of wind blowing many of the drawings off the walls. at that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

a mirage of trees passed him by as he sprinted. the nighttime autumn air was far too cold for the season.

"fuck, fuck!"

the words were strangled and every noise around him felt muffled; all he could hear was the crunching of the leaves beneath his racing feet and his own hammering heartbeat.

"(y/n)!" he shouted, the distress in his voice echoing back at him.

xavier slowed to a stop, unable to tell where he had gone in his desperation to find you. he took a second to breathe when a shrill scream sounded from an unknown direction.

the scream of a girl. a girl who was horrified, or worse, in danger.

and he would know that voice from anywhere. it was someone familiar; someone close to him. the person most important to him.

"(y/n)! where are you!?" he yelled in response, but the forest had turned into something akin to a funhouse mirror maze and he couldn't tell left from right.

xavier heard footsteps running toward him at a high speed, and just as he began dash in the similar direction, you came into full view.

pain spread through his chest as you slammed into him, sending you both crashing to the moist soil beneath.

you were laying on top of him now; shaking with labored breaths.

it rook a moment for xavier to process what had happened, but he wrapped his arms around you with little delay.

"you- are you okay!? what were you doing!? are you stupid!? there's a fucking monster on the loose and you-"

he shut his mouth when saw a steadily growing red patch on his shirt.

"you're bleeding! oh shit, we need to get you back to nevermore fast," he was quick to hold you, your body laying bridal style across his arms.

you winced in pain, sobbing out the words, "i'm sorry. i'm sorry xavier, i just wanted to help. i really wanted to help. i'm sorry."

xavier didn't give a shit about your apology. he wasn't mad at you. he was mad at that thing that hurt you. he was fucking furious.

he had many, many things to say to you but for now, he'd let you rest in his arms.

he then headed back in the direction he had come from, you now tucked safely in his embrace.

> > >

once the final stitch was in, xavier was allowed to visit your hospital room.

the bright white lights made him feel sick. even more so when he saw you sitting in bed with a hospital gown and an IV drip in your arm.

the moment he walked in, you gave him a warm, content smile.

"is right now really a good time for you to be smiling?" xavier questioned, sitting on a seat next to the bed.

you held the hand that he placed on the edge of the sheets, "well, i was able to achieve my goal."

"at the cost of several pints of blood and a couple scars on your arm? what was worth that?" he asked, unrestrainable anger surfacing on his face.

though, when he took in the finer details of your state, he couldn't help but soften. many scrapes graced your skin from the collision earlier; the complexion of your face much paler than normal.

rubbing his knuckles to ease his frustration, you say, "i was able to convince wednesday that you're not the hyde. how could she believe that out of all the people you could attack, you'd attack me?"

something clicked in xavier's head and it all made sense. this all started after his breakdown in the hallway, caused by wednesday's meddling. the sneaking around, stealing his drawing and going off into the woods.

"so you did this on purpose? you scared me half to death!" he bursted, his emotions a flurry of love, anger, and guilt.

"so what if i did? it's just a few scratches."

god, he loved you. could you believe he had yet to even ask you out?

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: " I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: angst, fight, toxic parents, fluff, smut, smut and smut! dirty talk, orgasm, squirting (Yessss) 👅 oral sex (male and female) fingering 🤟, nipple sucking, Jungkook calls reader a slut (just once, sorry) Jungkook knows what he's doing 🤌

A/N: Hello! I came back later than expected 😬 sorry! Here is the chapter! I hope you like it! From here on, I am writing the story. Everything you have read so far was written last year. I ask for a little more patience because I need to write, edit, and English is not my native language! Thank you for all the support! (PLEASE VOTE!)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 7

"I didn't know about your college, let alone that you are studying to be a teacher, Y/N," Mr. Jeon says, putting the chocolate dessert in his mouth. I nod my head, excited to talk about a topic I love so much.

"Yes, I love children. I thought it would be a way to work with something I enjoy, and things are going really well." I reply with a smile. Knowing that my course is practically finished and that there is less than a month until I graduate gives me a pleasant thrill in my stomach. All the hard work and dedication are finally paying off.

"I'm so proud of you. I can't wait for you to start working in the field you're studying," my mom comments beside me, her eyes squinting when she smiles. I know it's true because she was one of the people who encouraged me the most to pursue this career. "The schools in Busan are great, big and prestigious. Y/N will adapt very well."

Mrs. Jeon shakes her head with a radiant face, happy for me. I, on the other hand, lose all my excitement. My mom knows, because I've mentioned a few times, that I don't want to stay in Busan after I graduate. I like being here since I've lived in this city practically my whole life, but I feel inside me that I need new challenges. I don't want to spend the rest of my days under my mother's wings. I'm curious about myself and how far my limits go, too. I know I'm capable of doing this.

It's not her fault that I'm like this, so attached and dependent. Since my father passed away and we were left alone in such a hostile world, she became my escape valve. Her approval suddenly became the most important thing in my life. I started looking at her as if she could leave me at any moment, just like my father, and that transformed me into what I am today: vulnerable, indecisive and weak. I've been trying to strengthen my mind these days. I started questioning the decisions I made in previous years and noticed, not without some surprise, that I never did what I really wanted. Jungkook, by a miracle, was my only wish fulfilled by my own desire. It's as if I wanted him so much, that even my bindings couldn't prevent me from having him.

"Let's see, mom. There are several other schools I want to try to get into." I respond, and almost at the same moment, her body tenses. She turns to me and opens her mouth to reply, but knocks on the door sound throughout the house before she can continue. I almost sigh with relief, knowing that at least for now, I'm free from any scolding.

"Excuse me, I'll see who it is." Mr. Jeon gets up from the chair and heads to the living room. After a few seconds, he returns with a smile on his face, with Jungkook behind him. Of course it's him; who else could it be? His hair looks different, in a new cut that makes his face look more youthful; his cheeks are fuller, and his eyes much bigger.

I take a deep breath and try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. He greets my mother with a nod, perhaps knowing that it's better to keep his distance from her, and hugs Misuk, wrapping his arms around her back. It's nice to see their interaction together. They really love and respect each other. Then he turns to me and squeezes my hand with a smile.

"Hello, Y/N. How are you?" He asks with a light smile. I am impressed; his performance couldn't be better. It's almost as if we hadn't been talking almost all day through messages. If I didn't know him, I could swear I hadn't been to his house two days ago. That we didn't kiss so much that, almost by a thread, I lose my iron control and decide to throw myself at him completely.

"Everything's great, and you?"

"All good, too." He sits in the chair in front of me, watching the food that had just been our dinner.

"Jungkook, how about you eat something? You’ve been looking so thin lately." Mrs. Jeon furrows her brows, analyzing the dark-haired guy from head to toe. I wonder if she really thinks he's thin. All I see are muscles and a large, healthy body. I remain silent, poking the dessert with the tip of my fork.

"I'm fine, mom. I'm not hungry. I just came to see you. I missed you." He responds affectionately. I can't help but smile, happy to see how he acts with her. It's cute, if that's the right word to describe a heavily tattooed man like Jungkook.

"You should sleep here, Jungkook." His father comments to his son, looking at the silver watch that wraps around his wrist. "It's already quite late. I don't want you to ride that huge motorcycle in the dark."

"I'm fine... The motorcycle is completely safe." He grumbles, pouting as his parents look at him worriedly. He seems like a sulking teenager, not a tattoo artist full of piercings who lives alone in a bachelor apartment. I let out a small laugh trying to disguise it, but he notices. He bites his lips hard and stares at me for a few seconds. I divert my eyes to my hands, fiddling with the dark pink nail polish that decorates my nails. "Alright. I'll sleep here tonight."

"Perfect! You can stay in the room you used on the first day you came to Busan." His mother suggests, taking a sip of her orange juice.

"Yeah, that works. I loved that room." Jungkook responds with an ironic tone that's hard not to notice. Is he trying to provoke me? He smiles slightly, and for a few seconds his attention focuses on me. "With a great view from the window… you know? Of the garden and everything."

"Alright then, it’s settled." Mrs. Jeon seems excited, holding his shoulders with an almost indescribable happiness. "And how have you been, son? You’ve been visiting me less and less. I'm worried about you, whether you're sleeping well, drinking water, and eating right."

"I've been very busy lately." He takes the juice from the table and pours himself a bit. "It's hard to find tattoo artists I can trust. I still haven't found someone who really has the style I'm looking for. The designs I like aren't very common here in Busan, from what I've noticed."

"Tattoo artists… My God!" Eunji suddenly whispers, disgusted. I open my mouth to try to interrupt her and stop her from saying one of her craziness, but she’s quicker than me. "Every time I see someone with a tattoo, I wonder how they had the courage to dirty their own skin like that. It's horrible to think that these things, whether the person wants it or not, have no return."

"Mom!" I hiss, completely embarrassed. I cover my face with my hands, not knowing where to look. The Jeon family seems surprised, but this acidic comment doesn't shock me. She always does this because she can't keep the peace for too long. It's as if she enjoys causing disagreements, no matter who it is with.

"It's the truth, Y/N!" She argues, as if she were shocked that I disagree. "These things are from the devil! How can someone mark their body like that? It was God who created us in his most perfect form. I just don’t understand!"

"Eunji... I understand what you mean. But everyone chooses their own way to live. I don't think God disapproves of someone just because they have drawings on their skin." Misuk, our neighbor, shares her opinion. That's what I think too. I nod to everyone and make it clear that, even though I'm Eunji's daughter, I don't agree with her. Not in a million years.

"God disapproves, Misuk! I'm surprised you don't think like I do." My mother continues. I sigh, trembling, completely nervous. "The youth today only think about worldly things, drinking and adorning themselves as if they were delinquents! I can't believe this will be the future of our society!"

"Are you saying I didn't raise my child well?" Mrs. Jeon questions. Her face is neutral, but her voice rises a few notes. She finally seems irritated, and rightly so. I would be too, if someone came into my house and said those barbarities.

"Mom, I think it's time for us to go." I get up from the table without waiting for a response. I'm so embarrassed I can't look at anyone, much less Jungkook, who's been quiet the whole time. It's as if he isn't affected by my mother's comments, but I'm aware that deep down, he feels uncomfortable.

"I'm not saying you raised your son badly, but look at him, Misuk! He dresses like he’s part of those bad things. He must be going from party to party doing God knows what. He put those horrible things on his face!" She grunts disgustedly, convinced that she's saying the right things. I try to breathe deeply and groan, desperate to leave. "Y/N only goes where I allow her, and has never even set foot in those dubious places. I let her sleep here last week, but I'm seriously thinking of denying it if there’s a next time."

I widen my eyes as the words leave her mouth. I look at Misuk and see her furrowing her brows in confusion, as if she doesn't know what my mother is talking about. She opens her mouth to respond, disoriented, but Jungkook is quicker and steps in front of her, suddenly.

"I think it's getting late." He says with a false smile on his face. He looks at me for a few seconds and then continues, "This conversation could go on for a while. Mom, I've worked a lot this week. Is it okay if we rest earlier tonight?"

"No, dear, but..." My neighbor shares a confused look, staring at me as if asking when I slept at her house. I make a discreet sign that we’ll talk later, and she nods her head, sighing. "I think that's best. Eunji, sorry to interrupt this conversation, but as you can see, my husband and son are very tired. It's better for you to go, please."

I sigh with relief, feeling my heart race in my chest. My mother opens her mouth to retort, but then seems to think better of it and gets up from her chair. I don't even wait for a proper goodbye; I open the door to my neighbors' living room, wave to them, and rush home, without waiting for anyone. My legs are trembling, I'm so nervous. My mother almost discovers the lie I told her, some days ago. I have to thank Mrs. Jeon a lot after this and explain in detail why I lied. I have a problem on my hands because I slept in Jungkook's place and I don’t want to tell her that.

Eunji follows me, almost like an angry bull, seeing everything red. She stops in the living room, slams the door of our house, and then stares at me, her dark eyes full of tension. I swallow hard, not knowing what to say.

"Do you have a problem, Y/N?" She asks, frowning. The few wrinkles she has become more prominent when she does that.

"What do you mean?" I ask in a low voice, scared and fearful.

"Why didn’t you agree with me? I am your mother! That man, Misuk's son, he's a complete aberration! You acted like you agreed with them!"

"I didn't agree with anyone, Mom." I grunt, disgusted. I don't like hearing her call Jungkook that way. I knew she didn't like him, not at all, but proving that in real life hurts me much more.

"You did agree! I don't want to see you hanging out with him! I don't know what I was thinking when I let you go with him that day! I must have been crazy!" She screams, and my already aching head throbs even more. She throws her shoe to one side of the living room, out of control, and then looks at me again, with an ironic and insincere smile. "You won't go to Misuk's house anymore. Not me either. That woman... I thought she was sensible, that she was like us, but letting her son dress that way is a terror to me!"

"And what does that have to do with us, Mom?" I ask, shaking my head. Eunji opens her mouth to respond, but I'm quicker. "He's her son, and it's not up to us to judge the lifestyle he decided to have! It's not up to us to judge other people as if we're better than them!"

"Have you gone crazy?" She retorts, increasingly irritated. "I'm not judging him, I'm just pointing out the obvious! Do you think a man like that is going to heaven? With me? Believe it or not, my daughter, hell is full of people like him: who dress like psychopaths and walk around as if they know everything. All I feel is pity."

"You’re not God to know who goes to heaven or not." I whisper, turning my back. My eyes widen when the words escape my mouth uncontrollably. It's as if heavy feelings took over me and expelled the sentence without my consent. I hear a deep gasp of shock from my mother. When I look at her, her face is so filled with hatred that I can hardly recognize her.

"I'm not God, but I'm his daughter! I won't allow you to talk to me like that!" She snarls and approaches me so quickly that my body freezes. I've never seen her like this before, so upset over so little. "Go to your room. This conversation makes no sense, and I'm already tired of it."

And I go, without saying a single word. Things were too good to be true. The reality is that my mother can't control her mouth. Always saying whatever comes to her mind without reasoning how much it can hurt others. Her favorite motto is 'tell the truth, no matter who it hurts.' I hate that, aware that the more my mother does this, offending and discriminating against everyone, the more people will distance themselves from me. Nobody wants to hear, especially in their own home, the craziness she just said.

I take off my shoes, throwing them to the floor, and look at my locked window, still shocked and nervous about the events. Since that day I saw Jungkook taking off his clothes, I haven't left the blinds open, afraid that another embarrassing thing might happen. Curious, I unlock it and peek out, seeing that the light in the room next door is on. I sigh and take a deep breath, and in an act of courage, I throw the window wide open.

"Jungkook!" I half-whisper and half-shout, trying not to draw my mother's attention from downstairs. He doesn't appear, so I call him again. "Jungkook!"

"What are you doing?" He suddenly appears in front of me, coming out of a door inside the room. The bathroom, I suppose, by the white towel around his neck, as if he just brushed his teeth.

"Speak lower." I ask fearfully, lowering my voice. "I don't want anyone to hear us."

"Your mom, in this case." He smiles ironically. I nod, having no desire to laugh. I feel terrible about how the night ended.

"If she finds out that my room is so close to yours, she'll never let me sleep here again." I say jokingly, in a desperate attempt to purge the bad feeling invading my chest. "I called you to apologize. My mom shouldn't have spoken that way about you to your family, saying all those things."

"You could have sent a message." Jungkook replies, shrugging, as if none of this were important.

