#lmk which musicals you think they’d like too !! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucketbueckers · 3 months ago

Text

MESS ME UP

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

wc: 6.1k

content warnings: language, abuse of italics, grammatically incorrect past tense flashback, smut robbery(?), pretty mature but nothing graphic

synopsis: Your friends invited you out to a frat party to celebrate the men’s team winning the NCAA tournament where you bump into Paige Bueckers, the girl who you're in love with and who you ghosted for a month after hooking up with her. A much-needed conversation at the party forces you to revisit difficult memories and give her the closure she’s been seeking.

notes: idk what this is! based loosely off of 'friends' and 'mess me up' by chase atlantic. unfortunately the smut robbery line is for real, like it's smut in the way lacroix tastes like real fruit (which is to say it's not smut, but like concepts of smut... 😝 (i've never had lacroix idk if this is accurate)) side note i hate writing in past tense but doing a traditional flashback scene is corny as hell! idk if it matters but this is set april 2024 (w/ a february 2024 flashback); doesn't really affect anything, so... anyway, second post on tumblr, lmk if we're rocking w it 🙂‍↕️

For the record, you didn’t want to come to this party.

It’s hot, sweaty, loud, and all you can smell is the same brand of men’s cologne and weed. The air is both stale and somehow feels wet and all you can think about is getting back to your apartment so you can shower and go to bed. You had a mock trial bright and early the next morning and your law professor was a stickler for punctuality and presentability – showing up with wrinkled clothes and smelling like a frat party was a sure-fire way to fail, and you had too much riding on your grades to let that happen.

The frat (whose name you’ve already forgotten) was celebrating the NCAA tournament win for the UCONN men’s basketball team. They’d apparently gone back to back, which you guess is cool, but you swore off basketball a long time ago. If you had your way, you’d be at home, three steps into your skincare routine, but you let peer pressure get the best of you and allowed your friends to drag you out.

It’d be fun, they said. You never come out with us! You’re spending all this tuition money and you’re not even taking advantage of it. How can you say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?

You only remember that your friends are law students, too, in the most unfortunate of moments when they put their persuasiveness to the test. In the most unfortunate of moments, you’re also reminded of the fact that they’re college students, too, because they’re leaving you at the door and rushing off to find something to drink. You weren’t upset they dragged you out. Not necessarily. You were grown enough to say no. Perhaps you’d simply set your expectations too high when they begged you to come out and you thought they would spend at least a little bit of time with you before doing their own thing. But sure. It’s whatever.

So, here you are – standing alone in the corner of a frat party, watching as drunk college students grind against each other, laugh, and have a good time. A part of you feels like you’re missing out, but as you watch somebody throw up into a plant, you feel like you’re just fine where you are.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a man wearing a backwards cap suddenly shows up next to you. “Yo, you thirsty?” he yells over the music, thrusting a red solo cup into your empty hands. You don’t have the time to say anything to him before he’s grinning at you, eyes red and hooded. “Come dance with me. You’re too pretty to be standin’ here all alone.”

You hear her before you see her.

“She’s good, bro, trust,” Paige interrupts smoothly, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders. You feel too much like a damsel in distress, but sensing the gravity of the situation, you flash the guy a light smile and lean into Paige slightly. Her grip tightens. You try to not let it bother you.

He raises his hands, surrendering. “My bad. You got it.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you wrench yourself out of her grip. “Thank you, but not necessary,” you tell her sharply, red solo cup still in your hand. If this was how your night was going to go, then you need to be a little tipsy to survive it. You barely have it halfway to your mouth before Paige is pulling it out of your grasp, pouring its contents into a potted plant and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “What the fu–”

“First of all,” she begins, arms crossing protectively, “never accept a drink at a party that you didn’t pour, didn’t see someone else pour, or a drink that’s already open; matter fact, don’t accept a drink unless you opened it or brought it in yourself.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “This is Storrs, Paige. Do the frats really get down like that here?”

Her gaze is unimpressed. “You’re the law student, ma, you tell me the numbers. Second of all, you’re welcome. That was Kylin. He doesn’t take no for an answer in the first place but he’s all kinds of fucked up right now. I’d say I did you a favor but I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“Funny,” you deadpan. “Here? Now?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks you, ignoring your snippy words. “Thought this wasn’t your scene.”

You pause. “It’s not,” you confirm. “Jos and Chelsea wanted me to come out. Figured I should be a good friend once in a while.”

Paige raises a brow. “Jos and Chelsea are too busy playing strip poker with dudes from Kappa Phi to keep an eye on you, and you’re worried about having to be a good friend?”

“First of all,” you say in the know-it-all tone that Paige had used on you, “I don’t need them to keep an eye on me.” The blonde hums again, not entirely convinced, and the heat of her gaze makes you stumble over your words slightly. “Second of all, why do you even care?”

“We’re friends,” she states.

“We were once,” you correct, voice softening. It’s no secret that you and Paige had fucked up whatever you had going on. It’s never been clear whose fault your fallout was (it was yours), nor could the two of you ever agree on what destroyed you (you would argue that you shouldn’t hook up with your friends, especially not the ones you were in love with). It was a messy situation that you were sure the two of you couldn’t recover from (you didn’t want to be friends with someone you couldn’t have; Paige just wants you to give her the chance to prove you otherwise).

