#i mean either way i'm holding off for a bit longer because i like keeping my club quiz characters at roughly the same levels

[suksatoru]

𝝑𝑒 katsuki finds out what you've been drawing in your sketchbook all the time...and to say he's surprised is an understatement.

"y/n."

"hmm?"

your boyfriend lets out a sharp growl, his hands practically itching to reach out and snatch the sketchbook out of your hands

"let me see."

you don't respond, brows pinched together in concentration as you alternate between looking at the charcoal in your hands to katsuki's adorable pout

"you need to wait a little longer...not my fault you're so pretty."

he lets out an embarrassed groan, dragging his calloused palm down his face as he flops face first onto your bed. you let out a whine in protest, slapping his arm

"ow!" you huff, silently scolding yourself for hitting the hard, packed muscle beneath his shirt. he smirks a little bit at your reaction, rolling onto his back and making a show of flexing his muscles as he stretches his arms with a loud yawn

"ya took forever. now, show me what you made." he demands, sitting up expectedly with narrowed eyes

katsuki had been dragged from the common room all the way up to your dorm in a matter of minutes. he'd gladly be dragged by you to the ends of the earth, but he was beyond confused when you ordered him to sit down on your bed and stay still. all until you pulled out your sketchbook.

the light bulb in his mind switched on, and with a quiet "ah", he complied, listening to you quietly chat about anything and everything that came to your mind as you scribbled away in your sketchbook

katsuki has seen you carrying it around a lot. you always kept it tucked under your arm even as you travelled from class to class—never apart. it had, simply put, become an extension to your body at this point

of course he's wanted to take a peak in there. and about a dozen times katsuki tried to—but each time ended with him getting beat with your pillows and plushies as you shoved him out of your dorm, slamming the door on him as he laid in the hall, rubbing his head and silently cursing himself for getting caught once again.

he had kept still and quiet for you while you drew because this was....out of the ordinary. you never really did open your sketchbook in front of him—but here you were now, fingers smudging the paper as you smile sheepishly

"promise you won't laugh?"

he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his usual facade up so you don't detect even a hint of the nervousness he felt

"course i won't. now, either you show me—or i'm taking that damned book from your hands and—"

he's cut off when you suddenly raise it from your lap. pages rustle together as you flip it towards him, hands gripping the edges of your most prized possession as you squeeze your eyes shut and await his reaction

katsuki, was for once, stunned into silence. his eyes trailed over the strokes and marks on the paper, your finger imprints pressed all over the paper from the charcoal—

but what you've drawn is undeniably him.

it's not what he'd expected at all. it's him but...it's not from katsuki's view. it's not the mean face he saw in the mirror everyday. the usual scowl that seemed to be a permanent resident on his face was replaced with a soft smile in your drawing

his eyes were lighter, softer. his cheeks were round and full of boyish youth as he smiled. it was beautiful. he was. he feels his heart stutter in his chest as he slowly takes the sketchbook from your hands, eyes glued to page

"hold on suki—"

he begins flipping. flipping and flipping and flipping and it's all him. katsuki sleeping, katsuki yelling and a frightened little izuku scribbled into the corner of the page—katsuki cooking, katsuki in his hero suit, katsuki—

you suddenly tackle him, and with a yelp—both of you tumble off of your bed and onto the floor. unfortunately, his grip on the book loosens for a mere instant, and you're able to snatch it out of his grip and throw it onto your bed from where the two of you laid on the floor

his lips are parted, but not a sound comes out. his eyes are like the drawing you had just made—soft and gentle and round as he stares up at you.

you're so embarrassed you can barely stand to look him in the eye, resorting to tucking your face into the space between his neck and shoulder with an embarrassed groan

"asshole...you weren't supposed to flip..." you murmur, and katsuki thinks you look pretty with your cheeks flushed and tinted like this. his chest falls and rises slowly, and he made no move to get up off the floor as you caged him there—refusing to let him get up.

"i....gah say something you jerk! you can't humiliate me like that and then get all quiet!" you whine, your voice embarrassed and pitched and katsuki can't even stop himself from grabbing hold of the back of your neck and crashing his lips into yours

he pulls your entire body against him, wrapping a single arm around your waist before he rolls the two of you over and flipping your positions—he hovers over you, pulling away from the kiss just to press another one onto your forehead

"you fucking dumbass...why'd you go and waste so many pages on me..." he mumbles, grabbing your charcoal covered hands as he presses a soft kiss onto your finger tips. you smile bashfully at the smeared streaks of color on his face

"you're my muse." you state simply

his eyes are lined with tears, and his grin is wide and toothy—you want to capture this moment in your pages, the shine in his eyes and the way his lips curled, all of it.

you decide you'll have to draw this particular katsuki later, because he's suddenly launching an attack on you—a flurry of kisses being pressed all over your face and neck and just about any bit of skin he could find as he laughs at the sound of your sweet squeals—music to his ears.

[marauder-misprint]

Hello!! I’m your new follower and honestly your fics are so good 🥺 I love the “these damn stairs” one and I wonder if u could write part 2 because shy reader and gentle super friendly Remus trope is the best heh.

Thank youuu for following ❤︎

Here is part 2 to 'These damn stairs' and there will be a part 3 because I can't just let it end here :) Might be a few days before I'm able to post part 3 because I got some really good requests in my inbox that I want to get to! (part 3 is here)

'It's a date'

Remus Lupin x reader

2.2k words

cw: fluff

Talking to Remus still felt like you had the eyes of the school on you. This meant that it was Remus who talked first. You would give him a small smile or a wave when you passed him on your way to a different class, but it was always him who came up to your desk before or after a class you had together. It was him who still came to sit with you at lunch; your friends warmed up to him quickly and proceeded to tease you about him when he was gone. 

You continued to study with him too. He’d wait for you outside the library before walking with you back to the small table from that first study session. With every passing day, you slowly began to be more comfortable in his presence. You were able to hold a conversation with him. It was a slow growing friendship, but it was growing. 

“You’re sure you don’t mind studying with just me?” you had asked once, worrying that he missed all of the attention that he used to get in the library because he was smart and nice. 

He just smiled at you, leaning toward you to say, “I really don’t mind. I’d rather work with you over anyone else.” 

That left you blushing for the rest of your time in the library that evening. Remus always knew what to say to get that blush to reappear. More often than not, you would leave your encounters with Remus with a pink face and racing heart. 

You were thrown off when you showed up to study with Remus on Saturday and he wasn’t waiting for you outside the library. You considered waiting for him to show up but decided to check inside just in case. You found him sitting at a larger table with his friends. There were open chairs on either side of him with the other three boys on the opposite side of the table. The sight sent your mind spinning as you tried to remember the conversation when you discussed studying today. You didn’t recall him mentioning the rest of the Marauders would be there. Plans must’ve changed. 

You headed toward a different table, your usual before you started sitting with Remus. You didn’t want to interrupt their “Marauders Study Session.” 

However, as soon as he saw you, Remus called you over.

“You know James, Peter, Sirius, yeah? Hope you don’t mind they came today. I’m afraid they need the extra push to get stuff done.”

You do mind but god forbid you say something and make a scene. So you nodded and sat down next to Remus. You attempted to keep your things more consolidated than you usually do. You didn’t want to encroach on Peter’s or Sirius’ space. It took you longer to fall into your studying groove with the entirety of the Marauders at the same table as you; you’re positive that anyone and everyone passing by is confused by it. You felt like an outsider intruding on something sacred. It didn’t help that every time you looked up, you swore at least one of them was looking at you or Remus. You’re a bit uncomfortable. It’s not like you’ve ever really talked to any of them. 

“So, erm, how long has this been a thing?” Peter asked after you caught your eye from across the table. 

A thing? What on earth did that boy mean?

“Excuse me?” 

“We’ve been studying together for a little over two weeks,” Remus said, shooting you a quick smile.

Oh That’s all.

Remus’ answer made the question make more sense. You supposed it was a thing that Remus was studying with one person rather than a herd of girls and essentially playing teacher. You berated yourself for thinking that Peter had meant something more. 

“Right, studying,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

Nope. What?

You pursed your lips together and train your eyes on your assignment. That is what you had been doing with Remus. That’s all you’ve been doing.

“Shut it, Padfoot,” Remus warned. 

He glared at his friends. He had warned them ahead of time to be nice to you, to try not to scare you off. He knows you are shy and more reserved. He didn’t want to cancel studying with you so that his nimrod friends didn’t fall behind on their own assignments. But now, he was beginning to regret inviting them. 

Remus reached for a small scrap of parchment and scribbled on it, “Don’t worry about them” before sliding it into your view. You took notice of it and nodded. He lowered his head to get into your view as well. He raised his eyebrows as if asking that you’re okay. You drew a simple smiley face on the parchment. He nodded and returned to his own assignment. With both of your heads bowed in focus, you missed the shared look between the other three boys. You were able to get some work done. The lingering feeling of eyes on you was impossible to shake. You tried to think of a reason why they would be so interested in you, but you kept coming up short. Well, not completely. You had ideas, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last and one was just downright hopeful. 

“Is it true you started talking because you got your foot stuck in that damn step?” James asked as he closed a book he was using for his Herbology assignment.

“Prongs!” Remus hissed as your face turned beet red. 

“Uh, I guess?” you said meekly. 

You tried not to think about that embarrassing day, even if it did lead to your first real interaction with Remus. It wasn’t a moment you wanted to relive. 

“Must’ve been some fall though,” James continued, despite the glared daggers from Remus. “Certainly got our boy’s attention.”

Remus’ face was beginning to turn red as well at this point. He really, really wanted James to stop talking; it was at the point where he was debating Silencio. 

“Oh? What… what do you mean?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Sweetheart, you should hear how much he talks about you.” 

Your eyes went wide. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it wasn’t that. It took a second for the words to fully sink in. Remus talked… about you? Often? With enough frequency that his friends made note of it? Is that why it felt like they kept staring at you? They were just trying to figure out what Remus found so intriguing about you? 

You turned to see Remus holding his head in his hands. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Remus?” 

A horrible thought crossed your mind: What if this was all just a prank on you and Remus was collateral? What if he didn’t actually talk about you and now he’d have to admit that? 

He ran his hands through his hair before looking at you. His face was bright red, highlighting each scar that ran across his nose and cheeks brilliantly. 

“Can we talk privately? Before I murder these gits?” he asked you in a low voice with pleading eyes. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” you breathed, standing up and waiting to follow Remus through the shelves.

He led you further than you would’ve expected from the table. You assumed that he really didn’t want the boys overhearing whatever you were going to talk about. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. Maybe he thought you were going to cry at what he was going to say and didn’t want to do that near them. 

“I think we’re far enough. No hearing extension charm they’re capable of reaches this far,” he said, leaning back against the wall with some kind of effortless allure. 

“Are you okay?” you asked. 

You stood a few steps away from him. If something was going to go down, you wanted to have some space between you. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” he said as he watched you with cautious eyes. “Usually their teasing doesn’t get to me this bad.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

“Are they teasing you about being friends with me?” you asked, your chest filling with dread. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself to brace for the worst. Remus was popular. He was so well-liked. He was so good with people. And you liked to stay out of the spotlight. Some people thought you were a little standoffish, but so be it. You could see where his friends were coming from. 

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders. And you looked up to see Remus’ warm eyes. 

“They are teasing me about being just friends with you,” he said softly. 

You rolled your lips against each other. What did he mean by that? Just friends? 

“Because I do talk about you a lot. I practically only study with you. I go out of my way to cross paths with you so I can see your smile. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I stare at you from across the Great Hall when I don’t sit next to you.” He paused for a moment to see if you had any reaction yet. “And this is going to sound mean, but I’m so glad you fell on those stairs. It brought you into my life.” He waited again. “Please say something, love.” 

“Okay,” you said as your cheeks tinged pink. “So they aren’t making fun of me? This isn’t some kind of prank?” 

“No. It’s not a prank. The only one being made fun of is me because I wanted to wait longer.”

“Wait longer for what?” 

“Listen. I meant it when I said you are pretty. I meant it when I said I don’t want to study with anyone else. I mean it when I say I can’t get you out of my head. I just wanted to wait longer to be sure… sure that you’d say yes. Sure that you like me.” 

You tilted your head.

“Of course I like you, Remus.”

“But as more than friends? Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

Your breath hitched. Had Remus just said a bunch of sweet things about you? Yes, and it made your face feel hot. But it was the question that really sealed the deal. He wanted to be sure that you’d say yes. 

“I’d really like that.” You broke into a wide smile. “You thought I wouldn’t say yes?” 

Remus let out the breath he was holding and mirrored your smile. He pulled you into a tight hug before answering. 

“I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time we studied together. I didn’t want to move too fast. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump you or something.” 

You laughed into his chest and he slowly let you go. 

“So all of that back there, that was them being tired of listening to you pine?” you asked.

“Seems like it. I told them to be nice to you, but I guess I didn’t tell them to be nice to me.”

“I mean, I’d say it was pretty nice of them to get you a date,” you said teasingly.

“I’m still the one who asked!” he tried to defend himself.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but would you have asked if they weren’t here?”

“Not today, no. Maybe in another week or so. I told you, I was waiting to be sure.”

“For a smart bloke, you really should’ve known that if you asked me out on the stairs, I would’ve said yes.”

“Wait, what?” He looked down at you in surprise. 

“Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s part of what made falling into the stair so mortifying.”

“Those damn stairs, right?” he chuckled as you started walking back to the table. Then he cleared his throat. “So, Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“It’s a date.” 

The three boys were working when you returned. When they looked up, they had matching looks of anticipation on their faces. Neither of you said anything as you sat down and started to work. Without speaking, you seemed to agree that you weren’t going to say anything unless they asked. 

“So?” Peter asked. “Did Remus grow a pair?” 

“Always had a pair, Peter,” Remus said dryly. 

“Moony,” he whined before turning his attention to you. “Did he… you know?”

“Well, she might not know. Because if he didn’t, how would she know?” Sirius said. 

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. 

“What if he did and she said no? That’d be something,” James mused. “Although I don’t think they’d be so… content? Peaceful? Somber? Pleased-looking?”

“But wouldn’t they both look much happier if he asked and she said yes?” Peter asked.

“Oi! We are right here,” Remus interjected. “I asked. She said yes. You are to stay away from us in Hogsmeade. Now, work. I want to see finished essays.”

“Our boy became a man!” Sirius said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Padfoot. Essay. Now,” Remus commanded before shooting you a wide grin. 

You could tell that he was pretty proud of himself too. 

tags: @allformoony, @oursweetmoony, @moonyswifee

[v-eee]

secret

jungkook x you

Jungkook and you have been secretly dating for six months. You and him keeping it a secret because Jungkook is your best friend’s ex (Soojin). It’s been three years since Jungkook and Soojin broke up, but you’re afraid your relationship might hurt her, so you choose to keep it quiet.

One night, at a mutual friend’s birthday party at a restaurant, you and Jungkook arrive separately as usual. But Jungkook can’t help feeling jealous when he sees you laughing and chatting with another guy.

. . .

The restaurant was filled with chatter, laughter, and the occasional off-key attempt at singing “Happy Birthday.”

You had come early, greeting friends, sipping on a cocktail, and, most importantly, keeping a respectable distance from Jun. You know, because rules.

Jungkook hated those rules.

From his seat at the bar, he watched as you threw your head back in laughter, playfully nudging some guy’s arm. His grip on his drink tightened. Who was this guy? Why was he standing so close? And more importantly—why the hell did he get to be the reason you were smiling like that while Jungkook had to act like some casual acquaintance?

Not that Jungkook was jealous. No. Definitely not. He was just… mildly annoyed. And okay, maybe a little jealous.

When you got up to head to the restroom, Jungkook didn’t even think—he just followed. Because rational decision-making was clearly not his strong suit tonight.

The moment you stepped into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, a strong hand grabbed your wrist and, before you could react, pulled you outside through the back exit.

"Jungkook—what the hell?!" you whisper-yelled as you found yourself pressed against the cool brick wall of the restaurant’s alley. "Are you kidnapping me? Because there are cameras, you know."

Jungkook ignored your dramatic statement, leaning in, his arms braced on either side of you. "Who was that guy?"

You blinked. "What guy?"

Jungkook huffed, clearly annoyed. "The one making you laugh like that."

You tilted your head, amused. "Like what?"

"You know what I mean! All giggly and cute and—" He paused as he caught your playful smile. He knew you liked it when he called you cute. Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I'm serious, Y/N... it’s driving me crazy.”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh. But seeing Jungkook, usually cool and composed, acting like a jealous boyfriend in a teen drama was just too good.

"Jungkook, that was Mark. Our friend Mark.” You raised an eyebrow. "You know, the one who once cried seeing me in an Olaf costume? That Mark."

Jungkook blinked. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." You smirked, crossing your arms. "So, are we done with this little possessive boyfriend moment?"

Jungkook's face cracked into a smile, then a giggle. "Okay, fine. Maybe I overreacted."

You poked his chest. "Maybe?"

He caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, his voice turning softer. "I just hate pretending like we’re nothing. I hate not being able to hold you, kiss you… tell everyone you’re mine."

Your teasing expression melted slightly, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Jungkook got all soft.

"I know," you murmured, squeezing his hand. "But you also know why we have to do this."

Jungkook groaned. "It’s been three years since I broke up with her. I think there’s an expiration date on guilt."

You bit your lip, torn. You wanted to believe that. You wanted to be with Jungkook out in the open. But the fear of hurting your best friend still lingered.

"Just a little longer?" you asked, eyes hopeful.

Jungkook sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I have to suffer through another night of watching you laugh with another man, I won't hesitate to hug you in front of them."

You snorted. "Oh, I’d love to see that."

Jungkook smirked. "Try me."

And just like that, the tension between you both cracked into laughter, because somehow, even in the messiest of situations, you and Jungkook always found a way back to each other.

For now, the secret stayed. But for how much longer?

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up. 

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well? 

DINGUS: so it seemed. 

ARGYLE  😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour. 

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe. 

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance? 

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next? 

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve. 

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first. 

He’s making no move to get up off the floor. 

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.” 

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through. 

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious. 

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you. 

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion. 

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?” 

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.” 

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything. 

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.” 

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.” 

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.” 

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms. 

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush? 

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively. 

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.” 

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.” 

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit. 

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better. 

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.” 

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.” 

“Then consider this your notice.” 

Is this what I had always been missing out on? 

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning. 

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?” 

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.” 

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you. 

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there. 

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home. 

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really. 

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions. 

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation. 

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.” 

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?” 

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?” 

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?” 

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.” 

“What have you guys been doing?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.” 

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?” 

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says. 

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.” 

“Am I?” 

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder. 

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.” 

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“ 

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.” 

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.” 

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.” 

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet. 

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.” 

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket. 

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.” 

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over. 

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now. 

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around. 

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.” 

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night. 

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly. 

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center. 

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well. 

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it. 

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches. 

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now. 

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now. 

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.” 

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.” 

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.” 

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?” 

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t. 

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing. 

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it. 

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to. 

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave. 

Eddie’s quick to follow. 

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure. 

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C. 

Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

But it sure does feel like it. 

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave. 

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you. 

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?” 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?” 

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck. 

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.” 

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you. 

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Time. You two needed time apart. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” 

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet. 