"I wanted to talk to you in person. I really feel bad." I express myself as best as I can, with all the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind.

"I’ve never met someone as crazy as your mom, and I know a lot of bizarre people out there." He leans against the iron railing of the balcony, mocking. I try to cover my mouth and hide a smile, but it's hard. Jungkook is a goofball. "I had already noticed how she acts, you know? As if she could dictate what is right and what is wrong, so superior."

"I know, she is very difficult." I sigh; I run my hands over my arms, chilled by the increasingly strong night breeze. "She became like this after my dad died."

"Has it been a long time since he passed away?"

"Ten years. It seems so recent, but all this time has gone by. It was very difficult because she worked a lot. She wasn't like this. I remember she even drank a bit on weekends, like a normal person."

"So she kind of went crazy?" He asks curiously, wrinkling his nose. I laugh and shake my head.

"Not quite like that. She's not crazy... She just hasn't understood yet that she's traumatized and can't hurt others because of it." I explain, leaning on the window. We're so close that I can smell his perfume. A nice scent of flowers and fields that I really like. "Did you feel bad about what she said?"

"To tell the truth, no." He shrugs, as if he doesn't care. "I'm used to judgments. If she knew that my ex-boyfriend is a man, she'd freak out."

"I'm really sorry." I say in a whisper, feeling sad about his words. I believe that yes, he felt affected by what happened, and just doesn't want to tell the truth to spare me the embarrassment and guilt. I have no idea how hard it must be to be comfortable in your own skin when other people do everything to make you feel like an aberration. Like the wrong one, like the one who isn't normal.

"You don't have to apologize so much." He smiles affectionately, with a rebellious strand of his hair falling in front of his eyes. "And you, Y/N? Have you never done anything crazy in your life? Your mom seems so controlling, that I was thinking while she was saying all that, how difficult it must be for you to be yourself."

"I never felt like doing anything rebellious until I met... well, until I met you." I smile, embarrassed. My cheeks turn red when he laughs mischievously in response.

"Almost fucking me in my apartment isn’t exactly a great act of rebellion." He shrugs and rolls his eyes, laughing. I grunt, increasingly embarrassed.

"That was definitely the craziest thing I've ever done in my life." I assure him. Being with him may seem like a little thing in his eyes, but for me, it isn't.

"Have you never thought about maybe, I don’t know, getting a tattoo? I think that would definitely kill your mom."

"I never thought about it." I laugh incredulously. I never even considered the possibility of doing something like that. "How did you decide to get your first tattoo? Did it have any meaning or was it more impulsive?"

"I got it when I was twenty. And it wasn't impulsive. I always thought about getting a tattoo, and when I left my parents' house, I gathered the courage and designed it." He laughs, and for the second time this night, I find him cute. "Actually, I got a new one yesterday. Do you want to see it?"

"Seriously?" I ask, a bit confused. We talked all day and he didn't mention it at all.

"Yeah, I had time last night." He explains, as if reading my mind. "Do you want me to show you?"

I nod my head in agreement, and he takes a leap to leave his balcony. I get startled, frightened, when he climbs through my window and enters my room. I don't know what to do; my breathing accelerates as he gets closer.

"Jungkook, you shouldn't be here!" I whisper, agitated, afraid that at any moment my mother will enter my room, and then go completely crazy.

"Calm down. It's all good." He rolls his eyes, teasing me.

"I'm being serious. You could have shown me your tattoo in your room." I argue nervously. "If my mom sees you here, I’ll never leave the house again."

"You're too stressed." He comments calmly, placing his hand on my shoulder unprotected by the thin straps of my shirt. I feel an immediate shiver down my spine, taking a step back quickly. No matter how long I spend with him, Jungkook still has that crazy effect on me that I can't control. "Sorry, I shouldn't have touched you."

"You don't need to apologize." I whisper, going back to my previous spot. He must have thought I was uncomfortable with his closeness, and that's far from being true. I miss his touches, and if I could, I would ask for more. "Can you show me what you did?"

"Yeah. Wait a second." He murmurs. His fingers go to his waist, and he pulls the fabric of his t-shirt up, raising it until the piece is in the palm of his hand. I swallow hard, looking at his body so close to mine. No matter how many times I've seen him like this, I'm still shocked at how handsome he is. All muscular, with pale skin adorned with tattoos. My eyes roam over his strong arms and go to his abdomen in a fine path of hair that follows inside his sweatpants.

"I got this clock yesterday. It represents the passage of time. How I have to give importance to the moments in life, whether they are good or not, because everything can end suddenly."

He points to his bicep, now covered by a plastic film, which protects the new ink. I raise my hand and touch the warm, soft skin, testing and exploring. He stays quiet, waiting for my inspection with patience and attention. I've never seen anything like it in my life. I smile, embarrassed, when I notice that wherever my fingers go, the hairs on his body stand up and prickle. I say nothing, absorbed and hypnotized.

"It's beautiful." I confess just for his ears. He turns to me and looks into my eyes.

"I really wanted to show you this. I missed you. Did you miss me?" He asks suddenly, in a serious way. And he certainly has no idea how much. During these two days, with all our messages, I've never felt so alive. I missed him in an inexplicable way that he can't even imagine.

"A lot." I reply, shaking my head, red. "Jungkook, can I tell you the truth?"

He just nods and makes a noise with his throat, agreeing. I swallow hard once more and take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself.

"I want you." I say in a whisper, like a secret. He smiles at the corner of his lips, never taking his eyes off mine. "I want you so much that I don't even recognize myself. It's like I can finally be me. I've never felt this way."

"Do you remember that night?" Jungkook raises his hand and caresses the top of my cheek with his thumb, in a tender gesture.

"You know I do. Of everything." I say. His pupils dilate, and his face becomes more serious. He takes a step forward until his chest touches mine, and we are completely glued to each other.

"I've wanted you immensely since that day." He confesses, and I can feel the sincerity in his raw words. "I want you so much that I'm about to go crazy... I don't want to deny myself when I know you want me too."

"I don't want you to deny yourself." I reply. And it's the truth. I close my eyes and feel his lips pressed intensely against mine. The cold piercing makes me shiver all over when I touch him.

I let out a sigh amidst the desire and grab his hair between my fingers, pulling hard, not measuring the pain he might feel because I know he likes it. His soft, low moan proves that to me. I smile through the kiss and slide my tongue into his mouth, playing with his, feeling his massage mine. His hands go to the back of my thighs, pulling me with such force that I need the support of his shoulders to remain standing. I wrap my legs around his waist, accidentally feeling his hard cock pressed against my intimacy. It's overwhelming, in such a way that a groan escapes from the back of my throat.

His lips detach from mine, and his dark eyes lock onto my irises. I feel ecstatic, almost in a parallel world, seeing only his red, wet, and swollen mouth from our kisses. And I can't stop. I feel so good, almost as if I had denied myself a vice that I am only now getting to taste again. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring my mouth closer to his ear, smiling when I notice his skin prickle one more time because of me.

"Take me to bed, please." I ask softly, not thinking about the consequences. I nibble on his earlobe and plant wet kisses along his neck, sucking and tasting the flavor of his skin; the little spots I like so much turning even redder and more marked. He lets out a deeper moan and lays me on the bed, settling between my legs.

"You just have to ask me to stop." He says in a hoarse voice, looking me up and down. He sweeps his newly cut hair back, illuminated by the moonlight.

"You know how far I can go." I assure him, my cheeks flushed. He smiles, and almost immediately kisses me again. And I love kissing him. I've never had much experience, having little to compare, but I don't need that to know it's really good. More than good, it's wonderful.

I start to feel what I've only felt with him, lust, eating away from the inside out. I drag my hands over his warm arms, where I now know his new tattoo is, and pull his body closer to mine, feeling his abdomen, his heat, and his desire, all at once. The sweatpants aren't very effective at hiding his excitement, and I take advantage of that for my own benefit, rubbing against him, finding relief and pleasure that, without wanting to admit, I've missed so much.

I moan low, wet and excited, yearning for more. Jungkook suddenly pulls back a bit and releases me from the mattress. He grips the end of my shirt and slowly pulls it up my body. His eyes darken as my breasts are revealed. My first impulse is to cover my nipples, illuminated by the dim light, but his lips graze my jaw and his warm breath hits my collarbone, making me so eager that I can't worry about anything else. My entire skin tingles when he uses his tongue and licks my neck.

Jungkook lets out a little smirk, pauses, and looks at me, watching my reactions closely as his index and thumb go to my areola; I moan again, feeling my nipple swell when he squeezes it tightly, causing a pleasurable ache that sends shocks and waves of pleasure to my intimacy. I'm so wet that I feel my panties soaked, the cotton fabric sticky with my lubrication. His teeth dig into my breast, and his tongue wraps around my nipple, circling and swirling. To avoid any noise, I concentrate on keeping my lips pressed together, almost to the point of not being able to breathe. Jungkook grumbles and releases me, moaning as if he enjoys it as much as I do, and he returns to kissing me.

"You’re so tasty..." He groans, as if my pleasure were his. "I could eat you all day long."

"J-Jungkook... let me touch you." I implore in a whisper, breathless.

"Touch me." He commands, straightforward.

With the idea of making him feel everything I'm going through, I slide my hand down his gray sweatpants. I find, still over his underwear, his hard and thick member. Jungkook hisses and closes his eyes, but doesn't stop sucking me, digging his teeth into my flesh and causing a hickey that I know will take days to disappear. I become more confident when I feel how excited he is, all heavy in my palm. I lower the fabric of his pants to where my hands can reach, and when I can't anymore, I use my feet, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His navy blue underwear slips down his thighs until his cock finally springs free, hitting the end of his abdomen. The tip is all slick, red, and the veins make it appear even more aggressive, all manly and virile. It's crazy how, even not knowing much what to do, I don't feel intimidated seeing him this way. I just want to touch him. To have him.

"I want to touch you..." I whisper, wrapping my fingers around his member; my heart racing in my chest. My face burns with embarrassment, but I don't stop. "Teach me?"

"What do you want to do?" He questions, closing his eyes. His head tilts back when I accidentally touch his balls, and I squeeze him a little harder. "Shit, I might come just from that."

"I don't want to do things that way." I stop my caresses. He stares at me, frowning. I bite my lip a little shyly, but I'm determined to explain my desire. "I want- I want to kiss you down there, I just don’t... I don’t know how to do it. I wanted to do the same thing you did to me that time."

"It's all good." He smiles slightly, calming me down; he grips my waist tightly and continues, "Are you sure? I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"You're not pressuring me." I say firmly. And he's not. In the end, all the choices I made so far regarding him were based solely on my desires, never Jungkook's. I like that. It's one of the first times in my life that I'm the one choosing what to do or not. He nods, seeing that I'm confident, and opens the button of my skirt, parting my legs to fit his body better against mine. My panties remain, a light pink cotton that I know is nothing sexy, but apparently doesn't bother him. The fabric is stained with my wetness, from how turned on I am. I watch eagerly as his hand approaches, and his thumb touches my clit through the fabric, stroking up and down, in slow, deliberate circles, taking his time. I roll my eyes in ecstasy, and if I hadn't been so eager to make him come, I would let him continue.

My hole pulses when I pull his finger away, yearning for the peak, but I focus on him and his pleasure. I get up from the bed and pat the mattress for him to lie down. He obediently complies, unashamed of his nudity. I stare at him, amazed at how handsome he is, muscular and at the same time, with an angelic aura.

I lean in closer to his face and watch as he closes his eyes, waiting for a kiss, his long, thick eyelashes brushing against his cheeks as he realizes my mouth is heading for his neck. I tenderly kiss a little mole on his collarbone and another near his jaw. He sighs but says nothing, remaining quiet. I lower my mouth, licking his skin and breathing in his scent, which is fragrant and pleasant.

"Hold my cock." He whispers in my ear, pleading. "Have you ever done that?"

"No." I shake my head, embarrassed. He just smiles and takes my hand. He spits in my palm and grips my wrist, spreading the saliva over his shaft. I watch mesmerized as a vein seems to pulse at the back of the tip. I stroke it once, testing to see how he reacts to the caress. He seems to enjoy it, gripping the sheet of my bed and closing his eyes. "Is it good?"

"Y-yeah." His voice falters as he answers. I smile with pride, deciding to increase the speed just a little, using my thumb at the opening and spreading the pre-cum to make things flow more smoothly. My mouth waters when a drop of his desire starts to ooze from the tip, and I mentally wonder if I'm strange for wanting to taste it.

"How do I do it?" I ask, not stopping. I kiss his jaw and wait for his response. He clears his throat and looks at me with dilated pupils.

"The only thing you have to avoid is your teeth. There's no secret; just never bite." He explains calmly, as if teaching me anatomy. I nod and say nothing more, focused on protecting my teeth and not hurting him in any way.

I slide down my body to the end of the bed and position myself over him, closer to his cock. It looks bigger now, up close. More powerful and voluminous. I stroke it, twisting my wrist and testing it with my tongue first, tasting the salty flavor of his pleasure. It's not bad, actually, so I try again, licking the tip and feeling his flavor get stronger in my mouth. Jungkook moans louder, tilting his head back onto my pillow. He doesn't close his eyes, however, observing closely my inspection of his body. I start to feel more confident and in a spur of the moment, I suck his cockhead, swirling my tongue and caressing the pink skin, as if it were a lollipop. I groan, lowering my head a bit more, returning to the surface to take a deeper breath.

"Shit..." Jungkook grits his teeth, moaning. "There's no way this is your first time."

"It’s the truth." I say, smiling. I'm glad he's enjoying it, even with my inexperience. I caress his thigh and kiss it before diving my mouth back onto him once again. He disappears inside, filling the back of my throat. He doesn't fit all the way inside me, and I don't push too hard, using my hand on the rest and following my sucking.

I use my tongue, circling and stroking that thick vein that runs along his shaft. Suddenly, Jungkook pulls his hand away from the blanket and reaches for my nape, holding my hair. I watch his reactions closely, like when he moans softly, or when he swallows hard before closing his eyes and cursing softly. I notice his chest stops moving, and Jungkook holds his breath as I go deeper. I realize he wants to go harder, to grip me more firmly, but he restrains himself for some reason. I pull his fingers to my scalp, encouraging him.

"You can hold me tighter." I pull his cock from my mouth, wiping some saliva that starts to drip down my chin.

"If I hold you, I won't be able to stop."

"And who said I want you to stop?"

"Y/N..." He tries to say something, but I interrupt him.

"Do whatever you want with me." I say suddenly, surprising both him and myself. He smiles wickedly, as if my consent had triggered something inside him. I return to his cock and suck it, this time hungrier, going up and down its long length.

His hand returns to my nape, his fingers entangled in my hair, and without hesitation, he pushes my head down forcefully, roughly and dominantly. I choke on his shaft but don't stop, excited that the pain I feel in my scalp is directly affecting my pussy. I'm literally dripping, sucking him off without stopping, without wanting to separate. His flavor fills my palate and I love it.

"You’re such a slut..." I hear him curse, almost unconsciously. I’m not offended, strangely. My canal clenchs, and more creamy lubrication flows from my entrance, dripping down my thighs just from hearing how he calls me. "Fuck, you like this, don’t you? You like sucking my cock with your mom in the same house?"

I remain silent, too busy enjoying his pleasure. I moan and try to nod, but his hand doesn't let me go, pushing me harder against his pubis. His pace quickens, and even though it's hard to keep up, I continue sloppyly, drooling.