“Sure,” she agrees half-heartedly, knowing your spiel by heart now. “Kinda fucked up you think I need a reason to care.” You don’t dignify that with a proper response, feeling something strangely like guilt corroding your heart. “Come outside and get some air with me? Please? Just wanna talk, no funny shit, I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself fall back into all too familiar routines. You had a near inability to say no to Paige most times – it was the reason why you had to put a stop to your friendship. And here you are now, undoing all of the progress you’ve made since you’ve been apart (a small part of you knows better; you’re moving forward but you’re not really doing any better. You’re not progressing. You’re just stuck now, only this time, you have less than you did before). “Jos and Chelsea–”

“–made their choice,” she finishes for you. “And their choice was strip poker with a guy named Anthony,” she adds solemnly. You can’t help but quirk a smile at the absurdity of your life right now. “C’mon, please? It fucking reeks in here. They’ve got a porch swing outside and it’s all quiet and shit.”

“You’ve always had a way with words,” you tease.

“You comin’ or nah?” she asks, but you shove her forward (she lets you) and she leads you through the crowd to the door. They part like the Red Sea and you can’t help but admire the way she silently commands the room, feeling a flutter in your chest you try desperately to stomp out. It’s like a fire; all it takes is a small spark before it eventually grows out of proportion. You know better now.

The door shuts behind the two of you and you sit on the porch swing. You can still hear the music’s pounding bass, but it’s muted. You feel like you can hear your thoughts now. The tension in your shoulders eases as you take in the crisp night air, the crickets’ chirps, the occasional owl’s hoot. For a moment, you forget all of the complicated history between you and Paige; the way she held your hand as she kissed up your thigh, the way she stayed afterwards, cleaning you up and bringing you water. It almost seems as Paige is reliving all of it, too, as she looks at you, and that thought is sobering enough to bring you back to the moment.

You finally get a good look at what she’s wearing. It’s nothing outstanding; a gray Nike tech suit and a pair of dunks, although she’s opted to leave her jacket unzipped, revealing the crop top underneath. She’s dressed for comfort, though the most unfair part of it all is how good she looks when she’s not trying. Her cheekbones are sharp, eyes blue and wide and alert, and you can’t help but notice how fitting a slick-back bun is on her.

This was precisely why you needed your space. You couldn’t control your thoughts or feelings. It was manageable when you minded your business – the phrase out of sight, out of mind did wonders for you and you were usually busy enough that she only crossed your mind once or twice a week when the student population was buzzing about a recent game. But now? Now you’re fucked. You’re inches away from her and you’ve allowed her to pull you back into her orbit. She’s the Earth and you’re a meteor – any closer and you won’t be able to come back from the damage you would do to each other. She would survive, you’re sure, but you’d be destroyed in the process.

“So,” she says slowly. You avert your eyes, staring at anything but her. “How you been?”

“Good,” you lie. “Keeping busy.” That part was less of a lie, but it wasn’t her business to know.

Paige has always been good at reading you, so she gazes at you like she’s not convinced. “I think we’re overdue a conversation,” she says, surprising you. “A real one. No more of this running in circles bullshit.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. You finally meet her eyes. They’re strikingly blue, disarming, and you feel an odd mixture of guilt and longing eat away at your insides. She looks like she’s drinking you in, like she’s trying to understand why you did what you did; her eyes soften in the dim glow of the porchlight and you can’t help but flush under her gaze. She always understands you in spite of how often you push her away – she seems to understand why you keep her at arm’s length, too, and it’s then that you fully understand how overwhelming it is to be known.

“Why did you leave?” she asks finally. You have to swallow back the bile in your throat. “The morning after.” Her clarification does nothing to soothe the turmoil in your stomach. “I thought…” Paige’s throat bobs as she tries to find the words. “It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me. So why did you leave like that shit ain’t matter to you?”

That night in February comes back to you in the blur of a memory. You’ve thought about it so often that you could write a play-by-play of it; every single unremarkable detail comes back to you in a flourish of vibrant color – the way the floor felt beneath your feet as Paige guided you into her room, the slight scratch of her nail against the base of your neck as her hands found purchase in your hair. Paige was wrong. It meant something to you, too much to you. You often remind yourself, if it meant that much, why was it easier to run away? Jumping off of a diving board into a pool conceptually means the same thing as jumping off of a cliffside into beach waves; the jump isn’t the hard part, it’s the reminder of the distance between your feet and the surface. Your feelings for Paige are too consuming. It’s easier to not make the jump at all than it is to worry if you’ll be able to come up for air.

She was in high spirits, drunk off of their win against Villanova. They weren’t an opponent you’d typically call home for, but the Huskies were having a tough season with several injured players and a lot of underclassmen. It was close, 67-46; Paige had contributed to a little less than half of their points overall with a solid 31. She was happy, the rest of her team was happy, and she’d begged you to come over to her apartment for the post-game festivities – which was usually games and snacks as they weren’t big on drinking during the season. You’d nearly refused at first. It was supposed to be a small team get-together and you had some work to catch up on. You eventually gave in, like you always do. Paige had flashed her typical, charming smile, looping an arm around your waist, and you were a goner.

The team accepted you like you were one of their own, too. That was new. You didn’t spend as much time with them as you did with Jos and Chelsea, but it felt like you knew them better than you knew Jos and Chelsea, anyway. Ice and KK were two menacing peas in a pod – they were like sisters separated at birth and whenever they were together, something chaotic was bound to happen, but they loved and protected fiercely despite the way they teased each other and the team. Caroline was like the team mother and many of the girls called her such. Nika was intense on the court, but off of it, she was Paige’s twin through and through – they always had something to say to each other and their banter often brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Azzi was sweet and well-loved by the team (and the student population in general). She introduced you to her and Paige’s son Ines, which confused you at first, but Paige threw her arm over your shoulder and assured you that they’re only co-parenting because Carol has enough children and they didn’t want Ines to be a ward of the court. You couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into Paige – something about the team’s dynamic healed you a little, and Ines joked that Paige went out and got her a stepmom.