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away. 

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful. 

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went. 

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart. 

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.” 

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat. 

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind? 

That wasn’t really complicated. 

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.” 

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes. 

You wish you would have kissed him. 

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-” 

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend. 

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours. 

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be. 

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems. 

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted. 

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you. 

Rough’s a good way to put it. 

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it. 

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend. 

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy. 

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress. 

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie. 

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along. 

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless. 

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration. 

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again. 

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two.  And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s. 

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two. 

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him. 

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time. 

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to. 

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears. 

EDDIE: Make it home okay? 

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now. 

YOU: yep. my roommate just left. 

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember? 

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud. 

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone. 

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams. 

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care. 

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened. 

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now. 

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds. 

EDDIE: Ah. I see. 

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over? 

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems. 

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down. 

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours. 

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos. 

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you. 

YOU: About what? 

EDDIE: I’m not home right now. 

Your heart clenches. 

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not. 

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere. 

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is. 

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step. 

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you. 

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues. 

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist. 

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.” 

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter. 

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool. 

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?” 

“Start over?” you question wearily. 

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.” 

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.” 

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.” 

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you. 

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss. 

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?” 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” 

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home. 

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.” 

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

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taglist is now closed.

[moon-fics]

I NEED AGNSTY VIGILANTE 🤲🏾

A/n: I love angst. It's my life and soul. I gift you, my first angsty Vigilante fanfic of the year.

Summary: Can you really call this relationship a routine? Or is it insanity?

You don't even have to look anymore, as your hands guide the gauze over his bleeding bicep. You've done this before in multiple ways on almost every part of him. Tonight is the third night in a row where he's been cut during patrol. On a Tuesday night, when most couples are cuddling up or going to bed, you are cleaning his wounds on the couch.

You can't really get mad without having to point the finger at yourself. He told you this would happen before asking you out. He went into great detail on what his life is like. You just didn't want to believe him. Maybe you just didn't want to lose him.

"And then I met up with Chr- I mean Peacemaker!" Adrian says excitedly. He moves his arm slightly and nearly forces you to start over. You're not even listening, and you know you should be. Your wonderful boyfriend is telling you about his day, but you're stuck on how bad yours was.

"That's great." You say in a monotone voice. You hope it's enough to keep him talking so he doesn't get up before you're done.

You finish his arm and rip the bandage with your teeth. You tie it just a bit tighter than usual, and Adrian catches onto it. He might not be the best with cues, but he certainly knows yours.

"Did something happen?" He asks innocently. You don't have the heart to tell him you've been feeling neglected or how you no longer feel the spark. "Do I need to go hit someone? I will go back out and hit them. They'll never see it coming." He presses for answers.

"No, no one needs to be hit," You assure him. He's shirtless on your couch, and you should be all over him. You want to hold him and fall asleep on top of him. Yet, you know he'd ignore the pain in his body. You'd be up all night wondering if you're crushing a bruised rib. "I'm just lost in thought." You finally answer.

He frowns at your response because a part of him knows you're lying. He's not as oblivious as some people assume; he can tell when people are upset or mad.

You place a hand on his shoulder and feel how soft his skin is. There are scars littered across his bare chest, and you can remember dressing most of them. You sigh because that's all you can do right now.

"Ok, well, if I'm all set, we can watch 'Fargo'!" He stands from the couch to grab the remote. You can't explain why you feel your stomach sink at that idea. Another night of watching "Fargo".

"I'm actually going to go to bed," You say. You fake a yawn before crawling off the couch. The stare Adrian gives you is enough to tell you he's not buying it. His lips are slightly parted, and his brows are pressed down. "I'll watch it with you tomorrow night." You suggest with a half-assed smile.

"Are you mad at me?" His question cuts through you. You weren't expecting him to even ask. You aren't sure if you should answer. You open your mouth to deliver a comforting response. To tell him you aren't mad, but he stops you. "Please, don't lie."

"I'm just tired of this," You say while gesturing in the general area. It's a terrible answer, and you cringe at it. "I'm tired of the same routine." You admit.

"I wouldn't really call this a routine. Even if it was, aren't routines good?" He shrugs. His hands fidget together nervously. His weight is leaning onto one leg while the other bends. "I thought everything was ok." He says.

It was ok for a few months. You were happy to be with him and to see his vulnerable side. Now, you aren't so sure you saw the bigger picture. You have him, but you also get him in small moments where he's injured for most of them.

"I just feel like I barely see you, and when I do, you're either bleeding out or running out to see Chris." You try to keep your voice level. Your throat feels tight and sore. It hurts to breathe and to speak because you can feel the tears threatening to form. "I just want to go on a date or to feel like an actual couple."

"I can take you on a date," He perks up. You want to believe him, truly you do. The last time you planned a date, it was cancelled because he got stabbed in the shoulder the night before. The time before that, the date went terribly because he was too busy scouring for potential threats. The only time a date went well was when you both cooked together and stayed in.

"Adrian, you are covered in cuts and bruises. If we go out, someone will notice or you'll be in pain," You point out.

Deep inside you, you can feel a ripping sensation. Like when someone tears up a paper or a letter. It's piece by piece and slow. You stare at Adrian, and it feels like he's the paper. You're ripping him up.

"I just don't know if I can keep doing this. It feels like insanity," Your voice cracks. Hearing it is enough for the tears to flood your eyes. To hear your own heartbreak is by far the worst thing. "I sit and I tend to your wounds and I feel... I feel this nothing." You speak as if air is failing you.

Adrian's eyes don't soften or even change. His jaw clenches as if he's thinking. You don't know if there's anything to say. You just admitted to feeling nothing with him.

"Should I go?" He mumbles while placing his hands on his hips. It's not a question of being mean. He's genuinely asking because he doesn't know what to say. You can't give him an answer from your lips, so you nod. "Should I come back?" He asks while heading to the door. You don't move, and he takes that as a 'maybe'.

"I do love you," His voice is warm as he opens the door. He stands there for a few seconds to take it in. "I loved every night with you."

"I know." You answer with a trembling smile. You can feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks. You'll miss him until he inevitably returns. You'll miss him.

He steps past the door and closes it behind him.

[corroded-hellfire]

Hi gorgeous a fic request idea it's my first time requesting so sorry if I'm doing it wrong! What about reader being insecure about herself and worrying she's not smart or hot enough for Eddie and it's just Eddie being confused bc how could she think that wen he's the town freak?? and then reassuring her and just lots of fluff

Ah, this is so relatable! I know I need Eddie to reassure me. Also, the only way to request wrong is by being rude and you most definitely were not 💕

Words: 1.2k

You’re not sure what caused the recent feeling of inadequacy, but you just can’t shake it. The last few weeks it feels like a storm has been rolling in bit by bit, always adding something new to the pile of things you already dislike about yourself. The little things that have always irked you in the back of your mind steadily keep making their way forward, pushing and shoving like there’s a clearance sale on your happiness and they want first dibs. 

It doesn’t matter that your grades are holding steady because you answered a question wrong in class today when the teacher called on you. You’re such an idiot. There’s a new pimple growing in like a second head near your lips. You’re so gross. The weather be damned, your hair is going to look a wreck rain or shine. You’re such a mess. The clothes the other girls wear are flattering and beautiful, making yours look like dirty dish rags in comparison. You’re such a loser. 

Despite trying your damnedest to hide how you’re feeling from the world, your boyfriend knows you too well for that. Eddie notices the way you lose focus, your attention drifting somewhere else—internally, he’s afraid. 

Your latest zone out is while the two of you are sitting on his couch, watching a movie. A part that you’ve laughed at a million times before comes on and Eddie can tell your brain hasn’t even registered what’s on screen. He keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye, growing more concerned each time. Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. 

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” You’re broken out of your stupor and meet Eddie’s gaze with glassy eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks, concern etched deep into his brow.

“What do you mean?” You know your attempt at playing dumb won’t work either—on top of everything else, you’re a shit actress too. 

“You’ve seemed sad lately. Kind of…distant,” Eddie says, taking care to choose his words carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel as if he’s interrogating you but wants to convey his genuine worry and concern.  

Shame floods your body as you realize Eddie has noticed your change lately. Just another thing for you to feel bad about. You shift awkwardly, moving out from under Eddie’s arm, where you were nestled comfortably. 

“N-Nothing’s wrong.”

Eddie gives you a disbelieving look. You can’t blame him; that was some pretty shitty bluffing.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, “you think I don’t know you well enough to tell when something’s wrong? When you’re lying?”

“You do,” you admit, voice low and soft. 

It’s a mutual instinct, though, as you can read Eddie just as well. The sadness in his eyes cracks your heart in two, knowing you’re what’s causing it. 

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, taking one of your hands. He holds your hand in both of his and gently massages it. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, trying to avoid his eyes. “I just feel…off lately.”

“How so?”

Embarrassment grows inside of you, blooming like a flower—or maybe a weed. It’s hard for you to bring yourself to tell Eddie the truth–it just makes you feel even more pathetic than you already are. There’s no use trying to keep it from him any longer, though. 

“Like I’m not…enough.”

“Enough? Enough of what?” Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion as he keeps rubbing his thumbs along the back of your hands. 

“Well, enough for you,” you admit as you feel your cheeks burn with the humiliation that the truth brings.

“Me?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together, and he shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

You breathe out a defeated sigh that breaks Eddie’s heart and take your hand from his grasp. 

“I see all the other girls,” you say, anger creeping into your tone. Not anger at Eddie or at the other girls; anger at yourself for being so inferior. “They’re so pretty and smart and I can’t help but wonder why you want to be with me.”

Every word you say confuses and shocks Eddie even further.

“You…huh?” Eddie says, mind not able to comprehend what’s going on. In his mind, there is not a single dimension or alternate reality where you aren’t enough for him. It’s simply not possible. 

“I’m not hot enough for you,” you say with a sniffle and a shrug. “Or smart enough. Or nice enough, or funny enough—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie says, waving his hands in front of him. “You’re not serious, are you?”

The look on your face and the tears about to spill from your eyes when you look at him tell him that you are, though. Eddie can’t help but let out a breathy chuckle and shake his head.

Your brow furrows at his laughter and a tear escapes your eye and makes its way down your cheek. Panic flashes in Eddie’s eyes when he sees your reaction and he’s quick to remedy the situation. 

“Oh, no, no!” he says. His hands come up to cup your face and his thumb wipes away your rogue tear. “I don’t think it’s funny. Well, in a way I kind of do. You think you’re not enough for me? Sweetheart, you really have no idea how amazing you are, do you?” When your only reply is another sniffle, Eddie sighs. “I don’t understand how you could think that,” he says. “You do know you’re dating the town freak, right?”

“But you’re not,” you insist defiantly. 

“And you’re not all those mean things you think about yourself.” He lets his hands fall down to your lap and takes your smaller ones in his. “Babe, you’re so insanely hot I can’t even believe you noticed me.”

Eddie chuckles and squeezes your hands. “And aren’t you the one always helping me with homework? Don’t I always get better grades when you help me?”

Eddie sighs and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. You’re both quiet for a few moments. Eddie lets his eyes slip closed for a second before looking at you once again.  

“I hate that you’ve been feeling so down about yourself. I wish you saw yourself like I do. You’d see that you’re the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. Who is smart, who is kind, who is funny, who is everything she tells herself she’s not.” He leans in and presses a soft, sweet kiss against your lips. “I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world,” he tells you.

“I love you, too,” you reply in a whisper, tear tracks staining your cheeks. 

“Now, look at me,” Eddie says. He sits up straight and looks you in the eye.

“I am,” you say in a small voice.

“Am I lying?”

You know him so well, know when he’s telling even the slightest fib. But there’s no sign of that in Eddie’s eyes nor on his face at all. 

“No,” you admit.

“Come here,” Eddie says with a sigh, opening his arms for you.

Immediately you fall into them and nuzzle your face against his shirt. It’s your safe place; everything is always better when your head is on Eddie’s chest.

“Promise you’ll tell me when you have these thoughts, yeah?” he asks and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “And I’ll remind you that they’re not true. That you’re my gorgeous, brilliant girl. Promise me?”

“I promise,” you say, tilting your head up to look him in the eye.

He kisses your lips a few times, punctuating the message of his words. 

“You're my favorite,” he whispers against your mouth as you part. 

“Favorite what?”

“Everything.”

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Wednesday wonderful fandom :) We have hit episode 4, I once again am SO happy this is back. Makes my Wednesdays so much better. I missed this show so much. Now I was legit resigned to have no real moment in this one. I really was. Not only that but I was ok with that too. The SL was really really good. I was enjoying Wes/Wopez getting some of the spotlight. I adore this show as a whole.

So I was down to enjoy this ep just for the SL they had lined up. I am thrilled we got a moment. Scaling the walls excited. I do my best to keep these first impressions as brief as possible. Since I do deep dives in the summer. When I really flesh my thoughts with the entire season in hand. But when we get good moments it's harder to be brief ha So bear with me if I'm a little longer than I have been. Let us begin shall we?

7x04 Darkness Falling

We start the day off with some good ole ass kissing from Ridley. The more this kid opens his mouth the more I dislike him tbh. So I'm with Tim groaning at his platitude. 'Oh god.' I'm cackling. I love this man so much you guys. Lucy is all smiles though of course. She wants to see the best in him because well it's Lucy. We all love this woman for her compassion. But their reactions are just so on point. Their Grumpy x Sunshine dynamic doing it's thing. Always makes me happy to witness.

I do love that Lucy follows it up with saying no one likes a suck up lmao My girl. I mean no one does.....They drive me absolutely insane. But this is her accepting what he has to say but also letting him know she isn't won over either. He has work to do. They both do really. Friggin miracle they're both still standing there.

We get to a gnarly crash and the rookies are put to work by Celina. Who is primary. You go girl. So excited for her this season. We can sense her stress as she attempts to contain and maintain the scene. She has Ridley take pics of the cars, which he messes up. Not getting every inch like she asked.

Telling him firmly but still kindly that she can't hold his hand. Texas giving him a hard time seeing this. Seth gets a little uppity with him. It's here we witness conflicting stories …..No matter the reasoning a cop who lies habitually is ick central for me. Makes me start to question his integrity. Gonna take a lot to come back from this IMO. Lucy looks very disappointed. I would be too. Also a little on edge wondering why he's lying?

First thing noticed when Penn was searching the car was the gun in the glove box....I knew when he said it was all clear it was going to bite him in the ass. It does immediately and royally so. We see bit by bit that confidence that he came in with slowly eroding. Tim is breaking this kid down in order to build him back up. He's gotta quit it with the Texas stuff. It only angers Tim even more. He doesn't want excuses he wants progress.

I know it may seem like Tim being extra hard on Texas. But D (makeitastrength) brought up a great point from 3x11 either last ep or before in the comments. On how Tim trains based on his trainee. And this boy needs to be knocked down a thousand pegs and then some. We see with each episode him changing I will say. Becoming more remorseful. Less cocky with Tim. The way he reacts to his punishment is proof of that.

Tim is right to do this to him. He’s not in Texas anymore. That is not a valid excuse for everything. Or ever honestly. I had a guy on my team who did the same thing. Would excuse his screw ups and say 'But in Tennessee we did this.' etc. One day we were on a ride a long. He did it again as an excuse. I told him you’re no longer in TN. You’re in CO now. Those rules don’t apply here. And it finally clicked and he stopped doing it.

Tim has to beat it into his brain he’s not in a small town anymore. Far from it….and he most definitely isn’t in Texas anymore either. Once he lets that go he will get better. Tim pegged him from day one about him needing to be deprogrammed first. That’s going to take the longest with him.

SOOOOO Seth is officially a liar..... I hate it so very much. Not only did he lie but he did it in front of Lucy earlier. Someone mentioned the possibility of him being a liar. It was in an ask D got I remember and I never thought of it. So Kudos to that person for spotting that early. I didn't clock that. Like at all. Cause I too am like Lucy in my empathy and believed him. Guess I shouldn’t have….Hiding more than I would like.

My gut is saying I would like him to wash out. Is that mean? Sure but also he's not giving anything positive right now. We haven’t see one since s3 with the Badger and Katie. But he’s Lucy’s rookie, so that’s the only reason I don’t actually want that to come to pass.. Idk how he’s gonna come back from this compulsive lying. I’m not a fan. Gonna take some really good development to make me forgive this.

I LOVE this final moment with Texas. Tim does a masterful job of not breaking. I commend Miles for saying he appreciates all Tim is doing for him. He can see that it isn't just to be harsh with him. There is a method to his madness. To quote Lucy from 1x04 'He's calculating not cruel.' He’s teaching this kid right.

Not only that he recognizes why Tim is so hard on him. Also he's being brought back down to earth. Especially about not knowing it all. Realizing how many holes he really has in his knowledge. Having an epiphany in this scene. It's amazing progress to see. You're growing on me Texas. On Tim too. You can see it in his eyes through out his speech. Excited to see how he continues to be molded.

There is so much to unpack in this scene. It's insane. First of all. Tim’s house! I've missed it. God it’s gorgeous. Holy hell. So glad Eric pressed to have it return. It's as beautiful and understated as he is. Also feral Caitlin must make appearance. Cause he is in street clothes after all. gimme gimme. AND In my favorite color no less. Only he could make such a plain shirt so god damn attractive. The way it tightens around his chest. Hot damn. I'm a puddle. Mmm wanna climb him like a tree. *fans self*

If that isn't enough to make me lose my mind we have Kojo! Return of our fav pupper. Their handsome fur baby making an appearance. Barking before Lucy even knocks on the door. Just knows his mama is near. Alerting Tim to get up and greet their visitor. Look at how excited our boy is when he opens the door and she's there. No one makes this man light up faster than Lucy Chen.

We see the disappointment on his face when he realizes it's work related. Hence the sassy reply about her question. Lucy, just letting her damn self in regardless of what Tim is saying though. They are in fine form here everyone. I’m so happy right now. Lucy airing her concerns about Seth to Tim. Saying how she can't shake the feeling something is off. I feel that way too...Giving me the ick hard.

Tim does his best to put her mind at ease about Seth. Saying how comprehensive they are. They're invasive and he has to pass a polygraph as well. Tim slyly mentioning how they both know how illuminating those can be. Heh Tim’s liar detector joke. Love the little shots he takes and it earns a smile out of her. Little flirt. Well done babe.

I adore that her instinct is still to rely on Tim. When she’s worried or unsure. That is her go to. He is still her person in that regard. That inexplicable pull she can’t quite deny or ignore. Was hoping this whole Seth thing would lead her to Tim for advice. Just wasn't expecting it to be in his house. I'm tickled pink about it though haha

Feeling a surge of frustration and doubt, Lucy apologizes and starts to walk away. Like it's just hitting her what she's done. Showing up unannounced at his house, forcing her way in, asking his advice and flirting with him in the process. Her adrenaline wearing off and she is feeling vulnerable. She can feel that familiar draw of their banter. As she stated in 5x12. They're so good at arguing. Her immediate reaction is to retreat for a multitude of reasons. Kojo gets up and says hold on there mom not just yet.....

