#like this could be on some kind of necklace

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 5

Theme: homoerotic friendship hot mess

A/N: Just trying to move plot forward before getting into some real messiness and eventually a resolve! Probably won't have another chapter out until next week for this series because I need to finish up my other series, but we'll see. Please comment, react, whatever! I love to see it!

WC: 5K+

Warnings: angst, maybe some cussing?

**** Chapter 5 ****

The thing about first dates is that they never feel like the movies. There’s no soundtrack, no golden-hour lighting, no perfect banter where both people say exactly the right thing. There’s just nerves. 

A lot of them.

Especially when you’ve been hanging out for weeks already—study sessions, walking each other back to dorms, late-night Snap streaks, casual movie nights that weren’t officially anything but definitely felt like something.

So yeah. This wasn’t the first time Paige and Kathryn had hung out. But it was the first time it was called a date. Which somehow made it feel entirely different.

She stared at her closet for way too long before finally settling on a cropped long-sleeve top and black cargo pants. Comfortable, but bold. Just enough skin to hint at her abs—not that she cared if Kathryn noticed. (She did.)

Her hair was half up, half down, loose curls falling over her shoulders. She spritzed some cologne. Debated lip gloss. Changed her earrings twice.

Kathryn was waiting by the front entrance of her dorm, her usual athletic casual look upgraded just slightly—black jeans, crop top, an oversized denim jacket, a necklace Paige hadn’t seen before. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, and she was fidgeting with her keys like she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“You look good,” Kathryn said, smiling in that sideways kind of way that always got to Paige.

“You too,” Paige said, a little too quickly. “So… mini golf?”

Kathryn grinned. “Figured we should settle once and for all who the real athlete is.”

They walked over together, shoulders brushing, the teasing already in full swing about who’d win.

The place was half empty, glowing under string lights and faded neon signs. The vibe was more arcade nostalgia than romantic, which helped. Paige could breathe.

They picked out clubs and chose their golf balls—Paige called dibs on the purple one without hesitation—and made their way to hole one, where the goal was to bank a shot off a sun-faded plastic flamingo.

Kathryn was bad. Like, hilariously bad. Like, can’t-even-pretend-to-be-supportive bad. Paige didn’t even try to hide her laughter when Kathryn whiffed her second shot and sent the ball into a fake pond.

“Oh my God,” Paige gasped, wiping tears. “Are you trying to lose?”

“I’m establishing expectations,” Kathryn said, deadpan. “So when I come back and win, it’s more impressive.”

“Babe, you’re down by four already.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me babe?”

Paige’s face went warm. “Shut up. Hit your ball.”

They bantered their way through all eighteen holes, pausing only to talk trash or duck around a group of loud undergrads. Somewhere around hole ten, Kathryn figured out a ridiculous strategy that involved ricocheting every shot off Paige’s ball.

“It’s a legit tactic,” she said, lining up another bank shot with zero shame.

“It’s cheating,” Paige shot back, grinning. “And you’re annoying.”

“Still catching up, though,” Kathryn said sweetly, right before sinking the putt.

They split a Coke and a bag of M&M’s at the end, sitting on a metal bench near the arcade. The air had cooled, Kathryn’s braid was coming loose, and Paige felt lighter than she had in a long time.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of night that didn’t ask anything of her. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull. Just let her be. And God, had she missed that.

After, they walked back to campus slowly—like neither of them was in a hurry to go back to reality. The air was crisp. Kathryn shoved her hands in her pockets and occasionally bumped her shoulder into Paige’s like she didn’t know what to do with her own affection.

Outside Kathryn’s dorm, they paused.

“This was fun,” Paige said, a little too quickly.

Kathryn nodded. “Yeah. It was.” Then a beat. “I was kinda nervous, honestly.”

“Why?” Paige asked.

“You’re just… not like other girls I’ve hung out with.” She looked down for a second, then back up. “You make me nervous in a good way. Like I wanna keep doing things that make you smile.”

Paige swallowed, pulse stuttering.

She didn’t mean to close the distance. Not really. But then Kathryn tilted her head, and Paige’s breath caught, and suddenly they were closer than before—shoes toe-to-toe.

“I had a really good time,” Kathryn said, voice low.

Paige smiled. “Me too.” And then she leaned in. Just a little. And Kathryn met her halfway.

The kiss was… sweet. Soft. Innocent. Like a sigh. Like a yes.

It didn’t take her breath away. But it settled something.

Her hand found the edge of Kathryn’s jacket, anchoring herself for just a second longer. Then she pulled back, blinking.

Kathryn’s cheeks were pink. She smiled. “Been wanting to do that since you beat me at FIFA.”

“You mean when I destroyed you at FIFA,” Paige said, breathless.

“Rematch soon. You’ll lose.”

“We’ll see.”

They lingered for a second longer. Not touching now, just standing in that quiet post-kiss pause, both a little dazed.

“Night, Paige,” Kathryn said, opening the door.

“Night.”

Paige turned and started walking back, fingers brushing her lips, trying—and failing—to hide the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She crossed her arms, like maybe that would help steady her heartbeat. It didn’t.

It didn’t feel dramatic. It didn’t feel like a movie. It felt… good. Simple. Easy. Maybe even right.

For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was chasing something. She just felt found.

****

Morrone Stadium looked sharp under the late afternoon light. Clean turf. Crisp white lines. The kind of fall breeze that made you zip your hoodie up halfway and still squint against the sun.

Paige hadn’t planned on going alone—not because she wouldn’t have, but because when Aubrey and Ice overheard her mention Kathryn’s game, they immediately invited themselves. “You’re not about to soft launch your soccer crush without us,” Aubrey had said. “It’s not a launch,” Paige muttered, pulling her hood up.

But still—she didn’t say no.

The three of them sat low in the bleachers, close to the midfield line. A few basketball players trickled in over the first half, but none of them sat close. Paige liked that. It kept things… quiet.

Kathryn wore all white—jersey tucked, socks pulled high, her usual headband in place. She had a navy practice penny over the top for warmups, but by kickoff, it was off and folded on the bench. She looked calm, focused, confident. Like the game ran at her pace.

“She’s got field presence,” Ice commented, chewing on her straw. “She’s hot,” Aubrey added, unapologetically.

Paige tried not to smile. Tried not to stare too long as Kathryn jogged over to the corner flag midway through the first half.

“Corner kick,” Aubrey said, nudging her. “This your girl’s moment.”

Kathryn didn’t even glance toward the bleachers—just set the ball down with surgical precision, took three quick steps, and sent a perfect left-footed cross into the box. One of her teammates met it clean, heading it into the back of the net like it had been drawn up in a textbook.

The crowd roared. Kathryn jogged back into formation, high-fived the striker, and kept moving like she’d done it a hundred times.

“She’s smooth,” Ice said, tipping her coffee like a toast.

“Well, she is captain,” Paige replied before she could stop herself.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Ohhh, okay. So now you’re bragging.”

Paige just shook her head, but her smile gave her away.

After the win, she stayed in the stands while Kathryn cooled down with the team. No waving. No big moment. Just a glance across the field and a barely-there nod—acknowledgment. Like something only the two of them would catch.

Later that night, Paige got the tag. Kathryn had posted a game-day carousel—action shots of her teammates, a scoreboard close-up, and a blurry bench photo with the caption: “w’s only.”

