#i like my job enough to stand it for enough hours a week to get by

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Heating pads

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: Your good time in Portimao being interrupted by your endo flare up again.

Warnings: endometriosis, cramps, love and care, infertility and baby talk

A/N: Wrote this last night and I poured into it some of my personal experience with endo, more this time. Surgery worked a little for me, it gave me a three months without cramps. Every body is different, every treatment works differently for us. But we’re in this together, endo sisters!

For @amberjazmyn 🧡

Don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

The weather at Portimao circuit wasn’t so pleasant as it was nearing the end of the year. F1 season was long gone and Max was able to finally avert his attention to his other hobbies (not gonna mention it’s still racing, but for his kinda own team).

Meeting with all the people around Verstappen.com Racing was a great one, especially with Thierry Vermeulen, because he was so funny, but humble at the same time.

You were always amazed how Max was so good at handling his many duties and hobbies at the same time. He was a great mentor, passing his legacy and wisdom and you watched how his temper calmed down a little through the years.

It wasn’t long ago when you moved to his apartment at Monaco, making your relationship more official after three years of being there and nowhere, between your job and his races. One day you decided enough is enough and you didn’t want to face your life alone anymore. That stirred some rumours through his fan base and also your parents weren’t able to hold back in their questions about you two starting a family. Truth was that you and Max weren’t exactly against having children, but the main problem was your endometriosis. Severe pain episodes, ending in ER may times, being neglected by doctors, saying it’s only in your head and that you need to sleep it off. You thought, for so many years, that you’re just insane, but after Max got through one of your endo flare ups with you, he got you through many doctor appointments, to the best specialists in the field, where you finally heard your diagnosis.

The surgery date was set after the new year’s, when Max would be still around to help you get back on your feet and mend your wounds with his love and care. But to that date your body just decided that you need to suffer.

You stood in the garage, watching how Max talked with the engineers and Thierry about some issues, his yapping always getting more and more interesting, when you felt a cramp in your lower back. It wasn’t unusual, you always had similar, and you brushed it off as some kind of back pain, most likely from standing for too long.

Watching Max racing at the empty track was always fun, he gave it his all, enjoying his time and it made you genuinely smile. But now you were pale, your forehead getting a little sweaty, same as your whole body. Feeling the need to sit down, you understood immediately, when the pain shot through your abdomen, pooling at your right side, that stretching burning sensation ghosting to your lower back. Trying to play it cool, you swallowed hard, smiling at everybody around.

About two hours later, Max was done with the testing, leaving the car to Thierry and he went to look through some performance reports, when he spotted you sitting at the bench, having that weird expression on your face like you were trying so hard to hide something, but failing miserably.

“Hey, love.. are you okay?”

His hand went to your cheek and you quickly shot him a look full of pain. He knew that look, seeing it more frequently in past weeks.

“Come here.” Without further words, he grabbed your hand and led you through the corridors to your car outside, where you had your things. Sitting you in the backseat, he quickly went to the trunk, rummaging through his bag, coming back after a while with some packages.

“Max, it’s okay, I can manage it.” You tried to protest but he dismissed you.

“Let me take care of you, I’m prepared.” Sitting beside you at the backseat, he opened both packages, shaking the contents a little with an approving hum. Heating pads. Your eyes went wide with surprise, but then your face softened, your eyes nearly welled with tears.

Warming his hands with the pads a little, he carefully lifted up your hoodie along with your top, to get to your bare abdomen, placing one pad under the waistband of your pants and the other at your lower back. You were always taken aback, how he remembered the location of your pains, where it hurts the most. After he was sure he placed pads securely, he pulled down your top and hoodie.

“Does it feel good?” Cupping your cheek, he had a concern written all over his face and you just nodded. With soft hum, he wrapped his hands around you, getting you closer to his chest, holding you tight against him, making sure you’re comfortable.

“Thank you, Maxie..” your sweet murmur made him smile, your hands hugging his warm and huge body like a teddy bear, the heating pads bringing you comfort you needed.

“Anything for you, my love.. I would go to the end of the world if it meant for you to be in less pain.” Max kissed your temple softly, letting out a soft sigh.

“You’ve done so much for me in this case, I don’t know how I deserved this.”

“You deserve the world, darling. And those pains.. I would do anything to take it on myself instead of you. I hate to see you contorted by it. Packing those heating pads it’s less than I can do for you, to make it easier.”

“You really changed my life, Max.”

“Oh, baby. You changed mine. A lot. I wasn’t this happy like I am beside you. I never forget that moment you smiled at me at that coffee shop in London, because you absolutely stole my breath.”

You chuckled softly, but the slight shot of pain made you wince a little.

“Can you please rub my back a little? It helps also..”

Max just nodded, sneaking his hand under your top, his warm hand rubbing the heat into your skin slowly and gently, making you relax more.

“You know, when we bought this car back then, I thought that it will be different action we’ll be doing on the backseat..” his voice was laced with teasing, trying to make you smile.

“Well.. I thought so too, but I can’t even imagine doing it right now.”

“No, love, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re in discomfort and never in the right mind I would try to make a move on you like this.”

Max liked being intimate with you, your chemistry being something undeniable when you two got to bed, but he respected you and your body. He would rather not have sex with you for weeks than to cause you pain.

“I know, I know, sorry. But we can try after I’m healed from surgery. And there can be a little miracle after. Like we talked many times before. Little Verstappen tapping around.”

It was true happy smile he saw on your face in a while. His heart skipped a beat at the idea of having a baby with you.

“Sure, whatever makes you happy, love. And whatever doesn’t cause you pain.”

His soft lips kissing your nose in the most lovely way was something only you could see. To the world he was that unbeatable lion on the track, dominating champion. But with you he was a caring, loving boyfriend, who would die for you in every way possible.

[777heavengirl]

the one with the picture

sirius black x reader ! - 2,084 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: IM BACK IM BACK IM BACK also sorry its so late at night hectic day xoxo i hope you enjoy!! don't forget to drop a little reblog or even just comment guys!! it is so very appreciated and it lets me know y'all want more!

“Ready to become uncles?” You asked, a yawn following your words. 

Remus smiled at you, soft and sleepy from the couch facing yours. His cane rested on the arm of the couch, abandoned for the comfort of the shitty hospital seat. Remus nodded wordlessly.

“I reckon I’ll be a terrible uncle,” Peter gruffed as he shook the box of candies into his mouth, emptying it “I have nothing to teach this bloody baby-”

“I don’t think anyone expects you to teach him anything Wormtail-” Sirius pipped up with a laugh from the corner where he paced in circles, head swiveling towards the room James and Lily were in as a nurse hurried out of it.

You ignored the bustling of nurses, you had long learned by now that unless you saw James, it probably didn’t mean anything.

“Why on Merlin’s green earth did they decide to give birth in a muggle hospital-” Peter groaned into his hands, the hours of waiting bearing down on him.

“Lily refused to do a home birth remember? St Mungo’s doesn't exactly do the whole birth thing- ” Remus muttered from the small beige sofa he had curled up in, long legs spilling from the edge of the cushions. You wondered if he was comfortable, but his eyes were closed and he had barely moved in the past two hours so you assumed on some level he probably was. Well, between his cardigan and long pants, he was at least doing better than you. You could feel your skin start erupting in goosebumps from the cold.

It had been a blur really, the furious knocking at your door at the hands of Peter, and haphazardly putting on the first thing you found after basically clawing off the stuffy funeral dress. You didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, barely putting on shoes as Remus and Peter swept you off to the muggle hospital. A shiver ran down your spine as you cursed the pajama shorts and stupid t-shirt you had thrown on. 

You could feel Sirius’s grey eyes on you, staring straight into the side of your head. But you refused to look, instead burying your face further into your hands. You didn’t notice he had moved until he was right next to you- 

“Take it-” Sirius handed you his suit’s jacket, basically shoving it into your arms so you couldn't say no. “You’re going to get sick,” You stared at it, fingers softly squeezing the soft material. He sat next to you. 

The small, beige couch you had chosen to sit on was much like the one you had when you were freshly moved in. It lived in your home for a measly two weeks before Euphemia decreed that no child of hers would have such a stiff abomination in her watch. It was hard and restricting. The two of you might as well have been sitting on a wooden bench. But neither of you dared to move, so you sat, silently, both wishing Euphemia could save you from the clutches of the rigid couch.

Sirius thought of the sofa. And when you first moved in. Together and bright-eyed, he had been so in love with you then. He reckons he still was. But now he knew there was no hope of you loving him back.

He cursed the couch silently.

“Put it on,” he sighed as he leaned back, his white button-up shifting as he threw his arm over the backrest. “Don’t be stubborn-”

You huffed as you put it on, “thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you leaned back too, the back of your neck close to his arm, almost touching but quite. “Did you bring my camera?” you nodded, but he didn't answer back. 

You couldn’t stand the distance between you, a thick jelly of silence that was anything but peaceful. You dreaded going home, you dreaded having to face that your best friend, the boy you so dearly loved was upset with you.

Especially over something so petty. What did he care that you had a job? Your own life? Something to do that wasn’t shared with him? It was rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? You could almost hear your father spew that sentence from the darkest pits of your mind. 

You stared at the small bag in Sirius’s hand. You didn’t know why you hadn’t taken notice of it before. He clutched the small velvet bag tightly. Did it have an extension charm? You wondered if it was his things then, had he carried that to the funeral? You thought you would’ve noticed. Had he been planning on staying at James’s? Had he cleared his things at some point without you noticing? 

You rubbed circles into the palm of your hand and chewed at your lip worryingly. 

If your father knew he’d call you stupid. Stupid for not looking for an apartment to move out, stupid for not being the first to leave, irresponsible, too trusting, so stupid.

You decided you maybe didn’t want to know if he was indeed planning to leave. 

“Hey-” he shifted uncomfortably “do you think we can talk about... you know, everything”

“Sirius I don’t know if it's the time-” You refused to even take a peek at him, even though you knew he was staring right at you now. 

“Well, Merlin knows how much longer we’re going to be here-” he was right, you had all been here for ages waiting for the baby to come “so yeah it might be the time,” 

You sighed, finally turning to look at him. His stupid shiny grey eyes, and his stupid porcelain skin. His stupid stupid frowning lip. He’d deny he was sporting one if you called him out on it. 

He had always been a pouty one.

You were mad. At least you wanted to be, but when you looked at him, in all his disheveled glory, the hair he had run his hand through a thousand times, the white button-up with the top buttons undone and that had been unconsciously untucked from his slacks. You just couldn’t be genuinely mad.

So you softened, finally moving to face him. Your knee knocked against his, his warmth transferring from his leg onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, for being so petty earlier- it was unfair and-” Sirius sighed, staring at your hand on your lap. His fingers twitched with the need to hold yours, to feel your no doubt freezing fingers between his warm ones.

He thought of your first week of living together again.

He grabbed your hand. You stared at the bag in his other hand again.

Like if you stared at it hard enough it would tell you its contents. But your thoughts drifted as your soft fingers were enveloped in his. Yet, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare. You squeezed his hand and he finally looked up, back from whatever thought he had briefly gotten lost in. 

“I’m really sorry about the past few weeks-”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I just wish you could trust me enough to let me take care of you- there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with…” You swallowed thickly as he spoke “I love you-”

“My baby’s here!” James burst through a door down the hallway, cheering at the top of his lungs without caring about the nurse shushing him. “He’s here and he’s beautiful come on you lot- come on!”

Sirius quickly scrambled to his feet, the other two boys following in the chaos of unsticking themselves from their respective sofas. You tried to ignore it, the sting in your heart. You loved him too of course. But did he love you the way you loved him? 

There simply wasn't any time for that right now.

Sirius didn’t let go of your hand; he simply pulled, pulled until you came up with him. His hand grabbed tightly onto yours and as you ran down the hall, straight for the door to Lily’s room. 

He never once let go of you.

The room was lowly lit, and Lily looked exhausted, but a smile graced her features nonetheless. Sirius tossed the small velvet bag to James with his free hand. The worry of it left your head as quickly as it had come.

Sirius dragged you by your hand all the way up to the bed, his face turning in wonder as he looked at the small baby in Lily’s arms. 

“He’s so small” Peter called out from the foot of the bed,

“He’s so bloody pink-” Sirius glanced at James’s darker skin, a beaming smile nevertheless decorating his face. “Do you reckon he’ll stay like that? Or did he get the redhead’s genes?”

“Oi is that the first thing you have to say about your godson?” James couldn't help but laugh

“My godson?” Sirius stared blankly at James, briefly flickering between Lily’s equally beaming smile and the baby’s little pink face.

“I meant to ask but-” James smiled sheepishly as Lily glared, 

“Merlin he’s my godson”

“Do you want to hold him?” Lily whispered as Sirius’s face broke into a smile as well, 

“Of course, I want to hold my bloody godson Evans- he’s my godson”

Remus chuckled as he patted James on the back. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the camera that hung from your wrist.

 You snapped a picture. 

You knew what Sirius would write on the back of it later.

My godson. July 31, 1980

Just simple, and small, in his fancy, loopy cursive and black ink. But monumental in itself. He had done it. He had a family, he had always had one but now he was properly part of it. He was not just a stray taken in, but he now had a part in it. He’d love that baby until his body gave out. 

He knew it, you knew it, James and Lily knew it. From the second he was born, this baby would be the most loved baby on the planet. 

“I can’t believe he’s mine-”

“You don’t get to take him home mate”

“Hush Prongs- I’m going to be his favorite I know it” Sirius smiled, a playful smirk exchanged between friends. James couldn’t help but quip back

“Right after Uncle Moony-” 

“Ah that’s for sure,” Remus laughed 

“I meant his favorite parent but I reckon Wormtail will be the preferred uncle, with all the candy pouring from his pockets the kid is gonna love him no doubt-” You all couldn’t help but laugh-

“Do you want to hold him too?” Lily asked, her gaze shifting onto your face. “I reckon the godmother also deserves to hold baby Harry-”

“Are you serious? 

“Obviously-” 

“Lily are you being serious-”

“Yes! Black hand her the baby- god-” Sirius chuckled as he passed the small bundle into your arms, placing the camera at the foot of the bed. He was heavier than you expected, and the tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at his little face. Harry was small and definitely pink. He was a quiet little thing, undisturbed by the exchange of hands he was going through. Sirius leaned his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek borderline pressed against yours. 

“Isn’t he the ugliest most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Oi!”

“He’s so ugly it's cute-” His words tickled your ear

“I don’t think babies are supposed to be all that cute straight after birth Sirius-”

“I know love,”

“Alright, picture time idiots-” Remus said, leaning on his cane as he grabbed the camera with his free hand. James sitting on the side of Lily’s bed as you and Sirius also approached, baby Harry still in your arms.

“I look like shit-” You huffed as you sat on the bed with Lily

“I do too”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to Lils” Lily laughed. Sirius’s hand never left your back. 

“Well- he won’t remember anyway-”

“The picture will-”

“Say godparents!” Sirius had basically wrapped himself to your side, his face pressed against yours, his arm around your waist as he leaned down for the picture.