I love him getting up right away not letting her go without some snuggles. That a boy. You be our little Chenford cheerleader. Doing his best to keep her there. He resets the mood with this move. Lucy loving on Kojo makes my heart so happy. Also look at Tim. The man could power a city with that smile. He is melting into a damn puddle in front of her. Couldn't be happier to see them together again. Lucy letting Kojo know how much she misses him.

'Feeling's mutual.' OH. MY. LORD. Way to be transparent af my love. Do it more….Straight up using Kojo to say he misses Lucy. It's oozing out of him, how much he craves her presence. I cannot everyone. Let's not ignore the fact that Lucy looks at him sweetly in reply. Melting a little more each episode. It's a very telling look. Still a little guarded but happy none the less. I will take this win from her. So will Tim. Any positive moment with her is a win.

Tim nervously asking her to stay. *screams into a pillow* Sweet baby James. I'm so giddy I might faint. The little breath he takes before he asks. *heart clutch* So reminiscent of 5x08. This is everything. That man is so so gone for her. He wants her to stay more than anything. Ugh my heart. Look at him. Hands in his pockets. Being a little awko taco. Hoping against hope she will say yes. The only way he could be more transparent is if he wore a 'I love and miss Lucy.' sign. Holy cow. If you had any lingering doubts after last week this should obliterate that.

Lucy is stunned by his offer. Stands up right away with her 'Oh.' You can see she has to fight that magnetic pull of theirs. That need to be around him and stay. Melissa plays it so well. Fighting that urge. Knowing if she stays where it’ll end. Most likely in his bed... She can’t risk that. Can't risk hurting her heart like that again. Even though that same heart is dying to stay, her brain helps her bolt. Her nervous chuckle as she tells him no. Stumbling over her words to make a quick exit. Leaving both her boys behind. This hurt so good. Oh my lord. I am here for the slow burn everyone. I've said this many times. To get back to the summit that is them together it's going to take time.

When we do it's going to be so worth it. The delayed gratification will be unreal. We have to remember it's been FOUR episodes. Just four. I'm feeling no impatience at this point. This is going to be a lovely climb back to them. They can give me little moments like this as they make their way back all they want. I'm here for it and grateful to have them. I couldn’t be prouder of Tim for going for it though. Being the first to put himself out there again this second round. Just like he did in S5. Showing her he misses her with this offer. Testing their grounds by doing so. Think he could tell she wanted to. But wasn't surprised when she said no.

Goodness this made me giddy af. Also that man is a snack in that shirt. So she is strong to walk away from him. She all but runs when he is soft with her. Can’t say I blame her. Right now that way lies hurt. Also they need to have a real convo first. But hot damn I’m excited he went for it. Not once but twice. Saying he missed her inadvertently then asking her to stay. Ooooh I’m excited you guys! If you aren't I can't help you I really can't LOL Reaching down to pat the good boy with a sigh. His wingman really tried. Swing and a miss Timothy. But proud of you for giving it a go. I cannot wait till next week

Thank you x1000 to everyone who interacts with these. With your likes, comments and reblogs. They make my whole day every time a notification comes in. Biggest smile on my face. You're all the best. See you all in 7x05 :)

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

'How secure you are in your marriage.' I’ve been saying that since Wes heard the tapes. Oh Wes, what happens when you marry a beautiful, strong and independent woman.

'Being a woman is consistently terrifying.' If that isn’t the truth…. Line of the season for Angela right there.

The Sorority girls kicking the shit out of that guy was incredible. When I saw the blood on the floor I was worried. Then to see all those woman kicking, punching and stabbing that dude. Was epic. Angela telling them they have her recommendation if they ever was join the LAPD LOL

I wanna cry for Wes with this SL. Letting a killer back onto the streets. Doing his job or not that weighs on a person. Their psyche and conscience. He gave me such anxiety as he raced the the scene. Gah just breaking my heart when Angela checks in on him. Well done Shawn for this gif above. We don't get to see him flaunt his chops a whole lot and I'm happy to see they gave him the chance. He was fantastic in this ep.

Bailey took the phone number and let him go. Props my friend. More balls than your husband. When it comes to people I love I get very gray. I'm all about black and white like Tim but also like Tim, when its someone I love those start to blur to protect them. So kinda don't blame her for taking the insurance of his number.

Locking her away isn’t the answer my dude. It’s insulting to think she can’t handle herself if I was her. Be better to be together and tackle it as a team. But that’s just me.

‘You’re a grown ass woman not baby sitting you.’ Wade Grey I adore you sir.

Nyla being on her own making my heart palpitate. It felt very last of us if you’ve ever played that game and know the stress of it lol It was good but also anxiety inducing.

Loved the Nyla and Lopez hug I love it. Always happy to see this bad ass duo together.

7x05 looks good with the serial killer SL. Have a WILD theory of maybe it being Seth? I highly doubt it is. But dude be sus af right now. If that was true could bring up PTSD for Lucy with Caleb and all that. But that's a crazy road to go down. But had to get it off my chest on the off chance he ends up being involved somehow.

[alexanderlightweight]

You're back! I'm so utterly delighted that you're feeling better <3

I would love to see either another snippet of Elysium's Tears or a bit of the verse where hair holds power for the nephilim. I adore the scenes where Alec gives Magnus a bracelet of his hair (and also the earlier one with Clary's bone bead dissolving because she didn't earn it no matter what Jace and Izzy say lol).

Thank you for sharing your wonderful ideas and writing with us!!

hi laws! i'm so happy to be back too, its insane how much it lifts my mood to be writing and on here again.

so I know you like both but I do know how much you love the hair!lore verse so this is a bit in the future and also because I wanted the excuse to finally expand on some warlock lore. it's really easy to be fluid with nephilim culture based on verse but I wanted to build a stable base for warlock customs and cultures that can branch differently out depending on the verse but has the same foundation. because I think it's a far longer legacy than nephilim and therefore it deserves something lingering and lasting as the cornerstone. which means I was really picky about it and then picked my favorite.

so this bit of warlock culture is actually universal in my verses. I also know that you enjoy the cultural tidbits so ^_^ I hope you enjoy <3

~lumine

-

my path is set

It thrills Magnus, to discover that even after he’s left the Institute — left Alexander ruined for all others and still aching for his touch — that he can still feel him through the soft hair coiled around his wrist.

Magnus had lingered, satiating not just the wards until they were primed — full of rich energy and deep magic — but his own desires.

Magnus had wanted to bring him home.

Take him to bed properly, with silk soft under his bruised back rather than the rough stone of an altar.

Instead Magnus had to leave him there. 

Oh he helped him to his room first, unwilling to let anyone else see or touch Alexander like that.  Had even let himself in, tucked a barely conscious Alexander in with magic and a smirk. Knowing that he would wake covered in the evidence of Magnus ardor and his own passion. 

It’s also convenient that there’s no one to stop Magnus from leaving, the strands of Alexander’s braid still wrapped covetously across his skin.

Magnus wonders at the magic imbued in it and marvels, relieved that it doesn’t fade even when the portal closes, cutting off any true connection.

But the bracelet stays, tying him to Alexander.

It will keep him tied to Alexander long after the residue of the sex ritual fades and the bruises and marks heal.

And it will bring Alexander to him again.

Magnus is sure of it, with the way he feels an almost-echo when he imbues magic upon the braid.

—

Magnus doesn’t sleep that night.

Instead he reaches out to Ragnor and Catarina, requesting all of their notes and encounters regarding the culture of shadowhunter customs.  It’s suddenly deeply important for him to know so that he can match Alexander in turn, even if Alexander might not understand at first.

Because Magnus is going to match him in his own unique way.

There are parts of warlock culture that while not hidden away, aren’t advertised to the outside.

Warlocks are somewhat insular after all, at least from the other races. 

However there are no rules keeping Magnus from displaying his own accomplishments. The way Alexander does with his braids and charms and hand-hewn beads.

Warlocks display their accomplishments in the bones of those who came before.  Honoring them with legacy, so that parts of them will never be forgotten or wholly wiped away.

The nephilim used to try to and burn their bodies for this very purpose, to deny them their legacies. It's part of why heavenly fire is used to dispose of 'so-called-criminals' caught by the Clave.

It makes Magnus darkly pleased, to realize that someday he will drape Alexander in the very essence of what his boy’s ancestors despise.

And Alexander will delight in it.

Magnus can tell from the way his fingers had lingered on the bone armbands — that Magnus hadn’t bothered to take off— and caressed bone and skin together. How he'd moved towards the magic sparking off of Magic rather than away.

And considering that Magnus has personally reformed — and possibly wiped out — the Council of the Elder's a few times, he has still always made sure to respect the legacy of his own kind.

Which means he has quite a collection to choose from and the ability to make as much more as he wants.

Platinum and bone are the pride of warlocks — and true, Magnus doesn’t know a single warlock who wouldn’t kill for abyssal gems — but platinum and bone have always been theirs in a different way.

Especially bone.

Even before they ever discovered platinum, warlocks had their bones.

For a moment, Magnus wonders what feeding Alexander the marrow of an Elder would do to him, and then decides that as delicious a delicacy as it is. 

He’d rather not risk it.

Not until he finds out how sturdy his shadowhunter is.

Magnus is going to want to keep him for quite a long time, after all.

—

AN:

Soooo... i think i’ve hinted at it but in the background of both warlock and nephilim culture is cannibalism. In most verses nephilim cultures don’t continue the trend especially because they’re short on nephilim and warlocks rarely use it except for specific things but i don’t actually think cannibalism is that big taboo in the shadowworld. There’s too much blood related stuff. Like raziel’s blood and vampires and sires and blood etc. and werewolf biting each other etc. 

So for warlock in the case of the Elders. I won’t fully get into it here but cannibalism is always involved in elder council rituals once an elder is deceased.  Magnus/Cat/Ragnor have in a few different verses had to weed out or recreate the council of elders from scratch. No one actually knows whats causing it, but everyone knows that those three (though sometimes they take turns because they hate it) are the longest surviving  elders. So they’re pretty respected because they have a higher rank, even if a newer elder is older than any of them. Which does happen sometimes.

Magnus is not in charge of the council, he doesn’t want to be. 

But anyways. 

So the bone thing is actually across all verses for warlocks. Because its a way they’ve always been able to share wisdom with future warlocks because even the recluse warlocks look out for their own. It’s a legacy thing too. They can’t have children. They pass on their bones to leave behind something that another warlock will connect to in a way. It’s very important to them and while all warlocks wear at least one piece, not all warlocks have the ability to handle a lot of jewelry. Depending on how powerful the magic of who it was from.

There isn’t a single faction of the shadowworld that doesn’t keep trophies of their kills. It’s not like every single person does it but it is a practice in every race at some point in time. And warlocks also use pretty much anything as potion ingredients (that fact is actually canon, werewolf teeth and hair and nails lol and vampire as well lol) or magical artifacts. 

In this though, shadowhunters carve their charms into demon bones or non-sentient magical beasts/creatures (which is actually a pretty big deal. They have to harvest a bone or horn/fang basically something with a non-adamas blade so it doesn’t disintegrate.  It’s why you have to be a really good hunter to have so many charms because you’re given one from the clave on your first kill but you have to make all the rest yourself. Its a skill thing.  Alec is really skilled which is surprising because he’s an archer. He should have a harder time getting things from so far away but he’s pretty tricky with his traps. (also shadowhunter charms and beads carved from anything but demon bone/magical creatures are banned. The circle (and some houses and shadowhunters ofc secretly which means parts of the clave too) did make charms from downworlders. Which is literally illegal in the accords. It wasn’t illegal before the accords... which should say something.) 

Anyways, yes Magnus is planning on going full on warlock culture and then teach alec because his alexander deserves knowing how a big a predator he caught.

Alec is so fucking thrilled. He’s out here living the best life the minute magnus walks in just radiating old, necromantic power and he’s like... wow. He’s amazing, he’s impressive.

This will also eventually come up especially in pray to the hunters verse because uh. Alec is going to be so very into Magnus’ old bone legacy jewelry with whats basically ancestral magic for warlocks.  Magnus has never been so attractive to him and Magnus is always unfairly attractive to him.

Also if you’re powerful enough you can draw on the magic or specific things unique to the warlock of the bones you’re wearing. 

Magnus just really likes the idea of Alec dressed in a bunch of powerful warlock bone magical artifacts something that would absolutely horrify most nephilim

[stoopidpigeonxx]

parent headcannons for the tulpar crew???

YAAAAYYYY YAYAYAAAY!! I love this!! FINALLY I can use the baby fever!

Curly is 100% a girl dad. He loves his baby like no other. It's his very own child, a human that he helped create. Is constantly holding his baby. He doesn't like putting her down for a nap, he'd rather have her sleep on him. It breaks his heart when she starts crying, so he would rather avoid it by giving the spoiled girl whatever she wants. He'll also hand-feed her with a bottle, cradling her while she eats, and just fawning over this beautiful creature. He'll treat her like a princess growing up. He can't help it, she's so adorable, she has him wrapped around her tiny little finger. Dresses her up in cute little outfits he picked out himself, and is constantly showing her off. "Look at how adorable she is! That little face, ohhh, I'm in love." Of course, he'd treat his kid the same no matter what gender they are. He loves his sweet little angel.

Jimmy is good, given the chance.

now.. we all know how it went when he got Anya pregnant, so people wouldn't see him as a dad, but I digress. If it's a boy, he'll make sure he raises him just like his old man. I also have this cute picture of him holding his baby on the palm of his hand with their head in his fingers while he watches TV, so that his baby can watch with him. He's odd, but he's trying. If it's a girl, he'll be the same. A bit more protective of his baby girl, because like hell any boy's gonna break her heart, not on his watch. He can be a bit lazy, but he does genuinely care about his kid. He complains about how much his daughter looks like you if its a girl. "She looks just like her fuckin' mom. It's unfair." In reality though, he adores it. He's got a mini-version of her. Gorgeous and angelic, just like her.

Daisuke is overwhelmed.

overwhelmed with extreme love for his baby and the responsibility that comes with it.. His mom always wanted a grandchild, and he didn't want to disappoint her. But jeeeez.. kids are a lot. He's young, he should be waiting a bit longer to have kids, but.. now he has one. It isn't all that bad when his baby is too damn cute. Seriously, he's head over heels for that little face. And when they fall asleep on him while he's rocking them to sleep... he might cry. It's all worth it in the end to watch his baby grow into an adorable little kid. Plus, his mom is helping him out and watching them while he works on a job and whatnot. He doesn't care on gender. He loves them either way. He may be young.. but he doesn't regret having them. Constantly cooing at them and trying to get them to talk. "Owwh.. aabababa. Say daaaddy.. c'mon, lil' flower, say dada!" It's.. unsuccessful. But he's trying atleast.

Anya is a nurturing mother.

When it comes to caring for the baby and providing it everything it needs, Anya is a natural. Baby's crying? She rocks them to sleep. Hasn't eaten in a bit? She can fix that. And she's a master at that changing table. Although some days she's overwhelmed by it, she loves her child more than anything on the planet. It's nice to have something that's all hers. She made it, and it belongs to her. She can't stand being away from her baby for too long and gets anxious about hiring a babysitter. Most often she'll end up cancelling her plans so that she can stay inside with her baby. Truly, that baby has the best mother growing up. She's sweet and tender and hardly ever strict. Besides.. she can't help but spoil them a bit. "You want that, sweetheart..? Hmmm.. well, Mommy will have to think about it.." She doesn't think for long, she caves in and buys the toy. Anything to keep her little one happy.

Swansea is used to it.

he has kids. He knows the drill by now. Putting them to sleep, feeding them, changing diapers, all that, he's done before. But just because he's used to it doesn't mean he loves his baby any less. Despite how much he complains, he loves them with all his heart. I feel like he would prefer a boy, but wouldn't complain having a girl. He just feels like he could bond more with a little boy, teaching him to cook and fish, how to be a good man. But if he gets a daughter, he'll teach her all that anyways. Women need to be independent after all. Very strict around naptime. Scolds anyone who makes but a peep when the baby's asleep. "Hey- shh. My kid's sleepin'. Shut it." Doesn't trust Daisuke to watch them; he could get into too much trouble and set the damn house on fire, no way he's thrusting him with his baby.. Well, maybe one day. If he earns it.

[skimmingmilk]

If Sonic and Tails were to ever have a fight, one that would cause some distance spanning a few months or years, what would they have fought about?

See, I don't think they would.

Personally, the way I interpret these characters, there is nothing either of them could do to the other that would cause them to have a bad enough fight where they would become that distant from each other. But that's just me. I don't enjoy that kind of dynamic between them.

Sonic is quick-tempered, but he's also quick to forgive. If he can forgive his rivals who have literally tried to kill him or seriously maim/injure him, there's nothing Tails could do that would prevent Sonic from forgiving him. If Tails pisses him off, Sonic will run it off. He'll cool down with some fresh air, regroup, then probably just turn back up as if nothing happened. And if he was the one in the wrong, then he's gonna find some way to make it up to Tails. Even if Tails murdered someone, Sonic is helping him hide the body, like are you kidding me? He will live a life on the run with this kid, he doesn't care. If someone pushed his best buddy to murder, they probably had it coming to them.

Tails might be the one more likely to hold a grudge, but he's also well-aware of how much Sonic cares. Sonic wouldn't hurt him intentionally of his own volition, he knows that for a fact. Once he had some time to process his emotions and calm down, he'd be able to see that either A) it was unintentional on Sonic's part, or B) it wasn't Sonic at his most genuine either through an imposter/mind control/tactic to keep Tails safe.

Whatever the reason for making the other mad or instigating a fight, they'll only need a little bit of time and space before trying to resolve it. They don't like to fight. They don't like to hurt each other. They'll make playful jabs and tease a little and exchange quips because they both think that's fun, but they care about each other far too much to let a fight/disagreement push them apart for longer than a couple of days. I mean, unless something physically separated them and kept them from reuniting to resolve said fight, but that's outside of their control and I'm sure they'd already have forgiven each other before they see each other again.

Now, that being said, I do think they're capable of being distant for a long period of time, but not because of a fight. Like, take Frontiers for example. Tails said he wants to go out on his own to become more independent and to prove that he doesn't have to rely on Sonic for anything. Even if Sonic doesn't fully agree with his reasons or methods (which, there isn't really canon evidence for that, that's mostly my own headcanon talking because I can't imagine Sonic would want his best friend to come back an entirely different person), he's not going to interfere with Tails's free will to choose his own path in life. If Tails wants to cut off communication to help himself grow, then Sonic will respect that and be there for him when he's ready to come back home. Even if that takes a few weeks... or months...

But yeah, I'm sorry, I'm not the best writer to go to for Sonic and Tails having like friendship-ending level fights. They're the unbreakable bond for a reason, they have complete faith and trust in each other. So I can't see it happening in a believable way for me personally, but I'm sure there are others out there who would have way better insight or interest in something like this! It's just not my cup of tea. In my eyes, if they're gonna fight, they're also gonna resolve it pretty quick.

Thanks for the ask!