You felt the blush creep up your neck as Paige tightened her grip around you slightly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, son,” Paige had said somberly, pretending to look sad as Azzi rolled her eyes. “Your mother was havin’ an affair–”

“Oh, bullshit!” Azzi cried. The entire room broke out into fits of giggles.

“Now I understand why Paige wifed up a lawyer,” KK said in between laughter. “Tryna get a discount on that divorce, huh?”

The team had tears in their eyes from their excitement – you didn’t have the heart to tell them you were hoping to specialize in civil litigation, so you just laughed along. The conversation continued to flow as games were played. Nika was exceptionally bad at UNO and Paige never let her hear the end of it. You guys only managed to play a couple of rounds before Nika suddenly got good and played a +4, prompting Ice and KK to stack +4s of their own onto it – Paige stared in disbelief for a solid thirty seconds before picking up 12 cards and rage-quitting one turn later when KK skipped her.

“There, there,” you’d said, lips trembling as you tried not to laugh at the look on Paige’s face. You rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and she pushed you off her gently, her own lips quirking in amusement. “Show this card game who’s boss.”

“Bro,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she leaned back into the couch, her arm finding home over the back of your shoulders once more. You remember wondering if this is what normal felt like, what finally finding a community was like – you fit in too well with Paige’s teammates and they made you feel at home. Being near Paige made you feel at home. She was talented that way. She had an uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, regaling them with jokes and an endless supply of charm. When you realized you were in love with Paige Bueckers, you weren’t surprised about it. If anything, you might have been a little upset with yourself – you were sure you weren’t the only person she’d drawn in unintentionally, ensnared in a web whose latticework was meticulously shaped like basketball netting.

As the night went on, more and more laughs were shared until the clock reached midnight and many of Paige’s teammates got up to leave. Everyone shared hugs and affectionate goodnights. All of them even looped around to hug you – which was… nice. Paige shared her apartment with Azzi and Aubrey, so they retired to their own rooms after curious glances to you and Paige, still curled up together on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. You could hear the ring of silence as it enveloped the two of you, Paige’s gentle breathing, and the tick of the clock. It was oddly comforting; normally, it would have lulled you into a drowsy state, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Paige’s body next to yours, the brush of her thumb against your shoulder. Feeling both unmoored and tethered, you shift next to Paige, gathering her attention. “I should go,” you’d whispered. Her thumb halted.

“Stay,” she requested. She tilted her head. Her gaze met yours. You expected her eyes to be half-closed, dim with sleep. The rasp of her voice was attributed to a tone you knew she’d adopt when she was exhausted, but her eyes were wide, alert, dilated, a blue so dark you were sure you almost mistook the sheer want for something else. “Stay,” she murmured again. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you agreed almost breathlessly, feeling her hand squeeze your shoulder gently. “Sure.” She untangles from you and stands from the couch, offering you her hand, and you take it. She led you seamlessly through the dark of her apartment into her bedroom, where she released you long enough to rifle through her drawers, having found you a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt for you to wear to bed. Paige pointed you towards the bathroom. You changed into her clothes. Your fingers had shook with anticipation at the sheer domesticity of it all as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your – her – t-shirt read HOPKINS GIRLS BASKETBALL. It had all felt so different now. You hadn’t been sure at the moment if it terrified you or excited you.

You exited the bathroom to find Paige’s back to you, adjusting the band of a pair of basketball shorts around her hips. Her hair was out of her bun and it cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands; you’d felt an inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it, to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a dark black sports bra. The two of you were friends. Granted, you were in love with her, but the sight of her wearing nothing but ball shorts and her Nike bra shouldn’t have done the things it did to you.

“Which side is yours?” you’d asked, mostly to break the silence. You ignored the crack in your voice. Paige paid it no mind as she turned, which forced you to avert your eyes, trying not to glance at her abdominals.

“Don’t matter,” she responded. You watched the way she moved, sitting low on the bed, legs long and stark against the purple of her comfort. “You gettin’ in or what?” You hoped she couldn’t see the flush on your neck. You slid into bed next to her, hoping to maintain some sort of distance, but she refused to let you get too far. She slung her arm over your waist, fingers brushing against your skin where your shirt rode up. Her breath was even against your neck and the heat of her body nearly turned your brain into mush. “This okay?” she asked, tone softer.

“Mhm,” you hummed, afraid to speak or you might fuck up and tell her just how okay it actually was. Paige was just a touchy person, you tried to remind yourself as you felt the tickle of her hair against the nape of your neck. This doesn’t mean anything to her. It was all for naught. It did little to quell the way your heart raced, the way the heat pooled low in your belly.

“You looked good tonight,” she said casually. You tried to stop the goosebumps as they rose on your flesh. “You always do.”

Unable to think of something smart to say, you shifted your body slightly, your fingers splaying over the arm she held tight around your midsection. “Oh, yeah?” Her fingers brushed a little lower on your stomach, grazing the waistband of your shorts.