But the tag wasn’t in the post.

It was on her story. Just one clip: a slow pan of the bleachers, Paige tucked in the corner, hood up, grinning like she didn’t know she was being filmed.

The caption read: “love the support 🤍”

She tagged @uconnwbb, @aubreygriffin, @icebrady… and @paigebueckers. Like it was casual. Like it was nothing.

And yet Paige stared at it way too long before locking her phone.

She barely had time to process it before her phone buzzed again. The Huzzskies🏀team chat was already on fire.

Aubrey: okay soft launch 😏

Caroline: please tell me you’re sending this to your mom so she stops asking if you’re still single lol

Amari: not Paige out here looking like a proud boyfriend 😭

Jana: well damn

Aubrey: lowkey proud of you. highkey stalking her tagged pics rn 👀

She just watched the messages roll in, the screen lighting up again and again like it was laughing with her.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t add a single emoji. But her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second, then dropped.

She smiled. Just barely. Then locked her phone.

And that should’ve been the end of it. Cute date. Supportive friends. A win all around.

But instead of feeling lighter, she felt… something else. Like a corner of her chest had come unstuck. Like her body remembered something she hadn’t given it permission to.

It didn’t hit all at once. Just a quiet nudge. The kind that starts as a whisper and gets louder the longer you try to ignore it.

Because it wasn’t just a story post. It wasn’t just a kiss, or a caption, or how easy Kathryn made things feel.

It was what came before. The dance. The almost. The way Azzi had looked at her like she was still something worth choosing. And the way Paige had walked away—like that solved anything.

She thought she’d feel proud of herself. She didn’t.

What she felt was unfinished. And tired of pretending otherwise.

She reached for her phone again. No hesitation this time. Scrolled until Azzi’s name came into view.

She hadn’t texted her in weeks. Not directly. Not since before the birthday. Before the dance floor. Before everything that still lived in the space between them, untouched and unnamed.

Her fingers hovered. Then typed.

hey do you have time to talk this week? just wanna clear the air after my birthday.

She read it back once. Didn’t overthink it.

Just hit send.

For a moment, nothing. Then—

Azzi: yeah. just let me know when.

That was it. No emoji. No questions. But it was enough.

Paige let the phone fall beside her, the light from the screen fading slowly as it dimmed out. She pulled her blanket tighter, curled against the far side of her bed, and stared at the ceiling like the right words might be written up there if she just looked long enough.

This was the right thing. To be honest. To stop letting silence answer for her.

And maybe it wouldn’t fix everything. Maybe it would just be a moment. But at least it wouldn’t be another ghost.

Still, later that night—long after her shower, long after Kathryn’s “thanks for coming :)” text that Paige reread twice—she opened her drawer, looking for headphones.

And for a half-second, she thought she saw something. A flash of white. A blue ribbon.

But then it was gone. Buried again beneath socks and receipts and whatever else she’d shoved in there.

She closed the drawer. Didn’t think twice. Didn’t notice what she’d missed.

****

They met in the film room after weights. Neutral ground. No distractions. Just the echo of earlier conversations bouncing faintly in her head and the quiet hum of a space that used to mean nothing but basketball.

Azzi was already there, perched on the edge of one of the recliners in the front row, her high bun loose in that casually chaotic way it always was. She sat hunched forward, elbows resting on her thighs, like she hadn’t fully decided if she was staying or just passing through. She looked up when Paige walked in, her expression carefully unreadable.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice low.

Azzi nodded. “Hey.”

The silence stretched for a few seconds. Not tense. Just… uncertain. They hadn’t been alone together in a long time.

Paige leaned against the table at the front of the room, directly across from Azzi, close enough to talk, but not too close. Measured. Intentional.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I just figured it was time to clear the air. Before the season really starts. Before things get too complicated.”

Azzi nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Paige glanced down at her hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my birthday. About the dance. I know it was kind of a moment. It felt like that. I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t.” She paused, then added, “But I think it was more about… history. And the drinks. And just falling into old rhythms.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t interrupt.

“We’ve been more than just friends for a while now,” Paige said, her voice soft. “Even if we never said it out loud… it was always there.”

Azzi gave a tiny smile at that. “Yeah. I know.”

“And I don’t regret it,” Paige continued quickly. “Any of it. I wouldn’t take it back. But I think it’s time to move on. For real this time.”

Her voice wavered for a second, but she steadied it. “Things with Kathryn feel… good. And I don’t want to mess that up by leaving anything with us unresolved.”

Azzi dropped her gaze to her shoes, her fingers knotting together in her lap. Across from her, Paige fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall like it might give her something to hold onto.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Paige went on, “is that I want us to be okay again. For real. Not stuck in that weird space where we don’t talk or try to pretend we’re fine when we’re not.”

She looked over then, eyes finding Azzi’s like she was checking to see if it was still safe.

“I just…” Paige let out a slow breath. “I want to go back. Before it got messy… When you were just… my person.”

The words came out soft, like they’d been sitting in her chest for a while.

She paused, then added— “Can we do that?”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t have to. The silence between them felt familiar now. Not quite heavy, but full.

So Paige kept going, her voice a little lower now, like maybe if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“I know last time we tried to be friends… I was the one who pushed it too far. I crossed the line.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes flicking down. “And I don’t think it was confusion. I think I just wanted you close, and I didn’t know how to ask for it without making it messy.”

She looked up again, her expression soft but sure. “I’m not trying to do that anymore. I’m not trying to stir things up or go back to something that doesn’t work. I just… I miss when it was simple. I miss when you were the first person I told everything to. And I guess I’m hoping we can find our way back to that.”

A pause.

“That version of us. The one that wasn’t so complicated.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She let the question hang there between them, suspended in the hum of the overhead light and the weight of everything they never quite said.

Eventually, she nodded. Once. 

“Yeah. We can.”

Paige exhaled. “I really want that. Especially with the season starting. I want to be good teammates. I want to be in your corner. Always.”

Azzi looked at her, and there was something behind her eyes—something that wasn’t quite sadness, but lived in the same zip code.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I never wasn’t.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t linger.

Paige offered a soft smile, stood, and gave her one last look. “Thanks again. I know this wasn’t easy.”

Azzi nodded. “It’s okay.”

And Paige believed her. Mostly.

She turned and left, the door clicking softly behind her.

Azzi

Paige never mentioned the gift. Not once.

Not the white box. Not the ribbon that had frayed from being carried in Azzi’s pocket all night. Not the gift inside. 

And that silence told her everything.

She’d opened it. Of course she had.

Azzi hadn’t left it somewhere subtle. This wasn’t a mystery box behind a stack of laundry or under a pile of books.

She’d put it dead center on Paige’s desk. Right next to a half-eaten granola bar and her tangled phone charger.

So yeah. Azzi knew. She’d found it. She’d seen it. And she hadn’t said a word.

Which meant she had nothing to say.

She didn’t spiral.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t do anything dramatic like throw her phone across the room or listen to Phoebe Bridgers on loop until Caroline threatened to unplug the speaker. 

Which, honestly, was worse.

Because that ache? The one she’d been trying to ignore since the dance floor? It didn’t go away. It just settled in. Got comfortable. Became background noise.