[rhiannonsknife]

this is based off of something i saw in your mean dom!jackie blurb but i'm kind of obsessed with the idea of jackie riding your face...

she's so shy about it at first, asking you if you're sure and that she's worried about hurting you but you need her so badly that you reassure her that it'll all be ok and to just "get up there already, please"

her thighs shake as she's lowering herself down onto your face. you eventually get fed up with how slow she's coming down that you wrap your hands around her thighs and pull her down onto your face, not even caring that it lowkey hurt 😭

she's keening at the first feeling of your tongue in her cunt and it's not long before she's grinding herself against your face, hands tangling in your hair as she rides your tongue. it's so sloppy and so wet but at the same time it's so perfect and you're convinced you could die like this, face between her thighs and suffocating against her pussy

-🪐

i can’t thank you enough for picking up on that. because yes!! yes!!!

so: face riding with jackie <333

whether this is mean!dom jackie from this thought we’re talking about or just jackie in general, i think she’d love the idea of riding your face! she’s probably been fantasizing about it forever before she’s finally brave and comfortable enough to bring it up. (after an insane amount of pillow humping, fucking herself to the thought simply isn’t enough anymore. she needs to ride your face instead.)

so, jackie decides to be bold about it and finally brings it up:

“how long have you been thinking about this?” you ask her, after she’s blurted the words: “i want to sit on your face!” whilst the two of you had been cuddling comfortably. that could’ve gone a bit smoother jackie thinks to herself as she blushes furiously. she half expects you to laugh at her. jeff certainly would have. but then again, she never would’ve wanted to sit on his face to begin with.

“we don’t have to!” she immediately says, shaking her head apologetically. “we can just…go back to watching a movie. or something. you don’t-”

“i want to” you interject.

jackie stares at you blankly. she hadn’t even thought about the possibility of you wanting her to. but, after some more assurance and a lot of fumbling to both get her out of her clothes and find the right position, she’s hovering over you.

at that point, she’s probably still wearing her skirt. you’d been making out for way longer than the ache between her legs could handle, grinding against each other and feeling up the other’s body through too many layers of clothes. now, she’s too impatient, too pent-up to get out of bed and step out of it. so, she keeps it on instead, whilst you’re beneath her in your underwear, licking your lips when you notice the way her inner thighs are glistening with her arousal.

“come here” you urge, reaching around her and holding the back of her thighs. you can feel the muscles in her legs jump under your touch.

“but” jackie points out, shyly biting down on her lower lip. “i don’t wanna hurt you. what if i suffocate you??”

under different circumstances, you would’ve laughed. not now, though, when you can smell her scent when you can see how wet she is for you. and yet jackie is just out of reach from your mouth, depriving you of the heavenly taste of her.

“you won’t” you try again, giving her muscles a firm squeeze that makes her squeal in surprise. “get up here already, jax, please”

you’re not gonna try and pretend like you’re not desperate to finally get a taste of her. to finally eat her out the way you both long for.

when she finally gives in, it is slow, tentative for your sake. jackie doesn’t put her full weight on you, you can tell as much from the way her knees dig into the mattress on either side of your head. you can taste her on your tongue, at least, but you have to cradle your neck to reach her, and she’s still holding back.

so, instead, you reach for her, grab her, and force her down against your mouth. jackie gasps when she truly sits for the first time.

„h-holy shit“ she whispers from above. although you can’t see it from where you’re positioned, jackie’s head has fallen back and she’s panting already.

you only lick through her at first, doing most of the work for her. you lap up the arousal that’s practically dripping from her cunt, humming at the taste of her as the fabric of her skirt flares out around your head. but it isn’t long until jackie takes over, until she’s got enough confidence in her to do what she wants to. what she needs to.

the moment jackie actually starts riding your face, you’re convinced that you could die happy this way. that even if she did suffocate you with her thighs, you wouldn’t mind all that much.

it’s so much all at once and not nearly enough at the same time: the weight of her, grinding against your mouth, your chin, your nose. your whole face, really, smeared in jackie’s arousal.

she grabs a fistful of your hair, tugs on it and pushes you closer, further into her cunt until she’s just bouncing on your tongue, high-pitched moans spilling from her lips while she gets off on your face.

it honestly becomes one of her favorite positions. there are few things she’d rather do in bed, knowing she can simply use your face to get off and then lick it from your skin once she’s done <3

jackie cums so fast like this, too :(( the first time, she might actually apologize for the way she finishes within mere minutes. but, once it becomes something the two of you regularly do, she stops with the apologies altogether, realizing that there’s no point in them whatsoever and that she’ll always end up cumming all over your face in record time. (and just wait until jackie finds out about 69…that position hates to see her coming…)

[ranticore]

About the kid raised by harpies, we have a rough story to explain how they ended up there (it got a lot longer than I thought it would omg): A pen has her eggs stolen, she is able to see the man who steals them but he ends up escaping. This event causes her partner to completely lose faith in their king, believing she could do a better job, and she eventually turns into a king herself, defeating him and taking the pen as a tiercel. As the pen has always been very active, and could barely keep herself still in the tiercel nest at all, they make a deal: she will be allowed to patrol the areas around the eyrie, as long as she's never far enough to disappear from view, never hunts and immediately comes back at any signs of danger. One day, as she's observing a human caravan passing by, she sees a very familiar face… With him, a woman, and in her arms a baby, who they lovingly look at. She follows the caravan further and further, waiting, watching… when an opportunity arises, she snatches the child and flies away with it, back to the eyrie. Her king is incredibly worried when she's back, looking for any sign of injury. What happened? What were you thinking? What would I do if you- wait what is that She explains what happened, and argues that it's only fair that she keeps the human's child after he took hers. She wouldn't be doing anything vital anyways, as it would only take away her time and resources from the flock, but it would be a great distraction from her boredom, keeping her closer to the eyrie. Besides, what other flock has a human in its midst? What a novelty for him to show off! His flock is so prosperous that they can not only keep tiercels but also raise a being from a completely different species just for the fun of it! In the end, he gives in, letting his beloved keep her "hobby project". btw we've thought of calling the kid "Five Talons", since, well, five fingers and all (also it sounds cooler than Five Digits). The first name we came up with was "Stolen Goods" though, I really liked it but friend noticed that it sounded a bit mean dskmfd What do you think? :] I would appreciate some help with naming the pen and the king as well... I'm almost done drawing the first one, may I send you the drawing through a message?

Ahh so sorry it took me a while to get to this!! Yes of course you can dm me any time and I can help with the naming if you like

This story is so funny honestly I'm completely on board... I especially like the angle of "well look, isn't it kind of a flex to raise a human child as well as we're doing?" because that's really. That's just how they think all the time, you always have to be showing off it's just like the law.

Also I'm thinking of this sort of almost parent trap (?) type situation going on here where both stolen babies are sort of being raised in parallel in a sense, by parents who have had their true child stolen from them, so I wonder what types of experiences they may have in common (and whether they might ever be able to meet and bond over it? Like here's a sibling you never knew you had... or instead would they hold the other responsible for their own situation, the hurt of their parents, etc. Much to consider!!!).

Bearing in mind that a stolen harpy is likely not going to a very prestigious town flock, otherwise there'd be no need to resort to theft, it would likely be in more of a similar situation to the human kid than you'd think - raised entirely by a different species, lacking a 'role model' of a sort, potentially not even knowing that other harpies/humans exist, and thinking of themselves as perhaps uniquely weird (in either a positive OR negative sense, i could see both). The difference being that the baby harpy would be raised into servitude, and the baby human is being raised to show off. Both ways are dehumanising (or deharpyising?) in different directions, obviously one has it worse but being placed on a pedestal of your adoptive parent's rage and pain can't be fun either.

[suugarbabe]

alright wifey, here's a little request for ya. I'm thinking enzo in a modern au at a haunted house or something and he works there as a scareactor, reader is being dragged there by their friends and gets scared by like everything. maybe a little mean enzo like at first he just finds it funny how actually terrified they get when he scares them so he starts following the group to pop out at them everywhere but like he also thinks it's kinda cute?? also I need him to wear a mask. maybe after reader goes on a mission to find that annoying actor to rip that stupid mask off his face and then they realize oh this guy is kinda fine. hope this makes at least a little bit of sense, love youuu 💕💕💕

I love love love that you suggested Enzo because I think his build (at least how I see him) is perfect for this 😇 and perfect for spoooky season 🎃

an: this turned out waaaay longer than anticipated, i may have gotten carried away in the spirit of the season; hope it does not suck

Frustrated. Livid. Infuriated. Pick a synonym for anger and you were feeling it right now at every single one of your friends that have dragged you to this god awful haunted house. And it seemed like you were the only one who felt this way. Around you were squeals and giggles from people excited to either enter the haunted house or playful screams from those being approached by the scare actors tasked with keeping the patrons adrenaline up before entering the main attraction.

Your arm was looped with your friends next to you and you squeezed her closer as two short clowns came dancing by, giggling and twisting their heads this way and that at the people in line. “Babes, I love you, but if you hold my arm any tighter I might be able to join the crew as the new one armed woman,” Daphne started teasing, even though she, herself, also took another step backwards with you as what appeared to be a headless man holding a rotting jack o lantern on stilts made its way through the crowded line.

"Listen, I agreed to come. I did not agree I would enjoy it; this is your own doing," your hold did not loosen as the line began to move forward. A girl about your height stood at the entry, clad in what looked like an old hospital gown covered in different splats of blood; some that looked like handprints. Her hair styled in two messy pig tails atop her head with the makeup on her face applied to make her look more pale and sickly.

Her voice was higher in pitch as she counted the people being ushered in through the entrance door, "One, two, oh you will do quite nicely, yes; five, six, beautiful jacket I hope it survives without getting blood on it." You and your friends just barely made the cut, settling into the room with the others. Your plan was to hover in the background, hoping that if you avoided the front that other people would take the brunt of the horror of the house.

The sickly looking scare actor's voice was suddenly right behind you, so close it felt like she was whispering in your ear and causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, "Most people think that the back is the safest place to be, but it's far easier to get left behind," she circled around your left side, head titled and pig tails dangling. The singular white contact in her right eye made her look a little extra deranged which only made you shudder more, "We wouldn't want that happening to you, now would we?"

All you could manage was a quick shake of your head as a sickly high pitched giggle then erupted from her lips as she maneuvered her way to the front of the room where three doors stood on the back wall. "Our house is full of fun and adventures," she slapped her hand against the door in the middle; a loud, ripping of a chainsaw sounded causing a number of people in the group to jump. "I never leave because my friends are here and we just have the best time playing," she slapped her hand against the door to her right. A sharp, piercing but muffled scream emitted from behind the wood, "HELP ME, PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME, GET ME OUT OF HERE, SHE WON'T LET ME GO!"

The sickly girl held her hand up to her mouth as she smiled and softly laughed, "She is so silly, isn't she silly?" She asked a woman in front of her who seemed to nod in agreeable just to avoid what may have come with telling her no. The sickly girl then pointed and wagged her finger at the door on the right, pouting her lips, "I'll deal with you later, friend."

She turned back to the group, unsettling smile almost too wide on her face. She walked sideways to the door on the left, placing her handle, "The glowing arrows show the way if you were to choose not to stay," she opened the door wide, plastic flaps you would seat in a meat cooler hanging in the doorway. "Remember, don't touch my friends and they won't touch you," the front of the group started through, the sound of the plastic flapping against the walls on the other side.

As you and your friends began to enter, the sickly girl was behind you again, "And don't get left behind." You gasped, turning around only to be met with the door slamming in your face. A large white sign with what was supposed to look like blood (but you were hoping was just paint) read "NOT AN EXIT" dripping down. You turned back round to see Daphne starting to walk away from you.

Hurriedly you caught up to her, holding on the the sleeve of her jacket and your group began to maneuver themselves around the maze like hallways. You weren't completely wrong about your idea to stay in the back. There were a few jump scares by scare actors while in the halls that by time you reached them they simply growled or barred their teeth or fake (very real looking) weapons towards you.

"I fucking hate it here, Daphne, I will never forgive you for this--fuckING BLOODY GOD DAMN SHIT HELL!" As the rest of the group began to enter a large black lit room with what sounded like a dozen creepy clowns in cages, a lone scare actor with a mask leap from behind the door right in front of you. His mask was not necessarily scary, per say. But the realistic ness made it all the more creepy.

He towered over you, his mask emulating similarly to an old porcelain doll with a few exceptions. There were large holes in each eye, so what you were terrifyingly looking into were the actors actual eyes. A large crack went across the left brow to his cheek, dark almost black looking blood coming from it. The bottom jaw was separated, but held together to the top half of the face with wire threading through where the lips should be. This gap allowed you to see where his lips should be coated in fake blood.

You were frozen to the spot, the scare actor in front of you flashing a smile of perfectly white teeth had they not had smudges of blood over them, "You're getting left behind, love." You turned your head to see your friends in front of you again, hustling your way back to them. You grabbed onto Astoria's arm this time instead, "I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here." Astoria just laughed, encouraging you to 'just have fun with it', as you all made it through the first room and into the next.

Something was starting to make you think being there was actually making you go crazy as it seemed like the same porcelain masked man was in every other room in the house. He popped through the window of the run down shed seemingly aiming to scare you directly as his low deep voice called out to you, "Hiya, darling," Another string of curses flew from your mouth, "Shit shit fucking shitfuck." You tried your best to push your friends further in the group, swearing you heard a low chuckle behind you.

He was seemingly chained against a wall two rooms after that, arms spread on either side of his head. While everyone else in the room was being frightened by the other actors, Porcelain mask seemed to be calling out to you once more. "C'mon baby, come and save me, won't you set me...free," you let out a high pitched screech, jumping further away from the wall as one of his hands seemed to burst from the chains and grab out at you."

"It's fine," Daphne assured you, "he's not going to touch you if you don't touch him remember?" You started walking in front of her, "I know that, but someone should remind him." Astoria playfully rolled her eyes as she held the curtain back for you to enter the next room. It seemed as if you were in the clear of Porcelain mask, the last two rooms you went through having no sign of him.

To exit the haunted house you had to go through a more narrow, very dark (very dark) hallway to the last door. It was a swinging door on side hinges, you knew it was the last one because every person who exited in front of you gave way to the sounds outside. So close, you're so close, you kept chanting to yourself like a mantra. It seemed like the only real scares in this area were random recordings of screams or quick flashes of light on a grim scene on one of the walls.

Keeping your eyes forward and aimed at your target (the door), another flash of light occurred. Only this time, you saw him. Porcelain mask was standing flat against the wall and when the light flashed, his head jerked quickly, looking straight. at. you. Trying to keep your cool you held your eyes to the same spot as to be aware of where he was and be able to dodge any attempt he would make.

Only when the light flashed again he was gone from the spot. Thrust into darkness again you went to grab Daphne's hand in front of you. Something wasn't right; why did her hand feel so...large. Another flash of light and you see that Porcelain mask is not only in front of you...but you were holding his hand.

Once again cloaked in darkness you were pushed against the wall as the lights began to strobe. The scare actor had a large hand on each side of your head, tall and broad towering over you. The flash from light to dark ness made his movements all the more horrifying as he tilted his head to the side before slowing bringing the mouth of his mask next to you ear, "Do I frighten you, angel?"

You ducked underneath his arms and bolted for the exit door. Pushing through it harshly, the hinges creaking as you made your exit, you frantically searched for your friends. "Over hear!" Daphne waved you over some ten meters from the exit, "You nearly did get left behind huh?" She meant it as a playful joke, erupting in teasing laughter as you flipped her off.

Over her shoulder you saw none other than Porcelain mask exiting the haunted house and heading towards a fenced off area. "I'll be right back," you tossed over your shoulder at your friends as you made your way in the same direction as the person that was torturing you all night.

You found that, luckily, the area wasn't really fenced off, and you were able to slip through a slightly open portion to what you discovered was like a 'break' area for the scare actors. You glanced around, spotting the porcelain mask sitting on top of a picnic table, three or four scare actors standing around and chatting.

In some new found confidence that was bubbling in your veins, you marked right up the table, snatching the mask and holding it up, "Who's is this?" A creepy clown and bloody hospital patient took a step back. In front of you, a tall man with soft brunette hair turned around locking your stare with his, "Looking for me?"

You wrapped an arm around your middle, "Y-yeah, who do you think you are, huh?" The man laughed lightly, "I'm Enzo, so very please to be formally introduced. And that's mine, angel. Can I have it back?" He wore a shit eating smirk, coffee brown eyes twinkling with delight.

The mask was most definitely his. The only horror makeup on his face where the crack in the eye would be and around his mouth. You stood up slightly taller, "No, Enzo, you can't have it back." His eyebrows shot up cockily, "Oh? And why's that?" You stared at him dumbstruck for a moment. His eyes had a playful glint, smirk so deep that dimples popped into each cheek.

You felt a blush creep up your neck under his gaze but you did your best to keep your voice steady as you spoke, "You think that just because you have adorable little dimples under this mask that I'm not going to be mad at you for following me around all night?" His head tilted slightly at this, not much unlike when he had you pinned against the wall in the last hall, "You think my dimples are adorable, hmm?"

Scoffing you look off to the side to break eye contact, "I, erm-" He cut you off, taking a step closer to you, your knees hitting the back of the bench, you reach for the tabletop behind you, clamoring back until you're sitting atop the table. This does nothing but give him leverage as he leans forward now, placing a hand on the table on either side of your hips. "S'alright, you're quite adorable too," he leaned in closer, "s'why I followed you around all night. Cute little angel with the sailors tongue." He was so close, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear as he spoke, "Wonder what else I can make you scream."

[usmsgutterson]

Exactly Where I Want To Be - S.R x gn! reader

Okay!! Second Spencer Reid fic I've written and posted in less than a week, and I kind of feel like I have a bit of a winning streak--when I've not been binging criminal minds or crocheting, I've been writing for Spencer or thinking about it.

My requests are wide open to him so if you have any ideas, send them in and I'll be happy to write them out!! Smut is welcome but might take a little longer (smut for some reason takes me longer to write than other genres do) and I'm willing to write anything within reason!

Fic type - this one bounces all over, but it's primary genres are fluff, angst, and hurt/comfort

Warnings -there are mentions of criminal minds canon typical violence and as such, guns are mentioned and depicted in use. Other warnings include mentions of stalking, depictions of being shot, and mentions of being in a previous relationship that was manipulative (reader was with a guy who was a total ass pre-BAU and it's mentioned he wanted more arm candy than actual person to be in a loving relationship with), there are mentions of dementia and alcoholic dementia as well as a few of the symptoms, mentions of alcoholism, drug dependency and addiction, and this is really, really long. It runs at 13k post-edits.

TWENTY-TWO / TWENTY-THREE 

You join the BAU just a little while after Spencer does—three months, one week, and four days. Spencer counts it during a particularly boring afternoon, after he’s zoomed through most of the files sitting on his desk and has just about nothing else to do. Your desk is across from his and he’s remembered the date you’d joined the team since you waltzed into the offices, so it’s pretty easy to count it out.  

He’d joined on July 22nd, 2001, whereas you’d joined on November 2nd of the same year. You’d been only a year younger than he and you proved, rather quickly, that you were among the only people who could keep up with Reid on a consistent basis. The only other people who could really accomplish that were Elle, Gideon, and Hotch, but it served to make yours and Spencers bond stronger as you settled in.  

Spencer knew he had a habit for going off on tangents without really meaning to, but unlike the rest of the team, you seemed fairly unbothered by it, and even if you were reading a book or knitting or doing something else when Spencer had started, it was clear to him that you’d been listening by the end.  