The flash made your eyes sting, a wide smile on your face. 

It was fitting, the disheveled state of the lot of you, even in the picture the nurse would take for you all later. A family sewed together like a mismatched quilt. 

Sirius smiled all night.

“Seriously though why is he so pink? Is this some sort of condition? Bloody baby doesn’t look anything like Prongs-”

“-Yet” James beamed.

My family, July 31, 1980

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie

LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED U OR IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED (i was gone for like a month and some change so i may have not been able to properly keep up with the tag list but i did my best)

[peachhcs]

Samy meeting will’s teammate for the first time

another semi different iteration of samy meting some of will’s teammates when they’re in detroit for a game and she drives out to see them

au masterlist

“hiii,” the girl grins when she sees her boyfriend coming out of the locker room. the blonde quickly grins, already opening his arms to wrap her into a hug. “hi baby,” he smiles.

“sorry you guys lost, but you played well like always,” samy pecked his cheek and the boy smiled despite the disappointing loss.

“it’s okay, i’m just glad to see you for a second,” he hummed even though the time they had was not nearly enough for either of their liking. the sharks were due in winnipeg tomorrow meaning will’s bus was leaving in less than an hour.

“me too. how’s your week been?” the couple tried making the most of the now 50 minutes they had together.

“it’s been okay. busy with hockey,” will said not to complain because he’d never get sick of playing, just tired with how much they’ve been doing recently. samy nodded, “make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“i am, don’t worry. make sure you’re taking care of yourself too,” will poked her arm and she flushed.

“yeah, i am. don’t worry either.”

“how’s your week been now that soccer’s over?” will turned the conversation to her because he liked it a lot better when they were talking about her and not him and his things.

“it’s been a little weird, but we still have offseason stuff, so not too different. it is nice to slow down for a bit though,” the brunette grinned, leaning against the wall now. “i’m glad it’s been good for you. you deserve a break after the very successful season,” will chuckled.

“hey pup. hey hughes,” will eklund had come out of the locker room, a bright smile on his face.

“hey eklund. good to see you again,” samy offered a polite hug to the older blonde.

“you too. sorry you had to see us lose,” eklund frowned.

“it’s alright. you guys still played well,” the girl said. behind eklund came tom, jack, fabian, tyler, macklin, and henry. they caught sight of the three standing along the wall and made their way over to offer a hi to samy.

“hey little hughes,” tom greeted her in another friendly hug—his new nickname for her that everyone seemed to call her.

“oh shit, you’re hughes! pup’s girlfriend!” fabian exclaimed and the girl flushed when the other guys’ faces lit up at the revelation.

“that’d be me. it’s good to meet you all,” she grinned.

“we hear a lot about you,” henry teased a bit and eyed will. he avoided their gazes in hopes of avoiding the blush creeping up his neck.

“i’ve heard i’m the talk of the locker room sometimes,” samy raised her eyebrow.

“not in a bad way, don’t worry. we just like to poke at our rookie and figure out more about his life. it seems like you’re the one who makes him smile all the time whenever he’s looking at his phone,” toffoli teased the younger boy by roughing up his shoulder. samy watched her boyfriend’s entire face turn beet red, but she thought his blush was cute.

“well i’m glad to hear i’m making him smile that hard,” samy squeezed will’s hand.

“we heard from pup too that you just won the women’s soccer cup?” jack wondered and the girl quickly beamed. she’d never get tired of talking about her recent win.

“yeah, i did. my team and i won the ncaa championship for the first time in a few years.”

“that’s wicked cool. congrats, by the way,” jack smiled.

“thank you. oh, my roommate would want me to tell you guys this, but we loved that holiday inflatables video. best thing ever. she was laughing for hours after,” samy added which had all the guys smiling.

“ah, thank you. it got a lot of hits. we’re thinking about making rapping our day job,” fabian said and samy giggled.

“i mean, i think you guys could go far. or make another music video at least,” the boys agreed, appreciating her words. she glanced back at will who playfully shook his head.

they managed to keep her talking for at least another fifteen minutes. whenever samy got talking she talked no matter who it was. it was feature will loved and hated sometimes. he loved that she could quickly get along with any of his teammates, but it also cut short the time they had together.

he glanced at his phone again to check the time now seeing that there only 30ish minutes minutes left. as much as he loved seeing more of his teammates and girlfriend get along, will wanted a bit more time alone before he had to leave, so he eyed macklin in hopes that he’d help drag the others away.

the younger brunette took the hint fairly quickly, “hey guys, we should probably make sure we have all of our things before we head out.”

“shit, yeah, you’re right. well, it was good seeing you again,” eklund smiled, waving bye to samy. she waved to all of the players as they went back down the hallway to recheck the locker room for their things. her gaze fell back to will.

“they’re so nice,” she grinned.

“for you, yeah,” he laughed. they were never as behaved in the locker room but the blonde was grateful they didn’t say anything stupid in front of her.

“well either way, i think you have a good team. they definitely love you,” she squeezed his hand again which will reciprocated as he squeezed back.

“i agree. i like them too.”

the couple talked a bit more until will figured he needed to leave and double check he had everything before getting on the bus. the two exchanged a loving, tight hug and a sweet kiss o the lips.

“i’ll miss you,” will hummed.

“i’ll miss you too. get to winnipeg safely,” samy squeezed the boy’s biceps which made the boy flush anytime she squeezed a part of his body that weren’t his hands.

“you get back to ann arbor safely. text me, okay?” the boy made her promise and she quickly agreed.

“i promise, i will. i love you.”

“i love you. ugh, i wish we had more time,” will frowned, not wanting to let go quite yet.

“me too. fifty minutes is not enough time at all, but i’ll see you super soon, okay?”

the hockey player nodded, reluctantly letting go. samy pecked his lips one last time before walking away first because if she didn’t, will would never let her go.

[200markies]

Heyyy!! I love your work <3 Can you write a 'Mark is the type of boyfriend to...' and/or something about: idol!mark and reader as a regular person (full time job+college student) maybe with a little bit o angst since they are so different from each other etc?

　　　　mark ♡ is the type of boyfriend to ... ⁺

mark soft hours & headcanons. all are fictional.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: romance, fluff

requested by anon !

author's notes: i did NOT expect all of you guys to like the jeno headcanons so much to the point that an anon requested a mark ver which convinced me enough to make another one for the week 😭 y'all do indeed enjoy the headcanon series. anyway, to the anon who is reading this, i have to be honest with you but i genuinely enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this. PLEASE. this took me hours to write and i don't expect JUST the anon to like this but all of you too! i can't even say "i hope you enjoy" in the author's notes now that i'm expecting a thousand notifications on my activity tab in this platform.... 🤓

p.s. let us all thank mark lee for making the most boyfriend material instagram that could ever exist.... without r_e__m___ this headcanon wouldn't be BORN!

reminding all of u guys that my ask inbox is open so don't hesitate to drop a request or an ask !!!

mark is the type of boyfriend to write you poems whenever feels like it, or whenever it's a special occasion that's all about you. whether it be your birthday or your anniversary together, mark tries his absolute best to find all the words and combine it to make a poem that will surely make you happy. he wants to make you feel loved and safe with him, especially since he's your boyfriend.

"hey, beautiful, i left something on your desk," mark walks to you in the living room, sitting beside you while you work a deadline. you turn to him and chuckled, looking at your room which had a yellow folded note. you knew immediately that mark wrote a poem, and you can't wait to read it. you stand up to get the note on your desk, unfolding it to see an entire script of a poem which was all about how sweet your personality is. you walk back to mark, reading it while he lies his head on your shoulder to read a bit of what he wrote. "'you're so sweet that i can't stop coming back to you as if you're like candy, i take it, i'm the luckiest man in the world because of you, my fancy.'" you read the 3rd line in the 4th stanza, giving mark a little peck after you read it.

mark is the type of boyfriend to definitely rehearse being a husband to you. even though you two may not be ready yet or you can't bring yourselves to commit, he loves to do things a loyal husband would do. would you complain? no, because you loved it when mark would act that way. it's quite silly of him to do that, but trust me, you will need it when the both of you are married.

"good evening, future wifey," mark leans on your doorway while you're putting accessories to your outfit, looking at him once you heard his voice. tonight, mark is taking you out on a date, as part of his "husband rehearsals". he notices you're wearing the yves saint laurent dress mark gave you on your first anniversary, which made him smile and giggle. "looks like you're wearing your favorite dress on our date today, hm?" you nodded, giggling softly. "you truly love rehearsing your husband duties, it's silly." you say, walking to him as you put on your fur coat and kissed him on the lips. "it's not silly when you're gonna need more of me acting like this when we get married."

mark is the type of person who tends to stay with you almost every hour of the day. even when you don't need him, he's gonna be beside you until sunset, he can work with you, or he can cuddle, or he can comfort you while you work. (that's for later) he wants to keep you close to him no matter what, so that he could take care or help you whenever something happens. it's his obligation, and he's happy to take it.

"what... are you doing?" you look up at mark who's massaging your legs, confused and a little startled at the sensations he's giving you. he's right in front of you, trying his best to probably keep you soothed and comfortable while he has nothing to do for the day. you couldn't even make him leave because, you can admit, you loved this. "i know how tired you are after the gala you had with your friends, and i'm trying to soothe you so that you won't feel any more pain walking later. i know you love it, baby." he continues massaging you while you're working, making you giggle as you stared at him. "well, matter of fact... your massages are doing great work."

©️ 200markies / jyanihaes, 2024

[angelmush]

the other day i walked around the golden lake w my love and the sun was setting hot and orange and we watched a brown duck preening through the weeds, ducking her head under the dark water. the cool lake swallowed up my tired feet to the ankles and we counted the dog walkers with their curly panting doodles and their handsome german shepherds and their whip smart little terriers and we admired the careful construction of a sand castle whose moat held determinedly against the lapping of the waves. we could feel in our chests the persistent thunderous thumping of celebratory music at the finish line of the lakeside 5k, welcoming each gasping runner across its bounds. and i felt like crying. i felt like curling into myself and crying. we walked through the swamp of the bird sanctuary afterwards and listened to the woods sing and croak and groan and then we went and got ube and yuzu gelato and devoured it suntired and sweating on the couch in our living room. and i was so overcome w a deep and true unshakeable happiness and a sort of confused grief that i wanted to sob and sob and sob.

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[andwewerehappy]

i have so much work anxiety this is insane. i hate this job what does it even MATTER

[miabebe]

Calendar Killer (HJS)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't care whether it was the red of love and the red of blood?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Detective! Hong Jisoo (Joshua)

Word count - 14K (we are back to Mia's inability to be concise)

Genre - Psych thriller, smut (18+), supernatural elements hinted, warnings under the cut!

A/n - This is the last installment of my 95s psych thriller Halloween series - I know its late but I just wanted to finish up what I committed to. Also, this is the wildest thing I have ever written, I'm not kidding, buckle up! I do suggest reading Jeonghan's and Cheol's before this!

Thank you to Lola ❤️ @monamipencil, the love of my life for beta reading this and filling our chat with 'oh my god's and frantic comments - I'm a lot more pleased with this piece now hehe

Warnings - Please note that this fic is dark, not morally appropriate at all and as psychotic as it gets. With that being said, let's goooo - people missing, mentions of deaths, bodies, murders, serial killer, mentions of stalking, choking, blowjobs, throat fucking, hair pulling, cum in mouth, masturbation, manhandling, unprotected sex, rough sex, marking, slight dubcon, creampie, psycho thoughts and behaviour

The station buzzed with the oppressive hum of a fluorescent light, flickering occasionally. The air was thick with the musty scent of old paper, the subtle clicking of the typewriter and cold winds blowing in through the open door.

“Great job today boss.” 

Joshua looked up from the paperwork strewn across his desk at Minho standing by the coffee machine, a mug in hand. the dark circles stark under his eyes. It had been a sleepless few weeks for everyone in his team and nights at the station were only getting longer and longer. 

Giving a tired nod of acknowledgement, Joshua turned his attention to what he liked to call his ‘murder board’. Wrong choice of name yes, but someone once told him that positive manifestation was a real thing. Maybe if he kept calling it a ‘murder board’ for long enough, one day he’d finally find himself climbing the ranks, handling real murder cases. He knew with just a little more power in his hands, he could be brilliant - he was a good detective, he had great intuition, he was sharp, efficient. Oh he’d make a fantastic sergeant or maybe even a lieutenant but instead, here he was, sitting in a tiny cubicle, the pages of his case files scattered across his desk, each one heavy with unanswered questions.

Six missing persons cases. That’s what Joshua was stuck on now.

Given his brilliance, it normally didn’t take more than a week for him to crack a case but these? These cases had turned into a three-month-long nightmare of frustration - endless hours of interrogation, dead end leads and constant running in circles. What bothered Joshua the most was that he had spent five years in the field, aced every exam, and most importantly, the sergeant position had been vacant for two months—ever since Hye Jin left for maternity leave. And yet, here he was, stuck in this cubicle, staring at the empty faces on case files, with no promotion in sight. How could he ever climb the ranks with these six cases making him look like an undeserving amateur?

One miracle—that’s all he needed. Six miracles, really. One clue per case, just a single point he had missed, one thing he might have overlooked. Shutting his eyes and leaning back in his chair, he sighed, wondering where on Earth he should look for answers. If only they walked into the station, looking for him. 

And then, you did. 

The creak of the door was what made Joshua’s eyes flicker up, following you as you stepped into the precinct.  You were wet from head to toe, hair sticking to your face and neck, your knee-length white nightgown clinging to your body as if you’d been caught in a downpour.

Joshua glanced outside. 

The sky was gray and heavy, but it was not raining. 

He frowned, rising from his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t speak right away, your eyes darting around the room, searching for something. Joshua’s instincts flickered to life. Something was off, not in a way that screamed danger. Just… unsettling.

Water dripped all over the floor as you walked barefoot, struggling to take steps, shaking eyes, trembling lips and bruised knees accompanying you. Hand hovering over his pager, Joshua’s gaze shifted to his team, who were quietly filling the room, all of them sensing the shift in the air.

 “Are you okay?” He took a tentative step toward you, searching for answers on your face when you refused to meet his eyes. Instead they kept darting nervously over your shoulder and towards the door as though someone was about to follow you in. 

Joshua frowned at the entrance. “Is someone else coming-” 

“Don’t look.” You whispered, grabbing his hands, skin cold and grip tight. “I need help.” 

With a single gesture, Joshua had his team pull up a chair for you as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around your trembling shoulders before gently guiding you to sit. The air around you hummed, almost electric, as if something unknown was lingering.

Stepping back, Joshua leaned against his desk. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, glancing nervously around the room. When you finally met his eyes, Joshua softened his expression, silently urging you to speak.

“Talk to me.”

“I.. I’m..” You muttered, your hands nervously fiddling with the fabric of your nightgown. “I’m being followed.” 

Joshua's brow furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with his team who immediately began heading towards the door. But you shook your head, fear evident in your voice. “They’re already here. In the precinct.”