She hummed an affirmative, pulling you tighter against herself, and you could barely breathe. It was overwhelming in the best way – she was all around you. Physically, you felt as though you were in her skin as she greedily pulled you in. The scent of her was everywhere; the shampoo that seeped into her pillows, the cologne on her neck. Your hair stood on end as her lips brushed almost imperceptibly against the shell of your ear. “‘M glad you came,” she whispered.

You flipped on your side, face-to-face with Paige. Her arm moved enough for you to get situated and once you were, her hand found the small of your back, her palm warm against your skin. You can’t help the way your breath hitched, even as Paige’s eyes seemed to take in the stuttering rise and fall of your chest. Having found some courage, you poked her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to yours. “What are we doing?” you asked finally, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her brow raised slightly, the dark blue of her gaze illuminated by the streaks of moonlight through her window. “No funny shit, Paige. You touch me like you want me, claim me in front of your friends.” You searched her eyes as she fell silent. “What are we doing?” you repeated, voice firmer.

“I want you,” she confessed after a few heartbeats of contemplation. She leaned in closer to you, your noses nearly brushing, and she continued, “I want you so fucking bad. Don’t wanna do anything you’ont want, but–”

Your lips were on hers before she had the chance to finish. She responded eagerly, one hand firm around your waist as she flipped the both of you over, pulling you to straddle her waist. You leaned down, your chest against hers, hands on each side of her neck. You felt the thundering of her pulse under your fingers. It was stabilizing in a sense – words were one thing, but to feel how badly you’d been able to affect her, too, did wonders for your growing ego. Paige’s hands had found your hips, keeping you pressed against her body.

You parted briefly to catch your breath. Paige’s chest heaved, her lips shiny and swollen. She was hard to look away from. For a moment, you’d wondered if this was worth it. Your heart had raced, beating uncontrollably; it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything would change between the two of you. Was one night with Paige worth the risk of losing your friendship? You feel too strongly, too much, overwhelmingly. You’ve been told by an ex or two that you were simply too much. You wouldn’t want to subject Paige to that.

Her right hand met your face, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “You want this?” she asked. Her eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris, but something about it entranced you. The desire in her eyes had brought fresh heat to your stomach, but coupled with the fact she’d be willing to stop made your heart beat a little faster. She was enough to quell your worries, settling the irregularity of your thoughts. You nodded, leaning down to connect your lips again, but her hand was insistent against your jaw as she held you back. “Words,” she commanded.

You’d barely resisted an eyeroll. “Yes, Paige,” you affirmed. Her hand loosened, eyes searching yours. “Want you.”

Her smile turned smug. “Yeah? How bad?”

The tease sent white-hot desire straight through your body as your hips rolled against hers, trying to find some relief. Her hands fall back down to your waist, helping you rut against her thigh as a shared flush creeped up both of your necks. “You gonna touch me?” you breathed against her lips. Her breath came out a disjointed stutter when you guided her hand to the swell of your ass. It was unnatural – Paige was so sure, so confident. To have her nearly at your mercy was like a drug through your veins, but you didn’t want her there. You wanted Paige fully in control; you wanted her to take care of you, to give you everything you’d fantasized about for months on end. You wanted her so bad it rewired the coding in your brain. There was something about her that broke down all of the walls you spent years building.

Your actions and words had been the only permission she needed. One of her hands gripped the flesh of your ass as the other one cupped the back of your neck. Her nail scratched you inadvertently as she dragged you back down to connect your lips – the slight echo of pain caused you to whine against her lips, a sound she swallowed greedily before she flipped the two of you over once more. Your head fell back against her pillows as she rucked up your shirt, finding that you’d opted to not wear a bra. She groaned indulgently, one large hand coming up to squeeze one of your breasts and her mouth finding the other one.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gripping it tight as she lavished you with attention. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she murmured against you, voice dripping with want. She pressed her knee against your core as she found her way back to your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing another whimper from your parted lips. It sent a jolt through your body. “You gon’ let me do what I want, huh? Get you right?”

“Paige, please,” you begged, all of the shame having left your body as you ground down against her knee, feeling the pleasure and relief simultaneously. “Fuck, do what you want, I don’t care – just please fucking touch me.”

She shushed you, lips back on yours, tongue brushing against your lips like she was trying to take whatever you’d give her. And at that point, you would have given her anything if it meant she’d stop teasing you. “I got you, ma, jus’ relax,” she whispered against your lips. She trailed a blazing path down your chest, leaving hickies as she went. Paige reached the waistband of your shorts; she pressed a sloppy kiss to your navel before bunching her fingers in and pulling them off, throwing them haphazardly into the room.

The air was cold against you. You were breathing heavily by then, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Her hand untwisted yours from the bedsheets, linking your fingers together, and that touch alone was enough to bring you back down to earth. “I got you,” she promised again, reminding you, pressing diligent kisses against the inside of your thigh. You relaxed ever so slightly against her, feeling as though you could breathe a little easier, but your body was still incredibly high strung. Paige squeezed your hand. Then her mouth was on you, and you were done for.

She held your hand as she went down on you, talking you through it until your orgasm reached its peak and you sunk into the bed bonelessly. She didn’t release you when she came back up, her smile a mix of smugness, pride, and quiet adoration. Paige kissed your knuckles, your cheeks, your lips, drawing a contented sigh out of you. “You good?” she asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, hand cradling your jaw.

