#i literally feel like im getting brain damage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chrisstvrns · 1 day ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖: 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍 ⊹₊✮˙

aurora's matt sturniolo & fangirl!reader au

warnings: fast moving relationship, use of y/n, second person pov.

disclaimer: i did not go to either of the triplets’ tours, so i do not know how they worked, and i included barely any description of the actual show lmao. this is a long one im sorryyyyy.

word count: 6.3k

you’re awoken by the sounds of chris and nick’s giggles, followed by the sound of matt’s tired voice, mumbling for them to ‘shut the fuck up.’

you’re facing the wall, your eyes gently fluttered open. the first thing that registers in your mind is the feeling of a body next to you, then realizing it’s matt.

for a second, your brain doesn’t quite piece it together. the warmth radiating from him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it all feels too comfortable, too natural. but then it hits you, and you stiffen slightly. you both must’ve knocked out while watching that dumb movie last night, the one matt insisted wasn’t boring, even though he fell asleep halfway through.

his arm is slung lazily over your waist, not in an intimate way, but more like he’s forgotten you’re even there. you consider moving, but the thought of waking him fully and having to explain feels way more awkward than just… waiting it out. besides, it’s not like this means anything. you’re just friends.

still, the sound of chris and nick’s whispers—followed by more giggles—makes your face heat up. you can already tell they’re gonna give you shit for this.

you try to focus on anything else, your eyes tracing patterns in the wall, but it’s no use.

matt shifts slightly, his hand brushing your side as he groans quietly.

“jesus, what time is it?” his voice is rough with sleep, and you swear it makes your heart skip a beat, though you quickly shake the thought away.

before you can answer, chris’ voice cuts through from the doorway.

“oh, it’s definitely time for us to take a picture of this.” you hear the unmistakable click of a phone camera, followed by nick trying (and failing) to hold in a cackle.

matt groans louder, burying his face into the pillow.

“i’m gonna kill both of you,” he mutters, his words muffled, but you can hear the underlying frustration—and maybe just a hint of embarrassment.

“yeah, yeah, sure. i cant wait to slap it on a christmas card” nick says, still laughing. “but seriously, this is adorable. can’t wait to tell everyone you guys are cuddling now.”

your face burns, and matt finally lifts his head to glare at them. “we’re not cuddling,” he snaps, his hand falling away from your waist like he just remembered it was there. “we just… fell asleep. shut up.”

but the damage is done, and chris and nick are already halfway down the hall, cackling like maniacs. you glance at matt, who’s rubbing his face with both hands, clearly trying to wake up properly.

“well,” you mumble, breaking the silence, “this isn’t awkward at all.”

matt lets out a dry laugh, dropping his hands to look at you. “could be worse.”

“how?”

“i dunno, its not the worst thing in the world.”

you groan, flopping back against the pillow as he smirks. even though you’re mortified, a small part of you is grateful for how easily he brushes it off. just friends. no big deal. right?

as you sit up, the clutter of the room reminds you that this isn’t some random hotel—it’s matt’s literal house. matt glances around, scratching the back of his neck. “i’ll head downstairs to get ready,” he says casually, like he’s trying not to make it weird. “you can have the room.”

you nod, grateful for the unspoken gesture. “thanks.”

he grabs his phone from the nightstand and heads for the door, pausing to shoot you a tired smile. “don’t take too long, though. if chris and nick get bored, they’ll probably try to sabotage something.”

“noted,” you reply, watching him disappear down the hallway.

once the door clicks shut, you exhale, the silence feeling oddly heavy after he leaves. shaking it off, you dig through your suitcase for an outfit. eventually, you settle on a long sleeved, black crop top, paired with baggy jeans and your favorite white sneakers. you brush your hair back into a neat ponytail, letting a few strands frame your face, and add small gold hoop earrings for a bit of sparkle. a dainty gold chain necklace completes the look, subtle but enough to make you feel put together.

downstairs, you can hear faint movement—probably matt in the bathroom, dealing with his hair or brushing off the sleep from his face.

when you finally head down, you spot him leaning against the kitchen counter, looking way more awake, now dressed in ripped jeans and a hoodie. his hair is damp, like he splashed water on it to tame the bedhead, and he’s sipping a mug of coffee while chris and nick argue over which shoes to wear.

“ready?” matt asks, his voice casual, but his eyes flick to you briefly, like he’s checking to make sure you’re okay.

you nod, shooting him a small smile.

he nods, pushing off the counter. “good. i, uh, i have something for you. if you want?”

he reaches in a target bag, pulling out a green ‘boston celtics’ jersey, handing it to you. you smile in disbelief, your fingers brushing the soft fabric of the jersey. "wait, really?" you ask, a surprised laugh escaping your lips.

matt shrugs casually, a playful smile tugging at his mouth. "yeah, i thought you might like it. everyone else is wearing one, so figured it'd be a fun way for you to join in."

you laugh, looking down at the jersey. "this is so cool, matt. i didn’t expect you to think of something like this."