“What do you mean?” He studied the room, his mind racing as everyone began frantically looking around, more alert than ever. “No one came in after you-” 

“Y-you can’t see them.” You raised your head, looking directly over Joshua’s shoulder, gulping. “.....Only I can.” 

Joshua followed your line of vision, his eyes finding the empty corner of the room. What on earth were you looking at? 

“I don’t understand, Miss…?” 

“Y/n,” Your voice was steady despite the fear in your eyes.

“Miss Y/n.” Joshua hesitated but still squatted in front of you, his eyes level with yours. “I’m here to help. You have to tell me exactly what’s happening..” 

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled the jacket closer to your body. “It started a week ago, I was coming back from the supermarket and there was a woman, standing right at the edge of the street.” 

“Was she someone you knew?” 

You shook your head. “I could sense her following me all the way home so I made sure to close the door as soon as I stepped inside but when I went into the kitchen…. ..she was already there.“ 

Joshua’s jaw tightened as he listened, watching you gulp the phantom lump in your throat. 

“I grabbed a knife and ran out, screaming for help, but when I brought my neighbor in… there was no one. It was like she vanished…. disappeared, into thin air.”

Joshua’s brows furrowed. “She ran off before you got back?”

You didn’t answer the question, simply continued. 

“Then the next day she was there again, but this time with three others. It was too early in the morning, the street was empty, I-I couldn't even ask anyone for help. When I entered the house I locked myself in again, but when I went into the kitchen…” You let out a shaky breath. “They were already inside. And just like before, when I tried to get help… they disappeared.”

 Joshua leaned forward, concerned.

 “The third day there were more of them, but this time I ran back to the store to get the cashier or the other townspeople to help me but no one could see them….. even though there were, standing right there, at the door, no one could see them.” 

The room grew tense as Joshua exchanged looks with his team. What was happening here?

“Miss Y/n are you sure they were there?” Joshua asked, his voice low.

“I’m not crazy,” You whispered, voice trembling. “They were there then… and they’re here now. All ten of them, right behind you.” 

Joshua felt something cold trickle down his spine. This time, he didn’t feel like looking behind him..

“Y-you can’t see them because they…” You hesitated.. “They are spirits.” 

The room that was already quiet to begin with grew more silent. Even the fluorescent light seemed to pause, waiting for someone to break the tension. Joshua blinked in disbelief, then scoffed softly.

“Spirits?” He repeated, incredulous. “You’re saying ghosts are following you?”

You didn’t flinch at his tone. Your gaze remained serious, too serious as you nodded.

Joshua’s eyes flickered to his team, who were exchanging nervous looks. Things were slipping beyond the edge of rational thought. Was this the universe’s way of taunting him? Yes he has always wanted to work on more complex cases but a beautiful looking seemingly mad woman who could see spirits? That was not on his bucket list. Nor was it his expertise. 

Ji Ho, the only woman on the team and ever the skeptic, slowly walked up to you, her voice calm but firm. “Miss Y/n, don’t worry, we can get you the help you need-” 

“You think I’m crazy.” You shook your head, eyes wide, desperate and not leaving Joshua’s “I swear, you have to believe me, I’m not insane.” 

Realising you wouldn’t cooperate, Joshua held up a hand, signaling for Ji Ho to step back as he slowly reached for his pager, dialing in the code for help.

 “I promise we’ll help you Miss Y/n, you need to trust us-.” 

Suddenly, moving with startling speed, you grabbed the pager out of his hands, anger in your eyes sharp. 

“You’re not listening!” You hissed, your grip tightening around the tiny device. Your hands, which had been shaking just moments before, suddenly stilled. It was as if you had snapped into a new state of resolve - you weren’t just pleading for help anymore; there was something else behind your gaze. Demand.. “These spirits won’t leave me until I give them what they want and you're the only one who can help me do that. I-I can’t live like this anymore.”

Joshua’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. Something was off. You were clearly in distress, but there was something more beneath the surface. Something dangerous. The guard he had called for arrived at the door, waiting for his orders. Joshua nodded at Ji Ho who understood immediately and whispered something into his ears. As the uniformed man took off, Joshua walked over to this seat, pulling out a book and a pen. He had to engage you till he had help, he had to play his cards right. 

“Fine.” He flipped to an empty page, ready to write. “Tell me more. These spirits, what do they want?” 

“T-they’ve been telling me their stories, about who they are, about what happened”

“Okay…. Who are they?” Joshua tapped his pen against the surface. “Do you know their names?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t but, I can ask.”

Looking around the room at nothing in particular you began mumbling something. Slowly, one after the other, you started dropping names as though you were repeating after an invisible, unheard voice. Joshua scribbled them down, eyes constantly darting towards the door, waiting for help. But as the list got longer, with each name he wrote, Joshua felt his guts twist. 

As did the whole team.

 Because they had all spent enough nights on those case files to have every detail memorised. 

Six of the ten names were the missing cases they had been working on. 

“A-are you sure these… these are the six names?” 

“Ten.” You corrected him. “Yes, these are the ten names.” 

Ji Ho met Joshua’s eyes from across the room, shaking her head. How could it be? More than half the names matching their list of victims, this…. This couldn’t just be a coincidence right? 

“You said you can see them? Can you, maybe, describe one of them for me?” Joshua studied your face as your eyebrows furrowed. “The old woman, Ye Soon, what does she look like?” 

“S-she’s around 60 years old. White hair, kind of like a curly bob. She’s got scoliosis so she stands a little crookedly.” You looked at the empty space behind him. “She also has a burn mark on her right hand.” 

Joshua froze. You were right. Down to every detail. 

“And Macy?” 

You turned around, looking over by the window. “She looks like a typical college kid - soft features, long straight hair, cheeks a bit sunken. She also peels the skin by her nails, they’re all bruised.” 

Right again. Your words matched the photos tucked away in the case file almost exactly. 

“And Jason-” 

“Officer Hong, we’re wasting time.” You shook your head. “Describing them is of no use, it doesn’t matter. What matters is what happened to them.” 

“You mean….” Joshua tapped his foot, his mind racing, the realisation just dawning upon him.. “You mean how they died?” 

“I mean how they were murdered.” You lowered your voice just a little. “And now they want justice.” 

The silence now was cold, heavy and deafening. No one knew what to do - the weight of your words had immobilised them all. 

“Josh.” Ji Ho, the only one unable to stay silent anymore, stepped up. “A word?” 

Excusing himself, Joshua got up and made his way to his team, all seven of them huddling around. Some of them looked terrified, constantly looking around, some looked at him plain confused like they still hadn’t put the pieces together. 

“Something’s wrong.” Ji ho crossed her arms. “There’s no way she-” 

“Knows the exact names and descriptions of missing people? Details of a private investigation?” Minho quipped. “I think it finally makes sense why we’ve not been able to trace these people…. They're dead.” 

“Which means all this while what we should have actually been looking for, are bodies.” Jaehyun sighed.

“What?” Ji ho looked at the boys like she couldn’t believe they were falling for this. “You think this is real? You think spirits are actually talking to her?” She turned to Joshua. “Please tell me you’re smarter than to believe in this madness.” 

“I don’t know what to believe right now.” Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. “I think we should hear what she has to say-” 

“Josh-” 

“Ji Ho, we've been on these cases for months without a single solid lead.” He sighed. “As impossible as this might seem, I am desperate and I want to take a shot.” 

“You’re wasting the team’s time. I don’t think-” 

“She came to me, the case is mine,” Joshua looked at her pointedly. “So I call the shots.” 

Throwing her hands in the air, Ji Ho walked away, refusing to be a part of what she mumbled - a meaningless spectacle. Joshua returned, pulling a chair up, sitting right before you. Although he was the one who wanted answers, you beat him to the questioning. 

“You don’t believe me do you?” You sounded so scared. “You think I’m insane.” 

“I want to believe you, trust me Miss Y/n, you have no idea how easy it would make my life to believe you, six of these people are actually….” Shaking his head he held himself back, sticking to what was important. “The point is, you have come to the right place for help, the law can help you. But the law also requires proof, you need to prove what you’re saying is true.” 

You gulped, tapping your feet unsure, eyes darting around. 

“Ye Soon, that old woman.” You looked at him, slightly hesitating. “What if I took you to her?” 

Joshua frowned confused.

“What if I showed where she is…. “ Scooting closer to him, you whispered. “She told me everything, I can take you to where her body is.” 

Ji Ho looked at Joshua with narrowed eyes. Joshua returned her look with an unreadable expression. As though the universe had timed it all, the guard finally returned with help - two men dressed in soft blue scrubs carrying the logo of the town’s only psychiatric hospital. 

There were one of two things Joshua could do. He knew sending you away was the right thing to do, he knew you needed help, he knew listening to you was madness. 

But he also knew you were the closest thing to answers he had gotten in months. 

Turning to you, he pulled your chair closer. “Show me.” His voice was low, urgent. “Right now.”

Joshua stood by the back door, the rain slashing against the pavement like a thousand tiny daggers. He lit his cigar, inhaling the smoke as the faint hum of the town’s heartbeat seemed to vanish into the downpour. The cold air bit at his skin, but he didn’t care. His thoughts, heavy with the case, weighed him down more than any storm ever could.

Beside him you stood, leaning against the brick wall, your arms holding on to his jacket, wrapped around your midsection as if bracing against the cold. Your damp nightgown had long since dried, but the way you stood, your shoulders slightly hunched, made it seem like you were still caught in the storm.

Joshua couldn’t help but watch you. Something about you unsettled him, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. His eyes found their way to you, running all over your features, lingering longer than they should have. 

“Smoking is bad for your health.” 

You finally spoke, looking at him with those big eyes. Brown, soft, expressionless eyes. 

“I believe every man should have some bad habit.” Joshua chuckled, offering a small smile. “Keeps him grounded.” 

You laughed softly—a sound that almost got lost in the rain’s incessant roar, but thankfully, his ears were sharp enough to catch it.

“Do you have a bad habit Miss Y/n?” 

You hummed, looking far off at the quiet darkness of the town. “I don't know if this is bad but, I tend to go to any lengths to help the people I love.” 

Joshua’s lips pressed together. His gaze flicked to you, considering your words. “Must be why the spirits chose to talk to you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Maybe they knew you’d help no matter what.”

When he turned to see what you thought of that, he found a small almost imperceptible smile tugging the corner of your lips. It was subtle, but present, making his chest tighten unexpectedly 

“What?” he asked, his voice betraying the flutter in his chest.

You shook your head, still smiling. “I’m just relieved you believe me.” 

How could he not? Afterall, Ye Soon was indeed where you said she would be - at the abandoned ice cream factory, tucked away in a large freezer, the body months old and ice cold. His team—especially Ji Ho—had recoiled in disbelief, but you? You hadn’t flinched. You stood aside, quiet and composed, as the body was recovered.

Over the last two hours, samples of hair, nails, fluid and whatever else that could be found were gathered and sent to the forensic lab for analysis but Joshua had a bigger question to address. 

“Is…” He took a deep breath. “Is Ye Soon somewhere around here?”

“She’s by the gate.” You turned to him. “Why?”

“I just want to confirm….. you’re sure she didn’t see the face of her killer?”

On the ride back, you had recounted Ye Soon’s entire story to the team. How she had felt  like she was being stalked for a long time. How she didn’t usually go anywhere at night but on the evening of her birthday, she couldn’t resist the free dinner invitation she received. How she was walking to the restaurant, dressed up and all alone when she was attacked from behind. 

You shook your head, expression slightly dejected. “No, her killer wore a mask so she had no idea who it was. One moment she was hit on the head and bleeding to death and the next, she found herself looking at her body in the freezer…. as a spirit.” 

“If justice is what she wants, it's going to be hard without having any idea who the killer is.” He sighed. “For now, we can start looking into why a freezer was functioning in an abandoned factory for the last 4 months but…. I’m not sure if it’ll lead to anything solid.” 

“Don't lose hope already.” You pushed yourself off the wall, taking a step closer to him. “The forensic team might have some answers.” 

“I hope so.” He nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, he imagined what it might be like to trust you completely. “Miss Y/n, I'll need you to lead me to the other nine bodies too. I hope it won’t be too much trouble for you.”

“Of course not.” You shook your head, hand finding his wrist reassuringly. “Although one of them is quite far and it's already past midnight-”

“Not now, tomorrow morning.” He glanced at your eager expression, hands itching to tuck that tiny strand of hair behind your ear. “It's late now, you should head home.” 

You nodded, drawing your hand back, and Joshua already missed the warmth of your touch. Taking a step back, you attempted to remove his jacket, but when a strong gust of wind blew, a shiver ran down your body.

Joshua chuckled, pulling it up your arms, adjusting it over your shoulders. “Keep it, it suits you better.” 

“Careful officer.” You smiled at him. “If you come asking for it again, I won't give it back.” 

“Fine by me.” He laughed. “Let me grab my keys, I'll drop you.” 

“That's okay, I'll walk.”

“It's raining Miss Y/n. I don't think-”

“I like walking in the rain.” You stuck your hand out in the pouring water. “Makes me feel good.” 

“I could walk you.” 

“It’s not like I don’t have company.” Joshua frowned as you giggled. “The spirits, officer. They follow me everywhere.” 

That flicker of something playful in your eyes - Joshua was seeing it for the first time. When you had walked in here earlier you had been so terrified, shaking, desperate for help. Now you seemed so unfazed. Maybe you were glad that you were finally getting help. Maybe you were never really terrified. Either way, the unsettling shift in your demeanor troubled his mind. 

“You sure you’ll be okay?” His tone was lighter than he intended, masking what he was truly feeling.

“I’ll be fine,” You brushed him off with the wave of a hand. “I’ll just get lost in my own thoughts, without any distractions.”

Joshua didn’t stop you as you began walking. He simply watched as you glanced over your shoulder, muttering a small “good night” before stepping into the rain. Slowly, as your figure was swallowed by the darkness of the night, Joshua retreated into the debate in his mind. Should he follow to make sure you weren’t in trouble?

Or were you the trouble that was looming around the corner?

Joshua leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on the scattered files in front of him. The low hum of the fluorescent lights above, along with the steady, almost rhythmic tap of his fingers against the desk, were the only sounds that filled the otherwise silent room. The pile of crime scene files seemed to grow heavier with each glance—each one a grim reminder of the ten bodies they had recovered. Ten people dead, each with their own story, now reduced to nothing more than photos, forensic reports, and police notes.

Two weeks. Two long weeks of following the trail you’d led them to, finding all ten victims hidden in the most unimaginable locations, each one’s story recounted with haunting detail. As per protocol, his team had collected every piece of evidence they could find, and the progressive inspection of each item only further corroborated your stories. Ji Ho, who had initially resisted being part of this madness, had also joined, keenly looking into the details of the investigation.

There was just one detail that Joshua could not wrap his head around - the fact that all ten victims had apparently not seen their killer’s face. 