Exhausted, all you could do was hum an affirmative. Paige flashed a small smile again, pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling off the bed, much to your surprise. “Lemme get you some water,” she said. “‘M coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded wordlessly, closing your eyes and sinking back into the pillows as your breathing evens out. She left her room, the door shutting with a silent click. In the silence of Paige’s bedroom, curled up in her purple comforter, all you can think about is how the future of your friendship has inexplicably changed forever. She said she wanted you. Did she just mean sexually? Paige was always intentional in her communication, a byproduct of her media training. Tears brimmed your eyes when you considered the idea that you might have just been another Wednesday night fling for her. Here you are again, feeling stupid about the overwhelming feelings you harbored for Paige despite your better judgment. The worst part was that it wasn’t her fault. You got your hopes up.

You wiped your eyes when you heard the door open again. Paige crossed the room, cracking open a cold bottle of water for you and pressing it to your lips. You nearly forgot about your inner turmoil when she smiled at you again, having thrown her hair back up into its bun. “Gonna clean you up, okay?” she informed you. At your nod, she runs a warm washcloth between your thighs, getting rid of the lingering stickiness. She carefully redressed you, squeezing your hips gently, and you’re left feeling so incredibly conflicted that you’re breathless with the anxiety. Paige disposed of the washcloth and curled up next to you in bed once more, an arm wrapping around your midsection. You’d told each other goodnight, but as her breath evens out against your neck, your mind races.

You slept fitfully through the night. And when morning light rolled around, you extracted yourself from Paige’s grip, sliding a pillow into her arms. The nervousness and all of your overthinking thoughts made you queasy with grief. You were in love with Paige Bueckers. That much was true. You were too head over heels for her to return to normalcy; you couldn’t. At that point, it would be easier for you to not be friends with her at all than to pretend like she wasn’t everything you’d ever wanted.

As she slept, you casted one last guilty look over your shoulder and you ran.

But that night in February has long since passed, and on the porch swing on a much warmer night in April, Paige stares at you in desperation, seeking answers to the questions you’ve withheld for over a month. “Why did you leave?” she asks you again. “Fuck, tell me the truth, lie to me, whatever, just please give me something to work with.”

“It was overwhelming,” you finally admit, twisting the rings on your fingers. You feel terrible as you glance at Paige, whose eyes soften when she takes in your expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shoulda seen that something was wrong.”

You close your eyes, lips trembling. You’re touched at how she instantly takes responsibility for your fuck ups, thinking she’s done something wrong. “No, Paige,” you correct her. “Fuck. It wasn’t you. It was never you.” You pick at a loose string on your shorts. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “You were so gentle. That night meant everything to me, and that was the problem. I wanted you so bad – Jesus Christ, I was in love with you for months. I don’t do casual. I always feel too strongly and I loved you so much that it was fucking overwhelming. I woke up and nearly lost it because I couldn’t handle the idea of having you like that and having to pretend like I didn’t want you like that forever. It was so much easier to run and not face the possibility of having to be your friend when all I’ve wanted was more.”

When you finally look back to Paige, her eyes are wide with something that looks strangely like grief, like you’ve pulled the rug from under her feet and watched as she fell. As you think about it, that’s probably what you’ve done, anyway. She spent so long thinking that your fallout was her fault, that it was something she’d done, but the ugly truth of the matter was that you were too scared of the way you felt for her that you ran from it instead. Paige runs a frustrated hand over her jaw, her expression nearly unreadable. You frown. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing that your apology is long overdue. You fucked up so incredibly bad with her. Your brain remembers her prior words, the ‘It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me,’ and you suddenly feel like an idiot. God, it was mutual this entire time and you were too caught up in yourself to realize it.

“You think too fucking much,” Paige says finally, and you hardly have the time to react before she’s kissing you, her hands gripping your hips. You nearly gasp against her lips before you fully register what’s happening. Sinking into it, you wrap your arms around her neck, feeling suddenly like everything is finally aligning, that all of your blurred focal points sharpen. When she pulls away, her eyes are alight with understanding. “So, lemme get this straight. You pushed me away ‘cause you’re in love with me, then we fucked, and you thought I wouldn’t wife you up?”

You frown, feeling stupid all over again. “Well, when you put it like that…yeah?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. You’d send dudes to jail left and fucking right ‘cause you jump to conclusions too early. Thank God you’re not going into criminal defense.”

You shove her away from you, feeling the embarrassment bloom on your cheeks. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re an asshole.”

She guffaws, reaching for your hands, intertwining your fingers. “Says you! You ghosted me for a month and let me think I fucked us up. Jesus Christ.” She twists the ring on your finger mindlessly as she searches for the right words. “Okay, lemme be really fucking clear. I’m in love with you, too. Like, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. There is nobody but you. You aren’t too much for me – I love you for you, no ifs, ands, buts, whys, hows, nothing. I know you thought you were protecting us by pushin’ me away, but you gotta let me make that choice, too. I want this with you, alright? Will you gimme that chance?”

Her words leave the two of you in silence. You can still hear the chirp of the crickets, the thrumming from the party indoors. You can feel the way her thumb brushes over your knuckles, the way her eyes bore into yours, patiently waiting for your decision. But distinctly, you can see the plea, the desperation for you to just give into what she knows the both of you are feeling. Your anxiety and constant overthinking never ruined the two of you. It may have set you back, but you and Paige found your way back to each other. Maybe you’re not a meteor, dangerously crashing into her and disintegrating on impact. Maybe the two of you are something simpler – the moon and the tide. She was never going to let you get hurt if only you’d give her the opportunity to show you that.