You’d been Hotchs mentee, so to speak, and your aptness for listening to Spencer when it seemed nobody else was listening was something Hotch picked up on whip quick, bringing it up to you in what feels like both rightly subtle and unconsciously unsubtle as the two of you walk stand in the elevator.  

“If you like him and it goes anywhere, you do realize you’ll no longer be able to be partnered up while you’re in the field?” Hotch asks, his voice quiet. “You won’t be eligible for a promotion of any kind, either, as it’s not permitted for bosses to date their subordinates.” 

You snort. “It’s not like that,” you say, because right now, it doesn’t feel like it is. “You don’t have to worry, Hotch. I like him, but—platonically. I look at him with such a platonic set of eyes that even the best of friends envy it, I promise.”  

“If--and I say if because Gideon has taken to saying when while Spencer and you aren’t in earshot—it does happen, you need to file the appropriate paperwork and ensure that at least Gideon and I are aware as to the goings on.”  

You laugh.“It’s not like that,” you repeat. “Spencer doesn’t look at me that way, and I don’t look at him that way, either. Like I said. So platonic it’s envious.”  

Hotch cracks a small smile, something you never really see but are glad to nonetheless because it cuts the tension like it’s a freshly sharpened knife.  

“Five bucks says he’s gotten you a tea and set it on your desk,” Hotch says. “I don’t make bets, but if I did, I think I’d win that one.”  

You glance at the hot chocolate you hold in your right hand, the one that is certainly not for you, but for your coffee-resistant friend with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, and crack a smile.  

“I do, too,” you admit. The elevator doors open and the two of you go inside, going your separate ways as Hotch heads for his office and you go to your desk, intending to hit the ground running because you have a long day of paperwork in need of doing. 

You set the hot chocolate down on Spencers desk. He doesn’t look up as you sit across from him at your own, but you hear his usual “thank you, Y/N,” as he grabs for it with his left hand, the pen he’s using to fill out the paperwork still in his right.  

“Yeah,” you respond, shrugging and catching sight of the tea he’d bought you, sitting right next to the pile of paperwork you intend to spend the next eight hours tackling. “No problem. Are we still on for our Doctor Who marathon tonight?”  

“Absolutely,” Spencer confirms as you wheel yourself over to the left corner of your desk. You keep the files there, so that they’re right within your vicinity, and it’s always where Spencer places the tea he gets you so that you can grab it along with the first piece of paperwork on the pile you so meticulously assemble. “Yeah. Picking up from where we left off with doctor number six.”  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Thanks for the tea.”  

“No problem,” Spencer says. He looks up as you take the first sip, and the smile that comes after is almost contagious to him. “I got the right place?”  

The two of you have a thing going on and have had it from the first month after you’d joined the BAU and had learned of each others drink preferences—every single time you got each other a hot chocolate or a tea in the morning, you did it at a different spot. In the three years since you’d joined, you’d gone to dozens of different spots in and around the Quantico area, and both of you had developed favorites.  

Yours was Izzies—their London fog lattes were like nothing else, just caffeinated enough to give you the boost you needed throughout the day, and you’d learned that they made an iced London fog that was just as good, if not even better. 

Spencers was the one with the cutesy kind of name, something Derek occasionally made fun of him for—I Love You A Latte was the name, and they made a hot chocolate that was super smooth and a lavender tea that could will Spencers body into sleep like just about nothing else was capable. It was run by a sweet old lady from West Virginia who’d known both you and Spencer by name and was occasionally at the tills when you were there to pick up a hot chocolate for Spencer.  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Izzies is the best for their tea.”  

“I Love You A Latte makes the best hot chocolate on this side of Virginia,” Spencer says. “Thanks again, Y/N.”  

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “Thank you, too.”  

Spencers response comes in the form of a nod, and that’s the end of your interactions until you’re two minutes out from taking lunch, setting your pen onto your desk and shaking your hands out.  

You tend to grip pens, pencils and the like the same way you hold onto a crochet hook or knitting needles—with a grip so tight that your knuckles get a few shades lighter, usually without you even realizing. As a result, you deal with hand pain on a semi frequent basis, and shaking your hands out every time you’re going to lunch is a habitual thing for you now. 

“Going to lunch?” Spencer asks, eyes flitting up from his file. You nod.  

“My mother sent along some money for my birthday last weekend, which means that I have a date with a box of garlic fingers and an alfredo pasta breadbowl from Antonios,” you grin. “I can never eat the garlic fingers in full, though—they give you what they call half-plates, and I can usually only eat my way through half of the half. I’ll bring it back for you, if you want?” You offer as you grab your bag, stand, and walk over to his desk.

“That’s not necessary,” Spencer says. “I--you don’t have to do that.”  

“No fun facts about the passage of germs through food?” You joke, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. I’ll bring you what’s left, and I’ll make sure it’s as not-germy as possible.”  

Spencer smiles at you in a way that almost makes you want to forget the words you’d told Hotch earlier. You want to be the opposite of platonic, if you’re being honest with yourself, which you have a tough time doing on even your best days.  

You leave, heading for your car with an almost gleeful way about you because of the thought of Antonios. You wonder what Spencer is thinking, linger on the idea that he’s thinking about you for three seconds too long before you let it go. Platonic is the best way to be with your coworkers, and despite how much you wish it were different, it’s the best way to be with Spencer, too.  

- 

A week later, Gideon is leaving the office as Spencer is readying himself for another late night. Gideon stops at Spencers desk just for the sake of checking in, catches him on the tail end of a giddy “thank you!” bubbling up from your lips after Spencer had made you an earl grey tea while he was making himself some hot cocoa.  

Gideon smiles knowingly, in a way that almost has Spencer convinced he can see right through him.  

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says. “These late nights will do you a lot more harm than good in the long run, Spencer. Are you sure you can handle this?”  

Spencer nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Just have a few more files I’d like to get done before my weekend off, is all. Don’t worry about it, Gideon. I’m fine.”  

“And you’re totally not here for—other reasons--?” Gideon looks pointedly at you. Spencer follows his gaze on impulse and is completely unsurprised to find you engrossed in a file, using your mug of tea as a paper weight while you fill it out, your non dominant hand clutching the mug like a heat seeking missile.  

Spencer shakes his head. “Just want to finish the last of my files so I have less work on Monday,” he answers. “Nothing like that, I swear.”  

Gideon shakes his head like he doesn’t believe him, and Spencer has no rebuttal because he’s being completely honest. When Gideon claps him on the shoulder as he moves to leave, Spencer is the closest to relieved he’s ever gotten in a situation that borders on that level of intensity.  

“Everything okay, Spence?” You ask, gaze not moving up from the file in front of you.  

“Everything’s fine, Y/N/N,” he says. “Gideons just—he's being weird.”

“Hotch has been weird lately, too,” your voice goes soft. “I think it’s just an office old man thing. I dunno—thirty-eight is hardly old, but Gideons climbing up to fifty. He might be going senile a little earlier than what’s written on the docket.”  

“Gideon? No,” Spencer laughs. “And, anyway—dementia isn’t commonly developed until the person with the disease is at least 60, although there have been cases of people developing it as early as 30 years old and there’s a case of childhood dementia with one in every 2900 babies globally. I won’t worry about dementia in Gideon until I notice his memory starting to falter or his communication starting to change, or any of the other symptoms, and even then, for his wifes sake, I’ll hope It’s origin can be treated with modern medicine.” 

“I thought dementia was an incurable disease?”  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “There are treatable causes for it, not that the disease itself can be cured—treatment is always an option. It can stem from a lot of different things, such as diabetes, a traumatic brain injury, or substance abuse.”  

You nod. “My grandfather got hit with it from the excessive booze drinking,” you say. “I wasn’t around him a lot—my mother didn’t want me to be, didn’t want me to know a drunk when I was that young. He died when I was fifteen, and in that time, I’d only seen him twice. Dementia is pretty damn heartwrenching, I think.”  

Spencer nods, eyes going back to the file in front of him. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t imagine it. I hate thinking about that sort of thing—the idea of forgetting anything that I’ve learned is enough to scare me into an early grave.”  

You laugh. “Okay,” you say, nodding. Spencer knows it's your not-so-subtle way of moving the conversation along, but he's grateful for it because if he talks anymore about dementia he'll probably cry himself to sleep. “In other news, I picked up a stray cat I found in the parking lot of a Joanns the other night.”  

Spencers eyes widen, his gaze moving to you. “You found a stray?”  

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes meeting his. “I took her to the vet this morning—it's why I was late coming in. She’s got a perfect bill of health, surprisingly, and she likes my apartment a lot. Loves the windowsill.”

“Does this stray have a name yet?”  

“I named her Megatron,” you laugh. “She’s so small, and I love ironic names like that. If I ever adopt a Maine Coon, I’ve already decided their name is gonna be Tiny.”  

Spencer laughs, and the both of you go back to focusing on your files, and Spencer loves it. 

He loves how simplistic things feel between the two of you—conversations can stop and start again after hours without talking, and it just feels easy, inherently, being in your presence. It’s not anything Spencer has ever felt with anyone else, but after three years, it’s one of the few things in his life that he has and actively cherishes.

When he leaves, he doesn’t do so without making you another tea. He uses it as a means of bidding you good night when he knows you’re planning to stay for another hour, at least, and when he hears your shouted “Night, Spence!” as he goes, he dips his head to look at his shoes and barely manages to hide his smile.  

TWENTY - FIVE / TWENTY-SIX 

“Megatron, I’m home!” You sing-song as you unlock your apartment door and step inside. You’re home from a particularly tough case, and Spencer is with you because it’s just one of those nights and the idea of either of you being alone makes both of you want to suffocate.  

Megatron, a cat with brown fur everywhere except her paws and chin, comes running at the sound of your voice, but when she sees Spencer, she bypasses you and runs right up to him. She gets on her hind legs so that she can headbut Spencers hand as he shuffles out of his shoes, and as you take off your coat, you laugh at the sight.  

Spencers momentarily distracted as he gives her some of his undivided attention, and it doesn’t surprise you, how quickly Megatron starts purring.  

“You’re her favourite person,” you laugh. “One would think, three years gone, it’d be me, but alas, Dr. Spencer Reid takes the cake.”  

Spencer shrugs as Megatron lets him do his thing and chooses to approach you instead. “I think we both tie for first in her little brain.”  

You bend down to give her some lovins and laugh at the way she aggressively headbuts your forehead, a clear demand for forehead kisses. You give in as Spencer takes off his coat and hangs it on your coat rack, happily doting on her as she always expects you to when you come home after being gone for a few days.  

“You want to order some pizza?” You offer as Megatron goes to her food bowl. Spencer crosses through to the dining room, where he unceremoniously sets his messenger bag onto the dining table. “I’m completely biased in saying this, but Antonios makes the best pizza this side of Virginia. I’ve been a regular since I first moved here, right when I was joining the BAU at 19. They’ve got good pasta and bread bowls, too, and it’s fairly cheap, considering.”  

Spencer nods. “Pizza sounds nice,” he says. “Could I use your shower, by chance?”  

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it. “There’s a pair of sweats and a shirt you can change into after in the guest room, and towels are in the linen closet.”  

Spencer nods, having heard this spiel before. You recite it to him pretty much every time he spends the night at your apartment, first as a just-in-case thing and now as a habit.  

As he showers, you turn the kettle on and grab two mugs. Spencer, ever the insomniac, likes himself a little bit of lavender tea in the evenings because it helps him relax when he otherwise wouldn’t be able to, and relaxing helps ease his mind into sleep.  

You’ve known that since he first spent the night and asked if you had any, which, thankfully, you did. You’ve made it a habit to have some lavender tea at your apartment since then, just in case, and it hasn’t failed you yet.  

You’re more of a chamomile with half a tablespoon of honey kind of person—you've been dealing with insomnia since some unknown cause spurred it on when you were eighteen, and in the seven years since, while not a lot had really helped you get to sleep the chamomile and honey always did. The tea always seemed to work the best when you were coming back from a case, your nerves still pushed all the way over the edge and your body on high alert.  

Spencer comes back out into your kitchen after fifteen minutes, his hair towel dry and curly in all of the right spots, but his smile warm. He approaches the dining table and grabs his glasses from it, changing from his contacts to his glasses as you turn on your hotplate and use the back side of a spoon to squeeze most of the water out of the teabags before you chuck them into your compost bin and finish making the teas.  

You set the mugs on the hotplate and let them marinate for a few minutes as you call Antonios and order your usual—a large chicken Alfredo pizza, two Alfredo pasta bread bowls, a box of garlic fingers and two cans of iced tea—and Spencer puts his contacts back into their case.  

He looks so absurdly good in the glasses that it’s never going to cease to borderline upon mind boggling.  

“Hey,” he greets, smiling gently. “Thank you—for letting me use your shower, and everything.”  

You shrug. “It’s no problem,” you say as Megatron the cat headbuts the back of your calves until you side step with your right foot and she can worm her way into the gap between your feet. “It’s never been a problem, Spence. Are you feeling okay?”  

That case had been a tough one, for both of you. It’d taken you, as many cases do, down to the Florida area. The killer was a 20-something white guy attending the local community college, and he crossed all lines with regards to socioeconomic status, risk, and gender. The guy didn’t have a type, really—at the start of his assaults, he’d killed two high risk victims in the vicinity of three days. The week after he’d gone for medium risk victims and then the third week, at which point you and the team had landed in LA, he’d broken into three separate homes, all low risk victims, like he was climbing down some weird totem pole, and his MO never stayed consistent.  

In the end, Derek had almost gotten shot, and you’d wound up with mild bruising on your arms, but thankfully, nobody else had been scathed in the aftermath.  

“I’m fine,” Spencer nods. “Yeah--all good. Are you? You’re the one I think I need to worry about, never mind myself.”  

You bite your lip. “A little sore but I’m okay,” you respond. Megatron abandons her spot between your feet and jumps up onto the counter instead, eliciting a surprised laugh from Spencer as he eyes her carefully so as to make sure she doesn’t get so close as to be able to step on the hotplate. “The bruises only really hurt when I touch them. I’m not shaken up or anything, I don’t think.”  

You turn to grab the milk from your fridge, bending briefly to grab it from the bottom shelf on the side door, careful to avoid the fridge touching any of your bruises as you set the milk on the counter and close the fridge in the process.  

You take the mugs off of the hotplate and turn the hotplate off, grabbing Megatron and gently ushering her away from it as you pass the milk to Spencer. You grab the honey and measure out just a tad bit more than half a tablespoon into yours, ever one to measure in the metrics of your heart. You stir the honey with one of the teaspoons that you keep in your cutlery drawer specifically for the occasion of making it, passing one to Spencer as he slides the milk your way.  

You add a splash of milk to yours before you put it into the fridge and hear the doorbell. Spencer goes to get it despite your protests, pays for the order because “you’re letting me stay at your apartment, Y/N. I’ll get it this time” and brings it back into the kitchen, sets it on the dining table.  

You grab paper plates and eat, the affair mostly silent, even as Megatron sniffs around and tries to get bites at your food.  

As is usual whenever you or Spencer stay at each others places and order Antonios, the pizza and garlic fingers wind up unfinished. You set them aside in tupperware containers and label one with Spencers name, as he would do for you if you were at his place. It’s a conscious decision at this point—you order more than you can eat so that you have food to take into the office the next day or to just reheat in your microwave if you get the chance to take the day off.  

The two of you migrate to the couch as you drink the teas that, despite your efforts with the hotplate, have gone lukewarm.  

“I just—I was just thinking about it on the jet back, is all,” Spencer says. He’s referring to a book you’ve read recently and just cannot, even if it’d save your life as a gun was pressed to your temple, stop thinking about. “Read it the other night, and—yeah. It’s not my usual thing but you do make a few decent points about it.”  

“It’s not usually my thing, either,” you confess. “I don’t read young adult and I haven’t much read it since I was one, but it was on a table and I read the back, and—c'mon, Spencer. A book written from the perspective of death itself. How much more intriguing can you get, really?”  

Spencer shrugs. “Pretty intriguing, I guess,” he says. “It was a really good book, Y/N. I can see why you’d find it an interesting perspective to read from—death is one of lifes many unanswered questions, and the prose was written really well.”  

“Thank you,” you laugh. “You’re the only person I can really talk about books with, if I’m honest. I mean—I like to use books to shut my brain off and you like to use them differently, but—you're the only person who gets it, I think.”  

This brings a grin to Spencers face. “Yeah,” he says. “Did you read the book I told you about? The one by--”  

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” you nod. “A Study in Scarlet—it was really good, which I did find a little surprising because I’ve always kind of found Sherlock Holmes a little gimmicky. I am the first to admit that I’ve never really liked any of the screen adaptations, but I love the way that he writes. Genuinely some of the better stuff I’ve read from that era, and I’ve read a lot of books from that time.”  

“Sherlock is hardly gimmicky,” Spencer rebuts. “I mean—one has to ignore all of the mediums and ways in which it has since been adapted, but—it's not as gimmicky as it could be.”  

“’Not as gimmicky as it could be’ implies that you’re acknowledging how gimmicky Sherlock can get,” you retort. “It’s good writing, Spence. As someone who has read and reread several books I haven’t liked in the name of a PhD in lit, it’s really good writing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, but the original version of the work beats out any and all adaptations by default for me because the original version of Sherlocks story is the only one I have so far enjoyed.”  

Spencer shrugs, takes a sip of his tea. “You make a point,” he concedes. “You’ve gotta read the other books in that universe, though—I'll lend you my copy of the second book.”  

“I can just buy and read it on my Kindle,” you respond.  

“I’ll lend you my copy,” Spencer says again. “Digital is crap, and we know it.”  

You snort, grabbing your own mug and taking a sip thats bigger than you mean for it to be but fine nonetheless—you love your tea when it’s hot or warm, even, but lukewarm and moving into cold territory is only good when it’s what you’re looking for, and it never is what you’re looking for when you’re drinking your chamomile.  

“Fine,” you relent, laughing. “You can lend me your copy.”  

Spencers grin turns triumphant, and for half a second you’re sure he’ll start cheering.  

“And, for the record,” you say. “Digital is not crap all the time—only with regards to books. I just like my Kindle because it lets me bring four or five books along with me wherever I go, and they’re like, two taps away. It’s easier to have four books on what’s essentially a tablet instead of stuffing four of them into my go bag.”  

Spencer shrugs. “You make a fair point,” he says. “This time, anyway. I’ll prove you wrong somehow.”  

You laugh, and you catch a very specific look in Spencers eye.  

It's there for all of two seconds, tops, and then his smile dims and it’s gone, but for those two seconds, he looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be.  

He looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be, sat across from you on your couch with his legs criss-crossed and a lukewarm mug of tea tucked in between his palms.  

“You might,” you concede. “For now, though—topic switch! Uh—has Gideon seemed a little off to you, lately? Like he’s thinking about retiring or something?”  

“No,” Spencer answers. “I think you’re watching him too closely and overthinking it. He’s fine. So is Hotch, if you’re worried about him.”  

You laugh. “I know Hotch is fine,” you retort. “He’d tell me if he weren’t, but I just—I know how much Gideon means to you and I hate the idea of him leaving when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place.”  

Spencers face softens up a little, and there it is again—the look in his eyes that was so fleeting that you almost didn’t catch it.  

“He might’ve been the one who brought me down to Quantico and helped me get the job I have, but—he's not the reason I’m here here,” Spencer says. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Y/N, but I’m exactly where I want to be right now and Gideon staying or leaving will do absolutely nothing to influence that.”  