"You must be so wet just because my cock is in your mouth." He chuckles, because he knows it's true; his firm hand is caressing my back down to my ass. He strokes my skin before slapping my buttocks hard. I choke, afraid my mother will hear us, but he doesn’t stop, and neither do I. My head is so clouded with pleasure that I can't think of anything else but him.

"Kook, cum for me... please." I plead; my eyes water. He grunts with a raspy voice and throws his head back. I use my tongue on the frenulum of his cock because I notice it's more sensitive there, and suck harder, almost ferociously. Jungkook moans and growls, and I know he's close. His face turns red, and his chest freezes, as if he no longer needs to breathe. He suddenly opens his eyes, biting his lips furiously.

"Open your mouth. You're going to swallow all my cum." He commands, without asking for permission, as if he knows I would give it anyway.

I keep going, not stopping; my lips hurt, and my jaw does too, but I really want to see him come and I keep that as my main goal. The first spurt goes straight to my throat, catching me off guard, until he fills my mouth with his cum, making me swallow it all at once, as he promised. I don't feel disgusted; on the contrary, I enjoy it so much that I clean him off completely, until the last drop of his pleasure, kissing his cock when he whimpers from sensitivity. I smile when he catches his breath and looks back at me, as if he's in the clouds, feeling light and tired.

"I'm drained..." He says softly and in a whiny tone. He seems like an innocent boy, not a man who just forced me to take all of him.

"You called me a slut." I comment, laughing a little. It's the first thing that comes to my mind when everything is over. I laugh even more, seeing his cheeks turn red, as if he felt more ashamed than I did about what happened.

"I'm not going to apologize. I saw that you liked it." Jungkook argues, laughing too. I nod in agreement. I didn't know I liked this kind of thing, but I do. I stroke his tattooed arm and give it a little kiss, addicted to touching him. "Lie down on the bed, I want to suck your pussy."

"Aren't you afraid my mother will show up?" I ask, but I obey, lying down on the bed. "I'm afraid she'll hear us both."

"Just ask me to stop...even though we both know you won't." He winks at me. My back hits the mattress when he presses his palm on my belly, and literally pulling my legs to the mattress, my thighs are spread wide apart. He takes my ankle, caresses it, and then puts it over his shoulders, bringing his face closer to my intimacy. I'm embarrassed, I won't lie, but I'm so horny that I can't wait for him to start.

"Please, Jungkook, touch me already." I say when he takes his time to caress my skin with his fingertips, without touching directly where I want it most.

"Don't be impatient." He laughs, oblivious to my desperation. I grunt, grumpy.

"Please..."

"Needy." He says ironically, mocking me, as if he hadn't suffered with me minutes before. His bright eyes turn to my pussy and he smiles, before kissing my crotch and caressing my skin. I try to laugh at the situation, but the truth is that it makes me even more excited. His fingers part my small lips and he licks from my entrance to my clitoris, closing his eyes and frowning, as if he were eating something and really enjoying the taste. "Fuck! You're so wet."

I don't say anything because I know it's the truth. I hold his hair lightly, giving him more freedom to caress me. I watch carefully as his lips surround my most sensitive bud, kissing and sucking my clit. His nose is all sticky with my lubrication, but he's not afraid to get dirty and sinks his tongue into my hole, driving me crazy and boiling. I feel him inside me, hot and wet, going in and out. I moan, covering my mouth to be as quiet as possible, but I don't know if I'm very successful and I don't care. I'm in heaven, with the delicious sensation of my pleasure and there's nothing in the world that can take me out of this trance.

He takes his tongue out of me, swallows my taste and brings his mouth closer to my clitoris once more. I have to remove a lock of his hair in front of his eyes to see him better, feeling the tips of his fingers exploring my channel. I relax my body and wait for the penetration, watching with concentration as the flesh separates to accommodate him inside me. I sway my hips, feeling the sensation of being filled to the limit in my intimacy. I imagine what it would feel like if it were his cock, much bigger and thicker.

"Is it here?" Jungkook asks, looking at me carefully, curling his fingers upwards in search of that spongy spot that had driven me crazy last time.

"A little deeper, Kook…" I instruct, knowing he is close. My intimacy contracts instantly when he finds it, massaging and caressing my pleasure point with intensity. "R-right there… keep going, please."

And he continues. His fingers go in and out again, more vehemently. He sucks me as he picks up the pace and penetrates me, in a long and intense thrust. Out and in, fast and strong. I moan louder this time, unable to help myself, guiding his lips back to my clitoris. His nose feels good in contact with my slit, adding to all the delicious sensations at the bottom of my belly. His fingers are long but painless, using the moisture of my pleasure around my entrance and making them wetter, before erupting again. I know I'm going to cum, I remember everything I felt that night with him and I know I'm very close.

"Oh my God...! I'm going to cum!"

"Don't cum." He orders, raising his head, but doesn't slow down. His arm moves in time, massaging my clit with his thumb.

"I-I can't." I choke, at my limit. My heart races and my legs tremble, almost on the edge, falling and diving at my peak, when Jungkook suddenly stops. My eyes fill with tears and my throat closes. My imminent pleasure begins to cool, until it goes away all at once. I hold my nipple and contort my body trying to make it come back, but it's impossible. "Why Jungkook? I was... I was so close."

"I know." He laughs mercilessly, kissing my belly. He sucks his fingers wet with my lubrication and puts them inside me again. He easily finds my pleasure spot, even more sensitive and delicate because of the denial of orgasm. I try to close my legs but he stops me and wraps my ankles around his shoulders again. "You'll thank me when we're done." He doesn't wait for an answer and goes back to sucking and licking on my clitoris sloppyly, swollen from the loss of climax.

My intimacy is very sensitive, his touches twice as intense. I relax my body and trust my pleasure to Jungkook, holding onto his hair and waiting expectantly for the warm feeling in my stomach to return. And it comes fast, stronger. He seems to know my body very well, better than I do, so I concentrate and don't think about anything else, emptying my mind. I sigh and close my eyes, unable to face the image of him crouching in front of me, focused on giving me everything. It's too much for me.

My clitoris becomes the main object of his caresses and although they are not strong, they are intense and deep. He knows exactly what he's doing. "Jungkook! Fuck..." I moan breathlessly. I pull and pinch my nipple hard, pulling myself away from the bed. My back is soaked in sweat, my body is so hot. I grunt, feeling something strange in my intimacy. It's different from other times, a desire to pee that Jungkook's fingers only incite. I sigh and grind my waist, rubbing my clit against his mouth, my orgasm and the hot sensation growing stronger. "Kook... Stop. There's something strange."

"Trust me, Y/N." He whispers, looking into my eyes. "Relax that pussy and cum really good, love."

I roll my eyes and writhe on the bed. My heart races and my breathing catches. The most delicious and hot sensation releases itself inside me and I fall onto the mattress, my arms weak. Jungkook doesn't stop at all and sticks his fingers deep inside, massaging my sticky inner walls. It's the longest orgasm I've ever had, as if it never ends. I bite my hand, trying not to scream, but it's very difficult. I'm literally on another planet. My whole body trembles and a sob escapes my throat. Only then do I realize that I'm crying, this experience is so intense and incredible for me. With my free hand, I push Jungkook away a little, feeling pain from the sensitivity. I need a few good minutes to recover, taking a deep breath and relaxing my muscles. When I look down, with my eyelids closed and weak, I'm shocked to notice the wet sheets and his chest damp from my pleasure. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out.

"How are you?" Jungkook asks, gently lowering my legs. He picks up my shirt thrown between the covers and cleans himself, with a smile.

"Did I pee on you?" my eyes widen, moving from side to side to avoid looking at him. I hear him laugh, before he holds my chin and caresses my cheek.

"You squirted. It's not pee." He explains, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. His thumb touches my cheekbone, wiping away my tears. "You cried. It was the most delicious and exciting thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Did I pee on you?" I ask again, just to confirm. He laughs, throwing his head back.

"No, I swear. That's never happened to you?"

"No, never. I already told you... My first orgasms were with you." I only feel embarrassed and realize what I said when he smiles at me, laying his chest on top of my breasts.

"Have you never touched yourself?" he asks curiously, playing with my nipple to make it swell. It's strange because I can see in his eyes that he's moving my body, at least for now, without malice, as if he's touching me without ulterior motives. I frown at his action but decide to be permissive, fingering his scalp, blowing on the dark strands wet with sweat. We urgently need a shower.

"I've tried," I confess, finding it easier to say this when his eyes aren't on me. "But I've never felt the way I feel when I'm with you."

"After we were together..." He begins, lifting his face, watching my reactions. "Have you ever tried to touch yourself while thinking about me?"

"You'll never know," I reply, laughing. He pouts his lips but nods, as if he agrees even though he's sulking.

"Okay, I'll accept you not answering me on one condition," he says mysteriously. His finger plays with his eyebrow piercing before he continues. "The next time we meet, you'll touch yourself in front of me."

"You're kidding, right?" My eyes widen. My whole body tenses at his suggestion, a little scared. Does anyone do something like that? It's such an intimate thing and touching yourself in front of someone... I never imagined something like that.

"Say yes. You won't regret it. I even have a surprise for you when we meet."

"You're not serious."

"I'm serious all the time, woman." He teases, pulling my nipple hard. I groan in surprise, hitting his arm. I start laughing along with him, laughing out loud, when I hear a noise at my bedroom door, as if someone outside was trying to open it.

My heart races and my body immediately trembles. For a while, I completely forgot where I was. I didn't even remember my mother's existence or the possibility of her ever showing up.

"Y/N, open this door now." My mother says from the other side. I feel a little calmer because she seems irritated, but not crazy, as she would be if she knew who was with me in my room. I jump out of bed, feeling my legs weak from the powerful orgasm, but with adrenaline running through my veins. I look at Jungkook putting on his shirt and searching for his clothes in the middle of the mess. I stare at him, trying to know what to do, but he seems more focused on organizing my room than helping me.

"I'm coming, mom... I'm working out!" I shout, putting on my shirt. I gesture for Jungkook to leave my room through the window, but he points down, showing his penis swinging from side to side, practically naked without his underwear. I start to laugh nervously, afraid that my mother will catch us at any moment. Holy shit! "Wait a little longer!"

I gesture again for him to leave, and quickly throw his clothes on, putting on my skirt that was thrown under the bed. He laughs and before jumping out my window, he takes a few steps back and turns to me. His forehead touches mine and his bright eyes fix on mine. My heart beats faster and I feel butterflies in my stomach. I know that my nervousness, at this moment, is not for my mother. He kisses me, a quick and simple peck, before going to his balcony, waving one last time and turning off the light in his room. I close my window, waking up from my daydreams and opening the door to my mother, who looks irritated.

"What took you so long?" She asks, putting her hands on her hips. I cover my room with my arms and walk to the bathroom.

"I told you, I was working out." I repeat, crossing my arms in front of my chest. My entire body is wet with sweat, and I avoid her proximity as much as possible, knowing that I smell of sex and men's perfume.

"I didn't know you worked out." She narrows her eyes.

"Yeah." I shrug, smiling forcedly. "Why did you come to call me?"

"I'm going to have a work trip tomorrow, in Seoul. I'll be away for a few days, so I need you to take care of the bazaar for me this week."

"Okay." I quickly agree, opening the bathroom door. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that was all. Good night." She walks away coldly, entering her own room.

I sigh in relief and lock the door, staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, tangled and full of knots. My mind returns to normal and I have to sit on the toilet lid to breathe a little. I laugh in disbelief and shake my head in disbelief. What just happened?

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

@ttipa @joonwater @ane102

[jmdbjk]

Minimoni Music Exchange

Things that got answered:

1. The complete meltdown Namjoon was having up to and following Festa 2022. I talked a little bit about that back in this June 19, 2022 post.

In the past, Namjoon once said being the only one who spoke fluent English meant he was thrust into the frontman position when they began doing interviews and promotions with western media and it made him unsure of himself. He said it was nerve wracking to be required to think on his feet while fielding questions for the group, to speak for the members without actually consulting them before speaking for them and then have to answer these questions coherently and off the cuff in ENGLISH.

As this episode opens Namjoon says he "loves BTS because of the music... but if he had to continue like this he might want to die."

That's a heavy statement. But it is edited with the context left out.

I know this because further into the episode the context around that is included: they all felt the burdens of ALL eyes on them, and at some point they all had to become conscientious of who they were and act accordingly. He loves BTS because of what they do, the music that they bring out to the world. But if he had to care about what everyone else thought, all the people who put pressure on him to be responsible for everything and had to deal with that constantly, he felt he wouldn't be able to withstand that, that he felt he'd want to die.

2. The complete shit-show their military enlistment caused for them. I talked about that in this June 22, 2022 post and here in this Oct. 17, 2022 post.

All of the "MS exemption" stuff was such a waste of time and it really did hurt everyone's feelings, mine, yours, and theirs, backwards and forwards. A truly damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario. I believe Jin was relieved to finally get to the base and begin his service in order to get it behind him. And I'm sure the others knew how he felt about it. And in 15 days Jin will be back! We are about to begin a new Bangtan era: post military.

I watched this MiniMoni Music episode twice, pausing and rewinding both times. Not just to make sure I understood what they were saying to each other but to surround those words, to put context to the words, with the heft of the emotional support and reciprocal gratitude that accompanied the conversation.

And Jimin brings a different perspective than say Yoongi would if it was Yoongi and RM having this conversation like during a Suchwita episode.

I also had to pause a few times to savor that sudden burst of love upon seeing beautiful Jimin.

Jimin listened as Namjoon explained how he second-guessed himself when he delayed enlisting. He was supposed to go with Hobi but then chose to continue working on RPWP.

He totally related to Namjoon declaring himself contradictory in nature.

Namjoon said he had to "turn off BTS" in order to focus on himself. He had to be physically apart from them in order to stop thinking about them as a team and see himself as an individual. And then Jimin revealed that he and the members detected Namjoon's distance and wondered if he was drifting away from them. But they also realized it was part of this era, part of this process they were all going through.

Throughout this episode, Jimin listened to the songs for the first time and offered his thoughts.

Namjoon says he had to get this album out because he believes things have an "expiration date", meaning he needed to get this out of him in order to move on artistically. He had tied his identity to BTS all this time, that he had no idea who RM was, or who Kim Namjoon was.

They then go on talking about when they come back, the return of the pressure of being the leader of BTS and they wonder how their concerts will look then. They throw out the idea of more subunit work. Namjoon says when they are done with their service, he will focus on the team and each of their originality must go into it ... and he feels good about his position as a member of BTS and as RM.

He reiterates whether you are a fan, a casual listener or a hater, everyone is a Right Person or a Wrong Person at times.

Jimin tells him that he, the members and the fans are influenced by the things Namjoon says and that when he's feeling down that they and we will be ok with it.

This is my personal opinion: I disagree with people who keep saying "After they are discharged, I hope they spend a little while enjoying some down time."

Their military service is "downtime" to them. Being their civilian self is down time. Military time was an interruption to them. It disturbed their career's momentum.

The longer they delay getting back to work in their real job the longer it will be for them to be where they ALL said they want to be: on stage.

However, that being said. The break needed to happen. And military service forced the break.

As Joon says: "... and I look up in the sky and see silver cloud, yo hurry!" I think it could be taken as the cloudy, forboding future is unavoidable but can see it will bring necessary and refreshing new challenges and change for the good. It is a healthy way to embrace the unknown.