So, you take that leap – whether it’s off the diving board into the pool or the cliffside into beach waves, you don’t care. You know now that Paige is waiting for you at the surface. “I want this, too,” you affirm, watching the smile bloom on her face like springtime flowers, and you seal the deal by pressing your lips to hers. She responds eagerly, her arms tight around you. You loathe that it took the two of you this long, that it was your fault for not trusting Paige with your heart when she’s given you no real reason to doubt her; despite this, her lips taste like forgiveness and yours like atonement. In spite of everything, you made it here in the end, and it was worth it.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #uconn #uconn wbb #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb

654 notes · View notes

luvergirl-866 · 4 months ago

Text

something like love

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, slight angst if you squint, emetephobia warning

a/n - hi!! it’s odd for me to post two days in a row, so try not to get used to it! i just already had this written and wanted to share it so baddd. hope yall enjoy! also, this is unedited so once again, im begging, lmk if there’s any mistakes. and ofc tell me what you think!!

To be honest, Azzi hadn’t really known what to expect when they put their plan in motion. She and Paige had gone over the logistics, sure, but they’d only really skimmed over how they’d act in public, and whether they’d hold hands, and what kind of flirty things they’d say to each other. Azzi sort of regrets her decision to let Paige lead the way, because that makes her feel like she’s going into this blind, with no idea of how Paige is going to act when they’re together now. No idea of how things are going to change.

It is only the morning after their movie night, and here is what Azzi has learned so far:

For one, Paige doesn’t actually seem to be that big on hand-holding. The only time she held Azzi’s hand last night was when she led her to the doorway once the night was over, waving their joined hands goodbye to their friends.

Paige does, however, seem to be big on basically everything else.

Once the girls were done gushing and celebrating and asking (very invasive) questions, they’d all decided on some horror movie they’d seen the trailer for. Azzi hates horror movies and she guesses this is probably the reason why Paige advocated so hard to watch one. Because as soon as they turned the lights off and the scary intro music started, Paige wrapped her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her flush against her side. They stayed this way for around ten minutes before Paige claimed she had to use the restroom, but before she left, she kissed Azzi’s head and mumbled, “Don’t get too scared while I’m gone, baby,” into her ear. Azzi had swallowed thickly and nodded, and pretended not to notice Jana wiggling her eyebrows at her.

When the first real jumpscare happened, and Azzi screamed along with a few of the other girls, Paige chuckled quietly and leaned down to whisper, “You’re such a baby about this kinda stuff, Az.” Azzi had reacted how she normally would, slapping Paige on the arm and rolling her eyes, defending herself with a, “Shut up, I know you’re scared, too.” But what wasn’t normal was the way Paige fondly shook her head and nuzzled her cheek with her nose before pressing a kiss there, and then leaned back up to pull Azzi into her side once more, this time protectively. Azzi swore she could hear her own heart racing for a solid five minutes afterwards. It didn’t help that KK had looked back at them and said, “Aw, y’all grossing me out with how cute you are,” before turning back to the movie. Paige had snickered. Azzi had taken a deep breath, which did nothing to help with her composure.

Almost an hour into the movie, Paige rested her hand on Azzi’s thigh and squeezed, and she didn’t give Azzi any time to tame the fire in her belly before leaning into her ear once more and whispering, “You’re so stiff. You gotta chill,” and so, tamping down the need to cross her legs, Azzi’d obeyed and leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder.

At some point or another, she must’ve fallen asleep there, because all she remembers after that is a gentle pressure on her shoulder, jostling her softly, and a voice from her dreams saying, “Az, it’s late, we gotta go. Time to wake up, baby,” and Azzi opened her eyes to find Paige sitting beside her, giving her this look that Azzi had only ever caught glimpses of, and it was so soft she had to shut her eyes again.

“Thought we were sleeping over,” Azzi mumbled, stretching and then turning onto her side, realizing vaguely that somebody must’ve thrown a blanket over her.

“Nah, I figured we better sleep in an actual bed tonight.” Paige stroked back a strand of Azzi’s hair with incredible tenderness before taking her by the waist and hefting her into a sitting position. “C’mon. I’ll take you to mine, okay?”

Azzi had nodded sleepily, and had let Paige say all their goodnights while she hung off her arm with lidded eyes. Even in her half-sleep state, she didn’t miss the way the girls elbowed each other and gave knowing glances.

Now, Azzi stares at Paige, who lays sleeping just next to her, hair all splayed out and mouth hanging open. Azzi smiles softly at her. She and Paige have slept in the same bed hundreds—maybe thousands—of times, but this is different, because Azzi is allowing herself to pretend that it is. She imagines reaching out and waking Paige the same way Paige woke her last night, gently and lovingly, and then sharing a lazy morning together as a couple where they joke about morning breath and talk about their plans and hold each other.

But Paige grumbles, then shifts and blinks her eyes open, rubbing them a little before finding Azzi laying next to her. She smiles, but it’s not the same smile from last night—it’s not that tender, adoring smile, but rather the one Azzi is used to—the wide, toothy, beautiful but friendly one. “Oh, hey. Morning.”

“Morning,” Azzi mumbles, her indulgent fantasy broken, and she reminds herself just how careful she’ll have to be while she and Paige are doing this. She cannot allow herself too many delusions, cannot let her imagination run wild with the idea that their act is real. She cannot let herself get burned by this.

“You kept stealing the blankets last night.”

Azzi lies onto her back to avoid eye contact, staring up at the ceiling. “No, Paige, you were taking up the entire bed.”