You grin at him because the words did what they were supposed to by providing reassurance and you can’t think of anything more to say.

Spencer gets to standing. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says. “I’m assuming you’re going to stay out here for another hour, maybe wallow in your anxieties a little bit?”  

You laugh. “You, Spencer Walter Reid, know me too deeply.”  

He shrugs. “Good night, Y/N,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  

You nod, and it’s only after his back has turned and he’s headed in the direction of your guest room that you have an epiphany.  

You look at Megatron as you hear her tiny little footsteps approaching, and when she climbs up onto your lap and headbuts your shoulder, the realization sets in bone deep. It becomes something you can't ignore anymore, not like you have been for the past three years.  

“Oh, Meggy,” you whisper as you press your forehead against hers. “I’m in it deep, aren’t I?”  

She meows like a kind of confirmation, almost, and the thought sets in, spoken into your mind like a voice through a loudspeaker.  

I’m falling for him. I am falling in love with Spencer Reid.  

Another thought occurs, just as loud as the first.  

Oh, God. 

You finish your tea, rush to the kitchen with Megatron on your heels and set your dirty mug in the sink. You go to bed and it takes you a stupid amount of time to fall asleep even though Megatrons loud purring is enough to get you knocked out after a while.  

- 

Spencer places a London fog onto your desk in an almost wordless manner about a week and a half later. You’re chatting away with Penelope, who’d stopped at your desk to deliver to you two of the carrot muffins she baked and you adored.  

You turn your attention from Penelope as Spencer settles back in at his desk, mug of black but still sweeter than fiction coffee in his non dominant hand, pencil already tucked into his dominant one.  

“Thank you!” You chirp gratefully. You love any and everything earl grey and it’s been like that since before you started with the BAU.  

“You’re welcome,” Spencer responds. Your attention turns back to Penelope and his goes back to the file at hand, and the time passes with ease. Spencer focuses on his files and does so until he’s down to two and you’re down to one.  

“I were a bettin’ man,” you start. “I’d say there’s no way you can finish both files before I get my last one done.”  

“I have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words a minute,” Spencer says. “If you made bets, you’d lose this one.” 

“Sometimes, you make a bet while knowing you’re probably going to lose it,” you answer. “I mean, shit—When I was sixteen, I bet I wouldn’t live to see my nineteenth birthday. Thought for sure I’d win that one, but on the morning of my nineteenth, I walked to the local bakery, bought half a dozen carrot muffins and stuck a candle in one. I lit it, I blew it out, and I lost the bet I’d made with myself three years prior.”  

“You thought you’d win,” Spencer says, ignoring how achy your subtle admission makes his chest feel.  

“Well, there have been others,” you laugh. “I was two weeks away from joining up with the BAU and I still thought I’d never do it, let alone at nineteen years old. I made that bet figuring I’d lose it, figuring I’d walk in here on my first day and just know I was where I was meant to be, and I did. I lost that bet knowing I’d wind up losing.”

Spencer shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Game on, Y/N. If I win, you owe me one answer to a question of my choice.”  

“Deal,” you respond. “If I win, I want the same but in reverse.”  

Spencer nods, and for the next thirty minutes, as Derek occasionally glances up and watches the two of you with a not-so-hidden smirk, all that’s really heard is the sound of pens and pencils on paper.  

Spencer winds up winning, and it’s after he wins that Derek decides he’s done for the day and the two of you are the only two in the office.

“You get one question,” you say. “Go on. Out with it.”  

Spencer knows a fair bit about you—you were born and raised in Maine, had an IQ on a similar caliber to his own but didn’t really use it the same way he did. He knew you had a past you didn’t really like talking about and he usually didn’t pry, but just this one time, he tells himself, he’ll ask a question that it’s been sitting in the back of his mind since you joined and the tidbits about who you are as a person started coming in.  

“What’s the biggest reason you left Maine?” He asks.  

You laugh. “You and your tea claims to love me but here you are, asking me a question that I’d only ever willingly answer after nine o’clock. Smart move, Spence,” you say.  

Spencer shrugs. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  

“I left Cape Elizabeth for realsies for the last time when I was nineteen,” you answer. “Hotch had been trying to get me to let him mentor me for a few months, and—well, there was this shithead ex boyfriend who just wouldn’t leave me alone for the longest time. I left when Hotch asked me if I’d at least come down for a few days, and I haven’t gone back since.”  

Spencer blinks. “That explains a lot,” he says.  

“It explains why I don’t really have a social media presence,” you say. “And why the only evidence I’m working in law enforcement is my employment article, which doesn’t even list an active phone number. He never stalked me, and I doubt he’d have the fucking gall to do it even after I’ve been gone for six years, but it still spooks me big freakin’ time. Ask me another question, please.”  

Spencer laughs. “Favorite pastry?”  

“Pain au chocolat, easy,” you answer. “Next one. Dig deeper this time, Spencer. I’m hopped up on caffeinated tea and will tell you just about anything that’s deeper than surface level.”  

“Why do you like crocheting and knitting so much?” Spencer asks.  

“It turns my brain off,” you confess. “I hate working with straight needles—don't understand how my grandmother did it for so long but I respect it. I love crocheting because it works as good as my anxiety meds when I don’t have them on hand, and I love knitting because, yeah, it’s more labour intensive and takes longer, but the end product is just gorgeous every single time. Color work is easier in crochet, though. Crochet tapestry is amazing. I tend to use crochet for anxiety and dopamine because it works up whip quick and stuff like cardigans won’t take me 140 hours. Knitting is the kind of thing I do when I want to put that work in, though. I don’t really do it as often as I’d like to but when I do do it, I’m really meticulous about the pattern I use, and the yarn I choose for the project, and—you'll know I give a damn about you when I knit you something.”  

“You’ve knitted me a few cardigans,” Spencer says. “A purple one, and a navy blue one recently.”  

You grin. “I give a stupid number of damns about you, Reid,” you say. “Also Penelope. I’d knit more for Derek if I thought he’d wear what I made him, but he doesn’t seem the type. Hotch accepts the wall art and stuff I make for him when I can find the time but I doubt he has it displayed anywhere. Hotch is an odd case, though. He cares about me but does so from a kind of distance, almost.”  

Spencer shrugs. “Gideons the same way,” he says. “When I was dealing with my addiction, he was like an absent kind of parent—there sometimes, but not often.”  

You nod. “Everyone was that way with you,” you say. “Gideon especially so, but—nobody really knew how to address it.”  

“You did,” Spencer says. “You’re freakishly good at that kind of thing.”

“Alcoholism runs in the family,” you shrug. “I’ve been to many-a intervention, and I know how to spot the signs of addiction from a thousand miles away point blank. I’ve had to pull myself together and narrowly avoided addiction a few times, though not to anything like Dialaudid.”  

“I feel like this is going somewhere deep,” Spencer confesses. “When I asked you about Maine—I wasn’t trying to get you to open up to anyone before you were ready. It was fifteen minutes ago but I was an asshole.”  

You laugh, shaking your head. “I was going to have to open up to someone eventually,” you say. “The fact that it was you is incredibly fitting to me.” 

Neither of you have any work to do, but you’re not moving to pack up or do anything. You’re using overtime in order to talk with each other when there is absolutely nobody else in the office, even the likes of Hotch and Gideon having gone home. 

Spencer shrugs, grabs the mug that has long since been repurposed, switched out from coffee to tea, and takes a sip from it.  

“The boyfriend who drove me to leavings name was James DeLuca,” you say. “He was a trust fund kid who thought he beheld all the power in the world in a town where it sometimes felt like everyone knew everyone. We dated for eight months before I broke things off, and he hated me for it. I just—I hate the idea of being some rich white guys trophy spouse, y’know? If I’m going to get married or continue a long term relationship with someone, I’m going to do it because I love them, not because I want their money. I’m marrying someone on the merits of love or I’m not doing it at all, no matter what some idiot trust fund baby thinks about that.”  

You sigh, and Spencer tilts his head.  

“I think he’s got a wife now, a kid or two?” You say. “I dunno—I get Garcia to check on him every year or two, just to make sure he’s not gone on to do something that’ll wind up in VICAP and to make sure he’s not made his way to Quantico. I feel safer knowing he’s not here, and that’s probably me overestimating him, but he seemed capable of murder last we talked, and it scared the shit out of me.”  

“If he does come around here, the team has got your back,” Spencer says. “We’ll protect you as best we can, Y/N, you know that.”  

You nod. “I routinely trust you guys with my life and I really wouldn’t have it any other way,” you respond. “I just—I don’t know. It’s a stupid anxiety that’s been keeping me up at night for the last six years. I’m sorry to vent like this, Spence. It’s late, and we really should be getting home, right?”  

“Y/N,” he says as you bend to pack your things. “Y/N, stop.”  

You’re not listening to him, though. You’re too buzzed, the caffeine in your system and the anxiety making a cocktail that Spencer knows to be an awful, devilish little thing. 

He stands and before he can think about it, his hand is on your arm. When you turn to look at him, your eyes are slightly wide but you make no move to ask him to stop or to force him away.  

“Spencer?” You ask.  

“You don’t need to apologize for venting,” he says. “Seriously--I was paranoid for months after the stuff with Tobias Hankel, and that wasn’t entirely the drugs or the withdrawal. If this guy comes after you, we’ll get to him before he can even so much as look at you the wrong way, and I promise you that.”  

You lean forward and it takes all of three seconds for Spencer to register your forehead against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate or feel awkward about the touch, which is surprising given how sudden it seems, but he instead welcomes it.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, and Spencer huffs a laugh because he knows it’s habitual. “I mean—well, you know what I mean at this point, right?”  

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “I know what you mean, Y/N. Are you sure you’ll be okay to go home alone tonight?”  

You pull away, looking up at him and nodding. “The drive is fifteen minutes, and it’s 9:30. I should be fine til I’m in my apartment, and once I’m there, Megatron and her weird ability to sense when something is off with me will do wonders.”  

Spencer smiles softly, and he sees what almost looks like love in your eyes. “Get home safe, Y/N.”  

“Are you not leaving?”  

Spencer shakes his head, ignoring the sudden burst of unfamiliar fondness that pokes at his chest when he looks your way.  

“Nah,” he says. “I figure I’ll be nice, do a file or two of Morgans so that he has less to worry about tomorrow.”  

“Do you want Derek to have less of a workload, or do you just want to stay here and think?” 

“I always think clearest when I’m at my desk,” Spencer shrugs. “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”  

“Night, Spence,” you say, gathering up the last of your things. Spencer walks over to Morgans desk and plucks two files off the top of his paperwork file as you leave the office, settling into his own desk thereafter.  

He stares at the unopened manila folder for a long five or so seconds as the reality that he’s been holding off for at least a year and a half truly sets in.  

It makes him laugh.  

“I’m so screwed,” he says to himself.  

Every single time Derek has accused him of being smitten since he was halfway through twenty-four, he’s been right. It only hits him then, and Spencer feels like just as much of an idiot as Derek has claimed him to be.  

TWENTY - NINE / THIRTY 

As you run through the only abandoned psych ward within a twenty mile radius of Cape Elizabeth, you have a moment wherein you realize just how stupid you really are.  

“James DeLuca, I’m Y/N L/N with the BAU!” Like he doesn’t already know your name and place of employment.  

Hotch, of course, disagreed with your plan entirely, but you had been so determined and so convincing that he had agreed to it in the end, as long as there was back up for you posted at the front and back entrances at the first sign of trouble, and as long as you caught him while you were within the first four of eight floors total. If he’d gotten anywhere past the fourth you were to chase him back down within range or talk him down and then call for immediate back up, without firing your gun unless he fired his.  

All of it—James’ MO, his signature, even the ways in which he behaved, tied back to you. All of his victims looked like you did in the lead up to when you’d left Maine for Virginia. All of them had similar hobbies, but you doubted the victims would’ve been half as dumb as you were being, going after James like you were. 

The psych ward was part of his signature—he took his victims to one of the only abandoned psych wards within the entirety of that town and the next. You could remember why vividly.  

Back when you’d initially broken up with him a decade prior, you’d, in a moment of frustration, told him he ought to be admitted into a psych ward if he was going to keep acting so fucking insane. He’d threatened to take you to the very one you were running through, gun and flashlight aimed and ready, and kill you in response.  

“James DeLuca, drop your weapon and surrender to the police! This is over, okay? It’s done.”  

You turn a corner and bump right into him, like he'd been laying in wait for you that entire time.

“I’ll drop my weapon if you drop yours,” he says. “And only after we’ve had it out. I have shit to say to you, Y/N.”  

You take six large steps back, fighting your anxiety off as what remains of it is replaced by adrenaline.  

“Okay,” you shrug, figuring that keeping your cool is the best thing you can do around him. The minute he senses you’re even slightly off kilter, he’s liable to go completely off the rails. “Say whatever it is you need to say to me, James, but put the weapon down first. I won’t lower my gun until you lower yours.”  

He scoffs. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he says. “Even with all of your FBI training and how long you’ve been doin’ this for, you don’t have what it takes to kill someone.” 

“The rule of thumb within all areas of law enforcement is to avoid shooting unless absolutely necessary, and to be frank, I’d prefer to avoid all the paperwork that’ll come my way if I do shoot you, now put the gun down.”  

James is a more adult-y version of the one you can remember—he looks vaguely like a young Timothy Olyphant, if Olyphant had jet black hair, a patchy beard, and was on the stockier side in build. James is a little taller than Spencer, standing at an even 6’4, and shit, fuck it all if he’s not just as scary as he used to be. 

James, thankfully, relents. He drops his gun. You holster yours.  

“Put it down,” James says, his tone gravelly and demanding.

“From what I can remember of my teen years, you had a pickpockets hands and quick reflexes,” you say. “I’m not going to leave myself absent of a weapon when I know, for a fact, that you can have yours in hand, cocked, aimed, and the safety off within eight seconds. No fucking way, James. That is not how this works. You want to have it out, say what you need to and then we’ll see where this goes after all is said and done.”  

“Even if I do shoot you, we’re on the third floor,” James says. “I’ve got my escape route planned, Y/N. I rush down the stairs, make it to the tunnels, and I’m a free man until they realize there are tunnels under this place. They don’t show up on any blueprints because they were dug by miners after the building was abandoned, and there are only two ways to get to them in the building, both of which are well hidden secrets for only those brave enough to look to find.”  

“The second you shoot, there’ll be FBI agents swarming the place. You won’t even make it to the second floor without being caught.”  

“I have a silencer,” James says, patting his pocket. “I’ve planned this one out, Y/N. Waited a decade to do it, after all.”  

You breathe in deep, but don’t request back up yet despite your instincts practically demanding it. It, you decide, is too early.  

You nod. “Okay, so you have it planned out, Just—talk, please. Before I get sick of your voice, preferably.”  

“I loved you, Y/N,” he says. “I’d bought a ring by the time you left. I was going to propose that weekend, you know that?”  

“You loved the idea of me, James,” you say. You’re trying to subtly back up towards the open window. The hallway you’re in faces the front entrance, so if you get shot, the team is going to see it and know what’s what. “You didn’t love me for me. You demeaned me all the time and when you weren’t being demeaning, you were being an asshole. You wanted a trophy spouse, not someone with whom you shared a genuine connection. Is that why you married Rachel? She wanted your money and you wanted some decent eye candy to hold onto your arm at all of your bullshit charity galas?”  

James, unfortunately, catches onto what you’re doing. He picks up his gun and carries it as he follows you. You redirect, going back the way you came.  

“That’s not it!” James shouts insistently. “That’s not it!”  

“Yes it is,” you say, turning the same corner you’d turned only minutes before. “Yes it is, James, and you know that. You just wanted a bangmaid at the end of the day, and saying that is being generous.”

“Are you asking to die?”  

“Y’know, you’re the second person to accuse me of being suicidal with regards to this case in the past two weeks,” you retort. Being sarcastic is a bad idea. You know that. You should be trying to talk him down. You know that. But you aren’t, and even if it gets you shot, then at least James will have finally gotten to do the one thing he’s been aching to for a decade. “I’m really gettin’ sick of it. Feels like between you and my boss, I’m hearing a lot of people singing the same fucking tune.”  

James laughs. “You are asking to die,” he says. “I dunno if I wanna give you this, knowing it’s what you want from me. Are you still with that pipe cleaner? The one who wears his gun weird.”  

“Where did you get the idea that I was ever with him?”  Maybe it was four years of unrequited love starting to seep through the cracks to a point of noticeability? “No. It’s never been like that, and don’t you dare bring him into this.”  

“He’s got a name,” James taunts. “Dr Spencer Reid, a man with at least three PhDs, two BAs, and an absurd amount of education for someone his age. He's as smart as you are, and if how easily you’ll go down is any indication, I feel like I could shoot him a good thirty feet away and still get the aim right.”  

“Don’t you dare,” you say it through gritted teeth, the mere idea of Spencers life being on the line enough to scare you well past your wits end. “You’re making a mistake by bringing him into this, James. My team will go down for me if they have to, but Spencer will make it the opposite of easy for you to kill him, and Garcia will drudge up every ounce of online criminal activity she can find on you just to give the judge more charges to add to your bit.”  

“Threatening me now?” James asks, grinning wildly. “Yeah. That’s a mistake.”  

You watch as he grabs the silencer and equips it. Because of your adamant refusal to shoot first unless necessary—in pursuit of avoiding more paperwork than the absolutely necessary amount—you start running backwards to keep your eyes on him while minding your footing.  

“You tryin' to watch me equip the gun that’s gonna kill you?” James laughs. “You’re more sadistic than I thought, Y/N.”  

“You do realize what charges come with the murder or attempted murder of a federal officer?” You respond. “James, don’t be stupid. I know you are inherently, but you’re acting abnormally so today. Please just stop.”  

He laughs again, and as you, in a moment of admitted idiocy, turn around to sprint the rest of the way down the hall, he aims his gun.  

He lands four shots in your torso in the last three seconds before you turn the corner.  

“I’ll come and find you in a decade, Y/N,” James calls. “If you’re not dead of blood loss by the end of the day. If you make it out, we’ll repeat this every decade and my aim will get better each time.”  

Your knees buckle, and you pull your phone out as you crawl towards a window. You dial Garcias number as you hear James’ heavyweight footing running in the other direction, towards the stairwell that’s farthest from you. 

“Garcia, call an ambulance and send them to 9981 Lilibet Grove,” you say. “Tell them—tell them officer down. Four bullets, two to the chest, one to the hip and one to the—ow, fuck—to the lung.”  

“Oh--oh my God!” Is Garcias response. “Are you okay? Please tell me he didn’t shoot you! Please, Y/N--oh my God!”  

You’re still ambling toward the only open window, and getting to your feet feels almost impossible, but you do it.  

“Agent down, I meant,” you correct. “He shot me, Garcia, and—tell Hotch and the others that James DeLuca is running for the tunnels. Tunnels are under the entire building and he’s intending to use them to escape.”  

You collapse when you’re two feet away from the window, but you push forward until your fingers can grip the ledge and drag yourself the rest of the way. You hoist yourself up just enough that Spencer can see you, and you see the fear in his eyes in the last second before you scream his name and collapse harshly onto the tiled ground below your waist.  