The timing of filming this episode... was it possible Jimin did not know their enlistment date yet? RM said within 4 weeks he was enlisting. That would put this filming the week of November 13, 2023.

Jimin left Nov. 15 for Budapest, returned on Nov. 18 and then Jimin and Jungkook left together on Nov. 23 to go to Japan. They returned on Nov. 28. JK left again the next day for Los Angeles and returned Dec. 2. That's a lot of traveling for men just days away from enlisting in the military.

They knew this episode would be out six months after RM enlisted on Dec. 11. But possibly they didn't know Jimin and Jungkook's enlistment date yet or they would have said "by the time you are seeing this, we will all be enlisted." Maybe they found out their enlistment date almost immediately following the filming of this episode and the Japan trip and JK's LA trip were crammed into the last few weeks they had. I don't know, I'm just thinking out loud.

My personal take: The more the members say and explain the feelings/intent of what they say, the easier it keeps getting to ignore the solos, mantis, haters, boycotters of BTS and toxic fans. Etcetera. Because they are so foolish. Both Jimin and Namjoon called you all "jerks".

RM's album and whatever we heard he and Jimin speak about, ALL that reinforces that THEY the individual members, have the freedom to do what they want. They are Koreans, they will speak in ways that, inherently due to their culture, will be framed in a way that will be "polite". RM said "fuck you jerk" in his music, not to the camera while addressing the fans and public.

One thing this genre-bending album of Namjoon's also does is help the other members continue to step over all of the pre-conceived ideas/restrictions/lines that idols are not supposed to cross over that people throw at them.

All of their solo efforts will help each of them to be more progressive: Yoongi's smoking in his MV, JK's irreverent singing about fucking every minute of the day, Jimin having female dancers actually touch his body (and male dancers as well), Tae and Jennie.... all of that helps pull us along with them, helps normalize things for us so every baby step is a legit step towards more freedom, more maturity, wider spaces to explore artistically.

And they are fully aware of all these "rules" they are going to step over and move on from.

Revelations:

Namjoon has at least 25 pairs of shoes in his entryway. And the small path through them...

Those high-dollar apartments actually have shoe closets in the entryway.... Namjoon... please.

Things that didn't get answered:

Namjoon secretly a saxophone prodigy? I'm still waiting to learn exactly when did he learn to play the sax?

And Jimin's album coming soon? With a reciprocal MoniMini Music episode? I thought we'd get another hint or acknowledgement of such but we didn't. I noticed this video was not branded Bangtan Episode but linked to RPWP. As has become customary, we wait.

[mistydeyes]

miss americana: gaz edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

summary: When you finally move to the UK, there are a few things that confuse you and Gaz is more than happy to help out! From realizing cars are not automatic to the different colloquialisms, he enjoys clarifying the differences in culture.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x American!Reader

warnings: none

a/n: FINALLY something that I don’t have to do research on because I’m from the US🦅🎆 I have other parts planned to this as well!

also these are 100% inspired by all the questions I ask @lundenloves, she entertains my constant surprise and shock lol

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Whenever you go out with Gaz you ask him to “translate” for you.

When you first walked the rainy London streets with Gaz, you felt like a toddler with all of your questions. "Why does that stationary store have a sale on condoms?" you asked, confused, as you directed his attention to the sign that displayed a sale on rubbers. "You mean erasers?" he corrected, laughing. Next was when you saw a store you liked and immediately directed him inside, saying you needed pants. Despite how cute you looked while shopping, he had to correct you saying they were trousers and that pants had a very different meaning. Finally, the most egregious example was when you went to a restaurant and ordered biscuits to accompany your savory dish of soup. Once the waiter laughed in response, you looked at Gaz confused. "A biscuit is not like what you get in the Southern US, it's more of a cookie," he explained as you flushed with embarrassment. You would have to do some research next time and consult your British tour guide.

You’re an absolute menace when he goes to the grocery store or what he calls the grocers. You will go up and down the aisles, picking up whatever you fancy.

"Where are those chocolate oranges?" you demanded as you went down the aisle with Gaz. He pushed the cart, or trolley as he called it, which was already filled with a variety of snacks. Anything that looked distinctly British and that you knew you couldn't get at home, went in the cart. He had to hold you back from getting biscuits and crumpets. "Do you think we're having a tea party?" he joked as you waddled back with your selection. "Can we?" you asked, excitedly, and Gaz knew you were going to spend another 30 minutes in the tea aisle. "Let's just find you some Terry's and then we can consider getting tea," he corrected and you pulled the cart rapidly ahead. "I'm going to buy a whole orchard of those oranges."

Later on, you did buy a bushel worth of oranges and Gaz gently rubbed your stomach after you ate two entire ones. "They're just so good," you mumbled before you regretted the lactose coursing through your digestives.

Sometimes you’ll entertain him with distinctly American experiences.

"Did I ever tell you I was going to join a sorority in college?" you mused as you sat on the couch. He looked down at you before replying. "A what?" he questioned and you laughed. "You're telling me you've never heard of Greek life!" you exclaimed as he shook his head. You sat up for this fun explanation. "Essentially, if you're a girl you join a sorority and you spend like 4 days meeting the sister, trying to get them to like you, and then you're given a bid," you explained, he nodded as if this wasn't a foreign concept to him. "Then you all gather, usually in a football stadium or field, and they call your name as well as the sorority you're in and you run towards them." At that, he looked in horror. "It sounds cultish," he remarked and you lightly punched his arm. "It's cute! Everyone dresses up in different themes like 'Las Vegas' or 'Teddy Bears'," you smiled but he still shook his head, "it's the hazing that's cultish."

You will always insist on driving but Gaz remembers the one time he let you drive.

"Kyle, just let me drive!" you exclaimed as he beat you to the car door. In all honesty, you were a little used to being on the passenger side back at home but nevertheless, you were annoyed at his constant insistence at driving. "No," he simply said, "need I remind you what happened last time." The minute he said that you remembered the first time he tried to let you drive. First, you were surprised it was a stick shift rather than an automatic but it was nothing to worry about. It took you a few streets to get used to the changing gears but Gaz still had confidence in you. It wasn't until you pulled into a shopping center and started driving on the wrong side of the road that he made you park and take over. "It wasn't that bad!" you exclaimed, buckling into the passenger seat. "Love, my life flashed before my eyes."

He’ll make fun of you when you order coffee with a smile and try to make a friendly conversation with the barista.

As you entered the coffee shop, you were easily the happiest one there. It was 7 am and even Gaz wasn't as cheery as you are. "Good morning, how are you?" you smiled at the young barista. She returned your smile and eased her tired shoulders. "I'm doing alright, what are you having today?" she replied and you took a minute to think. “Just a cup of coffee for him,” you replied, pointing at Gaz. You pondered for a minute as you strained to look at the signs. "What do you think is good here?" you questioned and her eyes lit up as she began to list the options. "If you're looking for coffee, a cortado is my favorite, but I personally recommend trying our tea," she recommended and you nodded. "Hmm I'll take both," you cheerily replied, watching as she typed in your order. When you pulled out your wallet, you looked around curiously and the barista noticed your hesitation. "Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked before you looked up at her. "You don't have a tip jar here?" you wondered and she let out a laugh. "We don't, more of an American thing," she answered and you frowned slightly. You let her know to keep the change and waited patiently for your order at the end of the coffee bar. "You're too cute sometimes," Gaz said, kissing your forehead gently. He made sure to get a picture of you with your two cups, captioning it, "They finally got their cuppa!"

He helps you navigate the surprisingly easy currency and pricing system.

“Kyle I need more,” you corrected as he handed you a handful of notes. You had gone souvenir shopping in London but forgotten your wallet at his flat. “What do you mean, that’s enough,” he replied as he flipped over the postcards to check if he did his math correctly. “What about the tax? You forgot about that,” you said triumphantly and he laughed in response. “Oh this is one of your American things,” he said, his new favorite term to use, “Love, you pay what’s on the sticker.” Cue your shocked face as you couldn’t fathom the moment of anticipation as your items were rung up at home. On the ride home, you were sure to explain to Gaz the ins and outs of the different taxes including that there was no clothing tax in Minnesota, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Vermont. “I cannot believe you don’t know how much you’re paying when you go up to the till,” he remarked, shaking his head in dismay. “The what?”

There are some disagreements on the meaning of different words (especially ones that you both share but mean two completely different things).

On a rare day, the entire 141 was free, and Gaz decided to introduce you to them. You returned back from the grocers and were surprised when Gaz began preparing a late lunch. “We’re not going to eat at the bar?” you asked, noticing him turning the stove on. “No, no they don’t have food there,” he corrected as your face turned to confusion, “what do you think the bar is?” Upon your explanation of an American bar with cheap drinks and greasy food, Gaz laughed and kissed your cheek gently. “If you want to go to a pub, I can just let them know the change of plans. There’s plenty around,” he responded and went to put the items back in the fridge.

When you arrived at the lively pub, Gaz made sure to sit you next to Soap so you could listen better to his thick accent. While you appreciated the gesture, the Scotsman still spoke a mile a minute. Despite your initial uneasiness, you soon fell into lively conversation and entertained everyone with your stories from college and things you found differently in the UK. "I think the time zone was the biggest issue," you said in response to Ghost's question about your transition to living abroad, "although, the lack of ceiling fans was interesting." They all laughed in response before Gaz interjected. "Tell them about when you ordered a baked potato," he joked and your eyes immediately lit up before you went into a long conversation about your experience. As everyone laughed at your bewilderment at the lack of serving the side with bacon, cheese, and sour cream, Gaz looked at you fondly, his favorite American.

[sweetiesicheng]

dk - retirement

word count : 840

-

"y/n!" seokmin shouts and runs over to you. with your trophy by your feet, you open your arms and practically jump into his. "you did so amazing out there, baby," he says to you and pecks your lips.

"thanks," you reply with a smile. "did you get some good shots?" you ask.

"yea. gonna have a lot of editing to do, but it'll be alright," he says to you and puts you on the ground.

you look around and notice someone looking at you. it looks like they're trying to get your attention so you can be interviewed.

"i think i gotta go, babe," you say to him.

"hm? oh," seokmin nods, "go. i'm going to get some more shots."

you go over to an area to be interviewed and people are almost swarming you. some security guards have to settle everyone down before you can be interviewed.

"y/n! how does it feel to have won your last race?"

"people say your performance when you were in monaco was better. any comments?"

"y/n, why did you decide to retire?"

you take a deep breath in before speaking. "today's race was an honor to be a part of. despite the difficulty, i think all of the participants showed themselves today," you speak in front of many mic packs that are being held by reporters. "the decision to retire wasn't an easy one, but today's race was my last race as a professional. i have been honored with being one of the many professionals in this field, and i can't wait to see what the future has to bring for the future for me as well as others."

more questions start being thrown out, and you answer them as you can. the questions start to focus on about your retirement, but you don't mind. the news was slowly let public because of how well liked you are.

when you're done getting interviewed, you meet with your crew.

"dinner on me, alright?" you say to them, "and you guys gotta meet the kid."

"chan, right?" one of your crew asks. "think he can keep up?"

you grin, "just because i'm not driving doesn't mean i'll be gone. i'll make sure he gets everything straight."

"you don't need to help us, y/n. we got everything," another crew member says to you while some of them pack up stuff.

"you sure?" you ask.

"yea, don't worry about it," they reply.

"thanks."

you look around and find seokmin taking photos in the press area. you don't want to bother him yet since he needs to get his photos, so you go to another area and change out of your suit. when you're done changing, you pack up your backpack and sit in a room where a few of the racers are.

you're pretty friendly with most of them, but you didn't feel like talking to them right now. honestly, you're getting pretty sad since everything's over. your career that you started off years ago is now over. however, you know you won't be away from the races. maybe you'll end up being a commentator once in a while.

but for now, you'll live your life.

—

"baby?"

you look up and see seokmin walking in with his backpack on. it looks like he's done working for the day since his camera isn't out.

"you okay?" he asks when he walks over to you.

you nod, "yea. just a little sad," you reply.

"i bet," he replies and kisses your forehead. "you know, we'll probably be back here to watch a race in a few months," he says, "and you can just take mingyu's car for a little joyride on the course when we go to a race."

you chuckle, "i definitely will do that."

"ready to go?" he asks, holding his hand out to you.

you nod and take his hand, "let's go."

you and seokmin leave the building together. there's still some paparazzi lingering, but you give simple waves and smiles to the photographers. you meet with your crew and all of you decide to head to a restaurant for dinner.

"hey y/n," one of your crew members calls. he holds your trophy up, "i think you should bring this one with us."

"bring it to dinner? and have seokmin drink out of it again?" you ask.

"oh come on, you did that before i did," seokmin says to you.

"and i'll do it again if it means you'll do it," you say to him. "hand it over," you say and receiver your trophy.

"wait, stop right there. you look cute," seokmin says and suddenly takes his backpack off. he fishes his camera out and turns it on. "gotta show off the best racer in this industry," he says and takes the lens cap off.

you smile, "she's retired now," you remind him.

"doesn't matter. she'll be number one in my heart for the rest of our lives," seokmin says and holds up his camera to take a photo of you.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝: 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  inspired from the pun book from the last of us, here are some dialogue prompts of various puns. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ for a fungi to grow you must give it as mushroom as possible. ❜

❛ it doesn't matter how much you push the envelope. it'll still be stationary. ❜

❛ what did the mermaid wear to her math class? an algae bra. ❜

❛ people are making apocalypse jokes like there's no tomorrow. ❜

❛ why did the scarecrow get an award? he was outstanding in his field. ❜

❛ what did the triangle say to the circle? you're so pointless. ❜

❛ a book just fell on my head, i only have my shelf to blame. ❜

❛ i tried to catch some fog earlier. i mist. ❜

❛ i stayed up all night wondering where the sun went. then it dawned on me. ❜

❛ diarrhea is hereditary... it runs in your genes. ❜

❛ what did the green grape say to the purple grape? breathe, you idiot! ❜

❛ i'm reading a book on anti-gravity, and it's impossible to put down. ❜

❛ what is a pirate's favorite letter? tis' the c. ❜

❛ i wasn’t originally going to get a brain transplant, but then i changed my mind. ❜

❛ what washes up on tiny beaches? microwaves. ❜

❛ why are frogs so happy? they eat whatever bugs them. ❜

❛ i don't trust trees. they're shady. ❜

❛ i was going to tell you a pizza joke, but it's too cheesy. ❜

❛ i want to be cremated as it is my last hope for a smoking hot body. ❜

❛ there’s a new type of broom out. it’s sweeping the nation. ❜

❛ did you hear about the man who lost his left side? he’s all right now. ❜

❛ what do you call a bee that can't make up its mind? a maybe. ❜

❛ i tried to make a belt out of watches. it was a waist of time. ❜

❛ i got fired from the calendar factory, just for taking a day off. ❜

❛ did you hear about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda? he was lucky it was a soft drink. ❜

❛ tequila may not fix your life but its worth a shot. ❜

❛ why are there fences around cemeteries? because people are dying to get in! ❜

❛ thanks for explaining the word 'many' to me, it means alot. ❜

❛ i once ate a watch. it was time consuming. ❜

❛ why are teddy bears never hungry? they are always stuffed! ❜

❛ i don’t trust stairs because they’re always up to something. ❜

❛ never trust an atom, they make up everything! ❜

❛ i couldn't figure out how to put my seatbelt on, but then it clicked. ❜

❛ how do construction workers party? they raise the roof. ❜

❛ what do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? a thesaurus. ❜

❛ when a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds. ❜

❛ i made a pun about the wind but it blows. ❜

❛ it's hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs because they always take things literally. ❜

❛ what did the ocean say to the beach? nothing, it just waved. ❜

❛ i have a joke about chemistry, but i don't think it will get a reaction. ❜

❛ i'm on a seafood diet. i see food and i eat it. ❜

❛ why did the restaurant on the moon get bad reviews? it has no atmosphere.❜

❛ how do you organize a space party? you planet. ❜

❛ i once heard a joke about amnesia... but i forget how it goes. ❜

❛ the frustrated cannibal threw up his hands. ❜

❛ it takes guts to be an organ donor. ❜

❛ why is the mushroom always invited to parties? he's a fungi. ❜

❛ a guy walks into a bar... he was disqualified from the limbo contest. ❜

❛ jokes with punch lines can be painfully funny. ❜

❛ so what if i don’t know what apocalypse means? it’s not the end of the world! ❜

[usmsgutterson]

Exactly Where I Want To Be - S.R x gn! reader

Okay!! Second Spencer Reid fic I've written and posted in less than a week, and I kind of feel like I have a bit of a winning streak--when I've not been binging criminal minds or crocheting, I've been writing for Spencer or thinking about it.