"well, you’ve been hanging with us for a few days now. felt like it was time you got one too," he says with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.

you look up at him, the gesture meaning more than you expected. "thank you. i’ll definitely wear it today.”

you smile, holding the jersey close, feeling a little more at home with each passing moment. "this really is perfect," you say, already excited to wear it. you pull it over your head, brushing the front to smooth any wrinkles.

nick and chris stumble into the kitchen, and with that, the four of you pile into the chaos of the morning, gearing up for what’s bound to be a long—and unforgettable—final show.

as you all pile out the front door and toward the car, chris makes a beeline for the passenger seat, like he always does. it’s clearly routine for him to sit up front, but before he can even grab the handle, matt stops him.

“hey, no. you’re in the back this time,” matt says, unlocking the car with a beep.

chris turns around, his brows knitting together in exaggerated disbelief. “excuse me? since when?”

“since today,” matt replies casually, tilting his head toward you. “she’s sitting up front.”

chris groans, throwing his hands up. “you’re kicking me out? for her?”

matt raises an eyebrow, his tone flat. “yeah. problem?”

nick laughs as he climbs into the backseat, already enjoying the drama. “tough break, chris. guess you’re not the favorite anymore.”

chris glares at him, muttering something about betrayal, but he eventually shuffles to the back. “unbelievable,” he grumbles, slamming the door behind him.

you hesitate for a second, glancing at matt. “are you sure? i don’t want to—”

“get in,” matt interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. “it’s fine.”

with a small nod, you slide into the passenger seat, trying not to overthink the gesture. it’s just a seat—no big deal. right?

the car ride starts off quiet, the kind of morning lull where everyone’s still waking up. chris and nick are already bickering over something in the backseat—probably who gets the last pack of gummy snacks in nick’s bag—and matt seems content to ignore them, his focus on the road.

“you excited for today?” you ask after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

matt shrugs, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, his head resting on the other as his elbow in propped up against the window. “yeah, should be fun. long, though.”

“you say that every time,” chris pipes up from the back. “and then you’re the one who spends the most time talking to people.”

“yeah, because i’m not a robot like you,” matt shoots back.

nick snickers. “matt’s just better at pretending he doesn’t hate people.”

“i don’t hate people,” matt says, rolling his eyes. “i just like talking to the ones who aren’t annoying.”

chris gasps dramatically. “so you do think our fans are annoying!”

“Jesus christ,” matt mutters, shaking his head as you try—and fail—not to laugh.

you glance out the window, the scenery blurring past as you head toward the venue. it’s the triplets only hometown show, so you know it’ll still be packed with fans eager to meet the trio.

after a moment, matt speaks again, his voice more thoughtful. “it’s kind of funny, though. people always think i’m the quiet one, like i don’t talk much in the videos.”

“because you don’t talk much in the videos,” chris interrupts.

“yeah, because you and nick never shut up,” matt counters, his tone dry but playful. “you think i can get a word in when you’re arguing about god knows what?”

nick leans forward, grinning. “it’s usually something important. you just don’t understand it.”

matt ignores him, glancing at you briefly before continuing. “but in real life? i don’t mind talking to people. it’s kind of nice, actually. like at these meet-and-greets—it’s cool hearing their stories and stuff.”

chris groans from the back. “oh, here we go. matt, the social butterfly. what’s next? you gonna write a self-help book?”

matt smirks. “maybe. chapter one: don’t be like chris.”

nick cackles, and chris crosses his arms with a dramatic sigh. “i’m being slandered in my own car on the way to my own tour. unreal.”

you smile, watching the dynamic unfold. it’s true—matt might come off as reserved online, but in reality, he’s the first to start a conversation, the first to ask someone about their day, the first to make things feel easy. there’s something steady about him, something that makes you feel comfortable even in moments like this.

as nick and chris argue over something else, matt shoots you a quick, knowing look, like he’s in on the joke with you. “don’t let them fool you,” he says quietly. “i’m the normal one here.”

“sure you are,” you reply, grinning, and he chuckles softly before turning his focus back to the road.

the rest of the ride, nick and chris bickered back and forth about the most random things ever, while you and matt sat in silence, occasionally giggling at his brothers. it wasnt an awkward silence. not at all. it was comfortable.

as the car nears the venue, the chatter from the backseat finally begins to die down. nick scrolls through his phone while chris dramatically recounts a story about some fan interaction from the last stop on the tour. you catch snippets of it, something about someone comparing him to a cartoon character, but you’re too focused on the quiet hum of the car and the occasional glance matt steals your way.