And yeah, at first it stung. But eventually it dulled into something manageable. Like a muscle that used to be torn and now just aches when it rains.

She still thought about it sometimes—what Paige might’ve felt when she opened the box. Maybe she’d rolled her eyes. Maybe she didn’t even try it on.

Maybe she tossed it in a drawer like it was nothing. (Okay, that one hurt a little more than she wanted to admit.)

But eventually, Azzi got used to it. Used to the silence. Used to being the one who still cared but didn’t say anything about it.

Then came the team group chat.

Screenshots. Teasing texts. A picture of Paige standing in the bleachers at Kathryn’s soccer game, hood up, hair tied back, looking happier than she had in weeks. Azzi watched the reactions roll in like a slow, dumb parade.

Lou dropped five heart eyes. Nika posted a GIF. Aaliyah suggested wedding colors.

And Azzi—she read every message, watched the little reactions stack up in real time.

At first, it hit like another quiet twist in her gut. She told herself it didn’t matter.

That it wasn’t that deep.

But if Azzi was being honest—really honest—it felt like the final answer to a question she hadn’t wanted to ask.

And the answer was no.

No, Paige wasn’t holding onto anything. No, she wasn’t second-guessing that dance. No, she didn’t open her gift and feel her breath catch in her chest.

So when Paige texted her—hey, can we talk?—Azzi already knew what it was going to be. Not a confession. Not a door reopening.

Just… closure.

And when they met in the film room, Paige sitting across from her with soft eyes and a measured voice, saying she wanted to go back to before things got blurry— Azzi nodded.

Because what else was she supposed to do? Fall to the floor and scream, Please, give me another chance. 

No thanks. She still had to show up to practice the next day.

Besides, there was something almost comforting about knowing where they stood. Finally.

They were friends. Teammates. Not unfinished business.

And the truth was, she was grateful for that. Because losing Paige completely? That would’ve left a hollow space she didn’t know how to fill.

So she held on to what she could. Even if it wasn’t the version she used to hope for. Even if it meant learning how to sit beside Paige again without reaching for something that wasn’t hers anymore.

And maybe that would take time. Maybe she’d still flinch sometimes—at old songs, at inside jokes, at the way Paige laughed when she wasn’t trying.

But eventually, she believed she’d get there. To the version of herself that could look at Paige and feel calm instead of cracked open.

The part of her that still wanted more? It would quiet. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon.

And when it did—when that ache finally softened—she’d still be here. Still Azzi. Still steady. And maybe, just maybe, still close enough to be in Paige’s life in a way that didn’t hurt.

In a way that felt like peace.

****

They rounded the corner, the Dairy Bar’s warm yellow lights glowing against the foggy windows. There was already a line — always was — students in sweats and messy buns, someone in pajama pants and slides, a couple with their arms around each other.

Azzi pulled her hood up. She didn’t know why. She kicked a rock down the street as they walked, hands shoved deep in her hoodie pocket. 

Aubrey walked next to her, sipping from a Sprite and swinging a lanyard around one finger like she had nowhere in the world to be except right there.

“This better be good,” Aubrey said. “You pulled me out of my Netflix zone.”

Azzi rolled her eyes.  “You act like you didn’t break into a jog when I said waffle cones.”

Aubrey gave her a look but didn’t argue.

They got in line between a group of freshman girls in matching sorority hoodies and a dad and his kid debating over rainbow sprinkles.

Azzi stared up at the chalkboard menu—overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and mostly just stalling—while a case full of too many flavors sat beneath a lineup of UConn-themed puns like Bleed Blueberry Bliss and Husky Tracks, none of which she actually felt like reading.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asked, staring at the freezer but not really seeing it.

Aubrey gave her a curious look. “Alright. Floor’s yours.”

“I think I might like girls.”

Aubrey didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause. She just took another sip of Sprite and said, “Yeah. No duh.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay, why does everyone keep saying that?”

Aubrey shrugged. “Because… Azzi. We’ve all seen the way you look at Paige. It’s like you’re seeing everything you want and everything you’re scared of, in the same breath.”

Azzi groaned. “God, that’s so dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Okay, yeah,” she admitted, laughing under her breath. “But still. It was only her. It’s not like I’ve been walking around campus making a list.”

“So?” Aubrey said, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t have to be everyone. Sometimes it’s just one person that makes you go, oh.”

They shuffled forward in line. The smell of waffle cones drifted toward them, warm and ridiculous and somehow perfect.

“I guess I thought it didn’t count unless it was more than once,” Azzi muttered.

“Who made that rule?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Because… yeah. She had no idea.

They finally stepped up to the counter. Azzi asked for pistachio in a waffle cone, mostly out of spite because no one ever picked pistachio and she kind of liked being contrary. Aubrey got cookies and cream because she was predictable and proud of it.

They paid, grabbed their cones, and headed outside to a bench near the side of the shop. The wood was cold beneath them, but neither of them said anything.

Azzi took a bite. “This was a terrible choice.”

Aubrey grinned. “Tastes like regret?”

“Yeah. But like… fancy regret.”

They sat for a minute, letting the sounds of the night fill in the space. Footsteps. Laughter. The low bass of someone’s speaker rattling in a dorm window.

Then Azzi spoke again, slower this time. “I think what hurts the most isn’t that she’s happy.” She licked a drip of ice cream off her wrist. “It’s that I’m not part of the version of her that is.”

Aubrey didn’t say anything for a second. Then— “You were, though.”

“Yeah,” Azzi said. “And I loved that version. I just didn’t know what to do with it until it was already gone.”

She looked out toward the parking lot, watching headlights pass through puddles from the earlier rain.

“She found someone who makes her laugh. Someone who doesn’t hesitate. And I keep thinking—good. Like, I really do want her to be okay. Even if it’s not with me.”

Aubrey leaned back on the bench, her cone resting against the wrapper. “That’s what makes it real, you know.”

Azzi turned. “What?”

“That you want her to be happy even if it doesn’t lead back to you.” A pause. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

Azzi exhaled, quiet but not heavy. “It does.”

“Then let it suck. For now,” Aubrey said. “But maybe you also start paying attention to how you feel around other people. Like… just see who makes you want to smile. Or stay a little longer. Or flirt back.”

Azzi gave her a flat look. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Aubrey didn’t blink. “Sure, you’ve got a boyfriend. And I’ve got a plant I forgot to water for three weeks. Doesn’t mean it’s thriving.”

Azzi snorted. “That’s dark.”

“I’m just saying,” Aubrey continued, twirling her cone like she was making a point. “There’s a difference between staying with someone and actually wanting to be with them. One of those is comfort. The other’s real.”

Azzi let the words settle as she took another slow bite of her ice cream.

“Anyway,” Aubrey added with a shrug, “if you ever decide to explore what real might look like—with someone new—I’m officially offering my services as an unpaid, highly unqualified wingwoman.”

Azzi laughed—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Aubrey said, bumping her shoulder. 

They let the quiet fall again. The kind of quiet that didn’t press. That felt like permission to feel things at your own pace.

And maybe that was enough for tonight. Not closure. Not clarity.

But a starting point.

****

She hadn’t planned on doing it that night. But when she got back to her dorm and saw Derrick’s name light up her phone — missed call (2), text: “U alive??” — something inside her clicked.