Each one had been attacked from behind - either struck on the head, run over by a car, strangled from behind or shoved off a building. It was always from the back, perfectly concealing their perpetrators face, keeping that identity a mystery.  Aside from this one detail which was making the progress of his investigation incredibly difficult, Joshua did not notice anything strikingly similar amongst all the cases. 

That was until he was staring at his now very real murder board earlier today. 

It was filled with a dozen pictures and pins, only getting messier with every detail but there was one connection Joshua happened to piece as he searched for the finer details - Ye Soon was going for a dinner on her birthday, Macy was returning from a birthday party her friends had thrown her, Jason was going to meet his girlfriend to celebrate his birthday….. All ten of them had died on their birthday and not just that - all of their birthdays fell on the 30th of the month. 

And that was when the pieces clicked. Joshua arranged all ten cases according to a timeline, spanning from January this year to November. Every month on the 30th, right on their birthday, one victim had died and Joshua knew for a fact that this was a pattern because there was no victim in February - the only month without a 30th. 

This was an MO. This wasn’t the work of ten different killers. It was one. One serial killer.

The moment he realized this, he knew he should share it with his team, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to. Perhaps it was because he knew the moment he revealed this discovery, all eyes would turn to one person—You.

And sure enough, the door slammed open and Ji Ho entered, a thick file in her hand. 

“I heard back from forensics.” She walked over, setting the papers on his table. “But you’re a brilliant detective Joshua, so you must have already figured this out.” 

“What?” Joshua sipped on his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant. 

“There were many different DNAs collected at the crime scenes, but one particular DNA was found at every single one.” 

Fuck. There it was.  His worst fear, out loud.

“This is clearly a serial killer Joshua.” When he didn’t meet her eye, she moved into his line of vision. “For heaven’s sake, why are you trying to protect her?” 

“Who?” Joshua shot back, his jaw tightening.

“Y/n.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “Please tell me you’re not being an infatuated fool-” 

“I’m not a fool.” 

“But you don’t deny the infatuation.” Ji Ho’s voice rose as she pointed at him. “I’ve seen you two over the last many days - you think I don’t recognise the way you look at her?” 

“Ji Ho, just because the two of us were once a thing and it didn’t work out-” 

“This isn’t about us!” She threw her hands in the air, frustration evident. “You know I’m more professional than that. This is about you. You saw a petite, pretty damsel in distress who told you a sob story and leaned on your shoulder and you decided to forget about everything sensible.” 

“You aren’t being sensible!” Joshua turned to face her, anger simmering. “Ji Ho, if Y/n was the killer why would she lead us to the bodies? Why would she try to implicate herself?” 

“You know how the brains of psychos work. They think they’re too smart, that they’ll never be caught.” Ji Ho crossed her arms. “This is just a game for her.” 

Joshua shook his head. “She’d have to be too dumb to expose herself like this. Using the paranormal to do it, don’t you think it’s too much?” 

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Ji Ho let out a heavy breath. “So I did what I had to do. I called Y/n here.” 

He frowned. “Why?” 

“I took a sample of her hair without her knowledge and sent it to the lab.” Ji Ho took a step back, her eyes cold. “In a short while, we’ll know if that DNA matches hers… You’ll have your answers then.” 

“Ji Ho, this wasn’t my order—”

“I’m sorry but I don’t care, Josh.” She stopped her tracks by the door. “We might have been in love years ago, but I know what you are like. You’ll do anything to protect her and I cannot just sit back and watch you indulge in this stupidity.” 

“I’m none of your fucking concern!” Joshua’s voice rose in frustration as she walked out without another word. “Ji Ho, come back here, goddammit!”

Frustrated he slammed his hands on the table, the coffee cup toppling to the ground. It wasn’t like Joshua hadn’t thought of this possibility but this was his case to solve. He wanted to talk to you first, hear whatever it was from your mouth, not some cold DNA report.

Recalling Ji Ho say that you were here, Joshua bolted out of his room to the visitors lounge. There you were, sitting on the couch with your feet pulled up, flipping through a magazine while the sound of a Spanish telenovela played in the background. Annoyed by the noise, Joshua grabbed the remote and switched it off before walking toward you.

 In the sudden absence of the sound you looked up, eyes finding him, a smile spreading across your face as he sat beside you on the couch. Normally, Joshua wouldn’t sit so close to a witness—or take her hand in his���but you were different.

“Hi.” You whispered. “You look tense.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“About half an hour,” You rubbed his arm comfortingly. “Ji Ho said you wanted to talk to me.” 

Joshua swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “There’s been some progress in the case.”

You turned to him, curious. “Did you find any of the killers?” 

“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “I…I got a lead, though. Actually I’m not sure it’s much of a clue.” 

“What is it?” 

“All of them were killed on the 30th of the month.” He watched you closely, studying your face for any flicker of recognition, of guilt. “It seems like a pattern. Like this might be the work of one person.” 

“One person?” Your eyes widened. “You mean like a serial killer?”

Joshua nodded. 

“A serial killer who kills on the 30th of every month.” You muttered, lost in thought. “Why the 30th?” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, his voice tight. “Maybe they don’t like the number.”

“I won’t be surprised.” You pursed your lips. “I’ve never really liked the number 30 either. It’s like a deadline... something always looming, reminding you of the things you haven’t done. The things you can’t undo.”

Joshua blinked, trying to keep his expression neutral. Please, please, please, this can’t be true.

“But if I am right and if this is a pattern,.” He stared at their intertwined hands. “30th December is not far off and maybe they have another victim in their sight…. I need to find this killer soon.” 

“If it is a serial killer then this is much easier than we thought.” You reassured, turning towards him. “Think about it, isn’t it better to find one person than ten? And won’t all the evidence help you narrow down who the culprit is? All you have to do is something common amongst them all, right?”

Joshua nodded. Exactly. It was easy. Which meant it couldn’t have been you, could it? You wouldn’t have committed those crimes and then set up a trap for yourself would you? That made no sense. 

Or perhaps Joshua was refusing to see sense in it. Perhaps he was so drawn by you that he couldn’t bring himself to see reason. 

With each passing day, he had found his eyes lingering less over the crime scene and more over you. With each body being discovered, it was like the weight on your shoulders was lessening. You seemed more free, more at peace, more…..beautiful. Whenever your eyes met his, you began to smile. Whenever he rode his bike and you sat behind him, he felt his heart do a somersault in his chest. Just watching you walk into the station every morning made him feel a relief like no other.

Joshua had begun to like these small things. Your presence, your tiny quirks, the way you told stories, even though they were quite horrendous recounts, he liked how expressive your face was. He liked you. 

And it was evident you liked him too.

At first, Joshua thought you liked to be around him because you felt safe but slowly you began sitting closer to him than usual. You began following him on walks to survey perimeters, holding his hand when you tripped but not letting it go even when you were steady. He could tell by the way you looked at him - you felt the same thing he was feeling. That undeniable attraction, that magnetism. 

Except there was only one tiny thing between the two of you - you might be a potential murderer and Joshua might have to implicate you for your crimes. Which is why none of this could be true. You could not be the killer. 

But no sooner than he thought that, the door to the visitors room flung open making the two of you jump apart and Ji Ho stepped in, a thin file in her hand. 

“The results are back.” Her eyes flickered between both of you. “I’m sorry Josh but the DNA matches…. It’s her.” 

Joshua's heart dropped. The words echoed in his mind, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop.

It was you. You were the killer.

Joshua stood in the observation room, his eyes locked on you through the two-way mirror. 

You were slouched at the table, head low, your exhaustion palpable. The harsh light above cast long shadows across your face, making your features appear fragile and worn. Joshua’s heart tightened as he watched you. He longed to step in, to pull you close and promise that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t. He had to remain detached, professional—even though every instinct screamed to comfort you.

For the past three days, he had avoided entering the interrogation room, choosing instead to watch from the observation window, a silent witness to your suffering. He could see the strain in your eyes each time you pleaded for belief, for a chance to prove your innocence. Occasionally, you’d look towards him, and in those fleeting moments, it was as if you could see him right through the mirror. The desperate, pleading look you gave shattered something inside him—his resolve, his detachment. Every time, he felt that same arrow pierce his heart, and yet, he remained still, unable to intervene. Helpless.

His gaze flickered to Minho, who had just entered the room, pulling up his sleeves with the usual resolve. Joshua turned away from the mirror, his jaw tightening. He had to hold it together. He couldn’t let Minho see how he was unraveling inside.

“It’s my turn boss.” He glanced at Joshua. “Unless you want to?”

Joshua shook his head, sipping on his coffee. Minho sighed, pulling the door open and stepping in, catching you off guard with his sudden appearance. Joshua watched the man as he took a seat, settling the files on the table before you. 

“Where’s Joshua?” You asked, your eyes flickering toward the door expectantly.

“I’ll ask the questions Miss.Y/n.” Minho cleared his throat a little too loudly.

“For the last time,” You sighed. “I did not do it. I am not the killer-” 

“I’m not suggesting you are the killer Miss Y/n.” He pushed the file towards you. “I simply want you to explain why your DNA has been found on all ten sites.” 

“I’ve already told you,” you leaned back in your chair, frustration evident in your voice. “When the spirits first talked to me, I went to some of those locations to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“You mentioned you went to-” He flipped through the papers “-four sites. Then how was your DNA found at all ten?” 

“Maybe because I was the one who led you to those locations,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Are you suggesting we are stupid enough to mess up the sample collection?” Minho’s voice grew colder. “That we sat back and let you contaminate those crime scenes?”

“Then are you suggesting that I am stupid enough to commit ten murders and walk into a station and implicate myself?”  you retorted.

Minho leaned back, narrowing his eyes.“I don’t know Miss Y/n. I’m looking for you to give me the answers.” 

“For god’s sake!” You slammed your palm onto the table, frustration boiling over. “If you think I’m going to cave to this tortuous questioning and admit to something I didn’t do, you’re wrong. I. Didn’t. Do. It.” 

“But you could have helped the killer.” Minho shrugged. “The sentence for an accomplice to murder is less severe Miss Y/n, if you admit to it, we can help you-” 

“I don’t need your help because I did not do this.” You glanced at the mirror,your eyes locking with Joshua’s yet again. “I made a mistake coming here thinking you could help me, you’d help them. But now I am being held here, blamed for something I didn’t do.” 

Joshua’s grip on his coffee tightened, his gaze sliding away from you. He had nothing to say.

Minho exhaled sharply. “Miss Y/n, you are being held because the evidence clearly points at you-” 

“Or maybe I’m here because you need a scapegoat to take the fall.” you interrupted, voice dripping with bitterness.

Surprised, Joshua straightened out. 

“I heard six of these cases were in fact missing people that your team hadn’t been able to find in months.” you continued, your tone mocking. “Convenient isn’t it, to blame it all on the only other person involved in the uncovering of the crime scene? A nice, easy way to wrap this up neatly.” 

“Are you implying that one of us manipulated the evidence to make it look like you’re the killer?” Minho snapped.

“I didn’t say that,” you tilted your head, your gaze sharp. “But you seem to be admitting to it.”

“Miss Y/n, don’t twist my words….” 

But there was no need to. 

Joshua took a step back, mind running through the possibilities. About who might have such a motive, who might have manipulated the evidence…..

There was only one person who popped in his mind. Someone who was as driven as him to solve these cases. Someone who didn’t want to be a part of the investigation but had joined regardless. Someone who could possibly benefit from trapping you in this case. 

Ji Ho. 

Joshua knew his ex girlfriend well enough to dismiss this possibility of her involvement. It was the reason the two of them had broken up - She was incredibly competitive, she never seemed to remember the relationship the two of them shared when they were in a professional space, she was never happy for him, never acknowledged his achievements.

But that did not mean there was no passion between them outside the walls of the precinct. God they were wild and couldn’t keep their hands and eyes off each other. Things were fine till whatever happened at work stayed at work, but the more Joshua became successful in his career, Ji Ho started bringing her professional grievances home, between them. The suffocation her competitiveness brought forth was what stifled their bond - Joshua couldn’t live with it any longer. 

But maybe, now that he thought about it, this situation allowed her to kill two birds with one stone - on one hand, the cases termed nearly impossible could finally be closed and on the other, you, his new person of interest would be out of the way. Joshua saw the way Ji Ho looked at the two of you, like she didn’t like it one bit - her incriminating you wasn’t exactly impossible. When she had secretly taken a sample of your hair to cross verify with the identified DNA, who’s to say she didn’t plant the other evidence the same way? 

Grabbing his pager from the table, he gave you one last glance before pulling the door open, setting off to look for the woman in question. He had to act fast. He needed to find out if Ji Ho was involved. 

Thankfully he didn’t have to look far, she was right at the visitors room, remote in her hand, watching the same Spanish telenovela that had been perpetually on the station’s TV for months.

“Ji Ho-” Joshua called out.

“Shh,” she raised a hand to silence him, keeping her eyes on the screen. “I’m watching.”

“Is that more important than what’s happening with Y/n-” 

“Honestly? Yeah,” she replied without missing a beat, her tone flippant. “This is actually what helped save her.”

Joshua stared at her, bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘save her’?”

“I think she’s innocent,” Ji Ho said, finally turning to face him.

All points of argument that Joshua had come up with died in his mind. What? 

“You do? You believe she’s innocent?” He placed himself right before the screen. “You were the one who was so sure she did it-” 

“I simply believed the evidence that came up.” She rolled her eyes. “But unlike you, I don’t let my emotions rule over practicality.” 

“I did not-” 

“I know you Josh, I know something is wrong. Your judgement has been clouded for days, you’re not thinking straight. But I am.” She crossed her arms, taking a deep breath. “I knew we needed more irrefutable evidence and most importantly, we needed a motive so I had been looking and asking around. Turns out she has an alibi.” 

“What kind of alibi?” 

“The people at the store confirmed that a few weeks back she had run in, scared and shaking, claiming she was followed. The neighbours also said that she had approached them for help a few times but they didn't see anyone.” 

“Didn't you say that she might have done all that to make her story more convincing?”

“Yes but,” Ji Ho bit her lower lip hesitating. “I also broke into her house-” 

“You what??” 

“-and I found her passport and a couple of other things that prove she wasn't even in town when three or four of those murders happened, the timelines don't match.”

 “So it might not be her?” Joshua let out an inward sigh of relief. “Then… then what about the DNA?” 

“Precisely.” Ji Ho nodded, gesturing him to turn around. “Watch this.” 

Frowning Joshua did, eyes falling on the tv screen. He wasn't really familiar with this show, the only reason he had ever watched it was because Ji Ho was obsessed with it. He did remember this particular part of the plot though - everyone thought Maria was the mother of Lizzy but it was actually her twin, Gloria. 

Twin?.....

“Identical twins have the exact same DNA.” Ji Ho muted the show as his mind raced with the possibilities. “Do you know if Y/n has a twin?”

Joshua shook his head. He didn't ask much about your family or personal life, he didn't really find the chance to have such a conversation but if there was even a possibility….

Rushing out, Joshua barged into the interrogation room where Minho was still badgering you with his questions. 