“almost there,” matt says softly, his eyes on the road but his tone carrying a hint of reassurance, like he can sense your nerves.

you nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “do you guys ever get nervous for these?”

matt considers it for a moment before shrugging. “not really. it’s kind of nice, meeting everyone. makes the videos feel more... real, if that makes sense.”

“it does,” you reply, smiling at his honesty.

“he’s lying,” chris interjects from the back. “he totally gets nervous. nick, remember the start of tour when he almost threw up before we started?”

“i wasn’t nervous,” matt corrects, shooting chris a glare through the rearview mirror. “i ate bad chicken.”

nick bursts out laughing. “sure, dude. keep telling yourself that.”

matt rolls his eyes, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh. “whatever. at least i don’t forget people’s names mid-conversation, nick.”

“hey, that was one time!” nick defends himself, but his laughter gives him away.

“one time too many,” matt quips, his tone light.

as the venue comes into view, the quiet buzz of excitement settles over the car. you can see a small crowd already gathered near the entrance, holding signs and chatting animatedly among themselves.

matt slows the car, turning into the parking lot and finding a spot near the back entrance. he cuts the engine and turns to look at you, his expression softer than usual. “ready?”

you take a deep breath and nod. “ready.”

“let’s do this, then,” he says, his voice steady, like a calm anchor in the midst of the chaos.

nick and chris pile out of the car first, their bickering temporarily replaced by excitement as they grab their bags and start debating who’s going to carry what. matt lingers for a second, waiting for you to step out before closing the door behind you.

as you walk toward the entrance together, matt leans down slightly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “if they start being too much, just stick with me. i’ll keep them in check.”

you laugh softly, glancing up at him. “thanks, but i think i can handle it.”

“we’ll see,” he replies, smirking as he holds the door open for you.

inside, the energy is palpable. staff members are setting up tables, arranging merch, and running through last-minute details. nick and chris are already bouncing between conversations, their loud voices filling the room.

matt stays by your side, his demeanor calm but attentive as he checks in with the team. it’s a side of him you don’t often see in the videos—confident, organized, and entirely in his element.

“okay,” he says after a moment, turning to you. “just stay close. these things get hectic fast.”

you nod, and for the first time all morning, you feel completely at ease. no matter how chaotic the day gets, you know matt will make sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.

you all enter the venue, matt guiding you to the area backstage where he’s meeting with his manager. matt told you about laura, she has a daughter, madi, the same age as you.

as you step into the backstage area, madi immediately spots the triplets and waves, making her way over to the four of you. “finally! thought you guys were gonna leave me hanging all morning.”

chris groans. “we’re literally early. how do you have energy to complain already?”

“because i’ve been up for hours helping mom set up,” madi shoots back, crossing her arms. “meanwhile, you three probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.”

“not true,” nick says, grabbing a bottle of water from the table. “it was, like, an hour ago.”

madi rolls her eyes, grinning as she turns to you. “and you must be the one who actually knows how to stay on schedule.”

you laugh. “i try, but i’m not sure i’m much better.”

“don’t let them drag you down with them,” she says, gesturing at the triplets. “it’s a slippery slope.”

matt smirks. “because you’re such a great example?”

“absolutely,” madi says without hesitation, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “unlike you, i know how to multitask.”

“yeah, we can tell,” matt says dryly, nodding at the clipboard she’s carrying.

“someone has to keep things moving,” madi replies, glancing at the clipboard before looking back up. “and clearly, it’s not you three.”

chris gasps dramatically. “wow, okay, just call us useless to our faces.”

“you said it, not me,” madi quips, grinning as nick snickers.

laura walks in then, holding her own clipboard. “alright, everybody, focus. soundcheck is in ten, and i don’t want any last-minute disasters this time.”

“define disaster,” chris says innocently, earning a pointed look from laura.

“i think she means you,” madi teases, shooting chris a smug grin.

nick laughs as laura claps her hands to cut them off. “let’s go! we’re already behind.”

the triplets groan but start moving toward the stage, still throwing jabs at each other as they leave.

madi watches them go, shaking her head with a smile. “i swear, they’re like this all the time. you get used to it, though.”

“they definitely keep things interesting,” you say, laughing softly.

she nods. “come on, let’s grab some snacks before they get back and eat everything. you’ll need the energy for today.”

with that, she guides you toward the catering table, chatting easily about the morning’s setup and laughing at your reactions to her stories. her laid-back demeanor makes everything feel natural, and by the time the triplets return, you’re already starting to feel like part of the group.

you and madi continue your conversation when you feel a hand brush your arm. you turn, seeing marylou and jimmy approaching.