Not like a spark. More like a switch.

She’d known this was coming. For weeks, maybe longer. And now there was no reason to pretend she didn’t.

hey. can we talk for a sec?

They met outside the student center, the campus mostly quiet, lit by streetlamps and the flicker of vending machines buzzing against the wall. Derrick stood with one foot propped on the bike rack, a basketball tucked under his arm like always. Like nothing was off.

When he saw her, he smiled—out of habit, not happiness—and reached out for a one-armed hug.

She didn’t hug back.

“What’s up?” he asked, still easy, still assuming this wasn’t what it was.

Azzi stuffed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. The same hoodie she’d worn to his games, to late-night film sessions, to fall asleep in when she didn’t know how to say what she was feeling.

“I think we should break up.”

It came out quiet. Still. But it didn’t waver.

Derrick’s brow pulled tight. “Wait… what?”

“I’ve been feeling it for a while. But I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I just… I don’t think this is right anymore.”

He blinked like he didn’t fully understand the language she was speaking. “Is this about her?”

Azzi hesitated. “Who?”

“Paige,” he said flatly. “Come on. Don’t act like I don’t see it.”

She tried not to react, but her throat caught on something.

“She walks into a room and you go stiff like someone just pressed pause on your whole nervous system.” He took a step closer, the ball dropping to the pavement beside him with a soft thud.

Azzi looked away. She could lie. She thought about it—just for a second. About saying It’s not like that. Or You’re overreacting. About falling back on the safety net of vague deflection.

But she was tired. Tired of performing what she thought other people needed from her. Tired of keeping her feelings sorted into folders labeled "safe" and "later." Tired of lying.

Especially to herself.

So she took a breath and met his eyes. “It’s not about Paige. It’s about me.”

He laughed again. This time it had edges. “I heard the rumors last year, you know. About you and her. Stuff people said. I figured it was just drama. People trying to stir things up. I didn’t want to believe it.”

She looked up. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?”

A beat passed. Long enough to feel it settle between them.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Azzi said. Her voice stayed even, but there was steel in it now. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t know how to explain something I was still figuring out.”

He folded his arms. “So what now? You’re into girls?”

“I might be.”

“And what, I’m just the warm-up act?”

“No,” she said. “You’re someone I really cared about. And someone I don’t want to keep lying to—especially now that I’m not lying to myself anymore.”

He stepped back, mouth tight, jaw flexing. “Whatever. You wanna go figure it out, go ahead. Pick a team and stick to it next time.”

That one stung. Even though she’d half-expected it. Even though it told her more about him than it did about her.

Azzi nodded once. “Thanks for making this easier.”

He scoffed, grabbed the ball, and walked away without another word.

She stood there a moment longer, the night air cool against her cheeks, the back of her throat tight. Not with tears—just truth.

By the time she got back to her dorm, she was still holding onto the drawstrings of her hoodie like they were something to anchor her.

She didn’t feel triumphant. Didn’t feel broken either.

Just… clear.

It didn’t matter what label she landed on. Gay. Bi. Still figuring it out. She just knew that whoever she was becoming, he wasn’t part of it.

And maybe that was the whole point. Not choosing a side. Just choosing herself.

[hellfire--cult]

No but I need all the fuckboy eddie thots 😩

oh sarah, i have all the thots

+18 - like for example, when you and fuckboy!eddie met for the first time. (prev eddie thot) - smut incoming btw, p in v, oral, all that

.

It was a party you weren't sure who was hosting. A normal summer night away from they typical bars and same group of people you hung out with every weekend. You met a new person while grocery shopping, someone you think you've heard of before, but you moved to Hawkins just a year ago, so you couldn't be sure.

Steve Harrington seemed nice, handsome, big hazel eyes that showed desperate need of attention, of someone to hold him and reassure him that he is an amazing guy and all that. You tried to grab the same kind of beans, fingers brushing with yours like it would happen in a romantic comedy, only that you really wanted to fuck him the moment you connected eyes with his.

He asked for your name and if you had been in Hawkins for long because he had never seen 'Such a pretty face' before in this town. Cliche lines, but that made it way easier. So before paying, he asked for your number and then invited you to a party he was going to with some friends that weekend and you could bring anyone you wanted.

So there you were, but no Steve Harrington to be seen.

Nursing a drink by yourself in the corner of the living room, all the guys playing beer pong while some girls danced on the side. It looked like a high school party, and you were already in your 20's. Your patience was thinning because you were expecting to get laid tonight, and now your friend was nowhere near you.

Until you took your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and started walking to the backyard that you spotted Steve making out with your friend in the kitchen. You groaned loudly, because you couldn't blame your friend. You explained Steve's looks to her, but there were many brown haired guys around, and you didn't spot Steve until this very moment, so you couldn't have introduced them.

You defeatedly walked to the backyard, already pissed that you were the one going home with a dry pussy. You put a cigarette up your lips only to not find your lighter anywhere, cursing through the stick, only to then have a flame lit up in front of you. Your eyes found sharp brown ones.

"Need a light?" His voice was hoarse, cheeky, a dimpled smile that could knock someone over. He had long hair, not exactly the type you always went for, but it looked good on him. He was definitely a metal head, just by looking at the get up and the accessories. All black, metal belt and chains hanging from his hips, leather jacket, a V-Cut shirt underneath and a red pick necklace adorning his collarbone.

And the glimpse of a tattoo coming out of the side of the collar, right on his left pec.

You slowly batted your eyelashes to him, leaning to light the cigarette with his help. You took a deep breath in as he lit his own cancer stick, taking a swig of it. You both exhaled the smoke at the same time before you talked.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, sweetheart." Oh, petnames. You were definitely into that. "So, what's with the angry look?"

Should you lie? What kind of story would you perform for the guy you just met in front of you?

"Well, my friend is definitely making out with the guy who invited me to this party, so." You pretended to be hurt, not angry. Pretended that your ego was crushed and you were basically a damsel in distress with a pouty lip. His grin widened, his eyebrows falling on the edges in a 'sad' frown.

"Aw, poor baby. That's not cool of your friend, or that guy."

"It's fine, it's whatever. I met him once but--" You gave a shrug as he bit his lip and you noticed the people around you looking every once in a while. They knew this guy. Interesting.

"Well, I would be delighted, if you'd like, to spend the night with you while you wait for your friend to be done." He offered, and oh, you would be the delighted one by the end of it. You gave him a sweet smile, a bat of your eyelashes and you nodded. "I'm Eddie, by the way."

You gave him your name and you learnt that he had lived in Hawkins for a long while. Then you commented on his clothes and you were right when you said he was a metalhead. He excused himself for a second to get you two a drink and waltzed back inside. You finished your cigarette and a girl approached you with a guy on her arm.

"Damn, don't get attached to a guy like that girl." And as she left, you could already guess what that meant. People had said the same shit about you. It wasn't your fault that people got clingy after fucking more than twice. It wasn't your fault so many guys had mommy issues. And that girl was obviously an Ex-Hook Up of his. No woman would give out a comment like that for nothing.

This was going to be way more entertaining than Steve Harrington.

When he came back, you continued your sweet act. That carefree girl that giggled at everything, and you wondered if this man would be the same as the others. Would he get clingy? No. He didn't look the type, and if his reputation was the same as yours, then you knew he was just there for fun.