“Cap,” Paige says, shoving her shoulder. Rough, friendly. Sisterly.

It’s silent for a second and then Paige turns onto her side. “Hey.” Azzi can feel her eyes burning into the side of her head. “We did pretty good last night, yeah? We seemed super in love and shit?”

Azzi doesn’t chance a glance over, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. “Yeah, P,” she agrees. “We did.”

——————————————

Finals come far too fast.

The last month of school is always hectic, and this year has been no different—Azzi’s spent the vast majority of her time studying, drinking her nostalgia away with friends, and then more studying on top of that.

Oh, and pretending to be in a committed relationship with Paige. That too.

Some days are easier than others—it’s not like they’re being forced to undress each other in front of an audience or anything. They haven’t even had to utilize pet names much. But it’s still…different. So different. Paige was touchy-feely with Azzi even before they started ‘dating’, so now, if they ever sit more than an inch apart or walk somewhere without wrapping their arms around each other, they get strange glances from their friends. A couple mornings ago, they were so hungover that they forgot about their whole act, and when they’d stumbled out of Paige’s room and began making breakfast without so much as a word to each other, KK had abrasively asked if there was ‘trouble in paradise’. Paige was all over her the rest of the day. After two weeks, Azzi is starting to get used to it.

At least they haven’t had to kiss. They haven’t even discussed it, and Azzi has been specifically avoiding that topic of conversation. She knows herself well enough to know that she can’t kiss her best friend and act normal about it.

Later, Azzi will curse herself for thinking this without knocking on wood after.

“So, we all know the rules of the game?”

“KK—“

“Girl, just answer the question!”

A pause, and then a bored chorus of yes’es.

“Yay!” With a big, tipsy smile on her face, KK places the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle.

Paige groans and rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder. “KK, this is so fuckin’ lame.”

“For real!” Ice says from a few spots down. “We’re not in middle school.”

KK waves them off. “Girl, boo. Y’all are the lame ones. This‘ll be so much fun, you’ll be thanking me after.”

Everyone starts to groan in response to this, but Caroline, ever the mom, speaks up. “C’mon, guys, just play KK’s game.”

Unable to really say no to Caroline, the group shuts up. KK smiles excitedly. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Thank you, Carol.”

Azzi brings her hand up to rest on Paige’s back, and she’s proud that it almost comes naturally now, like her body knows that’s just what it’s supposed to do.

Nika breaks the peace a moment later with another teasing comment, which prompts KK to yell at her, and then everyone is talking amongst themselves, the room buzzing with late-night, drunk-college-students-before-finals energy.

Paige sighs deeply into Azzi’s shoulder, and she loves that she’s the only one who can hear it, who can feel it against her skin.

Putting her lips to Paige’s hair, Azzi mutters, “Wanna go downstairs?”

Downstairs is where Paige’s dorm is. Azzi’s is the floor they’re on now, and it’d probably make more sense to sleep there for the night. But Paige’s dorm, and more specifically, her bedroom, is where they’ve been gravitating to the past couple weeks. Azzi has always loved it there, the smell of Paige filling the very air, photos of the two of them on her nightstand, purple bedding so very Paige. And now it’s become something of a sanctuary, a way to escape their facade which can become cumbersome.

Usually, they’d be in bed by now, because Azzi likes to sleep early and Paige hasn’t been wanting to stay up without her. But Paige shakes her head at the question.

“No?” Azzi asks. “You’re not tired?”

“Mm, nah.” Paige glances up at her. “You?”

Azzi licks her lips. She swears Paige’s eyes track the movement, and linger for just a moment too long. She clears her throat. “Same.”

“Aight,” Paige says, turning back to her shoulder. “We can leave after this, ma.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” KK says, barely giving Azzi any time to shudder at Paige’s nickname. “Pay attention. You’re going first.”

Everybody’s looking directly at Azzi, and she shakes her head awkwardly. “Oh, no, I don’t think—“

“If you don’t wanna play, you gotta take a shot every round.”

Paige lifts her head up. “KK, that’s dumb. She doesn’t have to play if she don’t want to.”

KK smiles deviously. Paige flips her off, but Azzi pulls her hand down, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever.” She leans over into the middle of the circle, making Paige lean off of her, and spins the beer bottle.

It spins only twice before slowing down and, blessedly, landing on Aubrey.

The girls make a range of noises, mostly giggles, and then Aubrey leans into the circle to meet Azzi in the middle, smiling.

Once she gets close enough, Azzi whispers, “Liyah good with this?”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. “I’on think it’s my girl we gotta be worried about.”

Confused, Azzi glances over her shoulder, and sees Paige staring intensely at them, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. The blank look on her usually lively face scares Azzi a little bit. She turns back to Aubrey, who also looks a little afraid.

“You’re good,” Azzi reassures her, because she is. Aubrey doesn’t know that Paige is just acting, because she’s the possessive type and of course, if she and Azzi were really dating, she’d be jealous even of her own teammates. But Azzi can’t tell Aubrey this, so instead, she leans forward and kisses her.

Aubrey lets out a noise, surprised, and it makes Azzi laugh because she probably should’ve warned her she was going in. The kiss can’t last more than two seconds before there’s a hand fisting Azzi’s shirt, pulling her back, and Paige is saying, “Alright, alright,” quite gruffly.

Azzi’s stomach does flips at Paige’s rough voice, but she’s tipsy (maybe a little bit more than tipsy) so she leans up to nuzzle Paige’s cheek rather than shying away from her. “Somebody’s jealous.”