“hi, sweethearts!” marylou chirps, leaning in to hug you first, then madi.

“hi, guys!” madi says politely, though her smile is more reserved. “the boys are in soundcheck right now. they should be done soon!”

jimmy leans against a nearby table, his casual demeanor setting the tone. “so, y/n, how’s boston treating ya?”

“it’s so nice! i’ve always wanted to come here, so it’s great to finally be here!” you reply warmly.

“that’s what we like to hear,” marylou says, her smile lighting up her face. “you should try to explore a little while you’re here. there’s so much to see!”

“like what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“the freedom trail’s always a hit,” jimmy offers, his tone enthusiastic. “history everywhere you look.”

“and the public garden,” marylou adds. “oh, and fenway park! even if you’re not a baseball fan, it’s worth seeing.”

“it sounds like there’s a lot to fit in,” you say with a small laugh, adjusting your bracelet.

marylou nods eagerly. “if you need suggestions, just ask. jimmy and i have lived here long enough to know all the best spots.”

madi smiles, responding. “i’ve been to boston a bunch times, with the triplets of course, but i’ve never really explored it much. it’s usually just work or family visits.”

“then this could be your chance,” jimmy says with a friendly smile. “take a day to see the sights. you won’t regret it.”

“i’ll keep that in mind,” madi replies, her tone polite.

you glance between them, sensing the slight awkwardness, but before you can say anything, the sound of footsteps fills the hallway. the triplets emerge from soundcheck, their voices loud and energetic as they approach.

“there they are!” marylou says, her expression brightening.

“sound good in there?” jimmy asks, standing up straight.

“always,” matt replies with a small smile, grabbing a water bottle from the table.

“you guys behaving yourselves?” marylou asks, narrowing her eyes playfully at chris.

“define behaving,” chris quips, earning a quiet chuckle from nick.

marylou shakes her head with an amused sigh, then glances at you and madi. “we’ll let you all get back to it. y/n, madi, it was lovely to see you both!”

“you too!” you say warmly, while madi nods with a polite smile.

as marylou and jimmy head off to talk with some of the crew, matt looks over at you and madi. “what’d they talk your ear off about?”

“tourist spots” you say with a grin.

“classic,” matt mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“you say that like it’s a bad thing,” nick points out, grabbing a chair and sitting backward on it.

“it’s not. it’s just... intense,” matt replies, glancing at madi. “they try to get you to plan a whole trip too?”

“not really,” madi says, shrugging. “but they’ve got a lot of suggestions.”

“yeah, that sounds about right,” matt says with a small smirk.

the group settles into easy chatter, the earlier awkwardness fading as the triplets steer the conversation back to the show ahead. the energy is light, the day ahead promising to be both busy and memorable.

suddenly, chris jumps up, running toward the door, shouting something incoherent. a few minutes later, and returns with his best friend, nathan, by his side. the boys are chatting about something random, but when they approach the four of you again their conversation pauses. nate hugs madi, doing his regular handshake with matt and nick, then turning to you.

“you must be y/n! ive heard alot about you!”

“yeah, i am! hopefully good things?” you slightly laugh, matt coming to stand right next to you

“yeah, dont worry. matt never stops talking about you” nate laughs, looking at matt

matt shifts awkwardly beside you, scratching the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a shade pinker than usual.

"nate," matt warns, his voice low but firm, giving his best friend a pointed look.

nate just grins, clearly unbothered, and shrugs. "what? it's true." he looks back at you, his tone teasing but warm. "he’s been hyping you up since the minute you said yes to coming to boston. you’re basically a celebrity in the group chat at this point."

you laugh softly, glancing up at matt, who’s now pretending to be very interested in the ground. "well, that’s sweet. i hope i live up to the hype."

"you already do," matt mumbles under his breath, barely audible but enough for you to catch it.

your heart skips a beat, but before you can say anything, chris claps his hands loudly, breaking the tension. "okay, are we gonna stand here all day, or are we actually gonna go meet the fans?"

madi nods in agreement, already pulling nate toward her and you, knowing fans are starting to line up outside. "c’mon, let’s grab some food and head up to the balcony. i’m starving."

you, madi, and nate part ways with the triplets, as they go to meet their fans. you make your way up to the balcony above, looking down at all the fans eager to meet the three.

even though he was meeting fans, matt occasionally glanced up at you, talking with his friends. the conversation was so natural, as if you had been friends with nate and madi for years.

“okay, so. penne, or spaghetti?” nate questions, leaning against a wall

“penne. no question about it.” you respond, sitting on the couch with madi.

nate nods thoughtfully, pretending to weigh the options like it’s the most important decision of his life. “fair choice, but hear me out—spaghetti has better twirlability. that’s gotta count for something.”

madi laughs, tucking her legs under her as she adjusts on the couch. “twirlability? that’s not even a word.”