So it didn't take long for him to get you in the back of his van in the middle of the woods, far from the residencies. His van smelled of weed, leather, and some cheap ass air freshener. But you didn't really care for it. Not when this man was finger fucking you into another galaxy.

"Sweet girl..." He moaned into your neck, his upper body naked for you to see. It had three tattoos, one of the left pec just like you've spotted, one on his ribcage on the right side, then another in the left. His arms were littered in them and you wondered if his legs were the same.

You were entirely naked, letting him scan your body, letting him pretend he was dominant of the situation as you got vulnerable for him. He was all dressed still as you spread your legs for him and he moaned at the sight of you. In the palm of your fucking hand.

You weren't prepared for his fingers to be this good, until he went down and started eating you out, talking into your pussy when you asked how was he doing that.

"I play the guitar... And I sing too." And he proved that by swirling his tongue on your clit. You could count with the fingers of a single hand the times a man went down willingly on you. And you had a big body count.

He made you see stars two times, and then it was your turn. You were desperate that night to see his cock, and he didn't disappoint. He was blessed, to say the least. His legs had some tattoos, and you made sure to kiss them and trace your tongue all over them as his hand ran through your hair.

When you put his cock in your mouth and moaned, his head went back with a groan and an amused chuckle as you started bobbing your head, making the sounds louder on purpose, spitting at the tip of his dick and dipping the tip of your tongue into the head of it.

"Damn, you aren't that innocent, huh?" Understatement of the year, pretty boy.

And then when he was finally inside, he fucked methodically but desperate at the same time. He knew when to roll his hips into you slowly and when to start slamming into you like a madman.

"Eddie-- Eddie--" He was forcing you to look at him as the van moved from side to side, shaking at his movements, his cock going in and out of your leaking cunt. His hand was gripping your chin tightly, his eyes boring into yours as he breathed heavily through his nose, in harsh huffs.

"Say my name again, say it again." And you did. You did until you both came. You were amazed about how easily he made you cum three times in a single night and fuck do you want to experience it again, but you had to test the waters.

So when he was driving back to the party so you could find your friend and leave, you bit your lip, looking at him.

"Well, this was nice Eddie. Thank you for spending the night with me." You moved to open the passenger's door until his hand came to rub onto your cheek to make you look at him.

"Give me your number and we can repeat it again, whenever you like. I loved having a sweet thing like you tonight for myself." You gave him a shy smile, and he was smirking at you, licking the inside of the bottom of his lip. "Come on..."

"Alright." He gave you a kiss on your pulse point once you handed him the little piece of paper with your number on it.

Sucker.

[sinsxo]

in my dreams. —itoshi rin.

synopsis. some feelings don’t fade with time — they linger, quiet and unresolved. with dreams that haunt you, and when the past and present collide, you might have to face the truth you’ve been running from.

cw. oneshot, ex boyfriend!rin x fem!reader, angst, heavy emotional themes

note. i might make a part 2 depending on how this does!

wc. 1.6k words, not proofread.

you sighed, lifting an arm to shield your eyes from the sunlight that was piercing through the thin curtains — waking up yet again, drenched in cold sweat and tears. sleep was already a struggle, and when you did manage to fall into it, you were dragged into another cycle of dreams. dreams that rubbed salt into old wounds, pushing the knife in deeper with every night.

and the dreams… they weren’t nightmares — worse. they were memories.

they were like a replay of your life — the type that’d appear during the last seven minutes of your life as you’re dying. and those dreams, those memories haunted you.

it looped the memories of your high school days. the late nights you spent running through empty soccer fields, wrapped in each other’s scarves. memories of studying together at the library, his occasional glances slowly morphing into a quiet gaze, lips curled ever so slightly into a rare smile.

you still remembered that look — a quiet adoration cracking through his cold, stoic facade. it was an expression that you absolutely cherished. he was the only one who could make you feel like that — butterflies fluttering, cheeks tinted with pink, a smile tugging at your lips without permission.

and you hadn’t forgotten how brightly he shined on the field. that brief smug, proud grin after every goal. the cocky smirk aimed only at you before he returned to his usual icy expression — a silent gesture that the point was for you. the way he’d press a soft kiss to the matching necklace you gave him after scoring the winning goal before jogging back to his teammates… it was all too vivid. when you dreamed, it didn’t feel like a dream. it felt like you were living it all over again.

which is why, in a cruel twist, you wished those dreams were nightmares. at least then you’d have a reason to hate them.

but instead, they showed you him — itoshi rin, your high school sweetheart, your first love.

it was a love so beautiful — like roses blooming in your chest every time your feelings for him grew. but roses have thorns, and it hurt when they wrapped around your heart, every single one of them piercing into you.

you’d hoped, over time, that those roses would wilt — that only the thorns would remain. it would’ve been easier that way. even if it continued to pierce through you, it’s less painful than tearing them off yourself. because living with thorns was easier than tearing out something still alive.

but it never did, they never wilted. if anything, the red of the roses just deepened into burgundy — richer, darker, heavier.

still, they continued to bloom.

it was pathetic, really — that after all these years, he still lingered in your thoughts — in your dreams. because if it were rin, he’d have already ripped the roses out, thorns and all. that was the kind of person he was.

as long as he got what he wanted, he didn’t care if it left him bleeding.

since the day you both parted ways, you avoided soccer like the plague, you avoided his name and everything else that reminded you of him. but the world didn’t care. no matter how far you ran, itoshi rin was everywhere — on subway walls, billboards, towering posters on buildings, in store windows. he still haunted you.

and now here you were, sitting in a cafe with your best friend — the very same friend who had the audacity to ask you to attend one of his upcoming matches.

“yeah, no way in hell i’m going,” you said, rolling your eyes as you glanced out the window — only to be met with rin’s face plastered on the building across the street. “really smart of you to save me this seat. super convincing.”

“that was a coincidence!” she grinned sheepishly. “but pleaseee? you can’t keep avoiding him forever.”

you gave her a flat look. “i can, actually. and i will.”

she pouted, squeezing your hand. “come on. it’s been years. maybe seeing him again will help. closure, perhaps?”

you snorted. “closure? seeing rin would be like reopening a wound i just learned to ignore.”

"you really don’t wanna come with me? i already bought two tickets..."

"still no," you replied, firmer than before. "you know how things ended between us. i’m not going."

"please? you don’t even have to look at him," she pleaded. "just come with me. i’ve been dying to see one of their matches."

you raised a brow.

she pulled out her trump card — puppy eyes. as if that’d work.

.

.

.

it’s working.

“ugh, fine. you’re so annoying, i hate you,” you groaned, standing up. “just text me the details.”

“i love you, i love you!” she beamed.

and that’s how you ended up here — standing outside a massive stadium, surrounded by fans and banners of rin’s team.

your stomach churned. “yeah, no. i’m going home.”

a strong grip on your arm stopped you. “absolutely not! do you know how hard i worked to get you here?”

“if only you weren’t my best friend…” you muttered, sighing in defeat as she dragged you in.

“you love me. admit it.”

you didn’t have to reply. she already knew the answer.

the closer you got to your seats, the tighter your chest felt. it wasn’t the stadium from your memories, but it felt the same — the exact replica of your dreams. and when she led you to your seats near the front rows, your heart nearly dropped.