My requests are wide open to him so if you have any ideas, send them in and I'll be happy to write them out!! Smut is welcome but might take a little longer (smut for some reason takes me longer to write than other genres do) and I'm willing to write anything within reason!

Fic type - this one bounces all over, but it's primary genres are fluff, angst, and hurt/comfort

Warnings -there are mentions of criminal minds canon typical violence and as such, guns are mentioned and depicted in use. Other warnings include mentions of stalking, depictions of being shot, and mentions of being in a previous relationship that was manipulative (reader was with a guy who was a total ass pre-BAU and it's mentioned he wanted more arm candy than actual person to be in a loving relationship with), there are mentions of dementia and alcoholic dementia as well as a few of the symptoms, mentions of alcoholism, drug dependency and addiction, and this is really, really long. It runs at 13k post-edits.

TWENTY-TWO / TWENTY-THREE 

You join the BAU just a little while after Spencer does—three months, one week, and four days. Spencer counts it during a particularly boring afternoon, after he’s zoomed through most of the files sitting on his desk and has just about nothing else to do. Your desk is across from his and he’s remembered the date you’d joined the team since you waltzed into the offices, so it’s pretty easy to count it out.  

He’d joined on July 22nd, 2001, whereas you’d joined on November 2nd of the same year. You’d been only a year younger than he and you proved, rather quickly, that you were among the only people who could keep up with Reid on a consistent basis. The only other people who could really accomplish that were Elle, Gideon, and Hotch, but it served to make yours and Spencers bond stronger as you settled in.  

Spencer knew he had a habit for going off on tangents without really meaning to, but unlike the rest of the team, you seemed fairly unbothered by it, and even if you were reading a book or knitting or doing something else when Spencer had started, it was clear to him that you’d been listening by the end.  

You’d been Hotchs mentee, so to speak, and your aptness for listening to Spencer when it seemed nobody else was listening was something Hotch picked up on whip quick, bringing it up to you in what feels like both rightly subtle and unconsciously unsubtle as the two of you walk stand in the elevator.  

“If you like him and it goes anywhere, you do realize you’ll no longer be able to be partnered up while you’re in the field?” Hotch asks, his voice quiet. “You won’t be eligible for a promotion of any kind, either, as it’s not permitted for bosses to date their subordinates.” 

You snort. “It’s not like that,” you say, because right now, it doesn’t feel like it is. “You don’t have to worry, Hotch. I like him, but—platonically. I look at him with such a platonic set of eyes that even the best of friends envy it, I promise.”  

“If--and I say if because Gideon has taken to saying when while Spencer and you aren’t in earshot—it does happen, you need to file the appropriate paperwork and ensure that at least Gideon and I are aware as to the goings on.”  

You laugh.“It’s not like that,” you repeat. “Spencer doesn’t look at me that way, and I don’t look at him that way, either. Like I said. So platonic it’s envious.”  

Hotch cracks a small smile, something you never really see but are glad to nonetheless because it cuts the tension like it’s a freshly sharpened knife.  

“Five bucks says he’s gotten you a tea and set it on your desk,” Hotch says. “I don’t make bets, but if I did, I think I’d win that one.”  

You glance at the hot chocolate you hold in your right hand, the one that is certainly not for you, but for your coffee-resistant friend with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, and crack a smile.  

“I do, too,” you admit. The elevator doors open and the two of you go inside, going your separate ways as Hotch heads for his office and you go to your desk, intending to hit the ground running because you have a long day of paperwork in need of doing. 

You set the hot chocolate down on Spencers desk. He doesn’t look up as you sit across from him at your own, but you hear his usual “thank you, Y/N,” as he grabs for it with his left hand, the pen he’s using to fill out the paperwork still in his right.  

“Yeah,” you respond, shrugging and catching sight of the tea he’d bought you, sitting right next to the pile of paperwork you intend to spend the next eight hours tackling. “No problem. Are we still on for our Doctor Who marathon tonight?”  

“Absolutely,” Spencer confirms as you wheel yourself over to the left corner of your desk. You keep the files there, so that they’re right within your vicinity, and it’s always where Spencer places the tea he gets you so that you can grab it along with the first piece of paperwork on the pile you so meticulously assemble. “Yeah. Picking up from where we left off with doctor number six.”  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Thanks for the tea.”  

“No problem,” Spencer says. He looks up as you take the first sip, and the smile that comes after is almost contagious to him. “I got the right place?”  

The two of you have a thing going on and have had it from the first month after you’d joined the BAU and had learned of each others drink preferences—every single time you got each other a hot chocolate or a tea in the morning, you did it at a different spot. In the three years since you’d joined, you’d gone to dozens of different spots in and around the Quantico area, and both of you had developed favorites.  

Yours was Izzies—their London fog lattes were like nothing else, just caffeinated enough to give you the boost you needed throughout the day, and you’d learned that they made an iced London fog that was just as good, if not even better. 

Spencers was the one with the cutesy kind of name, something Derek occasionally made fun of him for—I Love You A Latte was the name, and they made a hot chocolate that was super smooth and a lavender tea that could will Spencers body into sleep like just about nothing else was capable. It was run by a sweet old lady from West Virginia who’d known both you and Spencer by name and was occasionally at the tills when you were there to pick up a hot chocolate for Spencer.  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Izzies is the best for their tea.”  

“I Love You A Latte makes the best hot chocolate on this side of Virginia,” Spencer says. “Thanks again, Y/N.”  

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “Thank you, too.”  

Spencers response comes in the form of a nod, and that’s the end of your interactions until you’re two minutes out from taking lunch, setting your pen onto your desk and shaking your hands out.  

You tend to grip pens, pencils and the like the same way you hold onto a crochet hook or knitting needles—with a grip so tight that your knuckles get a few shades lighter, usually without you even realizing. As a result, you deal with hand pain on a semi frequent basis, and shaking your hands out every time you’re going to lunch is a habitual thing for you now. 

“Going to lunch?” Spencer asks, eyes flitting up from his file. You nod.  

“My mother sent along some money for my birthday last weekend, which means that I have a date with a box of garlic fingers and an alfredo pasta breadbowl from Antonios,” you grin. “I can never eat the garlic fingers in full, though—they give you what they call half-plates, and I can usually only eat my way through half of the half. I’ll bring it back for you, if you want?” You offer as you grab your bag, stand, and walk over to his desk.

“That’s not necessary,” Spencer says. “I--you don’t have to do that.”  

“No fun facts about the passage of germs through food?” You joke, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. I’ll bring you what’s left, and I’ll make sure it’s as not-germy as possible.”  

Spencer smiles at you in a way that almost makes you want to forget the words you’d told Hotch earlier. You want to be the opposite of platonic, if you’re being honest with yourself, which you have a tough time doing on even your best days.  

You leave, heading for your car with an almost gleeful way about you because of the thought of Antonios. You wonder what Spencer is thinking, linger on the idea that he’s thinking about you for three seconds too long before you let it go. Platonic is the best way to be with your coworkers, and despite how much you wish it were different, it’s the best way to be with Spencer, too.  

- 

A week later, Gideon is leaving the office as Spencer is readying himself for another late night. Gideon stops at Spencers desk just for the sake of checking in, catches him on the tail end of a giddy “thank you!” bubbling up from your lips after Spencer had made you an earl grey tea while he was making himself some hot cocoa.  

Gideon smiles knowingly, in a way that almost has Spencer convinced he can see right through him.  

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says. “These late nights will do you a lot more harm than good in the long run, Spencer. Are you sure you can handle this?”  

Spencer nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Just have a few more files I’d like to get done before my weekend off, is all. Don’t worry about it, Gideon. I’m fine.”  

“And you’re totally not here for—other reasons--?” Gideon looks pointedly at you. Spencer follows his gaze on impulse and is completely unsurprised to find you engrossed in a file, using your mug of tea as a paper weight while you fill it out, your non dominant hand clutching the mug like a heat seeking missile.  

Spencer shakes his head. “Just want to finish the last of my files so I have less work on Monday,” he answers. “Nothing like that, I swear.”  

Gideon shakes his head like he doesn’t believe him, and Spencer has no rebuttal because he’s being completely honest. When Gideon claps him on the shoulder as he moves to leave, Spencer is the closest to relieved he’s ever gotten in a situation that borders on that level of intensity.  

“Everything okay, Spence?” You ask, gaze not moving up from the file in front of you.  

“Everything’s fine, Y/N/N,” he says. “Gideons just—he's being weird.”

“Hotch has been weird lately, too,” your voice goes soft. “I think it’s just an office old man thing. I dunno—thirty-eight is hardly old, but Gideons climbing up to fifty. He might be going senile a little earlier than what’s written on the docket.”  

“Gideon? No,” Spencer laughs. “And, anyway—dementia isn’t commonly developed until the person with the disease is at least 60, although there have been cases of people developing it as early as 30 years old and there’s a case of childhood dementia with one in every 2900 babies globally. I won’t worry about dementia in Gideon until I notice his memory starting to falter or his communication starting to change, or any of the other symptoms, and even then, for his wifes sake, I’ll hope It’s origin can be treated with modern medicine.” 

“I thought dementia was an incurable disease?”  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “There are treatable causes for it, not that the disease itself can be cured—treatment is always an option. It can stem from a lot of different things, such as diabetes, a traumatic brain injury, or substance abuse.”  

You nod. “My grandfather got hit with it from the excessive booze drinking,” you say. “I wasn’t around him a lot—my mother didn’t want me to be, didn’t want me to know a drunk when I was that young. He died when I was fifteen, and in that time, I’d only seen him twice. Dementia is pretty damn heartwrenching, I think.”  

Spencer nods, eyes going back to the file in front of him. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t imagine it. I hate thinking about that sort of thing—the idea of forgetting anything that I’ve learned is enough to scare me into an early grave.”  

You laugh. “Okay,” you say, nodding. Spencer knows it's your not-so-subtle way of moving the conversation along, but he's grateful for it because if he talks anymore about dementia he'll probably cry himself to sleep. “In other news, I picked up a stray cat I found in the parking lot of a Joanns the other night.”  

Spencers eyes widen, his gaze moving to you. “You found a stray?”  

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes meeting his. “I took her to the vet this morning—it's why I was late coming in. She’s got a perfect bill of health, surprisingly, and she likes my apartment a lot. Loves the windowsill.”

“Does this stray have a name yet?”  

“I named her Megatron,” you laugh. “She’s so small, and I love ironic names like that. If I ever adopt a Maine Coon, I’ve already decided their name is gonna be Tiny.”  

Spencer laughs, and the both of you go back to focusing on your files, and Spencer loves it. 

He loves how simplistic things feel between the two of you—conversations can stop and start again after hours without talking, and it just feels easy, inherently, being in your presence. It’s not anything Spencer has ever felt with anyone else, but after three years, it’s one of the few things in his life that he has and actively cherishes.

When he leaves, he doesn’t do so without making you another tea. He uses it as a means of bidding you good night when he knows you’re planning to stay for another hour, at least, and when he hears your shouted “Night, Spence!” as he goes, he dips his head to look at his shoes and barely manages to hide his smile.  

TWENTY - FIVE / TWENTY-SIX 

“Megatron, I’m home!” You sing-song as you unlock your apartment door and step inside. You’re home from a particularly tough case, and Spencer is with you because it’s just one of those nights and the idea of either of you being alone makes both of you want to suffocate.  

Megatron, a cat with brown fur everywhere except her paws and chin, comes running at the sound of your voice, but when she sees Spencer, she bypasses you and runs right up to him. She gets on her hind legs so that she can headbut Spencers hand as he shuffles out of his shoes, and as you take off your coat, you laugh at the sight.  

Spencers momentarily distracted as he gives her some of his undivided attention, and it doesn’t surprise you, how quickly Megatron starts purring.  

“You’re her favourite person,” you laugh. “One would think, three years gone, it’d be me, but alas, Dr. Spencer Reid takes the cake.”  

Spencer shrugs as Megatron lets him do his thing and chooses to approach you instead. “I think we both tie for first in her little brain.”  

You bend down to give her some lovins and laugh at the way she aggressively headbuts your forehead, a clear demand for forehead kisses. You give in as Spencer takes off his coat and hangs it on your coat rack, happily doting on her as she always expects you to when you come home after being gone for a few days.  

“You want to order some pizza?” You offer as Megatron goes to her food bowl. Spencer crosses through to the dining room, where he unceremoniously sets his messenger bag onto the dining table. “I’m completely biased in saying this, but Antonios makes the best pizza this side of Virginia. I’ve been a regular since I first moved here, right when I was joining the BAU at 19. They’ve got good pasta and bread bowls, too, and it’s fairly cheap, considering.”  

Spencer nods. “Pizza sounds nice,” he says. “Could I use your shower, by chance?”  

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it. “There’s a pair of sweats and a shirt you can change into after in the guest room, and towels are in the linen closet.”  

Spencer nods, having heard this spiel before. You recite it to him pretty much every time he spends the night at your apartment, first as a just-in-case thing and now as a habit.  

As he showers, you turn the kettle on and grab two mugs. Spencer, ever the insomniac, likes himself a little bit of lavender tea in the evenings because it helps him relax when he otherwise wouldn’t be able to, and relaxing helps ease his mind into sleep.  

You’ve known that since he first spent the night and asked if you had any, which, thankfully, you did. You’ve made it a habit to have some lavender tea at your apartment since then, just in case, and it hasn’t failed you yet.  

You’re more of a chamomile with half a tablespoon of honey kind of person—you've been dealing with insomnia since some unknown cause spurred it on when you were eighteen, and in the seven years since, while not a lot had really helped you get to sleep the chamomile and honey always did. The tea always seemed to work the best when you were coming back from a case, your nerves still pushed all the way over the edge and your body on high alert.  

Spencer comes back out into your kitchen after fifteen minutes, his hair towel dry and curly in all of the right spots, but his smile warm. He approaches the dining table and grabs his glasses from it, changing from his contacts to his glasses as you turn on your hotplate and use the back side of a spoon to squeeze most of the water out of the teabags before you chuck them into your compost bin and finish making the teas.  