“it is now,” nate retorts, grinning. “and it’s a key factor in pasta ranking, thank you very much.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head with a smile. “but fine, if we’re talking twirlability, maybe spaghetti does win.”

“ha! see?” nate exclaims, pointing at you triumphantly. “a fellow spaghetti lover.”

madi rolls her eyes but is clearly amused. “youre impossible.”

the sound of laughter and chatter from below drifts up to the balcony, blending with your own conversation. every so often, matt glances up from the meet and greet, his expression softening when he spots you laughing with nate and madi.

"look at him," madi says, nudging you playfully as she notices matt's quick glance upward. "he keeps checking up here."

"he's probably making sure we’re okay and not bored out of our minds," you joke, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your face.

nate raises an eyebrow. "or maybe he’s just making sure you’re okay."

you wave it off, focusing on the fans below as they light up meeting the triplets. “he’s busy. let’s not distract him.”

“oh, please. like we’re a distraction,” madi teases, leaning back into the cushions.

the three of you continue chatting, the easy rhythm of the conversation making time fly. the balcony feels like its own little world, separate from the bustling excitement below, but connected enough to feel the energy in the room. marylou and jimmy chat with justin, the triplets older, half brother a few feet away from the three of you.

eventually, they get through meeting all the fans, and its time to go onstage. after performances by ysb tril and lxst, the triplets enter the stage, talking with the fans, interacting with them, the whole lot.

laura, who was backstage the whole time, suddenly comes up next to you, madi, and nate, signaling for the three of you, along with marylou, jimmy, and justin, to start heading backstage.

you all follow her, and as soon as matt catches the slightest glimpse of you, his smile grows. the triplets call you seven of you out on stage, matt immediately wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

as matt pulls you closer, the crowd erupts into cheers, the energy in the room electric. nick and chris greet everyone warmly, playfully introducing each of you to the audience.

“and this is y/n!” matt says, his voice full of enthusiasm. “she’s a new friend of ours, but it already feels like we’ve known her forever.”

you smile, giving a small wave as the crowd cheers. madi leans toward nate, whispering something that makes him laugh quietly, while marylou and jimmy exchange grins, soaking in the moment.

“alright, let’s get back to what you guys really came for!” nick says, addressing the audience with a grin. “who’s got a good question for us?”

the fans eagerly raise their hands, and the triplets begin answering everything from lighthearted questions about their favorite foods to more thoughtful ones about their journey so far. the atmosphere is fun and casual, with occasional bursts of laughter from the triplets' quick wit and playful banter.

you and the rest of the group retreat to the side of the stage, watching the interaction unfold. madi leans against the wall, smiling as nick teases chris about a story from their childhood.

“they really know how to keep everyone engaged,” nate says, arms crossed as he takes it all in.

“yeah, it’s impressive,” you reply, your gaze flicking to matt, who occasionally glances your way with a soft smile.

the meet and greet continues, the triplets effortlessly switching between playful and heartfelt moments with their fans. after some time, they wrap up the event with a round of thank-yous and, since its the last show of tour, a promise to do it again soon.

as the crowd gives one last round of applause, the triplets make their way offstage, visibly energized from the interaction. matt approaches you first, his smile as bright as ever.

“how’d we do?” he asks, his tone light but curious.

“amazing,” you reply honestly. “you guys were great out there.”

“you think so?” matt says, his grin widening. “guess we’ll have to keep you around for feedback.”

nick and chris join, teasing matt before turning their attention to the rest of the group.

“ready to head out? im exhausted” nick asks, glancing at everyone.

“me too” matt gently yawns, running a hand through his hair

“aw, y’gonna go cuddle with y/n again?” chris teases, giggling

your jaw slightly drops, you, matt, nate, and madi all stopping in your tracks.

“oh, yeah. we woke them up this morning and they were fully cuddling.” nick laughs, opening his phone to show his friends the picture

madi smiles, nudging your arm as nate stares at matt.

“guys, come on. seriously? we just accidentally fell asleep in the same bed last night!” matt chirps, defensively. as if he was.. embarrassed? no. definitely not. something else.

“yeah, yeah. sure” nate waves him off, laughing “can we go get food?”

within the next 30 minutes, you, the triplets, madi, and nate are sitting at a booth inside their local mcdonalds. matt was sitting against the wall, you next to him, with nick on the other side of you. facing opposite of you, nate was against the wall, with chris next to him, and madi on the other side of chris. you’re all munching down on some burgers, nuggets, and fries, when you feel made put his arm around your shoulders- again.