“this is too close,” you mumbled.

“too bad. i paid good money for this. don’t chicken out now.”

you stayed silent, fiddling with the necklace around your neck. and then the music started. the crowd roared. announcers hyped the atmosphere.

your hands trembled.

“they’re here!” your friend squealed.

and then… there he was.

itoshi rin.

he was taller now, broader, his presence sharper, more dangerous.

colder. more distant.

your stomach twisted, fingers clenched around your necklace. and when his eyes scanned the crowd, they stopped.

on you.

your breath hitched.

his gaze froze you in place, but you saw it — something flickered in his eyes, brief, almost imperceptible. recognition. disbelief. a flicker of surprise in his expression.

then it vanished, replaced by that same ice-cold look. the one he gave you when you last saw him, when everything ended.

distant. final.

he looked away.

and somehow, that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

your friend kept talking excitedly beside you, but you couldn’t hear her. you felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. you had told yourself you were over him. that you had moved on.

but your heart betrayed you.

you had refused to acknowledge it for years — buried it under pride, distraction, denial. but now, standing there with his gaze still lingering in your mind, the truth clawed its way back to the surface.

you still loved him. you had never stopped.

and deep down, you had always known. that’s why you avoided it. why you looked away. why you left. because loving him meant facing everything you tried so hard to forget.

but now?

you had no excuse to run anymore. not from him, not from the truth, not from yourself.

then, the match began.

and rin… rin owned the field like usual. like he usually did back then. he was like a monster on the field — fast, sharp, merciless. goal after goal, he moved like a man possessed — and he was just as captivating as he was back then. you couldn’t take your eyes off him no matter how hard you tried.

“itoshi rin’s on another level today!” the announcer shouted. “something’s different — he’s locked in!”

after each and every goal, his eyes found yours again. that same piercing stare — steady, unwavering, deliberate.

cold, very cold.

but you didn't look away. it wasn’t a coincidence, it was a message. and you understood it, loud and clear. each glance felt like a silent confrontation, like he was saying all the things he never had the chance to — or maybe never dared to.

your chest felt tighter with every goal he scored. the cheers, the noise, the movement — it all blurred around you. all you could feel was the weight of his gaze, heavy and relentless, dragging every buried feeling to the surface.

and still, he never stopped looking your way, as if demanding you acknowledge what you’d both left unspoken. as if daring you to admit you still cared. and it hurt — not because he was angry or distant, but because he knew you would understand.

he was right, you did.

and when he scored the winning goal, you became even more sure of it. because when he kissed the necklace around his neck, the one you gave him years ago. the one that matched the necklace you currently held in between your fingers. the one you couldn’t bear to take off, you felt an ache in your chest.

the roses bloomed again. but this time, the thorns dug in deeper.

the feelings you had buried so deeply, the ones you thought you'd forgotten, everything unresolved suddenly overwhelmed you.

it wasn’t just a dream anymore; this was real. you can’t just wake up, shrug it off and continue avoiding it anymore.

you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

and now, as the cheers of the crowd faded into the background, you couldn’t escape the crushing weight of it.

the past, the unspoken words.

him.

it was all real, and you had to face it now. your dreams end here.

you can’t run away anymore.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[mostlytig]

Ik ik many people have talked about this before but I want to talk about the "cult theory" or what it's called because it makes sense to me. So there's this theory that Alice Hawthorne and Calla Thorp are in a cult together (Alice being the presumable leader of it). There could also be a third person in that cult which would explain the three pieces of candy Lyra's father left on the candy necklace and Odette saying "there's always three". It definitely has something to do with calla lilies and arrows. In The Grandest Game, Brady told Gigi that "No one could shoot a longbow like Calla" And then there's the triangular scars (which turn out to be arrows) that Calla cut into Knox and presumably Jameson. I also think that the third person (if there is one) is a doctor or nurse of some kind because in Games Untold Alice approached Hannah to offer her something. There were no details on what that offer was but we know that Hannah declined. (Avery was about one and a half years old at the time) Hannah felt unsafe after rejecting Alice's offer. Maybe she offered to join the cult? Tell me if this sounds crazy.

[starsreminisce]

Rejecting the Bond in the book itself.

Wouldn't it end up being about how Lucien feels and how things are going for him?

They talk about rejecting the Bond as if it were just Elain saying "I want to marry the Bat," as if all the drama of the Bond would go away.

Sarah says the Woman can choose, but she also says it's forever, and whenever she talks about examples, she says that the Man has a harder time with rejection and feels it more deeply.

Bottom line: Lucien shouldn't be allowed to be in the same room as Elain at the beginning of the rejection, and every time he shows up, Elain still has to deal with the Bond.

And the book doesn't show her being on good terms with Lucien or even being able to be in the same room.

Having an example book would have to focus on Lucien first or be a two-parter, and it would still have to have romance on only one side. And maybe I'm wrong, but it would still be a Lucien and Elain book.

As of now, I do not see a strong foundation for Elain and Lucien tackling a rejected bond storyline, for a few reasons:

A. They have not even had a real conversation about their bond. B. Elain and Azriel already seemed to close that door. She returned the necklace, and Azriel had no real internal reaction to that moment. Instead, his thoughts shifted immediately to Gwyn when he decided to regift it. C. Rejected bonds in the series tend to carry delayed consequences rather than being clean breaks. D. Elain will always feel some kind of pull toward Lucien, and Lucien toward her. The “His name is Lucien” line directly echoes Feyre saying “Then you don’t know Rhysand very well at all” at her engagement party. That doesn’t feel like a coincidence.

You’re right that the books have not shown Elain and Lucien on good terms or even able to spend much time together, but that fits how SJM writes mates. Feyre was afraid of Rhys when they first met and kept waiting (in fear) for him to call in their bargain. Nesta didn’t want to be near Cassian because she knew he saw through her. That discomfort is part of the early stages of these dynamics, not a sign they are not mates.

We’ve seen Elain trying to hold things together, but also clearly struggling. That’s a familiar arc in the Maasverse. Aelin, Bryce, Feyre, Nesta, Elide, and Yrene all went through similar phases until their mate and comparable counterparts came along who helped them finally reach a turning point. And SJM often gives her male characters the dramatic line about waiting “a thousand years” for their mate. If Lucien is going to make that speech, it’ll carry extra weight considering he already lost Jesminda, who he thought was his mate, and now has to live with that history. Cassian even hinted that Beron could become a threat to Elain, setting up more potential for Lucien to take a stand.

If the bond were going to be rejected, I think we would have seen more direct movement in that direction, especially during ACOSF or in one of the bonus chapters.

So far, the bond has shown it does not care about timing, distance, or even death. Feyre and Rhys were pulled together before they knew why.

If Elain and Lucien were going to have separate and fulfilling stories, Vassa would need much more development to stand beside Lucien. And Azriel’s attraction to Elain still reads as surface-level. The only charged moment was one look, and everything else can be explained another way.

Right now, neither alternative feels fully developed enough to justify rejecting the bond.

Even then, SJM consistently writes her couples as belonging to one another completely in mind, body, and soul. Azriel would always have to live with the fact that Elain is not his mate. He already hides parts of himself from her, and his shadows skitter from her presence.