“Joshua….” You looked up at him, eyes widening. For the first time in days, you saw something other than apology in his eyes. You clung to that look, hoping it meant he was still on your side. Ji Ho followed him, walking into the room right behind, earning a small frown from you. 

“Y/n,” Watching Joshua unable to say anything she walked up, shoving her hands in her pockets. “There's something important we need to know.” 

“What is it?” You continued to look at Joshua who simply nodded softly, signalling you not to worry. 

“Do you happen to have a twin? An identical one?”

Blinking rapidly, you hesitated. “I…. I do, yeah, why?” 

Joshua and Ji Ho exchanged looks. Fuck. 

“Where is she?”

“I- I don't know. We both grew up at the St. Mary orphanage. At around the age of eight, she was adopted. The family didn't want two kids so they only took her in. Few months later I was adopted by a different family so we haven't really seen each other or even heard from each other since then.” Your eyes flickered between both the officers. “Why? What happened?” 

Thank god. Thank fucking god. 

Joshua let out the breath he was holding, shutting his eyes briefly out of relief. 

Ji Ho, who looked both guilty and curious, stepped closer to you. “So you don’t know where she is right now?” 

You shook your head, “But I know she's a Mayor's daughter, I don't remember for which town though.” 

Nodding at Joshua, Ji Ho whispered something into Minho's ears before the two of them hurriedly left the room. Standing up confused, your eyes followed them as Joshua neared you. 

“Joshua what's happening?” 

He didn't say anything, just simply pulled you into a hug, finally feeling your warmth again as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“You'll be fine.” He held onto you tighter. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” 

Joshua watched you fast sleep on the couch of the visitor’s lounge. 

Curled up, with your hair spilling over your face like a dark veil, you looked peaceful, untouched by the weight of the world. As much as Joshua longed to slip in beside you and to hold you as you slept, he knew better. He had to maintain some distance. The team had already been giving him looks whenever you stood too close to him, leaning over case files, working through the details of the investigation. At least the pity and disdain in their eyes had faded—now that you were cleared, they saw you as less of a suspect. 

Ji Ho, ever the efficient one, had tracked down your twin just a few days ago. She had been found in a town several hours away, barely conscious, dragged into the precinct with the sour smell of alcohol still clinging to her. Standing beside Joshua, you watched your twin in the interrogation room, hungover and dazed, trying to make sense of the evidence mounting against her. Though you hadn’t spoken in years, the ache in your chest was unmistakable. You didn’t want to believe it was her but even after sobering up when she failed to provide any alibi, the truth was undeniable.

Her neighbors, friends, and even family all corroborated the fact that she had fallen deep into drugs, her life spiraling out of control. The last few months had turned her into someone unrecognizable—violent, unpredictable and uncontrollable. No one could vouch for her whereabouts during the killings either and as the investigation wore on, the evidence stacked up against her, leaving little room for doubt. In the end, she was arrested, the case moving forward to court where she was to be prosecuted for her crimes. 

Today was your final day at the station—just a few papers to sign, a final nod to close the investigation. After this, the case would be officially closed and the two of you would not be bound by the investigation anymore - there was no obligation to see each other. 

“You know,” Ji Ho’s voice broke the silence, pulling Joshua out of his thoughts, “just because the case is over doesn’t mean you won’t get to see her.”

Joshua turned to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame.

“I know.” He muttered, feeling a familiar pang in his chest. “But how do you always know what I’m thinking?”

She chuckled, stepping into the room. “Because I know you, Joshua. Better than anyone. I just wish you knew me too. I wish you knew me better. I would never incriminate someone out of pettiness.”

He winced, guilt tugging at him. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just ready to believe anything that meant Y/n was innocent.”

Ji Ho glanced at you. “Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. She is innocent. “ 

“Thanks to you.” He smiled, looking at you slightly shifting in your sleep, mouth now slightly open as you continued to doze off. “She would have still been a suspect if not for your brilliance.” 

“Nah.” Ji Ho waved her hand, dismissing his words. “I only did what I had to, it's my job. But what's really amazing is you cracked the cases Joshua, the ones no one could solve for months. I heard the promotion letter is on the way.” 

“It should have been yours Ji Ho.” Staring at the ground Joshua shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to. “I know how much you wanted this too, and I… I don’t understand why you gave all the credit to me.”

Ji Ho sighed, her gaze distant. “I did want it. But I felt like you deserved it more, especially for all that I put you through the last many days.” 

“So this is out of pity?” 

“It's out of admiration.” She corrected. “I don't know if I would have been able to keep my calm the way you did when Y/n was being accused. You put your job above everything, you were the one who figured out the killer's MO, you were the driving force of this investigation. It's only right that you go up the ranks.” She then paused as though she was unsure if she should continue. ��You can also think of it as an early birthday present from me.” 

Joshua glanced at the calendar, the black rimmed circle placed over 29th December. His birthday was tomorrow. Here he was, too wrapped up in all this to even remember but of course Ji Ho did. Even after all that happened, she remembered. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, trying to mask the sudden rush of gratitude. Before he could say more, his gaze shifted back to you. You were beginning to stir, shifting on the couch, their voices perhaps pulling you from your slumber.

Ji Ho noticed it too, and with a small nod, she tucked her hands in her pockets and began to back out of the room. “I should go. You and Y/n should have a nice celebration tomorrow, okay?”

Joshua smiled, not entirely convinced as she disappeared into the buzz of the busy office. Was he really worthy of a celebration though? Even though the six biggest problems of his life had been solved giving him the promotion he wanted more than anything, Joshua didn't quite find himself fully relieved. It was as though there was something he still wasn't seeing. 

When you finally raised your head, blinking sleepily, Joshua pushed all his conflicting thoughts aside. Right now, only you mattered.

“Morning sunshine.” He smiled softly, voice light.

You glanced at the window, then at the clock. “It's 6pm Joshua.” 

“Yes but you've been sleeping like it's the dead of the night.” 

“Can you blame me?” You yawned. “For the first time in days, I'm able to sleep without thinking about somebody constantly watching me.” When Joshua looked confused, you sat up, crossing your legs. “The spirits, Joshua.” 

“They're gone?” 

“I haven't seen much of them the last few days, ever since she was brought in…..” You trailed off, your gaze flickering down to your restless hands. “I guess they've gotten the justice they're looking for.” 

“I'd have thought they'd stick around at least till the trial.” Joshua looked thoughtful. “She's the Mayor's daughter. What if she buys her way out of this?” 

“I don't know.” You shrugged. “I know her background might allow her to escape this unscathed but I hope not. Perpetrators deserve to be punished.” 

Something about your words stung Joshua differently. Indeed, the perpetrator should be punished, but for that, it was necessary to find the real culprit. A tiny voice in his head was making him doubt his choice. 

“I thought twins were naturally very protective of one another.” He glanced at you carefully. “You seem okay with whatever is happening to your sister.” 

You looked at him incredulously. “Of course I'm upset but you know what she did. I'm not emotionally attached to her because we barely know anything about each other but even if I was, do you think someone who killed so many people deserves to walk freely? The spirits trusted me to ensure they got justice Joshua, how can I let their murderer not face any consequences?” 

Joshua stared at the wall behind you, mind racing to the time it all began with you walking into the station. Your claim about spirits only you could see, all ten spirits being unaware of their killer yet all ten of them conveniently being killed by the same person. Your knowledge of all the crime sites, finding your DNA in every single one. You happening to have a twin sister who, in contrast to your perfect alibis, didn't have any. It was all too easy - was it a lucky coincidence that the spirits found the estranged twin of their perpetrator to be their yielder of justice? Or had he in fact caught the wrong sister…..Joshua felt a chill run down his spine. Somehow, it didn't seem like this case was over - there was clearly more to it. 

He turned his attention back to you, gulping when he realised you were studying his zoned out expression intently. 

“What is it?” You raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?” 

“Just…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to come over and get my jacket back but I realised I didn't even know where you lived.” 

You cocked your head at him, a knowing expression on your face. “I told you - Once you give it to me, I won’t return it if you ask.” 

“Right.” Joshua chuckled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Fuck. This was his one shot to confirm the truth before it was too late. Twins might look identical and even have the same DNA but their fingerprints? Fingerprints were unique even among twins and Joshua wanted to get his hands on yours. His jacket being a leather one would have been an easy way to obtain them but now, he had to think of something else.

“I was thinking, do you want to maybe go out and get dinner today?” He looked at you feigning casualness he was not feeling. “We've never really gotten the chance to do anything outside the precinct, I thought we could spend some time….”

You shook your head softly, a small, apologetic smile playing at your lips as you got up. “Not tonight. I have something I need to do.”

“Something more important than me?” He smiled half-heartedly, trying to mask the hurt. “Than us?” 

Laughing softly you walked up to him, hands clasped behind your hand as you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'll be seeing you tomorrow anyway, birthday boy.”

Joshua watched as you slowly pulled away from him and began to leave, the lightness of your kiss still lingering on his skin. It didn’t feel like an intimate gesture, more like a goodbye, a farewell to something unspoken.

He stood frozen, entangled in his web of thoughts, unsure of what to do with himself. But when the moment passed, he made up his mind. - he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to know the truth.

Rushing towards Ji Ho’s cubicle, his heart pounding in his chest, he called out to her breathlessly. 

“You said you broke into Y/n’s place, right?”

Her eyes widened, surprised by his urgency. She nodded.

“I need you to give me the address.”

Joshua slowly pushed the door of your house, both surprised and thankful it was unlocked. 

He had been hiding in the bushes for over an hour now, watching you move around through the glass of the window. About ten minutes ago, you had donned his jacket, pulled your hair into a high ponytail and left the house, walking into the dead of the night. Joshua glanced at his watch - it was 11pm and he had no idea what kind of business you had set off to do. Now that he thought about it, Joshua didn’t know anything about you at all - why then was he so enthralled by you?

He had to snap out of it. He was here to find the truth and that’s what he was going to do. When he was finally convinced that you weren’t returning to grab something you might have forgotten, Joshua mustered his courage and stepped carefully into the dimly lit house, his heartbeat quickening with each creak of the floorboard beneath his shoes. This was the only chance he might have to explore your space, your sanctuary, see who you were outside that mask of affection you always wore when they were together. He knew it was dangerous and reckless, but he had to be sure. 

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It smelled faintly of lavender, mixed with a subtle undertone of something he couldn’t quite place. He moved through the living room, avoiding the clutter of half-empty cups and newspapers, scanning for anything that might give him a clue. The space looked like it hadn’t been cared for in a while, like you hadn’t been home for a long time. Joshua made mental notes of everything as he walked in, his feet taking him around like he had been here a hundred times already. 

It was only when he tripped over the rug that his tracks stopped, prompting him to look at the cause of his near fall - A loose floorboard. Frowning he crouched down and pried it loose, the cool edge of the tile slipping from its mortar with a slight scrape. Underneath, hidden in the narrow compartment, was a small wooden box, its surface worn with time. Turning it in his hands, Joshua pried it open.

Photographs. 

Hundreds of photographs of you. 

No, not you… you didn’t dress in designer wear, drink expensive champagne or drive in a Rolls Royce. This was your sister. 

You had uncountable photographs of her, carefully taken and meticulously arranged. She looked young in some of them and much older in others. Some were clearly taken from a distance while others seemed more intimate, like they’d been taken while she was unaware….. You had been stalking her.

From the looks of it, you had been keeping an eye on her for years, watching her every move. Joshua’s stomach churned, a new sense of unease settling over him. You said you hadn’t seen her in years - you lied. 

Spreading them out on the cold floor, he flipped through them, realising that everyone was right about her - she had an affinity to party and indulge in drugs, often blacking out in the middle of nowhere. But he also realised that she in fact, had an alibi…. A couple of dates on these photos were on the 30th… she couldn’t have possibly been the killer. 

And more importantly, you knew that. If you had taken these pictures, you knew your sister was innocent - yet you watched her be put away behind the bars. 

Fuck. 

This was a terrible mistake. 

Quickly moving, Joshua grabbed the relevant photos - Ji Ho had to see this, the whole team had to see this. But before he could smoothly stash them away in his pocket, he heard the familiar creak of the floorboard at the entrance. You were back. 

Joshua’s breath hitched as the soft footfall of your steps echoed through the quiet room, getting louder and louder by the minute. Panicking, he quickly stuffed everything back in the box, shoved it back into its hidden compartment and placed the floorboard back in place, pretending like nothing had happened.

Just as he stood up, turning towards the sound, his eyes fell on your figure lingering by the large wooden arch, watching him intensely. Slowly, almost deliberately, you closed the distance in between, eyes not leaving him, not blinking. Joshua tensed, his body stiffening with a mix of fear and anticipation. And when you reached him, you didn’t speak - merely tilted your head, your eyes searching his face as if reading something he didn’t want you to see.

Then, without warning, curling your fingers around his collar, pulling him closer, you kissed him. 

Your lips pressed against his, tenderly but also carrying an undeniable weight. Joshua's body froze for a moment, completely caught off guard by the intensity of it, the subtle brush of your lips conveying something far deeper than simple affection. Your hands moved, one sliding up to his neck, the other tangling in his hair, and for a brief second, Joshua forgot himself. His hand cupped your face, as he pushed you back against the wall, kissing you passionately, like he was a hungry man, finally being fed. You moaned as the heat swelled between the pressed bodies, both of you powerless to the undeniable attraction between the two of you. 

Finally, you pulled away, just a fraction, your breath warm on his lips, and in that silence, you softly bit your lower lip, looking at him with big, lust blown eyes. 

"Did I play my part well, Shua?"

Joshua’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath slowing down, eyes fixed on you. 

And then he cocked his head and gave a short nod.

At last, at fucking last, Joshua allowed the mask to crack, a small, victorious smile dancing on his face. The smile that had once been charming and controlled, faltered at the edges, now that he had come face to face with the full scope of the story he had spun. The facade he worked so hard to maintain, the calculated version of himself that had held the reins of this twisted game, finally slipped away. 

Dragging his hand down from your cheek, he wrapped it around your throat, pulling you closer, angling your face up, pressing contrastingly soft kisses along your jaw. You sighed happily despite struggling to breathe, eyes rolling back as you grabbed his wrist, not to pull his choking hand away, but to hold it in place. Fuck. He loved that you loved this. 

“You did great, baby.” He whispered into your ear. “You did so so well.” 

“A…” He loosened his grip when you failed to speak. “Aren’t you going to reward me then?” 

“Of course I am.” He pulled back, fully letting you go, supposedly to allow you to breathe again. But before you could, hand on your head, he pushed you down, forcing you onto your knees. As you quickly stripped out of his favourite jacket, placing it under you to cushion you from the cold floorboard, he unbuttoned his pants, getting ready for your mouth, his favourite place to be. Within seconds, you took over, pulling his pants down and his dick out, spitting in your hand before stroking it slowly. Joshua slapped your hand away and slipped his thumb between your lips prying your mouth open as he pushed his dick into your mouth. 

“Fuck,” He threw his head back. He had missed this warmth of you, wrapped around him. “That’s it baby, that feels fucking good.”