“just a little tight, sorry” he mutters

you shake your head, signaling that its okay. in fact, you liked it.

the group continues chatting and joking around, the energy light and easy. madi is laughing at one of chris’s stories, while nick tries to balance a fry upright in his soda cup.

“you know,” nate starts, leaning back in his seat, “this is probably the most chaotic mcdonald’s crew i’ve ever been a part of.”

“oh, come on. you love it,” nick teases, flicking a fry across the table toward nate.

matt leans closer to you, his arm still resting comfortably on your shoulders. “m’sorry theyre so crazy, theyre always like this,” he says quietly, his voice laced with amusement.

“you say that like you’re not part of it,” you reply, looking up at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“i’m the calm one,” matt insists, feigning innocence.

nick overhears and snorts. “calm? you? please. you’re just quieter about your chaos.”

matt rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face betrays him. “whatever. i’m still the chill one.”

as the night wears on, the group slowly finishes their food, the table littered with empty wrappers and cups. madi stands up first, stretching.

“alright, are we ready to go home?” she asks.

“yep, before chris starts juggling ketchup packets,” nate quips, dodging a playful shove from chris.

outside, the air is cooler, the quiet hum of the streetlights contrasting with the earlier buzz inside the restaurant. matt walks close beside you, his hand brushing yours for a moment before he slides it into his pocket.

“thanks for coming along the past few days,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s been fun having you here.”

“of course,” you reply, feeling a warm blush creep up your cheeks. “i’ve been having a lot of fun too.”

the group piles into their cars, the night winding down but the feeling of connection lingering. as you sit back, listening to nick and nate debate about the best way to eat fries, you catch matt glancing your way again before pulling out of the lot, his expression unreadable but warm.

again, he made chris sit in the backseat, with you in the passenger. nate and madi were all the way in the back, nick in his respective, middle row, left seat.

as the car hums along the quiet streets, the conversations begin to mellow. madi and nate are deep in discussion about some niche movie trivia, their voices low but animated. nick occasionally chimes in from his seat, offering quips that earn small bursts of laughter.

you glance out the window, the city lights flickering by, casting fleeting shadows across matt’s face as he drives. his hand rests casually on the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly to the beat of the faint music playing through the speakers.

“you tired?” matt asks softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“a little,” you admit, turning to him. “but it’s been a good day.”

he smiles, his eyes briefly flicking toward you before returning to the road. “yeah, it has.”

from the back, chris leans forward, resting his arms on the middle row seatbacks. “hey, can we stop for ice cream or something? i need something sweet.”

“it’s almost midnight, chris,” matt replies, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone.

“so? midnight ice cream hits different,” chris argues, grinning.

“fine,” matt sighs, but you catch the faint smile on his lips. “if we find a place that’s open.”

nick perks up. “i think there’s a place up ahead.”

sure enough, a small ice cream shop glows in the distance, its neon sign a beacon in the quiet night. matt pulls into the lot, and the group piles out, stretching and joking as they make their way to the counter.

matt stands beside you as the other four order, his hand brushing yours briefly as he pulls out his wallet. “you want anything specific?” he asks.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupts, smiling. “but i want to.”

you werent going to get anything, the mcdonalds was filling enough. but, you give in, letting him treat you to a small vanilla cone, and the two of you wander back to the car with the rest of the group.

as you settle back into the car, the night air cool against your skin, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of belonging. even though you’ve only known them for a short time, it feels like you’ve always been a part of this little group. and as matt’s voice joins in the banter, his arm brushing yours once more, you realize you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

you eventually make your way back to the triplets house, the six of you piling out of the car. matt unlocks the door, signaling for you all to be quiet, as his parents are already asleep.

you all make your way upstairs, chris, nick, and nate going to hang out in chris’ bedroom, since nate is spending the night.

as the six of you tiptoe upstairs, madi pauses at the top of the landing, her phone buzzing in her hand. “my mom’s here,” she whispers. “she’s waiting outside.”

“i’ll walk you down,” nick offers, turning back toward the stairs with her.

“night, guys,” madi says softly, giving a small wave.

“night, madi!” chris and nate chorus, their voices a little too loud. matt shoots chris a look, finger pressed to his lips, and he immediately quiets down, laughing under his breath.

you wave at madi, smiling as she disappears down the stairs with nick. a few moments later, the front door clicks shut, and the sound of a car pulling away drifts faintly through the house.

“she’s nice,” you remark, turning to face him. “her mom seems nice too, from the few times i’ve seen her.”

he nods, gesturing toward the hall. “come on, it’s late”

“are you sure? i feel bad kicking you out of your own bed,” you say, following him.