Elain, in turn, would have to deal with the pull she feels toward Lucien and the lingering idea that Azriel’s true mate is still out there. Elain and Lucien’s bond scent wafts through just from being in the same room. Lucien has not been pushed out of the picture. He still returns to the Night Court for things like Starfall, even over Nynsar.

Of course, SJM can write the story however she chooses. But as a reader, it is hard to imagine her turning her back on the concept of the mating bond when she has emphasized its depth and endurance so strongly, especially in HOFAS. That book showed how powerful the bond is, even in death.

She can choose to retcon Elain and Lucien in favor of Elain and Azriel, but it becomes harder to buy into that shift when the most recent book she released had Azriel correcting Bryce about the Cauldron with a sense of reverence. He still seems salty that he has neither a mate nor a partner nor a spouse.

If a rejected bond is meant to be explored, it is more likely to come from a pair like Helion and LoA, who already have the history, reasons, heartbreak and distance that kind of storyline requires.

So like you said, you really cannot tell Elain or Lucien’s story without addressing the mating bond. No matter what path they take, they are still tied to each other’s journey. And considering that SJM has said before she was excited to explore Elain’s and Azriel’s stories (plural), just as she was excited for Nesta’s story (with no mention of Cassian prior to the announcement of ACOSF), it makes me think she doesn’t intend for Elain to reject Lucien.

Sorry it got wordy lol. Thanks for sharing!

[psychemochanight]

What's a Dick HC that you love and would put in canon if you could?

I'd love to say Dick being AuDHD because I see too many things that could perfectly go as traits of him being neurodivergent (specifically AuDHD) in canon, without literally changing anything about the character... But I'll say something simple-

Dick being demisexual, and liking to wear things like bracelets, necklaces, anklets... No like jewelry, but the kind that is handmade. Friendship bracelets? Necklaces that are just a rope with some charm, and anklets handmade by children trying to sell their things.

Things like that, I think these are things that suit him quite a bit, idk

I still think the only "expensive" thing he would use is a smartwatch because it keeps track of his vital signs, and because he keeps using the option to find his cell phone because the guy loses it 24/7 and it's always on silent.

[gilbertscurls]

gift-wrapped universe — matt sturniolo

The apartment was a disaster.

There were boxes—actual, literal, cardboard boxes—scattered across the floor like some kind of packing apocalypse. Big ones, small ones, tall ones, ones that had been folded and ones that were half-stuffed with tissue paper and bows. In the middle of it all stood Matt, wide-eyed and very much panicking, holding a sheet of sparkly wrapping paper like it had personally betrayed him.

Nick stepped into the room and stopped short, taking in the scene before slowly removing his hoodie.

"What," he asked flatly, "am I looking at?"

Matt turned to him with the urgency of a man on a mission. “Nick, thank God. You have to help me.”

Nick blinked. “Are we moving? Are you moving? Did you get evicted? Did the fire marshal finally say too many candles—?”

“No,” Matt interrupted. “I want to give Y/N a present.”

Nick looked around again, unimpressed. “So naturally, you went to war with Amazon Prime?”

Matt dropped the wrapping paper with a sigh and stepped over a lopsided box. “She deserves the world, Nick. Literally. And I couldn’t figure out how to give her the world, so I did the next best thing.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “You bought twenty boxes.”

“Twenty presents,” Matt corrected. “Each one is symbolic. Thoughtful. Represents a part of our relationship. Our story.”

Nick blinked once, then slowly sat down on the couch, which had been buried under a pile of tangled ribbon.

“You’re so far gone it’s actually impressive.”

Matt ignored him. “This one—” he picked up a small velvet box “—has a pressed flower from the day I met her. The café had them on the tables. This one has a tiny Polaroid from our first real date. This one’s a little necklace I saw and thought of her. And this one—” he paused dramatically, lifting a box that was wildly uneven in shape “—has a rock.”

Nick made a noise somewhere between a snort and a choke. “A rock?”

“She picked it up at the beach and said it was lucky.”

Nick stared at him for a beat, lips twitching. “You’re in love with her.”

Matt, for once, didn’t even deny it. “Yeah. I am.”

Nick groaned and stood up, stepping over a roll of tape like it was a landmine. He grabbed a giant silver bow off the counter and walked back to Matt.

“What are you doing?” Matt asked warily.

Nick placed the bow firmly on top of his brother’s head. “I’m helping you wrap the world for Y/N.”

Matt burst out laughing, a flush rising to his cheeks. “You’re an idiot.”

“Says the man building a gift-based emotional time capsule in the living room,” Nick said, but he was smiling now too. “Alright, lover boy. Let’s get this wrapped. She’s either gonna marry you or institutionalize you after this.”

Matt looked down at the chaos of boxes, ribbon, and tokens of a love that had only grown stronger with every shared moment.

“I’m good either way,” he said with a grin.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

But he picked up a roll of tape and sat beside him anyway.

Because if Matt was really going to try and wrap the world for someone, Nick figured the least he could do was help him tie the bow.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris

[therivercrow]

Another Rook Ask Game

The lovely @robinsea sent me this Rook Ask Game - original post by @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends.

There's quite a few questions, so my answers for Alana are beneath the cut:

1. Did Rook have any crushes within their faction before they left with Varric?

Alana had a fledgling crush on Teia (because who doesn't?) and had a brief one-night thing with Noa de Acutis while they were on a stakeout together.

2. Is your Rook allergic to anything?

Erm...other people's bullshit? Does that count? Nah, no allergies as far as I know.

3. Sweet or Savory snacks?

Both - dark chocolate covered coffee beans are their favourite.

4. What movie genre would they like best?

Probably stuff that's kind of arty and weird and makes some abstract point about loneliness or memory. If they watched any assassin/spy movies they'd be the one pointing out all the things the film gets wrong and how it really doesn't work like that.

5. Favorite Season? Why?

Spring, because the lilacs are in bloom.

6. What’s their favorite hobby/interest?

Cooking with Lucanis, playing the elven bass, reading trashy novels that Bellara lends them.

7. Favorite type of jewelry? (Rings/Necklaces/Bracelets)

Alana's not one for jewellery - it gets in the way in a fight. But a couple of well-placed rings can add impact to a punch, so those.

8. What is your Rook’s favorite animal?

Cats! They absolutely stop to pet every cat in Thedas, and want to adopt one (or several) after all this business with the gods is dealt with.

9. Pick a song from their playlist. What is it, and what made you choose it?

Within Temptation - Stand My Ground.

This one opens my "Songs for Rook" playlist and encapsulates Alana's attitude:

Though this might just be the ending of the life I held so dear / But I won't run, there's no turning back from here...

10. What is a random quirk your Rook has?

They're unable to stay still, Alana is always fidgeting, twitching, just constant movement.

11. Extrovert or Introvert?

Introvert. They love the Veilguard team, but they absolutely need to take time to themself to recharge, usually on the top balcony of the lighthouse with a coffee.

12. Something that annoys your Rook?

Bureaucracy and petty politics (looking at you, governor Ivenci!)

13. What languages does your Rook know?

Common/Trade, Antivan, Tevene, some Orlesian, a few phrases in elven and Qunlat (mostly swears in the latter).

14. Are they ticklish?

Nobody ever gets close enough to find out.