“Spencer!” You scream, Garcia still on the line.  

“Okay,” Garcia says. “Calling the ambulance and patching Spencer through in the meantime, okay? You—don't you dare die on me, you idiot!”  

“I’ll do my best,” you say as you listen for the sounds of government issued SUV doors slamming shut. When you hear it, a sense of hope dimly registers in your chest. Your team isn’t going to let you die, and they never would.  

“Spencer, talk to Y/N while I call 911 and please do your best to keep them awake the meantime,” Garcia says, voice tinged by a sense of anxiety you’re all too familiar with.  

“Y/N,” Spencer greets. “You’re covered in blood.”  

“You saw me, then,” you grin, pressing your head against the cold tiled flooring. “Two GSWs to the chest, one to the lung and one to my hip. This fucking sucks.”  

“Yeah, it would,” Spencer nods. “You were shot.”  

“I should’ve woken up today and made better decisions,” you laugh. “Ow--hurts. I’m on the third floor, about fifteen feet from the western stairwell. James headed east, and I remember that the blueprints indicated there was a stairwell that way, which means that he’s headed for it if he’s not already there. Getting shot is exhausting, Spence.”  

“Keep talking,” Spencer says urgently. “I need you awake until they get here, okay? Awake awake. Not awake and quiet, awake and babbling like I do whenever you bring up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock.”  

“What do you want me to talk about?”  

“You were complaining about making a blanket out of single crochets before the case started,” Spencer says. “Did you finish it?”  

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Again with the laughter—fuck, Spencer. It really fucking hurts.”  

“I know,” Spencer says, tone briefly taking on an empathetic underbelly. “The blanket. Tell me about it, tell me anything.”  

“Almost every crocheter does it and lives to regret it,” you laugh. “I figured—I've been crocheting since I was nineteen, why haven’t I done it yet? I gotta.” 

“Are you relieved that it’s done?”  

“So relieved,” you nod. “Yeah. If I ever have to do a foundation chain of the length of a queen sized bed ever again, I need to you to kill me the second I voice the idea.”  

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I won’t do that, but I’ll happily talk you out of it. Why did you hate it so much?”  

“Single crochets are objectively the easiest stitch—in my heart they’re called single crochets because you only have to yarn over twice counting pulling up a loop but technically once because you only have to yarn over once when you have the two loops on your hook. They’re the smallest crochet stitch next to slip stitches, which I will never ever ever make a blanket out of, unless someone pays me what I make in a year,” you respond. “Imagine doing sixty-inches wide of single crochets and then continuing down until you have 80 inches of single crochets in length. One monotonous step over and over again for a long ass time.”  

You hear the stairwell door open. “Also, the Bernat blanket formula is fucking terrible,” you laugh, clutching your side when the same pain kicks up again. “I’m really tired, Spencer.”  

“I’m--Y/N, I am thirty feet away from you. Don’t you dare lose consciousness on me.”  

“Garcia?” You ask. “Are you back yet?”  

“Here and at the ready,” she says. “Ambulances ETA is eight minutes. Was sixteen but you are not allowed to die on me, Y/N, and you certainly aren’t allowed to die on Spencer, so don’t even think about it.”  

“You crochet, right?”  

“A little,” she says.  

“Never make a blanket out of single crochets,” you laugh, clutching your side a bit more intensely in turn. “Ow--I really have to stop doing that.” 

“I promise I won’t make a blanket out of single crochets,” Penelope says. “You have my word on that, okay? Which stitch do you recommend?”  

“I like granny squares,” you say. “Anything involving a granny stitch? I’m all over it. They’re amazing, Garcia. They’re like the Spencer Reids voice of crochet stitches.” 

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Spencer says.  

“That good, hm?” is Penelopes rebuttal. “I’ve seen granny square afghans, and they’re gorgeous, so I don’t blame you for that. Spencer, is Y/N within your line of sight?”  

“I’m fifteen feet out,” Spencer says. “I’m going to get off the phone. Keep them awake for the next minute, please.”  

“Will do,” Penelope says. “Okay--so—the Spencer Reid comment. Are you in love with him?”  

“I am delirious, Penelope Grace Garcia, and that is totally unfair,” you snort. It’s followed by a wince and you don’t even try to mask your grimace. “I have four bullet wounds. Ask me once I’m in the recovery unit, please.”  

“When you’re in the recovery unit, you’ll probably be doped up on morphine.”  

“I’m going to refuse pain medication.”  

“You’ve had—what? Four interactions with this guy in the past two weeks, Y/N, three of which have left your ribs bruised or broken, one of which has left four bullet wounds in you!”  

“Your point?”  

“You will take the pain medication they give you and you will do it with a smile or so help me--”  

You feel Spencers hand on your shoulder. “Spencer is here. Ambulance soon?”  

“Quicker than you can say ‘Spencer Reid is probably totally the love of my life’, my dear,” she says. “You hang on for us, okay? I’m sure Hotch is going to give you an earful, but—it's because he cares. Rossi does, too.”  

You sigh, letting Spencer turn you to face him. “I’m gonna end the call now,” you say. “Thank you Garcia.”  

“I’ll be at the hospital when you wake up!” is how she says her goodbye.  

You look at Spencer pitifully. “I’m an idiot,” you mumble.  

“Yeah, but you're normally smart so I'll let it go just this once,” Spencer laughs. “You’ve seen better days, Y/N. I’ve gotta lift you so I can get you back downstairs.”  

“How mad is Hotch?”  

“Angrier at himself than at you,” he says. “Being a bit harsh, but he’s got a pass. Are you okay, everything aside?”  

“Its all my fault,” you respond. “Eight families are mourning because I left him a decade ago, and—before you try and tell me it’s not, that this would’ve happened no matter what, that’s just not how it is. I left Maine and I did so without so much as a note, and now, a decade later, he’s killed eight people in three months and their blood is on my hands.”  

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his tone cautious. “Their blood is not on your hands—your delirious. We can have this conversation when you’re in the hospital.”  

“James--I think he’d been stalking me for a few months and I hadn’t realized,” you responded. “Like, he was that good at it maybe? I dunno. He asked if I was still with you, in a romantic sense and I just thought, for a second, why would we ever?”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, moving to gently hoist you into his arms.  

“It--I’ve loved you since I was twenty five,” you respond. “Since that night when we were talking about A Study in Scarlett. I realized it after you’d gone to bed. Maybe that’s just when it set in but you looked at me like you were exactly where you wanted to be and it just—when a pretty boy looks at you like that? It’s very hard not to fall in love on the spot. I happened to do so, which is kind of my own fault.”  

He lifts you into his arms and you rest your cheek against his shoulder on impulse. “We’ll discuss this at the hospital,” he says. “For the record—it's not unrequited. Just to get that out of the way.”  

“I’m really tired, Spence,” you respond. “I just—I just wanna nap. For a minute.”  

“Y/N L/N, don’t you dare,” he says sternly. “Nope. No naps allowed. You can sleep in the ambulance, when they’ll actually have the tools to keep you alive if you end up dying.”  

“Spencer,” you whine because you’re exhausted and you can’t help yourself. “Please. Just a minute.”  

You hear the door open, and then it’s impossible to sleep because of much Spencer is jostling you around as he rushes down the stairs.  

“Asshole,” you grumble when you finally reach solid ground and stay on it for longer than the ten seconds it took Spencer to turn from one flight to the next in between floors.   

“Sorry for jostling you around,” Spencer says. “Well--not really. Kept you awake, didn’t it?” 

You grip the collar of his shirt in your fist and press your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re gonna owe me a lot of Jell-O once I’m in the recovery unit.”  

Spencer laughs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Cherry?”  

“It’s the best kind,” you respond nonchalantly.  

When you hear the wail of the ambulance sirens, you don’t panic. You hold onto Spencer as tightly as you can and it’s only when you feel yourself being transferred from his arms to a gurney that the anxiety sets in.  

You reach out blindly, trying to find him as most of your head gets lost in the noise. “Spencer--please come with me! Please don’t go. I need someone I know I can trust. I’m too scared to do this alone.”  

You feel Spencers hand gently grasp your arm, then dimly register the sound of his voice as he asks to ride with the paramedics. You hear their agreement, then just as you’re being lifted into the back of the ambulance, it’s lights out. You fall asleep before you can even register that’s what you’re doing, and the last thing you see before the exhaustion takes over is Spencers panicked face, blood staining his shirt and vest.  

- 

You wind up needing to be put into a coma, and a week later, when Spencer goes to visit you bright and early on his day off, he finds you awake.  

It’s been a very long, very tough, week. Not just for him, though—Hotch had been harder on the team as well as himself in the aftermath of your being shot, and even though Rossi tried to help him gently, it ended in a shouting match wherein Rossi outright demanded he go easy on himself and the rest of the team.  

Penelope had spent every single day of that week in your hospital room for at least an hour, wanting to be there when you woke up. Derek had gone for long runs before coming into work, and Emily and JJ had both been on edge even while they were filling out paperwork and not in the field.  

Spencer was as he always was when he was going through something—sarcastic and snippy as all hell. It got on Hotchs nerves and he and Hotch had yelled at each other a few times that week, but Spencer had forced it to glide off his shoulders. He was there from the minute he got off work til visiting hours were done every single day, and on his day off, he comes in thirty minutes after visiting hours begin to find you awake, an exhausted look on your face as a nurse fills you in on your condition where she’s able.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet as said nurse goes from explaining the ins and outs to checking your vitals. “Has it been a week? Really?”  

“Yeah,” he says. “Garcia is going to be here in half an hour, and I told Hotch I’d call you when you woke up, but—it can wait two minutes.”  

“Yeah, it can,” you nod. “How was it? An entire week without me around to bug you for the first time in a decade?”  

“Terrible,” Spencer laughs. He approaches you finally, sits on the edge of your bed as the nurse leaves. “I kept getting into fights with Hotch, and it was just—oh my God, please never get shot at like that again. Please never put yourself in that scenario again.”  

“I had a thought, as I was running down the hallway on the third floor, about how dumb I was,” you admit. “Even thought about calling for back up but didn’t because it felt a little too early. I promise, Spence, I will never be that stupid again.”  

He smiles gently, reaches out and runs his nimble fingers over the scope of your hands. “Good,” he says. “For the record—it was stupid, what you did, but we don’t fault you for it. Emily joked a few days back that she’s made dumber decisions. How’re you feeling?”  

“Tired,” you respond. Spencers gaze flits to yours, examining your face without meaning to as he looks at you. “Really sore, honestly. Hungry, too.”  

“I’ll call Garcia, ask her to stop at the coffee shop you like so you don’t have to eat hospital food,” he says.  

“I love you, Spencer,” you respond in what Spencer knows to be a slip up. Even knowing this, his eyes still widen, fingers stopping in their tracks as he traces one word after the next against the soft skin of your forearm.  

“Do you remember what you confessed when you were half dead?” He asks, broaching the subject very, very gently. “Because--I do. I have an eidetic memory and I’ve spent the last week unable to stop thinking about it, Y/N.”  

You nod. “I do,” you say. “I’ve been known to have better timing than that. I’m sorry, Spencer.”  

“Do you remember what I said?” Spencer asks.  

“You said we’d discuss it at the hospital and that—oh my God,” you press one of your palms against your face. “That it wasn’t unrequited. Oh my God, Spencer. We both had terrible timing on that one, didn’t we?”  

Spencer laughs, nods wordlessly. “We did,” he says. “You said it was the night we’d been talking about A Study in Scarlet, but for me, it was different. I realized I’d loved you twice but pushed it down the first time, figured it’d be more of an inconvenience.”  

“Tell me more,” you say. Spencer resumes his ministrations, tracing letters that’ll form words with a feather light touch to your forearm. “About the first time, and then also the second.”  

“The first time I realized, I was twenty four,” he says. “I dunno—you were talking about Jane Austen with Elle, and it just kind of hit me as I happened to look over at you. It’d been building for a few years at that point, bubbling just under the surface. I buried it, buried myself in my paperwork, and eventually, I thought I’d buried it well enough that it didn’t exist anymore.”  

“And the second?”  

“It was the night you told me about James,” Spencer shrugs. “I can’t pinpoint what spurred it on, honestly, but I know it was that night. I appreciated—still appreciate—how vulnerable you and I were with each other. You left as I grabbed two folders from Dereks desk and as I sat down to do them, it hit all over again and I just thought: yeah. I’m a goner, aren’t I?” and I’ve been like that ever since.”  

You grin. “Okay--” you laugh a little. “Hotch warned me when you were twenty-three and I was twenty-two, that we’d have a shit ton of paperwork to fill out if our dynamic ever took this turn. Now, that’s all I can think about.”  

Spencer laughs, shakes his head.  

He keeps tracing words over your forearm, and when he kisses your forehead, your eyes are on his ministrations.  

“We can’t command our love, but we can our actions,” you whisper. “That’s something Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. I can’t remember what it’s from, but--”  

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” Spencer provides, his lips still pressed against your forehead. He kisses it again, and when he pulls away, he sees an unmistakably overjoyed look in your eyes to go with the smile that graces your lips. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but the action I’m going to take is whichever one keeps us together. Even if it means paperwork, or no promotions, or no longer going out into the field together. We’re always better when we tag team geographical profiles, anyway, and your desk will still be across from mine. Only difference now is that when I bring you tea, there might just be a forehead kiss to accompany it, provided Hotch isn’t in the bullpen.”  

You grin, and when Spencers phone goes off, you let him answer it.  

“Hi!” Penelope greets. “The hospital told me they didn’t have to call you as you’d already shown up and you were the first on their emergency contact list, but I am on the way! I’m bringing everyone else and also bagels. Is Y/Ns favorite place for tea still Izzies?”  

“It’s been their favorite spot for ages and I don’t think it’ll ever be subject to change,” he answers. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Hotch and Rossi look relieved for the first time in literal days,” Garcia laughs. “But yeah—everyones okay. Is Y/N?”  

“Y/N is tired and hungry but otherwise fine,” Spencer says. “Sore, I think, too, but that’s not confirmed, just an assumption.”  

“Did you tell them yet?” Penelope asks, and he can practically hear the eyebrow quirks in her question, the smile in her tone.  

“That has been discussed to an extent,” Spencer says.  

“What kind of extent, boy genius?” Derek calls from somewhere near Penelopes phone.  

“We’ll both have some paperwork we'll need to do once they’re back in the office, and we won’t be able to go out into the field anymore or be eligible for promotions, but—worth it. So freakin’ worth it.”  

He smiles at you, and you grin in response.  

“Yay!” Penelope shouts. “I am going to bring Y/N the biggest London fog I can get from Izzies, as well as bagels and the rest of the team. I’ll see you guys in a bit?”  

“See you soon, Penelope.”  

He hangs up the phone and looks at you, sees the exhaustion in your eyes as you reach over and press the morphine button.  

“What happened to ‘I’m not going to ask for pain meds’?”  

“Getting shot in the chest hurts like a motherfucker,” you murmur. “Now--c’mere. Please. You’re so warm and I’m so cold.”  

Spencer laughs, watches you scootch over a little in the bed and make room for him.  

In the end, Spencers back is on the mattress and you’re curled up, minding the wires and tubes connecting you to an IV and your pain meds, on his right. Your head is against his shoulder and as you fall asleep, your breathing evens out. Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content in the entire thirty years he’s been alive, doesn’t want to know if it can get any better than it is. 

THIRTY - THIRTY-ONE 

You're laughing along with a joke Rossi makes, sipping the glass of wine you've been nursing for ages, when you feel Spencers hands on your shoulders.

"Hi," Spencer greets just before he kisses the side of your head. Rossi grins at the display of affection, his smile warm and almost fatherly.

"I didn't know the two of you back when you started," he says. "Hotch did, though, and he told me the other night, he'd seen this coming from a mile away. Was shocked it took you guys so long, but wasn't surprised it happened."

You shrug. "His IQ is 187 and mine is close to it," you say. "That doesn't quite mean we're exempt from our moments of idiocy."

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he says. "Plus, the idea of the extra paperwork was a little daunting, at first." He jokes, kissing your temple again.

"Worth it?" Rossi asks, and both of you nod.

"I wish I'd done it a lot sooner, personally," you admit. "I kind of hate that I told him I loved him while I was half dead, but life gave me a lemon and I made lemonade, so it all worked out."

You let yourself melt into Spencers embrace as Rossi walks away, catches JJ and Will and decides to talk with them for a while. You sip your wine as Spencer shoots off at the mouth about how lemons are man made and were developed through years of creating hybrid citruses, grateful to be standing at that event, in Spencers arms, at all.

-

Spencer grins at the sight as Megatron curls up on your chest. It’s the early hours of the morning and neither of you have work, but Spencer has woken up at 6:30, regardless of the day of the week, since he started working at the BAU.  

She’s been extra loving with you since you were shot and wound up in a coma last year, has become somewhat co-dependent but only really displays these traits when it’s after dark or you’re asleep and she’s able to be affectionate without you poking fun at her.  

She sprawls out over your chest and somewhat onto your stomach, and when she starts purring, she purrs at the noise level of a freight train, per usual.  

“Morning, Meggy,” Spencer greets, running a finger along her chin affectionately. He’s doing anything he can to avoid starting his day because, since you’d started dating and spending the night at each others apartments more regularly, Spencer had discovered how nice it really was to curl up in bed and just kind of waste the morning away. He’d never seen the point in it while he was single or in love with you but doing nothing about it, but since your relationship had started, he loved spending his off days like that.  

He, rather begrudgingly, climbs out of bed. He goes to your bathroom and uses the spare toothbrush you keep for him to use whenever he spends the night, tidies up the dining room from the previous nights dinner and washes the dishes used before putting them onto the empty drying rack. He heads back into your bedroom after taking the necessary steps to make your life just a little easier, and when you wake up an hour and a half later, it’s eight thirty and you greet him with an exhausted smile.  

“Hi,” you greet. “Anything from Garcia yet?”  

“She called me around midnight,” Spencer confesses. “You’d been asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”  

“What’s the news?”  

“James DeLuca was caught in the maritimes, along the Canadian coast,” Spencer says. “They’ve brought him back to the states, and right now it’s looking a lot like he’ll get the death penalty.”  

You curl up against him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Spencer knows it’s because the news feels like a bit of a relief. A year since he’d narrowly evaded arrest, and the man who almost killed you has been caught. It has to feel like a supermassive weight being lifted off your chest, and Spencer himself was relieved to hear the news when Garcia had phoned.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses his lips to your forehead. You’d spent a year looking over your shoulder and yielding no results, but now you never would have to do that again.  

“He’s behind bars, Y/N,” he says. “He’s not a threat anymore.”  

He feels your smile against his neck and can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine. Megatron, ever observant and attention-seeking, plops herself onto the centre of Spencers chest, to your amusement.  

“I never have to worry about him again,” you whisper. “That--that’s wonderful.”  

“Mhm,” Spencer says. “Now, I don’t really think either of us need to get out of bed, per se, until the afternoon. I say we just relax for a while, soak it in and maybe give Megatron some tummy rubs.”  

You laugh. “I really like that plan,” you say. Spencer kisses your forehead again.  

He soaks it in—how good it feels, to be with someone he cherishes so deeply. It feels amazing to not have anything on his plate, not a stressful case or some stupid argument with Derek that he’s overthinking.  