You set the mugs on the hotplate and let them marinate for a few minutes as you call Antonios and order your usual—a large chicken Alfredo pizza, two Alfredo pasta bread bowls, a box of garlic fingers and two cans of iced tea—and Spencer puts his contacts back into their case.  

He looks so absurdly good in the glasses that it’s never going to cease to borderline upon mind boggling.  

“Hey,” he greets, smiling gently. “Thank you—for letting me use your shower, and everything.”  

You shrug. “It’s no problem,” you say as Megatron the cat headbuts the back of your calves until you side step with your right foot and she can worm her way into the gap between your feet. “It’s never been a problem, Spence. Are you feeling okay?”  

That case had been a tough one, for both of you. It’d taken you, as many cases do, down to the Florida area. The killer was a 20-something white guy attending the local community college, and he crossed all lines with regards to socioeconomic status, risk, and gender. The guy didn’t have a type, really—at the start of his assaults, he’d killed two high risk victims in the vicinity of three days. The week after he’d gone for medium risk victims and then the third week, at which point you and the team had landed in LA, he’d broken into three separate homes, all low risk victims, like he was climbing down some weird totem pole, and his MO never stayed consistent.  

In the end, Derek had almost gotten shot, and you’d wound up with mild bruising on your arms, but thankfully, nobody else had been scathed in the aftermath.  

“I’m fine,” Spencer nods. “Yeah--all good. Are you? You’re the one I think I need to worry about, never mind myself.”  

You bite your lip. “A little sore but I’m okay,” you respond. Megatron abandons her spot between your feet and jumps up onto the counter instead, eliciting a surprised laugh from Spencer as he eyes her carefully so as to make sure she doesn’t get so close as to be able to step on the hotplate. “The bruises only really hurt when I touch them. I’m not shaken up or anything, I don’t think.”  

You turn to grab the milk from your fridge, bending briefly to grab it from the bottom shelf on the side door, careful to avoid the fridge touching any of your bruises as you set the milk on the counter and close the fridge in the process.  

You take the mugs off of the hotplate and turn the hotplate off, grabbing Megatron and gently ushering her away from it as you pass the milk to Spencer. You grab the honey and measure out just a tad bit more than half a tablespoon into yours, ever one to measure in the metrics of your heart. You stir the honey with one of the teaspoons that you keep in your cutlery drawer specifically for the occasion of making it, passing one to Spencer as he slides the milk your way.  

You add a splash of milk to yours before you put it into the fridge and hear the doorbell. Spencer goes to get it despite your protests, pays for the order because “you’re letting me stay at your apartment, Y/N. I’ll get it this time” and brings it back into the kitchen, sets it on the dining table.  

You grab paper plates and eat, the affair mostly silent, even as Megatron sniffs around and tries to get bites at your food.  

As is usual whenever you or Spencer stay at each others places and order Antonios, the pizza and garlic fingers wind up unfinished. You set them aside in tupperware containers and label one with Spencers name, as he would do for you if you were at his place. It’s a conscious decision at this point—you order more than you can eat so that you have food to take into the office the next day or to just reheat in your microwave if you get the chance to take the day off.  

The two of you migrate to the couch as you drink the teas that, despite your efforts with the hotplate, have gone lukewarm.  

“I just—I was just thinking about it on the jet back, is all,” Spencer says. He’s referring to a book you’ve read recently and just cannot, even if it’d save your life as a gun was pressed to your temple, stop thinking about. “Read it the other night, and—yeah. It’s not my usual thing but you do make a few decent points about it.”  

“It’s not usually my thing, either,” you confess. “I don’t read young adult and I haven’t much read it since I was one, but it was on a table and I read the back, and—c'mon, Spencer. A book written from the perspective of death itself. How much more intriguing can you get, really?”  

Spencer shrugs. “Pretty intriguing, I guess,” he says. “It was a really good book, Y/N. I can see why you’d find it an interesting perspective to read from—death is one of lifes many unanswered questions, and the prose was written really well.”  

“Thank you,” you laugh. “You’re the only person I can really talk about books with, if I’m honest. I mean—I like to use books to shut my brain off and you like to use them differently, but—you're the only person who gets it, I think.”  

This brings a grin to Spencers face. “Yeah,” he says. “Did you read the book I told you about? The one by--”  

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” you nod. “A Study in Scarlet—it was really good, which I did find a little surprising because I’ve always kind of found Sherlock Holmes a little gimmicky. I am the first to admit that I’ve never really liked any of the screen adaptations, but I love the way that he writes. Genuinely some of the better stuff I’ve read from that era, and I’ve read a lot of books from that time.”  

“Sherlock is hardly gimmicky,” Spencer rebuts. “I mean—one has to ignore all of the mediums and ways in which it has since been adapted, but—it's not as gimmicky as it could be.”  

“’Not as gimmicky as it could be’ implies that you’re acknowledging how gimmicky Sherlock can get,” you retort. “It’s good writing, Spence. As someone who has read and reread several books I haven’t liked in the name of a PhD in lit, it’s really good writing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, but the original version of the work beats out any and all adaptations by default for me because the original version of Sherlocks story is the only one I have so far enjoyed.”  

Spencer shrugs, takes a sip of his tea. “You make a point,” he concedes. “You’ve gotta read the other books in that universe, though—I'll lend you my copy of the second book.”  

“I can just buy and read it on my Kindle,” you respond.  

“I’ll lend you my copy,” Spencer says again. “Digital is crap, and we know it.”  

You snort, grabbing your own mug and taking a sip thats bigger than you mean for it to be but fine nonetheless—you love your tea when it’s hot or warm, even, but lukewarm and moving into cold territory is only good when it’s what you’re looking for, and it never is what you’re looking for when you’re drinking your chamomile.  

“Fine,” you relent, laughing. “You can lend me your copy.”  

Spencers grin turns triumphant, and for half a second you’re sure he’ll start cheering.  

“And, for the record,” you say. “Digital is not crap all the time—only with regards to books. I just like my Kindle because it lets me bring four or five books along with me wherever I go, and they’re like, two taps away. It’s easier to have four books on what’s essentially a tablet instead of stuffing four of them into my go bag.”  

Spencer shrugs. “You make a fair point,” he says. “This time, anyway. I’ll prove you wrong somehow.”  

You laugh, and you catch a very specific look in Spencers eye.  

It's there for all of two seconds, tops, and then his smile dims and it’s gone, but for those two seconds, he looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be.  

He looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be, sat across from you on your couch with his legs criss-crossed and a lukewarm mug of tea tucked in between his palms.  

“You might,” you concede. “For now, though—topic switch! Uh—has Gideon seemed a little off to you, lately? Like he’s thinking about retiring or something?”  

“No,” Spencer answers. “I think you’re watching him too closely and overthinking it. He’s fine. So is Hotch, if you’re worried about him.”  

You laugh. “I know Hotch is fine,” you retort. “He’d tell me if he weren’t, but I just—I know how much Gideon means to you and I hate the idea of him leaving when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place.”  

Spencers face softens up a little, and there it is again—the look in his eyes that was so fleeting that you almost didn’t catch it.  

“He might’ve been the one who brought me down to Quantico and helped me get the job I have, but—he's not the reason I’m here here,” Spencer says. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Y/N, but I’m exactly where I want to be right now and Gideon staying or leaving will do absolutely nothing to influence that.”  

You grin at him because the words did what they were supposed to by providing reassurance and you can’t think of anything more to say.

Spencer gets to standing. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says. “I’m assuming you’re going to stay out here for another hour, maybe wallow in your anxieties a little bit?”  

You laugh. “You, Spencer Walter Reid, know me too deeply.”  

He shrugs. “Good night, Y/N,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  

You nod, and it’s only after his back has turned and he’s headed in the direction of your guest room that you have an epiphany.  

You look at Megatron as you hear her tiny little footsteps approaching, and when she climbs up onto your lap and headbuts your shoulder, the realization sets in bone deep. It becomes something you can't ignore anymore, not like you have been for the past three years.  

“Oh, Meggy,” you whisper as you press your forehead against hers. “I’m in it deep, aren’t I?”  

She meows like a kind of confirmation, almost, and the thought sets in, spoken into your mind like a voice through a loudspeaker.  

I’m falling for him. I am falling in love with Spencer Reid.  

Another thought occurs, just as loud as the first.  

Oh, God. 

You finish your tea, rush to the kitchen with Megatron on your heels and set your dirty mug in the sink. You go to bed and it takes you a stupid amount of time to fall asleep even though Megatrons loud purring is enough to get you knocked out after a while.  

- 

Spencer places a London fog onto your desk in an almost wordless manner about a week and a half later. You’re chatting away with Penelope, who’d stopped at your desk to deliver to you two of the carrot muffins she baked and you adored.  

You turn your attention from Penelope as Spencer settles back in at his desk, mug of black but still sweeter than fiction coffee in his non dominant hand, pencil already tucked into his dominant one.  

“Thank you!” You chirp gratefully. You love any and everything earl grey and it’s been like that since before you started with the BAU.  

“You’re welcome,” Spencer responds. Your attention turns back to Penelope and his goes back to the file at hand, and the time passes with ease. Spencer focuses on his files and does so until he’s down to two and you’re down to one.  

“I were a bettin’ man,” you start. “I’d say there’s no way you can finish both files before I get my last one done.”  

“I have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words a minute,” Spencer says. “If you made bets, you’d lose this one.” 

“Sometimes, you make a bet while knowing you’re probably going to lose it,” you answer. “I mean, shit—When I was sixteen, I bet I wouldn’t live to see my nineteenth birthday. Thought for sure I’d win that one, but on the morning of my nineteenth, I walked to the local bakery, bought half a dozen carrot muffins and stuck a candle in one. I lit it, I blew it out, and I lost the bet I’d made with myself three years prior.”  

“You thought you’d win,” Spencer says, ignoring how achy your subtle admission makes his chest feel.  

“Well, there have been others,” you laugh. “I was two weeks away from joining up with the BAU and I still thought I’d never do it, let alone at nineteen years old. I made that bet figuring I’d lose it, figuring I’d walk in here on my first day and just know I was where I was meant to be, and I did. I lost that bet knowing I’d wind up losing.”

Spencer shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Game on, Y/N. If I win, you owe me one answer to a question of my choice.”  

“Deal,” you respond. “If I win, I want the same but in reverse.”  

Spencer nods, and for the next thirty minutes, as Derek occasionally glances up and watches the two of you with a not-so-hidden smirk, all that’s really heard is the sound of pens and pencils on paper.  

Spencer winds up winning, and it’s after he wins that Derek decides he’s done for the day and the two of you are the only two in the office.

“You get one question,” you say. “Go on. Out with it.”  

Spencer knows a fair bit about you—you were born and raised in Maine, had an IQ on a similar caliber to his own but didn’t really use it the same way he did. He knew you had a past you didn’t really like talking about and he usually didn’t pry, but just this one time, he tells himself, he’ll ask a question that it’s been sitting in the back of his mind since you joined and the tidbits about who you are as a person started coming in.  

“What’s the biggest reason you left Maine?” He asks.  

You laugh. “You and your tea claims to love me but here you are, asking me a question that I’d only ever willingly answer after nine o’clock. Smart move, Spence,” you say.  

Spencer shrugs. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  

“I left Cape Elizabeth for realsies for the last time when I was nineteen,” you answer. “Hotch had been trying to get me to let him mentor me for a few months, and—well, there was this shithead ex boyfriend who just wouldn’t leave me alone for the longest time. I left when Hotch asked me if I’d at least come down for a few days, and I haven’t gone back since.”  

Spencer blinks. “That explains a lot,” he says.  

“It explains why I don’t really have a social media presence,” you say. “And why the only evidence I’m working in law enforcement is my employment article, which doesn’t even list an active phone number. He never stalked me, and I doubt he’d have the fucking gall to do it even after I’ve been gone for six years, but it still spooks me big freakin’ time. Ask me another question, please.”  

Spencer laughs. “Favorite pastry?”  

“Pain au chocolat, easy,” you answer. “Next one. Dig deeper this time, Spencer. I’m hopped up on caffeinated tea and will tell you just about anything that’s deeper than surface level.”  

“Why do you like crocheting and knitting so much?” Spencer asks.  

“It turns my brain off,” you confess. “I hate working with straight needles—don't understand how my grandmother did it for so long but I respect it. I love crocheting because it works as good as my anxiety meds when I don’t have them on hand, and I love knitting because, yeah, it’s more labour intensive and takes longer, but the end product is just gorgeous every single time. Color work is easier in crochet, though. Crochet tapestry is amazing. I tend to use crochet for anxiety and dopamine because it works up whip quick and stuff like cardigans won’t take me 140 hours. Knitting is the kind of thing I do when I want to put that work in, though. I don’t really do it as often as I’d like to but when I do do it, I’m really meticulous about the pattern I use, and the yarn I choose for the project, and—you'll know I give a damn about you when I knit you something.”  

“You’ve knitted me a few cardigans,” Spencer says. “A purple one, and a navy blue one recently.”  

You grin. “I give a stupid number of damns about you, Reid,” you say. “Also Penelope. I’d knit more for Derek if I thought he’d wear what I made him, but he doesn’t seem the type. Hotch accepts the wall art and stuff I make for him when I can find the time but I doubt he has it displayed anywhere. Hotch is an odd case, though. He cares about me but does so from a kind of distance, almost.”  

Spencer shrugs. “Gideons the same way,” he says. “When I was dealing with my addiction, he was like an absent kind of parent—there sometimes, but not often.”  

You nod. “Everyone was that way with you,” you say. “Gideon especially so, but—nobody really knew how to address it.”  

“You did,” Spencer says. “You’re freakishly good at that kind of thing.”

“Alcoholism runs in the family,” you shrug. “I’ve been to many-a intervention, and I know how to spot the signs of addiction from a thousand miles away point blank. I’ve had to pull myself together and narrowly avoided addiction a few times, though not to anything like Dialaudid.”  

“I feel like this is going somewhere deep,” Spencer confesses. “When I asked you about Maine—I wasn’t trying to get you to open up to anyone before you were ready. It was fifteen minutes ago but I was an asshole.”  

You laugh, shaking your head. “I was going to have to open up to someone eventually,” you say. “The fact that it was you is incredibly fitting to me.” 

Neither of you have any work to do, but you’re not moving to pack up or do anything. You’re using overtime in order to talk with each other when there is absolutely nobody else in the office, even the likes of Hotch and Gideon having gone home. 

Spencer shrugs, grabs the mug that has long since been repurposed, switched out from coffee to tea, and takes a sip from it.  

“The boyfriend who drove me to leavings name was James DeLuca,” you say. “He was a trust fund kid who thought he beheld all the power in the world in a town where it sometimes felt like everyone knew everyone. We dated for eight months before I broke things off, and he hated me for it. I just—I hate the idea of being some rich white guys trophy spouse, y’know? If I’m going to get married or continue a long term relationship with someone, I’m going to do it because I love them, not because I want their money. I’m marrying someone on the merits of love or I’m not doing it at all, no matter what some idiot trust fund baby thinks about that.”  

You sigh, and Spencer tilts his head.  

“I think he’s got a wife now, a kid or two?” You say. “I dunno—I get Garcia to check on him every year or two, just to make sure he’s not gone on to do something that’ll wind up in VICAP and to make sure he’s not made his way to Quantico. I feel safer knowing he’s not here, and that’s probably me overestimating him, but he seemed capable of murder last we talked, and it scared the shit out of me.”  

“If he does come around here, the team has got your back,” Spencer says. “We’ll protect you as best we can, Y/N, you know that.”  