Pleased with yourself, you hummed around his girth and without a warning, his hand finding the back of your head, Joshua pushed himself further in, your sound of surprise lost in your throat. You didn’t struggle too hard to take him all the way in, afterall, Joshua had been here a hundred times already. When he noticed you were running out of breath, he pushed himself just a little further before completely pulling out, throwing you into a coughing fit. Looking at you disappointedly, he shook his head, 

“You can do better baby.” He tilted your face up. “Don’t you want to do better for me?” 

Nodding eagerly, you took him in your mouth again, bobbing your head around his length just the way he liked it, just the way he had trained you to pleasure him. Without him even needing to say it, you clasped your hands behind you, only your mouth working vigorously, alternating between blowing him fast and letting him deep in your throat. Grinning at you, Joshua wrapped your ponytail around his hand, jerking his hips forward to match your pace, finding his orgasm building in him much sooner than usual. 

Of course it did. Joshua was unusually happy today - afterall, everything he intended went according to plan. He had supposedly solved all six of those never ending missing cases, he had secured his promotion and no one even found out that he was the real killer. 

Throwing his head back, he groaned as you skillfully let him so deep in, your nose nearly touching his groin, your face reddening. Dragging you off his cock, he looked down at you impressed, receiving your fucked out expression in return - eyes blown, drool leaking from the corners of your lips, mouth still open, waiting for more. Chucking, he stroked himself. 

“Strip.” 

And you did, pulling your gown over your head, tossing it somewhere far. Then you unclasped your bra, your perfect boobs spilling out of the cups as Joshua felt his mouth water from the sight of it. He had missed them so bad and by the end of tonight, he was going to irrevocably mark them as his. When you looked at him questioningly about taking off your underwear, he shook his head and pushed you against the wall by your shoulders, the back of your head softly hitting the concrete. Knowing what he was going to do next, you obediently stilled as he held your face with both his hands and, god did he fuck it like there was no tomorrow. 

This was what Joshua loved about you the most - you never complained. Anything he gave, you took it oh so well, beyond his expectations, always proving just how devoted you were to him. That was why he was able to use you as the perfect instrument to orchestrate his scheme. Without you, there was no way he would have been able to secure that promotion and get out of this town. 

He had committed too many crimes here, lingered for too long and if he had spent any longer, he knew the chances of him being caught were high. Although he was meticulous in choosing his victims and ensured they had no family or friends to notice their absence, six out of ten of them had landed on his table regardless. Just looking at the case files annoyed him. How the fuck was he supposed to get promoted if solving the very crimes he committed was the only way to deem him worthy? That meant Joshua needed someone else to take the fall, he needed a scapegoat and a story. 

And that’s what everything so far was. Joshua spun an unimaginable, unbelievable story and centered it around you, his main character. He made you a meek, scared and vulnerable woman, just the kind that good old officer Hong would fall for while he himself played a well crafted role - a man tired of unsolvable cases finding his last ray of hope in a woman he happened to fall for. Being a part of a moral battle, guilt tripping his ex-girlfriend into handing him the promotion and coming out of all this with his love being victorious was just the icing on the cake. It was actually all too easy - the accurate decoding of his team’s psyche was what drove the whole plot. 

He knew most of them were highly superstitious and the idea of spirits would terrify them enough to believe your tale. Although the idea of spirits was absurd and haunting, in a small town like this a touch of the supernatural was precisely what was required to get everyone on the edge, to make coincidences believable, to make the unreal seem real. He knew you wouldn’t mess this up - he spent hours telling you about each victim, making you memorise their appearances, their habits, their stories. He trusted you to do a good job, but it was Ji Ho who was the wild card, the one he had taken a risk with. 

Joshua knew Ji Ho being the realist that she was, would never believe the idea of ghosts and would look only for solid facts and evidence. That’s why he had very meticulously planted your DNA in all ten sites, well aware that his ex-girlfriend would immediately suspect you. He wasn’t trying to trap you, no no, you were his favourite doll - he just needed to somehow introduce the twin twist, his most brilliant plot point. 

Joshua was also well aware of Ji Ho's addiction to that stupid Spanish show - it was only a matter of time before she had a lightbulb moment and considered the idea of you having a twin. From there, it was a cake walk - he had already spent months ensuring your sister did not have significant alibis. Thanks to her drug addiction, she was already naturally sketchy, often aloof and most importantly, frequently unaware of her actions and locations. With the deletion of a few CCTV footages, and ripping up some parking tickets and restaurant bills, Joshua had made sure she had no solid evidence to back her innocence. Her being found in a state too far gone to vouch for the truth was no coincidence too - he had been secretly supplying her with stronger than usual doses of drugs for a while now.

And that’s how things went down exactly like he planned - an innocent person was sitting in jail, waiting to be tried for crimes she didn’t commit while here he was, promoted, free and fucking the mouth of the woman undeniably devoted to him. 

Joshua focused his gaze on you, tears running down your cheek, the back of your throat most definitely bruised but you didn't ask him to stop. Instead you contracted your throat around him, drawing out those tell tale groans as he felt himself nearing his high. With a swift movement he let you go and pulled himself out, jerking himself hard as you waited for him patiently, mouth hanging open. The moment you stuck your tongue out desperately, Joshua came, spurts out white coating your tongue, spilling out of the corner of your mouth, down to your boobs. His chest heaved, much like yours, as he took a step back, letting go his softened length as he glanced at you. His masterpiece, the queen on his chessboard. 

Slowly walking back he pulled up a chair, kicking his pants off before settling down on it. He wanted to pause this, let you catch your breath but the ironic thing was, you yourself didn't want to stop. Getting ready to crawl to him, you leaned forward but Joshua shook his head.

“Take a minute baby.” 

You pouted. “I don't want to.” 

“I know but I need to.” He chuckled, looking pointedly at his currently semi hard length. “Do you want to play with yourself till then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you rested back against the wall, spreading your legs out wide, displaying your nearly soaked underwear for him to see. Fuck. Was that how wet you were from just sucking him off? Joshua bet he would slide all the way in with ease and god did he want to. But he could wait - he had all night to wreck you. 

Raising your hips slightly, you pulled your panties, dragging it down your leg, tossing it to join the rest of your clothes. Sucking two fingers, you slid them along the folds, rubbing and spreading them, soft moans leaving your mouth. Joshua could already feel the blood rush down to his dick again. But not yet, he wanted to savour this sight first. 

He watched as you reached for your clit, putting some much needed pressure on it as your head fell back, breath getting shaky and ragged as the feeling built in you. Your free hand found your boobs, squeezing it hard, the remnants of Joshua's cum smearing filthily. The man almost gave in, ready to rail you into tomorrow when coincidentally, the chime of the clock echoed in the room, indicating it was midnight. 

You stopped moving, eyes glancing at the clock before turning to him, lips breaking into a sweet smile. 

“Happy birthday Shua.”

Cocking his head at you, Joshua returned your smile. 

“Happy birthday to you too sweetheart.”

The two of you sharing birthdays, Joshua didn't know whether to call it fate or a lucky coincidence but it was this similarity that drove the entire plot. It all started 4 months ago when he was looking for his next set of victims. He had just finished up with that old woman, Ye Soon, and frankly, all his targets were getting incredibly easy, serving him no excitement, no thrill. 

He had stopped by at the gas station one day, hopping over to the store to buy a pack of gum when he overheard a bunch of young women chattering away about how the end of the year was packed with back to back parties - first with the Mayor's daughters birthday on the 30th, then new years on the 31st. Joshua had smiled to himself. What a perfect way to end the year indeed - a significant figure like the Mayor's daughter would definitely raise the stakes. Oh it would be so fun. 

And fun it was. 

The Mayor's daughter was a beautiful girl and stalking her was more exciting than Joshua anticipated. He didn't think it would be this easy to follow her around but she had an affinity for running away and falling in trouble. Oh she was perfect. But that was something else that was a little more interesting than the silly shenanigans she was up to - Joshua wasn't her only stalker, you were too.  

At first, Joshua thought his eyes were playing tricks. The two of you were strikingly similar, but as far as he knew, the Mayor only had one daughter, not twins. Upon throwing himself into a little more research, Joshua found out about how the two of you grew up in an orphanage but were adopted into different families and to his luck, you were actually a part of his town. Something told him having you on his side might just make all the difference.  

So he began with meeting you almost regularly at the bee farm you worked in. Not many people dropped by there given the bees were quite terrifying but those tiny things were nothing for Joshua, he had bigger things to focus on. Given he was the only person you saw nearly everyday, a friendship began blossoming between the two of you and you slowly started opening up to him, telling him about your life. About how you hated your sister, how you were the one the Mayor wanted to adopt but she had locked you in the storeroom while she took your place and left to live a life full of luxuries. You on the other hand were taken in by two farmers who were negligent, unbothered and died very early in your life in a car crash. Since then you grew up isolated, constantly looking at your sister's life bitterly, knowing that it should have been yours. 

Joshua's joy knew no bounds when he discovered the tumultuous relationship between you sisters. Oh this could be his most elaborate scheme yet, so many birds to hit with one stone. But the first and most important thing he needed for that was for you to be irrevocably in love with him. 

Surprisingly, that was the easiest part. All it took was some praise, some attention and a few sessions of love making - within a month, you were ready to do or die for him. Then all he did was feed you his sorrows - talk about how he wasn't getting a promotion because his ridiculous ex was interfering in his workplace, about how he needed to do something exemplary to climb the ranks. That's how he had convinced you to do this stint - you promised you'd go to any extent for him and in exchange, Joshua promised you revenge. This was your chance to get back at your sister for ruining your life. 

You did however keep asking him who the real killer was. Joshua knew you were head over heels for him, but he wasn't sure if you'd really stick through something as dark as his past. He didn't want to take the chance before his plan came to fruition. But now as he observed you looking up at him with earnest eyes as you fingered yourself, he wondered if you were ready to know more. Sure you listened to everything he said, going faster when he instructed you, stopping when he asked you to, even though you were almost about to cum, you loved him enough to listen. But was it enough to handle more?

He could find out about that later, right now he had enough of looking at you pleasuring yourself, he needed to be inside you urgently. 

“Come here.” 

Standing up immediately, you walked over to him as Joshua fixed his eyes between your legs, at the arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Using your own fingers, he collected your release, slipping them into his mouth, relishing the taste of you. No matter how many times he had eaten you out and made you scream on his tongue, every time felt heavenly. 

Grabbing you by the thighs he pulled you closer and you already knew what you had to do. Turning around, you leaned back against him, grabbing his dick from behind and aligning it with your wanting hole before sinking down on it slowly. 

“It doesn't matter how many times I fuck you.” Joshua groaned, relishing the way your walls fluttered around him. “You're still so tight.” 

You didn't say anything in response, it didn't seem like you could, not with his dick so far in you. 

“Fuck yourself on me baby.” He whispered, his grip on your waist bruisingly tight. “This is your reward.” 

Muttering a string of thank yous, you began moving, rotating and rocking your hips, wantonly squeezing him tight. Joshua knew you were trying to reach for those sensitive spots so he let you, biting and sucking on the soft skin of your shoulder instead, leaving a trail of red. When you began clamping around him unbelievably tightly, he landed a warning smack on your ass.

“Move.”

And you did, bouncing up and down his length vigorously, pouring your everything into it, loud moans tumbling out of your mouth. Squeezing your boob hard, he trailed his hand up your chest, wrapping it around your neck, holding you against him while his other hand found your clit, drawing figure eights. It didn't take you much to fall apart around him considering you had already fucked yourself on your fingers for a while. Joshua could feel your arousal dripping down his length as he continued to thrust his length up. 

“Sensitive…” You whined, holding his hand tight, when he just wouldn't stop. “Shua please…” 

“Shh.” He muttered, pushing you off him much to your surprise before getting up himself and throwing you onto the chair instead, your knees on the seat as your hands held the backrest. Joshua stripped out of his shirt tossing it aside before he smacked you again hard, thrusting himself much deeper inside. 

“Fuck, shua….it's too much.” You nearly cried as he began to snap his hips into you, your orgasm blending into another one. 

“Come on baby.” He softly nibbled on your ear in complete contrast to how roughly he was pounding into you. “Don't I deserve a gift too?”  

You didn't complain after that, only graphic moans and whines escaping your lips. This was the best birthday he could have asked for - here he was finally fucking you after so many days and there, your sister, his final victim was taking her last breath. 

Joshua thought it was rather beautiful, the way it all came to an end. He knew your sister couldn't go more than a few hours without her usual drugs so he had made sure she had access to a little secret stash that she could sniff on when no one was looking. Little did she know, Joshua had poisoned it. 

Not only that, he had also managed to slip a thin folded paper into her pants just before she was thrown in the cell. It read that she was guilty for all ten crimes and was incredibly repentful - she didn't think she deserved to live. That was his final victim of the year - another death on the 30th, another death on their birthday. 

There was no particular reason why Joshua picked this date or why it had to be their birthday - he simply wanted to create a pattern, see if anyone could crack it, if anyone was smarter than him. So far, it seemed like nobody was even close. Perhaps, only after he died and as per requested in his will, if his diary was published as a book, would people know exactly what he was capable of. For now, he alone revelled in and celebrated his intelligence. Maybe you if you were strong enough for it. 

Perhaps not, Joshua wondered as he glanced at you, sound slowly reducing as you inched closer to passing out. Gripping your hips tighter he began fucking you harder and faster, pushing himself to finish before you blacked out. Recognising his pace becoming erratic as he neared his climax, you looked over your shoulder. 

“I haven't been taking the pill for a while Shua…” 

He groaned, not stopping his thrusts. “You know how much I love cumming inside you.” 

“Shua please…” You could barely manage to beg him to stop. Your body had been pushed beyond its limit. 

Owing to your silence, he groaned, jerking his hips, once, then again and then he came, white coating your walls as he emptied himself into you. You fell forward, spent and exhausted as Joshua pulled out, watching his cum drip out of you. 

Fuck. You were perfect. 

This was perfect. 

Everything was perfect. 

It was probably the wee hours of the morning when you woke up, your throat hurting and dry. You rolled your head to the side finding Joshua fast asleep beside you on the bed. He had dragged you here for round two, fucking you into oblivion before moving to round three where he slowly made love, dumping load after load in you. Thankfully, he cleaned you up before sleeping - you had passed out the moment the two of you were done. 

You slipped out of the bed slowly so as to not disturb him, desperate for a glass of water. Stretching, you grabbed the spare blanket and wrapped it around your naked body. Struggling to walk thanks to how sore you were all over you made your way to the kitchen, flipping the switches and bit back a scream. 

Stranding by the counter was an old woman, leaning against it, looking at you like she was waiting for you. Instinctively you grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, pointing it at her threateningly. 

“W-who are you? And what-” 

“You know who I am.” She said, straightening and stepping closer to the window. Your eyes widened. That was impossible - it was as though the moonlight was passing through her. You ran your eyes over her features. She had white hair, her back was bent weirdly, there was a burn mark on her hand….. Ye Soon. 