It feels amazing to be in your presence, to only really have to worry about how painful it’ll be when Megatron inevitably gets up and puts all her weight into her two front paws when she leans forward and aggressively headbuts Spencers jaw until he gives her what she wants or how, when you take to wanting a forehead kiss or otherwise, you’re liable to press your forehead against his shoulder until he gives in.  

It feels amazing because this, right here, in this moment, is exactly where Spencer wants to be. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, is so happy with you and Megatron that he’s almost drowning in it.  

It’s a feeling that, before you’d started dating, rarely came about, but one he’s always going to cherish, no matter the circumstance.

[toomuchracket]

club nights (literal d word matty x reader smut)

day 16 of summer75!! post-baby, post-dh2 launch fuckery of the anal variety (girly getting it). surprisingly fluffy. enjoy! <3

the lights are hot on your skin as you dance, pulsing strobes illuminating everything and everyone in the club in stark white; still, they're nowhere near as warm as matty, pressed up behind you with a hand on your hip, your left arm slung lazily back around his neck as you move against him. kelly's set is good, and so is the vodka cranberry in your free hand, bass and booze coming together in your body and making you wanna move. you feel free. you feel happy. you feel sexy, although you're not sure if that's because of the night itself or because of your boyfriend, whose hands have been wandering all over you practically ever since you left the house.

you smile when he kisses your neck, giggling when he blows a raspberry. matty giggles too, smiling into your perfumed skin. “y'having a good time, gorgeous girl?”

“the best time,” you turn to face him, heart fluttering when you re-realise how fucking hot he looks. sure, you've fancied matty for almost a decade longer than you've known him, but lately he's been looking extra delicious to you - then again, you have just had his baby. your hormones must be going mental. “we should go out dancing more often, babe. s'fun when i'm doing it with you.”

matty raises an eyebrow, but he keeps smiling sweetly. “we've literally got a newborn at home, and you want us to start raving regularly?”

“yes i do.”

he laughs, leaning down to kiss you; it's not a long one, but you're woozy when he pulls away regardless. “so do i, darling. kinda obsessed with dancing with you like this, you know?” his hands continue their earlier trail across you, gentle yet eager. “can feel everything. fucking love it.”

oh, if he only knew.

you lean up to peck his lips. “could you maybe possibly feel your way to the bar to get me a refill, baby?”

“‘course,” matty pecks you in return, hands coming up to hold your face while he beams. “m'proud of you, you know. for lyla, obviously, but also for this,” he gestures to the crowds, too busy dancing to notice him. “s'your night too, sweetheart. enjoy it.”

you do just that while he slinks off to get your drink, hugging george to say “we did it!”, dancing with charli, catching up with your friends from the band and bea and amber, most of which is spent gushing over your baby girl, staying at home with both of her grandmothers at present. bea squeals when you show her a picture of lyla, and clutches amber's arm, tipsy-overwhelmed. “she is so cute! oh my god. i mean, she looks like a little doll. i love her!”

“bea, i'm actually obsessed with her,” you giggle. “you're lucky we even made it out tonight - got to the front door like five separate times before either me or matty teared up and had to go back for a cuddle.”

amber laughs. “he was telling me he wished he could've brought her with you.”

“god, he's a nightmare.”

“who is?” matty sidles up to you, handing you your drink and ruffling bea's hair - she swats him away, and he laughs, giving amber a half-hug before wrapping his free arm around your waist.

you smile at him, saccharine. “you, trying to bring our baby to a rave.”

“what? she'd love it,” he elbows you playfully. “she's her mother's daughter.”

“he's not wrong with that bit, to be fair,” amber takes a sip of her drink. “it is actually quite scary how much she looks like you.”

bea winks at you. “well, she knows what's good for her.”

everyone but matty collapses into giggles; he glares at bea for a second, then smiles. “yeah, she does. i mean,” he cups your face, squishing your cheeks playfully. “who wouldn't steal this face if they could?” dropping your face in favour of taking your hand, he turns to your friends. “see you in a bit, yeah?”

with that, matty leads you further into a darkened corner, weaving through vape clouds and various friends before leaning against the wall. you smirk, raising your eyebrows at him and leaning close so he can hear you over the music. “this feels… familiar.”

“what- oh,” he nods slowly, smirk matching your own. “nina's birthday. i remember,” his face softens, lost in a memory, before he speaks, matter-of-fact. “first time i ever saw you in red lingerie, that night.”

you choke on your vodka, eyes wide as you try to regain breath. “matthew!”

“what? m'just being honest. you don't forget a thing like that, darling, trust me.”

“christ,” you shake your head. “you're mental, you know that, yeah?”

“you're even more mental,” he bites back, but the love in his eyes is clear even in the club lighting. “having a baby with me, and all.”

“true,” you down your drink and lay the glass down, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend's neck for a cuddle; his find home around your waist, lips softly pressing against your hair. “i miss her.”

“me too. mum says she's good as gold, though. which, again, is all you. my perfect girls.”

you smile into his chest. “love you. we both do.”

“oh, i love you both, so much,” matty leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet and slow; there's an undercurrent of lust, though, in the way he lightly bites at your lip and takes his time releasing it. “dance with me?”

you kiss him quickly again. “always, my love.”

and you do. you jump around like maniacs in excitement during george's set, holding hands and giggling and singing along, and when you shriek with total joy as soon as you hear yeah i know, matty cackles and pulls you close for a kiss. you stay like that for the rest of the song, wrapped around each other while you move to the beat, matty's face tucked into your neck in an adorable mixture of shyness at hearing his own voice and emotion about his best friend in the whole world taking such a big step in his career; actually, you stay like that for the rest of the set, so close it's hard to tell where matty ends and you begin, bodies grinding and sparking heat in each other in both the literal and metaphorical senses. by the time the night ends, the two of you are pretty fucking desperate for each other, kissing so sloppily while sharing a cig at the taxi rank that your friends can't help wolf-whistling and cheering and throwing digs like “oh, lyla's about to get a sibling!” at you.

you kiss in the taxi, too, little snippets of snogging and matty's hands roaming all over your thighs in between the driver yapping about this that and the next thing on the way to the hotel. matty does his best to answer politely, reluctantly breaking away from your lips to talk while you giggle behind your hand, but his exasperation is obvious - naturally, you rip the piss out of him for it when he throws you on the bed and climbs atop you to kiss you properly. “babe, i'm not going to disappear if you unattach your lips from mine for a few seconds, you know.”

he licks your nose in response, smiling when you shriek. “how else am i meant to show you how much i love and also fancy you?”

you shuffle down to kiss his neck, enjoying the way his breath shakes, dragging your lips up past his jaw to whisper in his ear. “fuck me.”

“oh, baby,” matty sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “i wish i could, but, y'know… it's still too soon after you gave birth, darling,” he pulls back, confusion etched on his pretty face. “what are you smiling like that for? that's your sneaky smile.”

it drops, in favour of an expression of bewilderment. “my what?”

“you know, the face you make when you're up to something,” your boyfriend cocks his head, squinting at you. “are you trying to get me to fuck your mouth?”

“nah.”

“tits?”

“that would actually be a lot of fun, but also no.”

“hmmm,” matty thinks for a second, then sighs - you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at how clueless he's being. “nope, you've got me. explain, please, darling.”

“if you let me stand up for a second, i can show you what i mean.”

matty nods, rolling off you and lying propped up on his elbow while you move off the bed. he groans when you start undressing, slipping out of your cargo trousers and shucking your top off without breaking eye contact with him. “fuck, princess, you're so hot,” he claps a hand over his mouth when you raise an eyebrow at the pet name. “sorry, darling. muscle memory, i s'pose.”

“s'alright, daddy,” you wink, turning away from him to let him get a good view of your ass in your sheer panties; you bend forward, slightly, and you hear his breath hitch. “seems we're both thinking along those lines, yeah?”

it takes him a second to respond, but when he does, it's delicious - a calloused finger traces up from your slick core towards your other hole, and he speaks in a whisper. “you're plugged?”

“yeah, i am,” you toss your hair over your shoulder and your gaze follows, focusing on your wide-eyed boyfriend. “because i want you to fuck my ass tonight, matty.”

for a moment, there's silence, a tension permeating the air that you can't quite name. nerves begin to flutter in your stomach; they're dissolved almost instantly when matty flops unceremoniously onto his stomach, almost inaudibly shouting “fuck!” into the fancy bedding before rolling back to face you with defiant lust in his eyes. “you serious?”

“wouldn't have the plug in if i wasn't.”

he sighs, then smiles almost shyly. “part of me thinks i should be against this, but,” he sits up, tugging you to stand between his legs with a kiss to your stomach. suddenly, you're on his lap, and you can't stop beaming - he is so fucking hard. “who would i be if i didn't give my princess what she wanted, especially after everything she's done for me lately?”

your heart soars, and all you can do is kiss him, an absolute head-melter of a kiss that only stokes the heat between your legs, makes you grind even harder against your boyfriend than you were in the club. “thank you, daddy. love you.”

“i love you,” matty smiles against your lips. “missed you calling me that, you know.”

“more than you've missed being inside me?”

he laughs, the soft chuckle he reserves for the two girls he loves most in the world. “nothing i've missed more than that, gorgeous. can i… now?”

“yeah,” you breathe, desperate. “how do you want me?”

matty thinks for a second. “lie on your back for me, sweet girl, get comfy. that sound alright?”

“perfect,” with a final little kiss, you climb off him, shuffling up to rest your head on the plush pillows. as you undo your bra, the fluttering restarts in your stomach; instead of nerves, though, the butterflies are borne of excitement as you watch matty undress. he looks inquisitively at your weekend bag, and you know what it is he wants. “the lube is in the side pocket, by the way. packed a bullet vibe, too, but i honestly don't know if i'll need it.”

your boyfriend hums happily, climbing back onto you, bottle in hand. “so turned on you only need daddy fucking that pretty ass to make you cum?” he coos, thumb sliding across your lips - when you take it between them, he beams. “my little slut.”

god, you've missed this. “only yours. always.”

“perfect girl,” matty murmurs. “gonna fuck you now, yeah? you know your colours.”

“yeah.”

“good girl,” he sits back, tapping your thigh as a sign for you to lift your legs so he can slip your underwear off. his pupils dilate at the sight of the plug, but a sweet smile appears on his lips. “brat green jewel?”

“couldn't not buy it - oh, fuck,” you whimper as matty begins to toy with the plug, every movement sending a burst of pleasure through you. “feels good.”

“yeah? can i take it out, princess?”

you nod enthusiastically. “please. want you inside me, daddy.”

your boyfriend swears under his breath, snapping open the bottle of lube and squeezing some onto his hand; you watch with proper interest as he slicks himself up, practically drooling at the sight of him essentially wanking himself off. he grins when he notices you staring. “you're cute, baby,” he leans forward to kiss you, trailing a hand down your body to play with the plug again. “reckon you'll be even cuter taking my dick, though.”

it isn't so much a word than a whine that leaves your lips. “please.”

“alright, darling,” looking carefully at your face, he begins to gently twist the plug out of you - when you whimper, he pauses. “this okay?”

“yes, yes,” you pant. “keep going, please.”

matty nods, obliging you quickly; you feel the plug pop out, and he moans. “fuck, princess, you look so pretty, all ready for me like that. are you ready, sweetheart? what's your colour?”

as if it could be anything else. “green.”

he beams, kissing your forehead. “good girl. my best girl,” he coos, smiling when you giggle deliriously. “gonna slip in now, alright?”

“hold my hand?”

“always,” he takes your right hand in his left, kissing it before holding it on your stomach. you watch, breathless, as he takes his dick in the other hand, tentatively nudging it against your hole - as the head eases inside you, stretching ever so slightly, you exhale, stuttered, and matty looks tenderly down at you. “oh, my darling,” his voice is just as shaky as your breath, little whimpers leaving his lips the more he inches - well, centimetres - into you. “colour?”

you can barely comprehend him, the intimacy of the moment combining with the pleasure and clouding your brain. but still, you answer, voice nothing more than a whisper. “green. please don't stop.”

“okay,” he breathes, hand moving to your hip to steady himself. “almost fully in, princess. taking me so fucking well, feel amazing.”

you beam, dazed. “good,” your jaw drops as he finally bottoms out, eyes fluttering closed. “oh.”

“i know, darling, i know,” matty caresses your face. “d'you need a second?”

“yes please.”

“anything you want,” his lips find yours, the sweetness of his kiss completely incongruous with the fact the two of you are literally doing anal right now. but it's not totally innocent - matty's lust for you is clear from the way he kisses, and it energises you enough to pull back and bite your lip at him, a silent hint that you're ready for the next step. he takes it immediately. “you want me to fuck you properly, now, princess?”

you nod, doe-eyed. “yes, daddy.”

and that's exactly what he does.

it starts slow, of course, matty gently thrusting into you with his arms braced on either side of your head and his lips pressing soft kisses all across your face; when the desperation gets too much for you to bear and you give him the go-ahead, though, he begins to roll his hips with a bit more force into yours, little gasps leaving both of your lips and foreheads touching tenderly. you don't know whether or not it's purely psychological, more to do with the eroticism and intimacy of the act than the actual sex itself, but you can feel the pleasure jolting through you every time matty's hips meet yours, travelling through your nervous system to the familiar place in the pit of your stomach.

all in all, you can't remember ever being so turned on in your life. matty seems to think so, too, eyes widening when he looks down to watch your bodies joining as one. “fuck, princess, your pussy's so wet right now. can feel it dripping on me,” his voice is joyous; so are you, when he runs a finger over it and settles it at your clit. “you really needed daddy to fuck you, didn't you, sweet girl?”

“yeah.”

“needed this too, darling, so fucking much,” matty smiles sleepily above you, kissing you sloppily. “fuck, need to make you cum, too. can i?”

you smile back, equally as fucked. “can do whatever you want to me.”

he laughs, breathy and beautiful. “i love you.”

“i love you,” you pout for a kiss, smiling and gasping into him when he starts to properly work your clit with two fingers. “mmm, just like that, yes. don't stop.”

thank fuck your boyfriend isn't feeling mean tonight - he does as you say, keeping a steady rhythm with his hips and a consistent pattern with his fingers, cooing praises and promises into your neck in a determined attempt to get you off. a successful attempt, too, it turns out; within a few minutes (although your grasp on measuring time is probably dire at present), you're clutching at matty's shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, crying into him as you hurtle towards the precipice of orgasm. with a whimpered plea of “cum for me, princess, please”, you fall into bliss, clenching vice-tight around matty's dick and shaking like a leaf. that's enough to set him off, too, and he cums with a hoarse groan and an “oh, i fucking love you”, hips growing weaker and weaker as his orgasm wears off.

he doesn't linger afterwards, though. as soon as he can physically do so, matty's pulling himself up to hover over you, looking intently into your eyes to check how far you've slipped into subspace. despite the gravitas of the night, you're fairly lucid, and he smiles, satisfied with that, as he strokes your face. “you,” he begins. “are a fucking dream.”

“stop it,” you giggle, trying to burrow into his chest. “you're pussy-drunk. well,” you correct yourself as matty laughs. “not quite, tonight. but you know what i mean!”

“i do know, darling, i do,” he kisses your nose. “but you really are incredible. and i'd say that even if i wasn't balls-deep in your ass right now, so…”

“oh my god.”

matty laughs. “my cue to pull out?”

“i think so, yeah,” you grin. “mostly cos i wanna shower and go to sleep, honestly.”

“whatever you want, my love - hold my hand, by the way, this might feel weird… there we go,” matty winces, in tandem with you, as he slips out. his eyes widen as he takes in the sight of his cum dripping from you. “never ever gonna get over that,” he leans back to kiss you again. “thank you for letting me do that, by the way, darling. m'the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

you laugh. “and don't you forget it!”

he smiles softly, and you fall in love with him all over again. “never gonna happen.”

[xenayami]

GONE

Chapter 2

The day after the kids returned, things seem to be usually for them they could barely have time to themselves anymore. Whenever they try to go outside or even attempt to leave the mansion all request was denied unless they were supervised by one of the older x-men.

"This is just getting stupid."

All four of them lay on the couch in the living room. Kitty next to reader, Kurt laying on the floor Infront of them and Pietro on the other side of reader.

"You can say that again. I can barely take a piss without my sister up my ass."

Pietro huffs out in annoyance. Kurt and reader didn't seem to bother by the others sudden actions.

"I mean we did disappear for like 7 years... of course they're gonna be a bit clingy to us. They probably have PTSD from losing us over the years. We've only been back for a day."

"Right! Besides I like it! I've never been so close to my mother and sister like this."

Pietro and Kitty groan but then reader tried to lighten the mood.

"Hey now don't worry give it like a week or two and things should be right back the way they're suppose to be promise."

Time skip

about a month later

Since Reader, Pietro, Kitty, and Kurt are still the youngest out of all the x-men and the school for the gifted was shut down. The x-men took it upon themselves to help the kids finish up their schoolwork. Whenever they were not teaching the kids, they would go on mission but would not allow the kids to participate in them until they were older. So one of them usually stay behind to keep an eye on them.

When they were out of school the kids would try and go to the arcade or the malls only to be dragged back by either Logan or Scott to the mansion.

"Come man!" "But vhy?"

"So not cool!"

"I don't understand?!"

As they all complained more and more to them Scott had enough and slammed the door shut once everyone was inside. Silence filled the air.

"Can't you kids see that its too dangerous for you to be out there! DID YOU NOT LEARN FROM LAST TIME!"

The kids went dead silent they knew what he meant but couldn't take the courage to speak their mind. But reader couldn't take it anymore.

"I understand that scott but you can't just hold that over our heads for the rest of our lives! We've all had trouble times and it's been hell but we push forward and move on! Why can't you-

"BECAUSE WE CAN'T AFFORD TO LOSE YOU AGAIN!"

Reader eyes widen in shock but them filled with such sorrow seeing the look of despair and desperation in Scotts eyes.

"Summers is right bub."

Logan step in for Scott shocking the kids knowing the two men were always at each other.

"Kids... you need to know that it was literally hell when you lot went missin. Everyone was panicin, blamin one another. We didn't realize how much we gave a shit until you left."

Scott nods in appreciation

"We know it's been strange to have someone always checking in on every you make but we're only trying to do what's best for you."

"Yeah but were old enough to be on our own!"

"No your not."

"YES WE ARE!"

"ENOUGH!"

The professor enters along side Erik and the rest of the x-men.

"I have had enough of this. You children need to learn that their are rules you must follow."

The kids tried to intervene but was ignored.

"Stop this foolishness."

Erik steps in.

"You all we no longer be allowed outside."

Gasps was heard from the group.

"You can't be serious?!"

"Are you kidding me!"

"Until we know that it is save for you to venture out again you will be confined here. I'm sorry."

They tried to protest but unexpectedly all the teens were dragged away from each other. Kurt dragged by rogue and his mother. Kitty dragged by Jubliee and Logan. Pietro taken by his sister and Erik. And reader dragged off by Scott and jean.

"Scott! Jean come on You can't be serious about this! Its insane!"

"I'm sorry reader its for the safety of all of you."

"You be in your rooms for the time being."

Reader was gently place inside there room and with another word the door was shut and lock.

Sorry for the short chapter hope you enjoy! @honey-minded-hivemind