You nod. “I routinely trust you guys with my life and I really wouldn’t have it any other way,” you respond. “I just—I don’t know. It’s a stupid anxiety that’s been keeping me up at night for the last six years. I’m sorry to vent like this, Spence. It’s late, and we really should be getting home, right?”  

“Y/N,” he says as you bend to pack your things. “Y/N, stop.”  

You’re not listening to him, though. You’re too buzzed, the caffeine in your system and the anxiety making a cocktail that Spencer knows to be an awful, devilish little thing. 

He stands and before he can think about it, his hand is on your arm. When you turn to look at him, your eyes are slightly wide but you make no move to ask him to stop or to force him away.  

“Spencer?” You ask.  

“You don’t need to apologize for venting,” he says. “Seriously--I was paranoid for months after the stuff with Tobias Hankel, and that wasn’t entirely the drugs or the withdrawal. If this guy comes after you, we’ll get to him before he can even so much as look at you the wrong way, and I promise you that.”  

You lean forward and it takes all of three seconds for Spencer to register your forehead against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate or feel awkward about the touch, which is surprising given how sudden it seems, but he instead welcomes it.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, and Spencer huffs a laugh because he knows it’s habitual. “I mean—well, you know what I mean at this point, right?”  

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “I know what you mean, Y/N. Are you sure you’ll be okay to go home alone tonight?”  

You pull away, looking up at him and nodding. “The drive is fifteen minutes, and it’s 9:30. I should be fine til I’m in my apartment, and once I’m there, Megatron and her weird ability to sense when something is off with me will do wonders.”  

Spencer smiles softly, and he sees what almost looks like love in your eyes. “Get home safe, Y/N.”  

“Are you not leaving?”  

Spencer shakes his head, ignoring the sudden burst of unfamiliar fondness that pokes at his chest when he looks your way.  

“Nah,” he says. “I figure I’ll be nice, do a file or two of Morgans so that he has less to worry about tomorrow.”  

“Do you want Derek to have less of a workload, or do you just want to stay here and think?” 

“I always think clearest when I’m at my desk,” Spencer shrugs. “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”  

“Night, Spence,” you say, gathering up the last of your things. Spencer walks over to Morgans desk and plucks two files off the top of his paperwork file as you leave the office, settling into his own desk thereafter.  

He stares at the unopened manila folder for a long five or so seconds as the reality that he’s been holding off for at least a year and a half truly sets in.  

It makes him laugh.  

“I’m so screwed,” he says to himself.  

Every single time Derek has accused him of being smitten since he was halfway through twenty-four, he’s been right. It only hits him then, and Spencer feels like just as much of an idiot as Derek has claimed him to be.  

TWENTY - NINE / THIRTY 

As you run through the only abandoned psych ward within a twenty mile radius of Cape Elizabeth, you have a moment wherein you realize just how stupid you really are.  

“James DeLuca, I’m Y/N L/N with the BAU!” Like he doesn’t already know your name and place of employment.  

Hotch, of course, disagreed with your plan entirely, but you had been so determined and so convincing that he had agreed to it in the end, as long as there was back up for you posted at the front and back entrances at the first sign of trouble, and as long as you caught him while you were within the first four of eight floors total. If he’d gotten anywhere past the fourth you were to chase him back down within range or talk him down and then call for immediate back up, without firing your gun unless he fired his.  

All of it—James’ MO, his signature, even the ways in which he behaved, tied back to you. All of his victims looked like you did in the lead up to when you’d left Maine for Virginia. All of them had similar hobbies, but you doubted the victims would’ve been half as dumb as you were being, going after James like you were. 

The psych ward was part of his signature—he took his victims to one of the only abandoned psych wards within the entirety of that town and the next. You could remember why vividly.  

Back when you’d initially broken up with him a decade prior, you’d, in a moment of frustration, told him he ought to be admitted into a psych ward if he was going to keep acting so fucking insane. He’d threatened to take you to the very one you were running through, gun and flashlight aimed and ready, and kill you in response.  

“James DeLuca, drop your weapon and surrender to the police! This is over, okay? It’s done.”  

You turn a corner and bump right into him, like he'd been laying in wait for you that entire time.

“I’ll drop my weapon if you drop yours,” he says. “And only after we’ve had it out. I have shit to say to you, Y/N.”  

You take six large steps back, fighting your anxiety off as what remains of it is replaced by adrenaline.  

“Okay,” you shrug, figuring that keeping your cool is the best thing you can do around him. The minute he senses you’re even slightly off kilter, he’s liable to go completely off the rails. “Say whatever it is you need to say to me, James, but put the weapon down first. I won’t lower my gun until you lower yours.”  

He scoffs. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he says. “Even with all of your FBI training and how long you’ve been doin’ this for, you don’t have what it takes to kill someone.” 

“The rule of thumb within all areas of law enforcement is to avoid shooting unless absolutely necessary, and to be frank, I’d prefer to avoid all the paperwork that’ll come my way if I do shoot you, now put the gun down.”  

James is a more adult-y version of the one you can remember—he looks vaguely like a young Timothy Olyphant, if Olyphant had jet black hair, a patchy beard, and was on the stockier side in build. James is a little taller than Spencer, standing at an even 6’4, and shit, fuck it all if he’s not just as scary as he used to be. 

James, thankfully, relents. He drops his gun. You holster yours.  

“Put it down,” James says, his tone gravelly and demanding.

“From what I can remember of my teen years, you had a pickpockets hands and quick reflexes,” you say. “I’m not going to leave myself absent of a weapon when I know, for a fact, that you can have yours in hand, cocked, aimed, and the safety off within eight seconds. No fucking way, James. That is not how this works. You want to have it out, say what you need to and then we’ll see where this goes after all is said and done.”  

“Even if I do shoot you, we’re on the third floor,” James says. “I’ve got my escape route planned, Y/N. I rush down the stairs, make it to the tunnels, and I’m a free man until they realize there are tunnels under this place. They don’t show up on any blueprints because they were dug by miners after the building was abandoned, and there are only two ways to get to them in the building, both of which are well hidden secrets for only those brave enough to look to find.”  

“The second you shoot, there’ll be FBI agents swarming the place. You won’t even make it to the second floor without being caught.”  

“I have a silencer,” James says, patting his pocket. “I’ve planned this one out, Y/N. Waited a decade to do it, after all.”  

You breathe in deep, but don��t request back up yet despite your instincts practically demanding it. It, you decide, is too early.  

You nod. “Okay, so you have it planned out, Just—talk, please. Before I get sick of your voice, preferably.”  

“I loved you, Y/N,” he says. “I’d bought a ring by the time you left. I was going to propose that weekend, you know that?”  

“You loved the idea of me, James,” you say. You’re trying to subtly back up towards the open window. The hallway you’re in faces the front entrance, so if you get shot, the team is going to see it and know what’s what. “You didn’t love me for me. You demeaned me all the time and when you weren’t being demeaning, you were being an asshole. You wanted a trophy spouse, not someone with whom you shared a genuine connection. Is that why you married Rachel? She wanted your money and you wanted some decent eye candy to hold onto your arm at all of your bullshit charity galas?”  

James, unfortunately, catches onto what you’re doing. He picks up his gun and carries it as he follows you. You redirect, going back the way you came.  

“That’s not it!” James shouts insistently. “That’s not it!”  

“Yes it is,” you say, turning the same corner you’d turned only minutes before. “Yes it is, James, and you know that. You just wanted a bangmaid at the end of the day, and saying that is being generous.”

“Are you asking to die?”  

“Y’know, you’re the second person to accuse me of being suicidal with regards to this case in the past two weeks,” you retort. Being sarcastic is a bad idea. You know that. You should be trying to talk him down. You know that. But you aren’t, and even if it gets you shot, then at least James will have finally gotten to do the one thing he’s been aching to for a decade. “I’m really gettin’ sick of it. Feels like between you and my boss, I’m hearing a lot of people singing the same fucking tune.”  

James laughs. “You are asking to die,” he says. “I dunno if I wanna give you this, knowing it’s what you want from me. Are you still with that pipe cleaner? The one who wears his gun weird.”  

“Where did you get the idea that I was ever with him?”  Maybe it was four years of unrequited love starting to seep through the cracks to a point of noticeability? “No. It’s never been like that, and don’t you dare bring him into this.”  

“He’s got a name,” James taunts. “Dr Spencer Reid, a man with at least three PhDs, two BAs, and an absurd amount of education for someone his age. He's as smart as you are, and if how easily you’ll go down is any indication, I feel like I could shoot him a good thirty feet away and still get the aim right.”  

“Don’t you dare,” you say it through gritted teeth, the mere idea of Spencers life being on the line enough to scare you well past your wits end. “You’re making a mistake by bringing him into this, James. My team will go down for me if they have to, but Spencer will make it the opposite of easy for you to kill him, and Garcia will drudge up every ounce of online criminal activity she can find on you just to give the judge more charges to add to your bit.”  

“Threatening me now?” James asks, grinning wildly. “Yeah. That’s a mistake.”  

You watch as he grabs the silencer and equips it. Because of your adamant refusal to shoot first unless necessary—in pursuit of avoiding more paperwork than the absolutely necessary amount—you start running backwards to keep your eyes on him while minding your footing.  

“You tryin' to watch me equip the gun that’s gonna kill you?” James laughs. “You’re more sadistic than I thought, Y/N.”  

“You do realize what charges come with the murder or attempted murder of a federal officer?” You respond. “James, don’t be stupid. I know you are inherently, but you’re acting abnormally so today. Please just stop.”  

He laughs again, and as you, in a moment of admitted idiocy, turn around to sprint the rest of the way down the hall, he aims his gun.  

He lands four shots in your torso in the last three seconds before you turn the corner.  

“I’ll come and find you in a decade, Y/N,” James calls. “If you’re not dead of blood loss by the end of the day. If you make it out, we’ll repeat this every decade and my aim will get better each time.”  

Your knees buckle, and you pull your phone out as you crawl towards a window. You dial Garcias number as you hear James’ heavyweight footing running in the other direction, towards the stairwell that’s farthest from you. 

“Garcia, call an ambulance and send them to 9981 Lilibet Grove,” you say. “Tell them—tell them officer down. Four bullets, two to the chest, one to the hip and one to the—ow, fuck—to the lung.”  

“Oh--oh my God!” Is Garcias response. “Are you okay? Please tell me he didn’t shoot you! Please, Y/N--oh my God!”  

You’re still ambling toward the only open window, and getting to your feet feels almost impossible, but you do it.  

“Agent down, I meant,” you correct. “He shot me, Garcia, and—tell Hotch and the others that James DeLuca is running for the tunnels. Tunnels are under the entire building and he’s intending to use them to escape.”  

You collapse when you’re two feet away from the window, but you push forward until your fingers can grip the ledge and drag yourself the rest of the way. You hoist yourself up just enough that Spencer can see you, and you see the fear in his eyes in the last second before you scream his name and collapse harshly onto the tiled ground below your waist.  

“Spencer!” You scream, Garcia still on the line.  

“Okay,” Garcia says. “Calling the ambulance and patching Spencer through in the meantime, okay? You—don't you dare die on me, you idiot!”  

“I’ll do my best,” you say as you listen for the sounds of government issued SUV doors slamming shut. When you hear it, a sense of hope dimly registers in your chest. Your team isn’t going to let you die, and they never would.  

“Spencer, talk to Y/N while I call 911 and please do your best to keep them awake the meantime,” Garcia says, voice tinged by a sense of anxiety you’re all too familiar with.  

“Y/N,” Spencer greets. “You’re covered in blood.”  

“You saw me, then,” you grin, pressing your head against the cold tiled flooring. “Two GSWs to the chest, one to the lung and one to my hip. This fucking sucks.”  

“Yeah, it would,” Spencer nods. “You were shot.”  

“I should’ve woken up today and made better decisions,” you laugh. “Ow--hurts. I’m on the third floor, about fifteen feet from the western stairwell. James headed east, and I remember that the blueprints indicated there was a stairwell that way, which means that he’s headed for it if he’s not already there. Getting shot is exhausting, Spence.”  

“Keep talking,” Spencer says urgently. “I need you awake until they get here, okay? Awake awake. Not awake and quiet, awake and babbling like I do whenever you bring up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock.”  

“What do you want me to talk about?”  

“You were complaining about making a blanket out of single crochets before the case started,” Spencer says. “Did you finish it?”  

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Again with the laughter—fuck, Spencer. It really fucking hurts.”  

“I know,” Spencer says, tone briefly taking on an empathetic underbelly. “The blanket. Tell me about it, tell me anything.”  

“Almost every crocheter does it and lives to regret it,” you laugh. “I figured—I've been crocheting since I was nineteen, why haven’t I done it yet? I gotta.” 

“Are you relieved that it’s done?”  

“So relieved,” you nod. “Yeah. If I ever have to do a foundation chain of the length of a queen sized bed ever again, I need to you to kill me the second I voice the idea.”  

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I won’t do that, but I’ll happily talk you out of it. Why did you hate it so much?”  

“Single crochets are objectively the easiest stitch—in my heart they’re called single crochets because you only have to yarn over twice counting pulling up a loop but technically once because you only have to yarn over once when you have the two loops on your hook. They’re the smallest crochet stitch next to slip stitches, which I will never ever ever make a blanket out of, unless someone pays me what I make in a year,” you respond. “Imagine doing sixty-inches wide of single crochets and then continuing down until you have 80 inches of single crochets in length. One monotonous step over and over again for a long ass time.”  

You hear the stairwell door open. “Also, the Bernat blanket formula is fucking terrible,” you laugh, clutching your side when the same pain kicks up again. “I’m really tired, Spencer.”  

“I’m--Y/N, I am thirty feet away from you. Don’t you dare lose consciousness on me.”  

“Garcia?” You ask. “Are you back yet?”  

“Here and at the ready,” she says. “Ambulances ETA is eight minutes. Was sixteen but you are not allowed to die on me, Y/N, and you certainly aren’t allowed to die on Spencer, so don’t even think about it.”  

“You crochet, right?”  

“A little,” she says.  

“Never make a blanket out of single crochets,” you laugh, clutching your side a bit more intensely in turn. “Ow--I really have to stop doing that.” 

“I promise I won’t make a blanket out of single crochets,” Penelope says. “You have my word on that, okay? Which stitch do you recommend?”  

“I like granny squares,” you say. “Anything involving a granny stitch? I’m all over it. They’re amazing, Garcia. They’re like the Spencer Reids voice of crochet stitches.” 

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Spencer says.  

“That good, hm?” is Penelopes rebuttal. “I’ve seen granny square afghans, and they’re gorgeous, so I don’t blame you for that. Spencer, is Y/N within your line of sight?”  

“I’m fifteen feet out,” Spencer says. “I’m going to get off the phone. Keep them awake for the next minute, please.”  

“Will do,” Penelope says. “Okay--so—the Spencer Reid comment. Are you in love with him?”  

“I am delirious, Penelope Grace Garcia, and that is totally unfair,” you snort. It’s followed by a wince and you don’t even try to mask your grimace. “I have four bullet wounds. Ask me once I’m in the recovery unit, please.”  

“When you’re in the recovery unit, you’ll probably be doped up on morphine.”  

“I’m going to refuse pain medication.”  

“You’ve had—what? Four interactions with this guy in the past two weeks, Y/N, three of which have left your ribs bruised or broken, one of which has left four bullet wounds in you!”  