“Oh Y/n,” She took a step forward. “Don't you want to know who the actual killer is?” 

You continued to stare, jaw slightly hung, still unable to fathom what was happening. The spirits were a story the two of you had spun, how could it be…

“Who are you talking to?”

You turned around sharply at the sound of Joshua’s voice. He walked out, dressed in his pants, rubbing his eyes as he looked at you confused. 

He couldn't see Ye Soon. 

“You wanted to know the killer didn't you?” The old woman's voice was right by your ear. “Look, there he is.” 

Your eyes widened, grip on the knife tightening as you stared at the man before you wordlessly. Joshua frowned, his eyes flickering between the knife and you as his eyes narrowed. 

Outside, the loud sirens of the ambulance heading towards the precinct resounded in the otherwise quiet town. It seems the story of the Calendar Killer had finally come to an end.

A/n - If you have made it all the way here, thank you for reading, I know it was intense and heavy but I hope you enjoyed it! Do let me know your thoughts in the comments or tags, particularly about the twist - I need to know if my crazy mind managed to pull this off or not hehe You can also read Jeonghan's and Seungcheol's :)

[lymtw]

When Toji finds out that you get yourself off when he's not around, he's blatantly offended. You recognize jealousy on Toji's face when you see it. It's not always pretty, but sometimes you think it's the most beautiful way you'll ever see him. He looks at you with those eyes. Those merciless, yet disarming, green eyes. You've told him before that they are one of your greatest weaknesses, and since then he uses them to his advantage at any given chance.

Shiu called Toji to notify him about a last minute mission, and though you begged him to stay, he reminded you of how this could be the one that brings both of you out of the struggle to make ends meet.

You were blinded by the amount of time you had spent with him. A week straight, no interruptions until Shiu called. It was one of the best weeks of your life, and that only further devastated you when you couldn't talk him out of leaving.

To make things worse, he wasn't able to reconcile with you and comfort you before he left. Shiu was rushing him, but all he could think about was how you turned your back to him, not even wanting to look at him before he left.

He answered Shiu's phone call for three seconds, an enraged, "I'm going. Jesus, fuck," before hitting the end call button. He stands at your shared bedroom doorway for a few seconds more seconds, still only getting a look at the back of your head. "I'll be back, princess. Gonna make it up to you, so wait up for me."

—

The mission wasn't difficult at all. It was so easy that he even attempted to contact you while he scouted the close quartered area. You didn't pick up a single one of the six calls he made, letting them all go straight to voicemail each time. It was irritating. He wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to listen to him, he wanted to tell you that he was rushing this mission so that he could sprint home to you.

Once he got his dirty work done, he tried your phone again, and again, but you were still letting his calls go to voicemail. So, he decided to text you.

Babe, answer.

I know you're upset, but i'm on my way home now

Baby, please

You read his messages, sighing before throwing your phone across the room. He never says no to Shiu when it's about a job. You've accepted this before, but after spending a whole uninterrupted week with Toji, feeling like things would remain that way for longer than they did, it was hard to remember that life was gonna merge back in again at some point. Your vacation hours would run out and you would have to go back to work, and Toji would be hired to hunt someone down again. It was just disheartening to find out that it would happen so soon, and that Toji would jump back into routine so quickly.

You see one of his shirts at the end of the bed and reach for it. It was flipped inside out and balled up, so you know it was worn by him. Just holding it in your lap, you can smell Toji's scent. You bring it up to your nose, and your heart begins to race. Toji wore this. He's not there with you, so that's the closest you'll get to him until he's physically in front of you again.

You bury your face into the rolled up shirt, inhaling deeply. The scent really works at pushing you to forgive him for leaving. His scent was debiliating. It brought vulnerability to a moment where it was just you on the bed you share with your man. You were missing him and wishing he weren't so obligated to his work. It stirred up feelings that couldn't be contained.

In this whirlwind of emotions, you couldn't reject the feeling that blazed in you the most. Your need for him. Your desire to have him all over you, with those hands that don't quit when you waver between feeling like you've had enough, and wanting more of him than ever.

You crawl back to the top of the bed, Toji's shirt dragging on the sheets beneath your palms. Your shorts are peeled off and tossed to the floor. You grab his pillow from his side of the bed, slipping it between your thighs before laying down flat on your stomach. You spread his shirt out on your pillow, and lay your face on it, allowing your mind to fill with thoughts of Toji. You used this internal shrine to fuel the languid roll of your hips against the pillow.

Toji called one more time. He was two minutes away from the house. Your phone is on silent mode, still on the floor on the other side of the room. Besides, you were too distracted to see your phone screen light up, anyway.

"We're literally here, already. Quit stressing," Shiu says when he sees Toji scoff after putting his phone down, a deadpan expression on the former's face. The second the van stops, Toji hops out, and without another word to Shiu, he slams the door shut.

The door barges open and slams shut behind him. Had you not been in your blissful haze, you would have been concerned. Toji's footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as he looks around in search of you. You're not on the couch, you aren't in the kitchen. Where the hell could you be?

"Ma," Toji calls, walking through the hallway. He peeks into the bathroom, not digging further because the light was off. He hears heavy breathing nearby, so he keeps going down the hall. It's one of two doors. Luckily, he chooses the right one.

He slowly creaks the door open, his shoulders dropping immediately at the sight on the bed. He sighs in awe, leaning against the doorframe.

Your hips rolled a little faster against the pillow now, your arms curled tightly around the pillow for your head. Your face remained buried in Toji's shirt, your moans muffled as you gnawed on the black fabric. You were so close to unraveling, you could feel it building up in your lower abdomen.

Toji really liked the little arch you made everytime you pulled back and then dragged forward to get the longest amount of friction between your legs. He could see your body trembling, and your moans were getting louder.

"Oh, Toji..."

The monster in his pants came to life, prominently bulging through his pants.

"F-Fuck... fuck me, please," you gasped, keeping your rhythm but grinding harder against the pillow. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..." you moaned, higher in pitch as you reached the brink of orgasm. You dragged your panty clad cunt across the pillow one more time before completely falling apart on it. Cries of pleasure shamelessly filled the room as you continued to shakily rut against the pillow through your peak. You whimpered, your abdomen quivering with your shuddered breaths as you kept grinding.

Toji's boxers were drenched with precum, just from watching you go wild on a pillow. You were thinking of him while he was gone. You wanted him. You called his name while you got yourself off to his scent on a shirt he wore yesterday, and now you're just there. A breathless, panting, needy, beautiful mess.

Toji straightens his posture and enters the room. He sees your phone on the floor and picks it up, the screen lighting to show his most recent missed calls. His footsteps pull you out of your climactic trance, a starry-eyed look on your face when you see him approach the bed.

"Couldn't pick up the phone even once?" He presents your phone to you. "Too busy fucking yourself on my pillow?"

"Toji..." you start, waved off immediately by his hand.

"Heard my name in there a couple times, princess. Thought you were upset with me." His eyes rake down your body, focusing on the way your thighs clamp around his pillow. He sees the wet spot on the front of your panties, and for some reason feels envy begin to bubble up in his stomach. His hand reaches for the elastic band of your underwear, simply feeling the material that hugs your hips.

"I was," you mumble.

"Uh-huh. So, instead of waiting for me like the perfect angel I thought you were, you made yourself cum on a pillow?" He scoffs. "Don't know about you, but that's borderline selfish to me." He notices the involuntary pout on your face, your guilty eyes trying to hold eye contact while he scolds you. "I make you cum. I fuck you until your damn claws are digging into my back. Tell me, doll, and be brutally honest, for me. How is it not enough?"

"I missed you..." you say, a last resort. All you can do is back yourself up now.

He laughs in disbelief. You really were ruled by your own desire. "Try again, doll."

"I needed you, Toji, and the closest thing to your presence was your pillow and a stupid shirt you wore yesterday. We have a dirty clothes hamper, you know?" You point at the tall basket in the corner of the room. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had thrown it in there."

"Show me," he says, a twisted grin on his face.

"What are you talking about? Show you what?"

He pulls the pillow through your thighs so that you're centered on it again. "Show me how much you missed me." He sits in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. "Show me how this flimsy replacement for me, made you lose your shit."

You sit there, flustered by his silence as he watches you, waiting patiently for his hands to get gentle friction from your skin.

"Oh, you need some help winding up? I was so sure you were good at this, seeing as though you made yourself spill, but, guess not." He looks down at the front of your panties. The wet patch was growing with no movement from you at all. This made his ego sky rocket, but also reminded him of how unpredictable you could be. "I'm not gonna hold your hand the whole time, baby. You're supposed to be putting on a show for me."

His grip on your hips tightens and he starts assisting you with rolling your hips against the pillow. He watches your face, a bright shade flourishing on your cheeks when you make eye contact with him. It was like he had a spotlight on you, and he was expecting you to perform well for him under the harsh light.

You let out a shaky breath, your palms settling on his thighs. Your head hung low, hiding the bashful look of bliss on your face. It was a gesture that Toji did not approve of.

"Let me look at you," he says, still maneuvering your hips in a constant rhythm. You lift you head but turn away from him. "Keep those eyes on me." He manually turns your head, one hand releasing your hip in favor of forcing you to look at him. His hand returns to its spot when he has your glossy eyes on his. "I'm right in front of you. There's nothing over there that demands your attention, so focus."

"Toji," you whine, humiliation flooding your body.

"Gonna let go in a few seconds, so you better fall into some sort of rhythm, doll."

You try to pretend like he's not there, but it's hard to do so when he's staring straight into your soul. Watching every expression you make, watching every tremble of your lips, every swipe of your tongue. You feel total vulnerability.

His hands are off and you stutter for a second before picking up again.

"There you go," Toji mutters. You took control, and ground yourself harder against the pillow.

"Toji, touch me, please." You pull your shirt off, baring more of yourself to Toji. His lidded eyes take in the newly exposed skin. He can see your breasts rising and falling now as you breathe, and he can't deny how badly he wants to hold them. He gives in, his hands going to your back to unclip your bra. His hands immediately grope your boobs, testing the malleability like he always does. They're just so perfect.

"Aren't you a sight... You just have to be so fuckin' pretty all the time, don't you?" He rolls your nipples with his thumbs, taking in the way you shudder at the contact. "Fuck, it's hard to stay mad when you look like that."

You feel that familiar ache begin to form again, when the roll of your hips starts leaving a lingering pleasure behind.

"You're about to cum again, aren't you?" Toji asks, knowing the answer. His eyes are narrowed on you, his dick twitching even if his blood is boiling at the thought of you enjoying this so much. You're doing those little arches again where you pull back and your stomach is quivering every time you drag yourself back forward.

"Mhm..." your nails dig into Toji's thighs, using them as leverage to facilitate your movement even more. "Toji, can I cum?" you ask, your submissive tendencies coming out right on time, as usual. You like handing over control to Toji, even if it means you don't get to cum when you're seconds away from being an absolute mess. "Toji, can I, please?"

How can he deny you when you've complied with what he asked you to do? How can he turn you down when you're so driven with pleasure that you look like you're about to cry just from slowing down for a couple seconds, awaiting his response?

"Only if you do it on my hand." His hands still your hips, holding you down firmly to stop your movement completely.

"What?" Your cunt aches from holding back. It's pulsing, craving the return of stimulation.

Toji's hand slides into the front of your underwear, cupping your slickened folds. "Do it on my hand," he repeats.

"O-Okay," you comply, once again. You start rocking against his hand, the roughness of his skin adding more friction to your sensitive core. You were bound to snap any second now.

"God, you're so wet, ma. All for me?"

"Mhm... all for you, Toji," you whimper. "Gonna..." you gasp. "Oh, fuck-"

Toji devours your expression and the shaky pressure of your silkiness against his hand. His pupils are enormous, ridding him of almost all the green in his eyes. He loves the sounds you make, he loves that you adjusted to the spotlight he put on you and gave him the best show, but most of all, he loves that this was all the product of you just missing him.

You're left breathing shakily, your head hung low, and your eyes lidded with exhaustion.

"Did it feel the same?" Toji's voice brings you back. His hand retracts from your underwear, and he gets a good look at what you left behind on him, wiping it off on his shirt. It'll be removed soon enough, anyway.

"Not at all." You giggle. You look at him, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. "You're irreplaceable, baby. Inanimate objects don't do it for me like you do."

He chuckles. Your voice is adorable, all quiet yet still able to communicate your reassuring words.

"I need a nap," you mumble, retrieving your shirt from the end of the bed.

"Wanna shower with me, instead?"

Your attention directs towards him like a homing bolt of lightning. He gives you a smug grin, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

"Spare me some company and one of those massages you're so good at giving, yeah?"

You give him a deadpan expression, almost refuting him until he hit you at another point where he knew you were weak.

"Please, mama?"

[eideticmemory]

SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID

Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.

Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.

Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.

Finally, he thought, someone gets it.

And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."

"I...I give a shit."

You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."

Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."

"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."

He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.

Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?

He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.

You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”

He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.

"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.

"Thanks.”

That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.

The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.

"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."

You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.

A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.

“Close call today, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.

But he does, “All thanks to you.”

You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”

“Oh, anytime.”

He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”

You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a profiler.”

You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”

You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”

“So?”

“I’m just…stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.

“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.

You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”

He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”

“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”

Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”

“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”

He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”

You giggle, “Did you rig that?”

“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”

“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”

Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”

When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.

You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.

You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”

“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”

“No, take it.”

“I can’t.”

“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”

You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.

He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.

You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”

His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”

Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”

The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”

He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.

You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”

They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”

The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.

“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.

“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.

“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.

Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.

“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”

“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.

“Well, it makes sense now.”

“What?”

“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”

Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.

As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”

“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”

“Mm. How altruistic of you.”

“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”

“I guess.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”

And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.

Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though.

That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.

You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”

“No. Care to help?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, great.”

“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”

“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”

He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”

“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.

Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”

“Or not enough.”

You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”

Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”

“But the detergent?”

You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”

On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.

“Are you looking at my lips?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“Can you read them?”

“Mhm.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”

Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.

Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Listen, Einstein.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”

“Who was shitting on your relationship?”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”

“And that’s not fair.”

“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”

“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”

You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”

There are no more card games on the jet for a while.

And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.

You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.

Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.

“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”

You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”

He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.

“Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it’s a great one.”

“Thank you.”

And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.

This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.

“And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue”

Happy Birthday, [y/n]

Spencer

You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.

You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.

Then he pulls out that fucking ring.

The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.

You’re sick.

Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.

When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.

He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.

Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.

Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.

You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”

Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”

You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.

He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.

And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.

“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?

Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.

Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.

Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”

“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.

Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.

“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.

He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”

“Hm?”

“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.

“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.

You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.

Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.

You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.

“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”

You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”

“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”

“Supernatural element.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”

“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.

It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.

Author’s note:

Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚

[notlongtolove]

the cup holds the tea

it hits you all at once and you’re out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. you’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto spencer’s shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...

word count: 3k

note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.

a line: They’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.

It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. - pat schneider

The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.

“And they ate every last drop of it!”