“you’re not kicking me out,” he replies with a small smile. “i already told you, i don’t mind the couch. besides, i wouldn’t let you sleep in the guest room when you can have a real mattress.”

you shake your head but smile at his thoughtfulness. as you step into his room, you take in the cozy, personal space. the walls are lined with photos, posters, and a few scattered knickknacks that make the room feel lived-in. a flash of the photo of the two of you ‘cuddling’ from the morning earlier flashes through your mind. though, youre snapped out of your thoughts by matts voice speaking up

“you need anything?” matt asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“no, i’m good. thanks,” you reply.

“alright. i’ll let you get changed,” he says, his voice soft as he backs toward the door. “i’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

“goodnight,” you say, offering him a small smile.

“night,” he replies, closing the door gently behind him.

you quickly change into your pajamas, folding your day clothes into your bag before heading to the bathroom to wash up. when you return to the room, the faint sound of laughter drifts up from downstairs—probably nick and chris teasing each other about something random.

as you settle into matt’s bed, the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the sheets, you hear a soft knock at the door.

“everything okay?” matt’s voice comes quietly from the other side.

“yeah, i’m all set,” you answer.

he pushes the door open just enough to lean in, his expression relaxed. “just wanted to make sure. today was fun, wasn’t it?”

“it really was,” you agree, sitting up slightly. “your fans are so sweet, and it’s been great getting to know everyone better.”

his lips tug into a small smile, his gaze steady. “i’m glad you’re here. we all are.”

the sincerity in his voice makes your chest feel warm. “thanks, matt. that means a lot.”

he nods, glancing down the hall. “get some rest, okay? today was a long day.”

“goodnight, matt,” you say softly.

“night,” he replies, stepping back and closing the door behind him.

as you lie back under the covers, the quiet of the house wrapping around you, you can’t help but feel a sense of belonging. little by little, you’re finding your place here, and it feels good—natural, even. despite the unfamiliar setting, a wave of comfort washes over you. it feels different—good, and safe. as your eyes drift shut, you can’t help but think that sharing a moment like this with matt feels right.

your thoughts drift to matt’s words from earlier, his quiet kindness and steady presence. the warmth of his smile lingers in your mind, and without meaning to, you find yourself smiling too.

just as sleep begins to tug at you, a soft tap on the door pulls you back.

“it’s me,” matt’s voice calls softly.

“come in,” you say, sitting up slightly.

he peeks in, holding a spare blanket. “i thought you might want an extra, just in case it gets cold.”

you smile, touched by the gesture. “thanks, matt.”

he steps inside, draping the blanket over the edge of the bed. for a moment, he lingers, his gaze meeting yours.

“sleep well, y/n,” he says, his voice low and genuine.

“you too,” you reply, watching as he quietly slips back out, closing the door behind him.

as the house falls silent once more, you settle deeper into the blankets, a warmth blooming in your chest. today had been full of surprises—unexpected moments of connection, laughter, and belonging. and as your eyes finally close, you know one thing for certain: you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

a/n: im sorry this took so long to finally get out :( for the next part theres probably gonna be a bit of a time skip of a few weeks or months since i cant really thing of anything significant to happen before what i already have planned LMAO

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

⋆˙⟡ tags: @lvrsturniolo @marrykisskilled @mattscoquette @emely9274 @wh0remikasas @mattsstarlet @pvssychicken @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @jvngle18 @forgottxen @mattslolita @lolastrniolo @55sturn

thank you to my angel @sturn777 for helping me write part of this, so so grateful <33

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #rory's blog𝜗𝜚 #© chrisstvrns #rory's youtuber!matt & fangirl!reader au⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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ourg0dsal · 1 year ago

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Gideon Nav CANNOT Die. Hold on- I know... but give me one second and I'll explain.

So, as I said before Gideon Nav cannot die, or at least her body can't. Cause clearly (spoiler warning) Gideon Nav died at the end of Gideon the Ninth. There is no avoiding that.

But! If you have read all the books GtN, HtN, and NtN including all of the accompanying short stories (tho I will admit I have not read The Mysterious Study of Dr. Sex yet) then there is a better understanding of the timeline of the whole story outside of just what the three main books give you. Specifically and especially with Gideon's body. But also there are many times In Gideons life were she has faced near death events or events that she should not have survived from and still was breathing on the other side.

To go in chronological order of these events, when she was first born she was found in a container held by the air depraved suit of her mother. And while ofc In the book it does state that her mother had redirected her air supply to Gideon, but it is simply being stated to cover all my bases.

Then the 200 sons and daughters massacre when Gideon was 1 (or 2 im not sure) when she inhaled poisonous air without dying. Which led ofc to the Reverend Mother and Father fearing the ground she walked. And this is a big one because, it literally creates waves in the plot. It's a defining point of Harrow and Gideons relationship. That Gideon did not die when she was supposed to.