“Your point?”  

“You will take the pain medication they give you and you will do it with a smile or so help me--”  

You feel Spencers hand on your shoulder. “Spencer is here. Ambulance soon?”  

“Quicker than you can say ‘Spencer Reid is probably totally the love of my life’, my dear,” she says. “You hang on for us, okay? I’m sure Hotch is going to give you an earful, but—it's because he cares. Rossi does, too.”  

You sigh, letting Spencer turn you to face him. “I’m gonna end the call now,” you say. “Thank you Garcia.”  

“I’ll be at the hospital when you wake up!” is how she says her goodbye.  

You look at Spencer pitifully. “I’m an idiot,” you mumble.  

“Yeah, but you're normally smart so I'll let it go just this once,” Spencer laughs. “You’ve seen better days, Y/N. I’ve gotta lift you so I can get you back downstairs.”  

“How mad is Hotch?”  

“Angrier at himself than at you,” he says. “Being a bit harsh, but he’s got a pass. Are you okay, everything aside?”  

“Its all my fault,” you respond. “Eight families are mourning because I left him a decade ago, and—before you try and tell me it’s not, that this would’ve happened no matter what, that’s just not how it is. I left Maine and I did so without so much as a note, and now, a decade later, he’s killed eight people in three months and their blood is on my hands.”  

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his tone cautious. “Their blood is not on your hands—your delirious. We can have this conversation when you’re in the hospital.”  

“James--I think he’d been stalking me for a few months and I hadn’t realized,” you responded. “Like, he was that good at it maybe? I dunno. He asked if I was still with you, in a romantic sense and I just thought, for a second, why would we ever?”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, moving to gently hoist you into his arms.  

“It--I’ve loved you since I was twenty five,” you respond. “Since that night when we were talking about A Study in Scarlett. I realized it after you’d gone to bed. Maybe that’s just when it set in but you looked at me like you were exactly where you wanted to be and it just—when a pretty boy looks at you like that? It’s very hard not to fall in love on the spot. I happened to do so, which is kind of my own fault.”  

He lifts you into his arms and you rest your cheek against his shoulder on impulse. “We’ll discuss this at the hospital,” he says. “For the record—it's not unrequited. Just to get that out of the way.”  

“I’m really tired, Spence,” you respond. “I just—I just wanna nap. For a minute.”  

“Y/N L/N, don’t you dare,” he says sternly. “Nope. No naps allowed. You can sleep in the ambulance, when they’ll actually have the tools to keep you alive if you end up dying.”  

“Spencer,” you whine because you’re exhausted and you can’t help yourself. “Please. Just a minute.”  

You hear the door open, and then it’s impossible to sleep because of much Spencer is jostling you around as he rushes down the stairs.  

“Asshole,” you grumble when you finally reach solid ground and stay on it for longer than the ten seconds it took Spencer to turn from one flight to the next in between floors.   

“Sorry for jostling you around,” Spencer says. “Well--not really. Kept you awake, didn’t it?” 

You grip the collar of his shirt in your fist and press your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re gonna owe me a lot of Jell-O once I’m in the recovery unit.”  

Spencer laughs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Cherry?”  

“It’s the best kind,” you respond nonchalantly.  

When you hear the wail of the ambulance sirens, you don’t panic. You hold onto Spencer as tightly as you can and it’s only when you feel yourself being transferred from his arms to a gurney that the anxiety sets in.  

You reach out blindly, trying to find him as most of your head gets lost in the noise. “Spencer--please come with me! Please don’t go. I need someone I know I can trust. I’m too scared to do this alone.”  

You feel Spencers hand gently grasp your arm, then dimly register the sound of his voice as he asks to ride with the paramedics. You hear their agreement, then just as you’re being lifted into the back of the ambulance, it’s lights out. You fall asleep before you can even register that’s what you’re doing, and the last thing you see before the exhaustion takes over is Spencers panicked face, blood staining his shirt and vest.  

- 

You wind up needing to be put into a coma, and a week later, when Spencer goes to visit you bright and early on his day off, he finds you awake.  

It’s been a very long, very tough, week. Not just for him, though—Hotch had been harder on the team as well as himself in the aftermath of your being shot, and even though Rossi tried to help him gently, it ended in a shouting match wherein Rossi outright demanded he go easy on himself and the rest of the team.  

Penelope had spent every single day of that week in your hospital room for at least an hour, wanting to be there when you woke up. Derek had gone for long runs before coming into work, and Emily and JJ had both been on edge even while they were filling out paperwork and not in the field.  

Spencer was as he always was when he was going through something—sarcastic and snippy as all hell. It got on Hotchs nerves and he and Hotch had yelled at each other a few times that week, but Spencer had forced it to glide off his shoulders. He was there from the minute he got off work til visiting hours were done every single day, and on his day off, he comes in thirty minutes after visiting hours begin to find you awake, an exhausted look on your face as a nurse fills you in on your condition where she’s able.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet as said nurse goes from explaining the ins and outs to checking your vitals. “Has it been a week? Really?”  

“Yeah,” he says. “Garcia is going to be here in half an hour, and I told Hotch I’d call you when you woke up, but—it can wait two minutes.”  

“Yeah, it can,” you nod. “How was it? An entire week without me around to bug you for the first time in a decade?”  

“Terrible,” Spencer laughs. He approaches you finally, sits on the edge of your bed as the nurse leaves. “I kept getting into fights with Hotch, and it was just—oh my God, please never get shot at like that again. Please never put yourself in that scenario again.”  

“I had a thought, as I was running down the hallway on the third floor, about how dumb I was,” you admit. “Even thought about calling for back up but didn’t because it felt a little too early. I promise, Spence, I will never be that stupid again.”  

He smiles gently, reaches out and runs his nimble fingers over the scope of your hands. “Good,” he says. “For the record—it was stupid, what you did, but we don’t fault you for it. Emily joked a few days back that she’s made dumber decisions. How’re you feeling?”  

“Tired,” you respond. Spencers gaze flits to yours, examining your face without meaning to as he looks at you. “Really sore, honestly. Hungry, too.”  

“I’ll call Garcia, ask her to stop at the coffee shop you like so you don’t have to eat hospital food,” he says.  

“I love you, Spencer,” you respond in what Spencer knows to be a slip up. Even knowing this, his eyes still widen, fingers stopping in their tracks as he traces one word after the next against the soft skin of your forearm.  

“Do you remember what you confessed when you were half dead?” He asks, broaching the subject very, very gently. “Because--I do. I have an eidetic memory and I’ve spent the last week unable to stop thinking about it, Y/N.”  

You nod. “I do,” you say. “I’ve been known to have better timing than that. I’m sorry, Spencer.”  

“Do you remember what I said?” Spencer asks.  

“You said we’d discuss it at the hospital and that—oh my God,” you press one of your palms against your face. “That it wasn’t unrequited. Oh my God, Spencer. We both had terrible timing on that one, didn’t we?”  

Spencer laughs, nods wordlessly. “We did,” he says. “You said it was the night we’d been talking about A Study in Scarlet, but for me, it was different. I realized I’d loved you twice but pushed it down the first time, figured it’d be more of an inconvenience.”  

“Tell me more,” you say. Spencer resumes his ministrations, tracing letters that’ll form words with a feather light touch to your forearm. “About the first time, and then also the second.”  

“The first time I realized, I was twenty four,” he says. “I dunno—you were talking about Jane Austen with Elle, and it just kind of hit me as I happened to look over at you. It’d been building for a few years at that point, bubbling just under the surface. I buried it, buried myself in my paperwork, and eventually, I thought I’d buried it well enough that it didn’t exist anymore.”  

“And the second?”  

“It was the night you told me about James,” Spencer shrugs. “I can’t pinpoint what spurred it on, honestly, but I know it was that night. I appreciated—still appreciate—how vulnerable you and I were with each other. You left as I grabbed two folders from Dereks desk and as I sat down to do them, it hit all over again and I just thought: yeah. I’m a goner, aren’t I?” and I’ve been like that ever since.”  

You grin. “Okay--” you laugh a little. “Hotch warned me when you were twenty-three and I was twenty-two, that we’d have a shit ton of paperwork to fill out if our dynamic ever took this turn. Now, that’s all I can think about.”  

Spencer laughs, shakes his head.  

He keeps tracing words over your forearm, and when he kisses your forehead, your eyes are on his ministrations.  

“We can’t command our love, but we can our actions,” you whisper. “That’s something Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. I can’t remember what it’s from, but--”  

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” Spencer provides, his lips still pressed against your forehead. He kisses it again, and when he pulls away, he sees an unmistakably overjoyed look in your eyes to go with the smile that graces your lips. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but the action I’m going to take is whichever one keeps us together. Even if it means paperwork, or no promotions, or no longer going out into the field together. We’re always better when we tag team geographical profiles, anyway, and your desk will still be across from mine. Only difference now is that when I bring you tea, there might just be a forehead kiss to accompany it, provided Hotch isn’t in the bullpen.”  

You grin, and when Spencers phone goes off, you let him answer it.  

“Hi!” Penelope greets. “The hospital told me they didn’t have to call you as you’d already shown up and you were the first on their emergency contact list, but I am on the way! I’m bringing everyone else and also bagels. Is Y/Ns favorite place for tea still Izzies?”  

“It’s been their favorite spot for ages and I don’t think it’ll ever be subject to change,” he answers. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Hotch and Rossi look relieved for the first time in literal days,” Garcia laughs. “But yeah—everyones okay. Is Y/N?”  

“Y/N is tired and hungry but otherwise fine,” Spencer says. “Sore, I think, too, but that’s not confirmed, just an assumption.”  

“Did you tell them yet?” Penelope asks, and he can practically hear the eyebrow quirks in her question, the smile in her tone.  

“That has been discussed to an extent,” Spencer says.  

“What kind of extent, boy genius?” Derek calls from somewhere near Penelopes phone.  

“We’ll both have some paperwork we'll need to do once they’re back in the office, and we won’t be able to go out into the field anymore or be eligible for promotions, but—worth it. So freakin’ worth it.”  

He smiles at you, and you grin in response.  

“Yay!” Penelope shouts. “I am going to bring Y/N the biggest London fog I can get from Izzies, as well as bagels and the rest of the team. I’ll see you guys in a bit?”  

“See you soon, Penelope.”  

He hangs up the phone and looks at you, sees the exhaustion in your eyes as you reach over and press the morphine button.  

“What happened to ‘I’m not going to ask for pain meds’?”  

“Getting shot in the chest hurts like a motherfucker,” you murmur. “Now--c’mere. Please. You’re so warm and I’m so cold.”  

Spencer laughs, watches you scootch over a little in the bed and make room for him.  

In the end, Spencers back is on the mattress and you’re curled up, minding the wires and tubes connecting you to an IV and your pain meds, on his right. Your head is against his shoulder and as you fall asleep, your breathing evens out. Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content in the entire thirty years he’s been alive, doesn’t want to know if it can get any better than it is. 

THIRTY - THIRTY-ONE 

You're laughing along with a joke Rossi makes, sipping the glass of wine you've been nursing for ages, when you feel Spencers hands on your shoulders.

"Hi," Spencer greets just before he kisses the side of your head. Rossi grins at the display of affection, his smile warm and almost fatherly.

"I didn't know the two of you back when you started," he says. "Hotch did, though, and he told me the other night, he'd seen this coming from a mile away. Was shocked it took you guys so long, but wasn't surprised it happened."

You shrug. "His IQ is 187 and mine is close to it," you say. "That doesn't quite mean we're exempt from our moments of idiocy."

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he says. "Plus, the idea of the extra paperwork was a little daunting, at first." He jokes, kissing your temple again.

"Worth it?" Rossi asks, and both of you nod.

"I wish I'd done it a lot sooner, personally," you admit. "I kind of hate that I told him I loved him while I was half dead, but life gave me a lemon and I made lemonade, so it all worked out."

You let yourself melt into Spencers embrace as Rossi walks away, catches JJ and Will and decides to talk with them for a while. You sip your wine as Spencer shoots off at the mouth about how lemons are man made and were developed through years of creating hybrid citruses, grateful to be standing at that event, in Spencers arms, at all.

-

Spencer grins at the sight as Megatron curls up on your chest. It’s the early hours of the morning and neither of you have work, but Spencer has woken up at 6:30, regardless of the day of the week, since he started working at the BAU.  

She’s been extra loving with you since you were shot and wound up in a coma last year, has become somewhat co-dependent but only really displays these traits when it’s after dark or you’re asleep and she’s able to be affectionate without you poking fun at her.  

She sprawls out over your chest and somewhat onto your stomach, and when she starts purring, she purrs at the noise level of a freight train, per usual.  

“Morning, Meggy,” Spencer greets, running a finger along her chin affectionately. He’s doing anything he can to avoid starting his day because, since you’d started dating and spending the night at each others apartments more regularly, Spencer had discovered how nice it really was to curl up in bed and just kind of waste the morning away. He’d never seen the point in it while he was single or in love with you but doing nothing about it, but since your relationship had started, he loved spending his off days like that.  

He, rather begrudgingly, climbs out of bed. He goes to your bathroom and uses the spare toothbrush you keep for him to use whenever he spends the night, tidies up the dining room from the previous nights dinner and washes the dishes used before putting them onto the empty drying rack. He heads back into your bedroom after taking the necessary steps to make your life just a little easier, and when you wake up an hour and a half later, it’s eight thirty and you greet him with an exhausted smile.  

“Hi,” you greet. “Anything from Garcia yet?”  

“She called me around midnight,” Spencer confesses. “You’d been asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”  

“What’s the news?”  

“James DeLuca was caught in the maritimes, along the Canadian coast,” Spencer says. “They’ve brought him back to the states, and right now it’s looking a lot like he’ll get the death penalty.”  

You curl up against him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Spencer knows it’s because the news feels like a bit of a relief. A year since he’d narrowly evaded arrest, and the man who almost killed you has been caught. It has to feel like a supermassive weight being lifted off your chest, and Spencer himself was relieved to hear the news when Garcia had phoned.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses his lips to your forehead. You’d spent a year looking over your shoulder and yielding no results, but now you never would have to do that again.  

“He’s behind bars, Y/N,” he says. “He’s not a threat anymore.”  

He feels your smile against his neck and can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine. Megatron, ever observant and attention-seeking, plops herself onto the centre of Spencers chest, to your amusement.  

“I never have to worry about him again,” you whisper. “That--that’s wonderful.”  

“Mhm,” Spencer says. “Now, I don’t really think either of us need to get out of bed, per se, until the afternoon. I say we just relax for a while, soak it in and maybe give Megatron some tummy rubs.”  

You laugh. “I really like that plan,” you say. Spencer kisses your forehead again.  

He soaks it in—how good it feels, to be with someone he cherishes so deeply. It feels amazing to not have anything on his plate, not a stressful case or some stupid argument with Derek that he’s overthinking.  

It feels amazing to be in your presence, to only really have to worry about how painful it’ll be when Megatron inevitably gets up and puts all her weight into her two front paws when she leans forward and aggressively headbuts Spencers jaw until he gives her what she wants or how, when you take to wanting a forehead kiss or otherwise, you’re liable to press your forehead against his shoulder until he gives in.  

It feels amazing because this, right here, in this moment, is exactly where Spencer wants to be. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, is so happy with you and Megatron that he’s almost drowning in it.  

It’s a feeling that, before you’d started dating, rarely came about, but one he’s always going to cherish, no matter the circumstance.