The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. He’s always known you had this gift—how you could spin a story, command a room. If he weren’t so completely in love with you, he might’ve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.

Spencer’s lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your third—or fourth? He’s lost count. He notices you’re not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that you’re tearing up at something Garcia’s showing you—a sloth video, from what he can tell, doesn’t ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, it’s clearly doing its job.

It’s one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isn’t on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. They’ve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencer’s side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harm’s way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.

It’d only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didn’t stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just can’t help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation. 

Spencer catches the way Derek’s eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows they’re going to bring this up later, probably all week.

But he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t let go.

The booth is packed tight as you’re all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyone’s smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.

“C’mon, pretty boy, live a little,” Derek teases, “Just one drink.”

Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. “I’m fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.

He can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. You’re laughing, and It’s unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.

He knows Spencer’s not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emily’s coaxing, and you’re already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garcia’s cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.

Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how you’d take it. You’d wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. You’d held your own at Rossi’s birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyone—everyone except Rossi of course. And that’s probably why he’d already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.

But that was then and now— Well, it’s different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title he’s all too happy to hold. And tonight, it’s a card he’s all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I don’t need anyone to take care of me speech. 

Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. “Here,” he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. “Drink this.”

He hopes you’re just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as it’s something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it works—you sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.

Almost there, he thinks.

You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencer’s heart sinks as your expression shifts.

“This is water,” you say, suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” he admits.

Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. “I’m drinking vodka.”

“And now you’re drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I’d rather not carry you out of here tonight,” he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.

You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. “Just drink the water, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.

He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derek’s overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But you’re quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again. 

And then, suddenly, you’re not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. You’re out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth. 

You’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto Spencer’s shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

Of all people it had to be Spencer—germ-conscious, always-prepared Spencer—your lovely boyfriend who at this moment you’re not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer. 

You don’t have to look up to see the team’s reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derek’s mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, “Oh, no…”

They’re frozen. Because Spencer—Spencer, who uses hand sanitizer like it’s an extension of his arm, Spencer who’s the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messy—has just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know they’re waiting for Spencer’s reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. “Hey,” he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. “Sweetheart, you okay?” He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.

“Spence—” you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes—oh my God, your shoes—”

Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. “It’s fine. They’re just shoes,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Let’s get you home, okay?” 

You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesn’t let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at you—your slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a little—and decides against it.

Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You can’t.

Emily’s mouth falls open slightly as she watches, “Did Reid just…?” she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him,” Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. “I knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.” she says letting out a dreamy sigh. 

They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. You’re still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesn’t falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. There’s not even a hint of disgust on his face—if anything, he’s focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. “I ruined your shoes. And your jacket. And—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.”

You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. “Nooo, don’t throw them out because of me.”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?”

“I’ll wash them,” you declare, your words slow and sleepy.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ll wash them?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.

“How about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?” he says gently.

“’Kay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.

Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. They’re not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows he’s going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. “Kid’s completely gone.”

Emily doesn’t need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because they’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?

This is something else entirely.

The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure you’re okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.

His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but there’s no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether it’s from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re too tired to decipher.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice light but firm. “I want to.” 

He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.

“Drink,” he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.

You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly you’re drinking it now—so much easier than earlier—but he decides against it.

You’ve been through enough tonight, he thinks.

When he finally tucks you into bed, you’re too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your face—peaceful now, the traces of the evening’s mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the night’s adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoes—still damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.

He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. It’s ridiculous, he knows. They’re just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But they’re also a reminder of tonight—a reminder of how he’d taken care of you, how you’d let him take care of you. 

With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.

There's a pout tugging at your lips. “Where’d you go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.

“Had to throw out the shoes angel,” he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Your gasp is exaggerated like he’s just committed an unspeakable betrayal. “I thought I told you I’d wash them!” you exclaim, your voice rising. 

“And I thought I tucked you into bed,” Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. “Why are you out of bed sweetheart?”

You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. “Missed you,” you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. “Wanna cuddle.”

Spencer’s expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. “I’m dirty,” he reminds you gently, “Outside clothes, remember?”

“Change then,” you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though that’s the simplest solution in the world.

“I need to shower first,” he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.

“I didn’t shower either,” you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.

“Because you’re drunk,” he replies with a small smile.

“Am not,” you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.

“Wanna tell that to my shoes?” Spencer teases, raising a brow.

You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. “You’ll take too long,” you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then cuddle,” you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he can’t resist. “Pleaseee”

Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of you—soft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows you’re usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, you’re anything but sober, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Pleaseee,” you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I’ll buy you new shoes,” your eyes wide and imploring.

He knows you probably will.

“Enough about the shoes,” Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, “Just help me change the sheets tomorrow,” he relents, his voice warm with affection.

He knows you probably won’t. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.

You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. “Knew you wouldn’t say no,” you mumble into his chest.

Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he can’t quite put into words. He’s never been one for mess—for dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. It’s in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?

His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.

Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.

For you and only you, he thinks, he’d make an exception every time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[reiderwriter]

ACK I'm so excited that your requests are open again! Um okay, this one feels a bit silly but I'd love a fic where fem!bau!reader is really attracted to Spencer and the way that he smells? (I just KNOW that man smells like cinnamon and a Scholastic Book Fair.) Like, she's been doing a good job hiding her crush from the team, until Spencer catches her eyes dilating at him when he's standing close. And he's an oblivious king, so he's trying to figure out why they were dilated. If it could be race blind like my last request, and from Spencer's POV, that'd be great. (Or split POV, if you'd rather). I really see this as fluff, but if you want to include angst or smut go right on ahead! Thank you for reading my request! Your writing makes my day.

-❤️‍🩹

A/N: This was so fun and silly, and I love writing awkward, puppy love Spencer because sometimes you just have to let yourself become mildly infatuated with a coworker. For the plot. Or at least character development. I hope you like this one!!

Warnings: none.

Masterlist

You thought you'd settled into work well in your first few weeks as a member of the BAU. You thought you were up to speed about everything going on in the office. There was just one mystery left to solve.

“Where is that smell coming from?” You whispered to yourself, frustratedly sniffing the air for the second day in a row as you attempted to locate the warm, delightful smell that seemed to follow you whenever you were in the office.

“Could be one of Garcia's scented candles. They tend to linger,” JJ said from her corner of the bull pen.

“No, I checked earlier and she said they made her throw those out weeks ago.”

Honestly, it was not knowing that was driving you insane. If you knew what the smell was, you could bottle it, spray it all around yourself, and wrap yourself in it like a little blanket. It somehow reminded you of home and of the public library you'd spent much of your childhood in.

After another day of being able to figure out whoever had bought the scent version of the Scholastic Book Fair mixed with homemade cinnamon buns, you gave up. 12 hours of paperwork, and you were just as excited to get away from the sight of brown folders as ever, and as everyone else in the bureau, evidently.

Grabbing your bag, you got in the line for the elevators alongside your team.

“Ready for the crush?” Derek said, punching Spencer Reid on the arm as they waited ahead of you.

“Ow,” the younger man muttered and you tried to hold your giggles back, rolling your eyes as you watched them in amusement.

Derek’s words were true, though. Every day at home time, the elevators packed up quickly, and being on the middle floor meant that it could often take a while for the elevator to come back to you. You swore it was half the reason Hotch stayed late most nights, just to avoid the crush of the trip home.

“I've been taking the DC public transport since I got this job. You think the elevators are bad. Try 8 am subway on a Monday morning.”

The doors opened, and the three of you climbed into the barely there space of the elevator. With a quick side step, you found yourself against the left wall of the elevator. But to your shock, the scent you'd been searching for for three weeks didn't dissipate as it usually did when you got on the elevator.

It was here. The source of the scent was here.

You tried to stay calm as it grew more potent, tried not to frantically look around searching for whatever man or woman was perfumed in heaven. The doors opened again, and more people squeezed in, and suddenly, you found yourself buried nose-first in whatever sensory heaven existed here on earth.

“Sorry,” you heard a mumble in front of you as Spencer held his hand against the wall above your head, trying to keep a polite enough distance so as not to squish you any further. Your mismatching heights, however, led to your face being just about level with his neck.

You really weren't trying to smell him, but you had to inhale, and each time you did, it was a sensory overload.

It was him. Dear God, it was him.

The proximity and his scent really weren't helping your brain stop short circuiting in that moment, and you had to remind yourself after a minute or two or three that you were staring.

Though evidently Spencer had already noticed, and was looking at you with some concern.

“Are you okay? It's pretty tight in here, but I can try and move back if you're uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it's okay,” you did your best not to shout the words out, suddenly wanting his smell and his body close forever.

You hadn't been looking before, but like a freight train at maximum speed, the weight of his attractiveness hit you all at once. There was a slight stubble peppering his jaw, his hair hanging slightly loose, eyes big, and brown, and beautiful. He was tall, and you knew he was strong from watching him manhandle unsubs each week.

To put it blankly, you spiralled. Hard. Straight into infatuation and attraction, and you felt your head growing light with the tipsy feeling of a girlish crush.

You were fucked.

Spencer was concerned about you for the next week.

For starters, he knew that most new hires pushed themselves to the extreme over the first month and ended up quickly burnt out, mentally and physically. He may not have the best physical stamina, but he knew the lengths he had to go to to maintain his mental and physical wellness while working the job.

Which was why he started looking out for you a bit more. Every time he looked at you, you were staring off into space, somewhere just past him, or around him, face glazed over.

He wondered if you had a fever a few times, subtly touching your forehead - wiping away some sweat or a strand of hair - to feel you, and you did always feel hot.

You insisted you were fine though. But the nervous panic, and the constant insistence made him wary enough to pull you aside one day and ask you straight to your face.

“Do you need something?” He said, having unassumingly lured you off to the meeting room without arousing suspicions.

“What? What do you mean?” You said, instantly defensive. You'd hoped you hadn't been as creepy as you knew you had and that he hadn't caught on to your stolen glances and sudden close proximity.

You really couldn't help it. The man smelt too fucking good.

“If you're feeling sick, no one is going to think any less of you for taking a half day, you know.”

His voice was so gentle, you almost didn't die from sheer embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh! Oh, oh no, I'm fine, I'm totally healthy. As a cow!”

“A cow?”

“Yes, I'm as healthy as your average farm animal. Can I go back to work?”

You made to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently as you brushed past him, and it was like sparks travelled up your arm and pierced your heart directly.

“Spencer!?” you squeaked.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and you feel hot and clammy,” he said, which was exactly the kind of compliment you were aiming to receive from men you were falling for. “You should go see a doctor and then get some rest.”

“No, Spencer, that's not-”

“Everyone pushes themselves in these first few weeks. I had to take a week off after two days in the field from the weight of holding a gun up for so long, which is more embarrassing than it sounds, and Derek-”

“What cologne do you use?” you snapped, desperately hoping to both shut him up and also detangle yourself from this situation with at least one win under your belt. If you found out whatever the smell was he used, you could buy it, grow accustomed to it, and grow out of whatever phase you were going through before you out your job in jeopardy.

“What?”

“You smell… really good. I was wondering what cologne it is.”

“I don't… I don't really use cologne.”

You baulked, unable to stop your face from dropping as your dreams of detaching yourself from your little crush on Spencer Reid faded before your very eyes.

“Shower gel? Shampoo maybe?”

“They're both unscented.”

“So you just… you just smell like that naturally?”

It was his turn to flush then, though the panic never left your head fully.

“Sorry, is it… distracting.”

“Yes,” you whispered, but with such an exhausted exhale, it sounded like a dreamt sigh. You wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to open his jacket, step inside, bury your face in his chest, and fall asleep.

“I see.”

“Mhmm.”

A minute passed in awkward silence, and you wanted to kick yourself for blurting everything out. Quickly turning to leave again, you wished so dearly to erase the last five minutes of your life, sending up enough hail mary’s to absolve you of any sin.

“Lavender. And sometimes patchouli,” he called from behind you as you took your first steps to the door.

“Hmm?” you said, turning back around against your better judgment.

“What?”

“That's what you smell like,” he explained, hands suddenly very preoccupied with his jacket buttons. “I'm not great with scents, but you also smell… nice. Sorry, that was weird.”

“No, not at-”

“You know, the major histocompatibility complex genes are important for the immune system and appear to play a role in sexual attraction via body odour. Studies have shown that body odour is strongly connected with attraction in heterosexual females.”

“Oh. I didn't know that…”

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

The words almost knocked you back into the door, as sudden as they were. Had he just asked you on a date? Or was it a friendly coworker thing? A friendly coworker thing where he acknowledged your attraction to his scent and then invited you out on a date.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”

He did his best to suppress the smile, and you tried hard as well, though neither of you succeeded.

“Great, perfect,” he said, circling you as he made his way to the door, his eyes always turned to you no matter what. He likely regretted that as he bumped into first the edge of a table, then a chair, and then hitting the door with his back, but in your state of puppy love, you didn't care.

“It's a date,” he said, opening the door and walking away, cheeks flushed with heat.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.  

thank you for reading!! x

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[seat-safety-switch]

Trust me when I tell you that I love my local Mexican restaurant, with their molcajetes full of sizzling beef and their extremely inexpensive tacos. There's just one downside: their parking lot kind of sucks. It's one of those narrow 1960s jobs, where you have an exit only on one side, and it's constantly full of food-delivery types blocking the lane so you have to do weird ninety-point turns just to park.

Now, let's get one thing straight: I do not at all care if I get my doors "dinged." A couple years ago, a then-new Acura MDX parked a little close to me, and their kids banged their door into my door. This was enough contact for the rust demon to jump from my Valiant onto their car, and by the time they had returned from the store, their vehicle and its delicious Nipponese steel had been wholly consumed. Only the tires remained. No, I just don't like the inconvenience of having to strongarm-steer my wheezing piece of garbage into this tight lot. Things are bad enough that I've actually thought twice about going to get Mexican food. I know. I can barely believe it myself.

My parents didn't raise me to be someone who gives up easily. In fact, if you ask Child Protective Services, they didn't raise me at all. Television brought me up to idolize heroes like reruns of Clutch Cargo and whatever cool robot toy they wanted to sell that week. And if there's one thing those daring pioneers wouldn't accept, it's a slightly inconvenient parking lot.

What's the easiest way to fix a parking lot with only one exit? By adding another exit. Turns out the city construction workers nearby just keep their keys in the bulldozer, as long as your definition of "in the bulldozer" also includes the site supervisor's locked office inside a fireproof safe that doesn't stand up to the weight of a bulldozer rolling down the hill into it after having its parking brake released. I plowed a neat car-width divot through the nearby sidewalk – take that, walkable neighbourhood – and now the vibe of the entire parking lot had changed for the better.

Unfortunately, I had not counted on the increased traffic that this would bring. All of the city, it seems, was also putting off getting Mexican food. This slight inconvenience factor actually served as a pressure-control valve of sorts. With the floodgates wide open, the place was now crammed stem to stern with hungry rich folks and their conveniently-parked luxury cars 24 hours a day. Let this be a lesson to all of you: never try to make things better.