Later in the story Gideon talks with Pal when she believes Harrow to be a murderer and openly admits to him that "she nearly killed me a half dozen times growing up" which obviously in context was to emphasize on the brutal relationship between her and Harrow. But this could also be other times where miraculously Gideon survived death when she shouldn't have. Because as we know from the first confrontation between Harrow and Gideon. Harrow doesnt hold back for her.

Finally of all the events where Gideon escapes death, this one actually happens within the main story of Gideon the Ninth. When Harrow siphons from Gideon to retrieve one of the challenge keys. And at the end when Gideon passes out, it is narrated ""ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," AND DIED." Now, this could obviously just be the snarkiness of Gideon narrating. Or something incredibly clever left behind by Tamsyn Muir for a book series that is so clearly meant to be reread. But ofc to do my rounds the next line after does state "well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying." But then immediately after "wake up had an air of ressurection." Which honestly feels like Tamysn Muir teasing the readers at this point. The question then becomes rather, which one was the tease and which one was foreshadowing/ evidence.

Now the point of listing all of these events is that in all of these cases the chances of death are so incredibly high that for most its a miracle she's alive. Ofc most notably for the siphoning trial and the poision gas, but none the less there is proof within the written story and and out that Gideon has looked death in face and moved on with maybe a headache. And it wasn't just in her child hood this is something she can just do. Some recreated in the written story! Because as Pal said. Even with the siphoning challenge done perfectly the chances of leaving Cam with severe brain damage was far to high. And Gideon didn't even suffer that.

Sadly, despite all these Gideon gets to the final battle and fights Cytherea and does die. At the hands of a particularly pointy fence. Or was it truly the fence that did her in? Rather than the lyctorship ritual that was started seconds afterwards.

My full theory, isnt just that Gideon Nav can't die. It's that Gideon Nav wouldn't have been able to die... If Harrow hadn't sucked her soul out. There are at the very least 8 seperate events that Gideon should have died, two of which were nearly gauranteed, but she was ended by a piece of metal. Yes, a very well placed piece a metal, but the point still up to that point she had faced worse a came out unscathed.

If Harrow had not completed the lyctor ritual, Gideon would not have died. Wether or not through resurrection or simply walking it off. Gideon's body has some sort of necromantic attributes to it that keep her alive. We see this in the Untitled Entry short story with Judith Deuteros that describes Gideons body, as it does not rot, cannot be injured, cannot be fed to animals forced or otherwise. And that is all before Jod ever gets a look at the body, because otherwise he would have known Gideon was his daughter before the later events of Harrow the Ninth.

And ofc during the first challenge when Harrow uses Gideon as her eyes to be able to see the construct in the other room and Gideon is able to see the thanergetic signatures that Harrow remarks should be impossible. (I assume because the process is Harrow extracting information (Gideons eyesight) from Gideon and so Gideon should not also be receiving information (the ability to see the signatures)) unless Gideon had some form of necromantic abilities, which she was tested for as a kid and apparently did not have. Alongside not having the correct attitude to be a nun of the ninth. And so we can round it out to be her body being naturally necromantic leaving Gideon without the ability to use it. (Which Is a jump from the actual point we are attempting to use, but for now this stops us from assuming Gideon as any sort of necromantic ability which is a theory all on its own. One that I personally have no evidence for or against)

Now, that I have hopefully made both my Ap Lit and Lang teachers proud with my 3 am essay, I must give you the real tragedy of Gideon the Ninth. Had Gideon not died, had Harrow been unable to complete the lyctor ritual for emotional reasons or otherwise, had Harrow not become a lyctor and killed cytherea. Gideon would have had to watch Harrow and Cam be killed, possibly even Corona, Judith and Ianthe. And then to be used for Cythereas own motives. Tamysn Muir beautifully set up the story so that the best possible outcome could have happened. Had Gideon not died. Everyone else would have. And "Camilla the sixth was no idiot" cam knew and accepted this whereas Harrow never would have. And so the unkillable Gideon had to die, and forcing Harrows hand was the only way to do it.

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cupidkenji · 8 months ago

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ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves - I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet.

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach. Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good.

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask.

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis.

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.”

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist.

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents.

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out.

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?”

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.”

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it.

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up.

No, it wasn’t.

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room.

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.”

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job.

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost.

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder.

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.”

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.”

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

–

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling.

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed.

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team.

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.”

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.”

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.”

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief.

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human.

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours.

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place.

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’m Matthew.”

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area.

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink.

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.”

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.”

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed.

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored.

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.”

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.”

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core.

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke.

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.”

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately.

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless.

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden.

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

“He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past.

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.”

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes.

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought.

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive.

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own.

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car.

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car.

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to.

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you.

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels.

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

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