15. If your Rook could do anything, no repercussions, what would they do?

Punch governor Ivenci in the face.

16. Would your Rook make a good villain?

For Alana to become a villain, they would have to lose everything and everyone they care for so that their rage is the only thing left. They'd be terrifying and destructive - the kind who just wants to burn the world because they can't live in it any longer. I...don't like thinking about that.

17. What does your Rook do to wind down after a stressful day (like post Weisshaupt)?

Their Crow training exercises. The rhythm of martial arts, weapons drills, magical training gives them a sense of stability when everything else feels unstable.

18. Your Rook discovered a portal to another fictional world. Where did they end up? (And how screwed are they?)

So, Faerun was the obvious choice but I watched Arcane recently and like the idea of them ending up in the Undercity. They're a magic assassin, so they'd be fine - probably end up running the place.

19. How easy is it to get your Rook out of bed in the morning?

Alana's an early riser, unless they've had a long night (either on a contract or just...a big night at the Hilt or Cobbled Swan) and then they'll sleep til noon.

20. How organized is your Rook?

Meticulously. Crow training, especially with Viago, taught them to always have everything in its place. Weapons cleaned and racked properly, Crow leathers hanging up to avoid wrinkles, potions in clearly labelled bottles in a proper potion chest. Their room is like a military barracks and they like it that way.

[chibishortdeath]

Went to an arcade in a mall recently and they had a Marble of Souls in there, so I played it and won some cards hehe. Those things are LOUD, like piercingly LOUD. I could hear it screeching bitcrushed vampire killer throughout the whole arcade, partially because of how loud it was and partially because I heard vampire killer and immediately tuned out everything else. Had a really nice conversation with the people at the ticket counter too, one of them was a fan of the games and they were all really nice :). Really interesting experience, I guess now I get to say I’ve fed Konami’s gambling addiction 💀💀💀. I’ve got Simon and Maria in card protectors rn (only had two) and I plan to get more protectors to put cute little stickers on them lol. Might put Simon in a lanyard or my wallet XD. But for now they’re just sitting on a shelf for display :3.

[reticent-fate]

i Need you to understand that i am just a simple little digimon redemption machine

the squeaky lil gazimon that serve etemon on the server continent? get those critters some beef jerky and cat toys

devimon from adventure? that's a friend waiting to happen

i see milleniummon and i go "that's a friend right there, get the lads some fruit salad"

kurata can suffer in digihell but i'll take his gizmon, they're cute

i just think they're neat

-sky

[yuzunagis]

i reached thirty tags oops love you niabear 🧸🤎

TELL ME WHAT YOU ASSOCIATE WITH ME

COLORS, SONGS, AESTHETICS, PEOPLE, ANYTHTING

[odietamox]

if I were a little more human shaped (or if i had been for all my teenage years) id go out at night and id go to clubs hopefully alternative clubs and id have so many stories and id be a while different person but alas

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[chastiefoul]

he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[deikshen]

Shen Qingqiu who, while Shang Qinghua is recovering from some random poisoning (that demon has already died at the hands of Mobei, don't worry), is forced to spend time with Mobei-jun.

At first it's tense. He arrives, a mandatory tea out of politeness. It's usually frozen. They don't have much to talk about or anything in common except their concern for Shang Qinghua.

Except they do have in common. At some point, perhaps, Shen Qingqiu mentions some rare beast, and Mobei-jun comments that he killed a couple of those. That leads to the first long conversation the two of you can have.

The next time, Mobei-jun brings back the beast's fangs. The two return to their conversation about monsters. Mobei-jun speaks little, concisely, but he talks about how to kill those beasts, the properties of their organs, the functioning of their poisons. Shen Qingqiu shares his bestiaries and provides additional information.

Then, even when Shang Qinghua improves, Shen Qingqiu usually takes advantage of the time when he has to stay in the northern palace with his husband to, well, expand his bestiary. Mobei-jun also seems to be passionate about flora that can kill, or anything huge and dangerous. Shen Qingqiu enjoys their conversations and learns to get more than just a few words out of Mobei-jun's sullen mouth.

Of course, he actually tells Shang Qinghua:

"When your husband isn't being monosyllabic, it's a good conversation" he says simply. "I didn't know he knew so much about flora, monsters and strange beasts. When I find a rare flower and can't remember its name, I'll ask Mobei, not you."

Shang Qinghua laughs a lot at that.

"Ah, I think that's because, well, you know, inspirations and all that..."

Shen Qingqiu looks at Shang Qinghua very curiously.

"Inspirations? You created your perfect husband from scratch. Who did you get your inspiration from, Airplane bro? Spill the tea, let's see the vicious tastes of this shameless author."

Shang Qinghua laughs a little foolishly.

"Well, you see, I had this classmate in college. A very rich guy" Shang Qinghua makes a funny face as he buries in the past. "He was cold and monosyllabic, even hostile to those who were rude, but hey, he could give you an infodumping of all the monsters in The Witcher without even doing research. I heard him do it once and, man, that guy was crazy" and Shang Qinghua continues talking while, as if by omen, Shen Qingqiu begins to feel a strange sensation of vertigo. "He was kind of cute, well, not exactly my fully type, he was very tall but lacked many muscles, but he had the biggest and prettiest resting bitch face I've ever seen on anyone even my king. He always wore all those fancy clothes that cost the same as my apartment rent, those silver accessories, rings, necklaces, bracelets... His hair was also kind of long, now that I think about it, and when he wore it down it was, god, a delight. I liked him a little. He was my college crush." and Shang Qinghua shrugs, laughing. His cheeks are red and Shen Qingqiu feels that his own ears are red, too. "Cucumber bro, it's actually a bit silly. I remember this boy's last name was also Shen."

That... That's the last straw.

"You-!" and Shen Qingqiu finds himself hitting him with the fan before he realizes it. "How-? What the hell!?"

"Ow, ow, OUCH, Cucumber bro!! What's going on?!"

Shen Qingqiu feels his face burning. His hands tremble over the fan. What the fuck!?

"... Bro?!"

"That classmate of yours" Shen Qingqiu hisses, just to confirm "His name was Shen Yuan?"

Shang Qinghua blinks, confused, recalling his thoughts. Suddenly, his entire face lights up with a wide smile.

"Oh, I forgot!! Yes, that was it!!" and his gaze becomes mischievous. "You met him, too?! He was a delicious little thing, honestly, a nice round butt, he... OUCH-"

"He was me" Shen Qingqiu hisses, opening his fan and hiding behind it. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. Of all the people in the world...!

Shang Qinghua gasps, looking like he was given some vital information. His face, contrary to what Shen Qingqiu expected, does not change into horror, but into mockery.

"Oh, bro" and starts laughing out loud "BRO"

"Damn fourth-rate author, what the hell is wrong with you!!!"

"Bro, BRO, I created a part of my husband based on you!! And you're married to my son self-inserted in a power fantasy!! It's like we're indirectly married!!"

"Fuck you!!"

"Ohh, how cute!! Do you want to jump to the honeymoon already?!"

"Get away!!"

Shen Qingqiu doesn't visit Shang Qinghua again for over a month. However, he does spend some time talking about monsters with Mobei-jun while his husband takes care of the demon court (in the time he would usually use to gossip and fool around with Shang Qinghua), it's just his thing.