“Yeah,” Paige says, “no one should be up on you like that.” And they’re obviously acting—but when Azzi pulls away to look at her, there’s something on her face that isn’t quite fake enough.

But then she’s smiling and saying, “Stop tryna steal my girl, Aubrey,” and Azzi’s heart contracts like it always does when Paige says stuff like this nowadays.

Across the circle, Aubrey takes her spin. It lands on Ice, and Ice is considerably more drunk than any of them, so the whole thing is pretty slobbery. The next spin—Nika—is mostly the same.

It goes like that for a while, a few people taking shots instead of kissing, and a few others taking shots for the hell of it. The bottle lands on Azzi once again and she fills her shot glass to the brim before taking it, needing to dull the feeling of Paige’s hand wrapped possessively around her waist.

By the time the bottle lands on Paige, they’re all pretty damn drunk.

Azzi knows it’s just a game, but she’s always hated seeing Paige with other people, and now is no different. Ashlynn laughs, because this whole thing is pretty fucking funny, but Azzi can’t help but sulk, glad to be under the guise of a relationship—glad she doesn’t have to hide her feelings for awhile.

Before leaning into the circle, Paige looks at Azzi and says, all lighthearted and buzzed, “Don’t pout at me, baby.”

There’s that roughness again, that tone in the back of her throat, and Azzi squirms when Paige presses a wet kiss to her cheek.

Paige and Ashlynn kiss, but they both laugh kind of hysterically so their teeth are pretty much just clashing, and when they’re done Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s shoulders and spins for herself. And it spins, and spins, and spins, so many times Azzi gets dizzy watching it—

It gets to Amari, and it slows.

It passes by Inês, barely moving anymore.

The neck gets back to Paige, and Azzi wonders for one drunk second, What if it lands on Paige and she has to kiss herself? and she doesn’t even have the time to laugh at how ridiculous that is before the bottle stops, pointing almost accusingly at her.

The girls all cheer, oohing and laughing.

Paige laughs too, easy and casual because they’re supposed to be a couple, they’re supposed to have done this a thousand times, it’s supposed to be normal, normal, Azzi, act normal.

They should have known this would be inevitable.

Paige turns to her, still smiling but with a concerned, almost imperceptible furrow between her brow. Azzi obviously can’t refuse this kiss, can’t take a shot rather than kiss her girlfriend in front of all these people who know she’s her girlfriend.

So instead, she wills herself to nod and then she takes Paige by the collar and kisses her.

Strangely enough, the first thing Azzi takes note of isn’t actually the way Paige’s lips feel touching hers for the first time, or the fact that their teammates are watching them, wolf-whistling and giggling amongst each other.

No, instead, it’s the way Paige smells—the fact that the hair tickling Azzi’s cheek is sweet, vanilla, which means she washed her hair today. And it’s the way her hands cup Azzi’s jaw, cradling her like they do this all the time, thumbs rubbing gently against her cheekbones in a gesture soft enough to make Azzi gasp into her mouth.

She only snaps into it and really realizes, oh, Paige is actually kissing me right now, when Paige’s tongue teases against Azzi’s bottom lip. And it’s just for a second, Paige pulling away fast enough that Azzi thinks she must have imagined it, but it leaves her lip wet.

After that, Paige sits back, smiling at her but there’s that furrow between her brow again, imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as Azzi does, and she’s stroking Azzi’s cheek like a tick now, like she’s trying to figure something out.

The moment ends when the girls all clap like white people on a plane, and Azzi isn’t even paying attention to the teasing and cooing, because she’s too busy staring at Paige, wondering what she’s thinking about right now, wondering what about that kiss made her feel so damn…safe.

Whenever she thought about her first kiss with Paige, she expected butterflies, light-headedness—maybe even nausea. Comfort, the thing you feel when you come home to your small town after a semester away—that was not expected.

Paige blinks, that strange look on her face disappearing, and Azzi realizes that she’s still holding onto the front of her shirt. She pushes her away teasingly, and Paige laughs, wrapping an arm around her as she turns to the girls, waving off their teasing remarks, and as Azzi watches her profile, feels the wetness on her bottom lip cool, she knows that she is falling and thinks nobody will be there to catch her when she reaches the bottom.

——————————————

The next morning, Azzi wakes up and immediately regrets it.

Paige’s window blanket must’ve fallen down last night, because the sun is shining through the room and it is…loud. She rolls onto her side to try and get away from it, and then that problem is fixed but another rises in the form of an abrupt tummyache. And Azzi prides herself on being a strong person, but as soon as she gets a tummyache it’s over for her.

Also, maybe the loud sun problem isn’t as fixed as she thought because her head is beginning to pound. She can feel it beating against her skull in time with the beating of her heart, and somehow that gives her a feeling akin to motion sickness, which makes her tummy hurt worse. She is probably going to throw up very soon, and should get up so she doesn’t do it all over Paige’s bed, but that’s where the third problem arises: she is so comfy. How can she ever be expected to leave this bed when she’s so goddamn comfy?

“Yo, are you gonna puke?”

Azzi groans. “Probably.”

Azzi’s facing away, so she can’t see what Paige’s doing, but she hears sheets rustle and then a pair of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Soon enough, Paige is standing in front of her, holding a hand out. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Azzi looks up, and that makes her stomach turn again, the back of her neck burning. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you puke on my bed. Like, actually.”

If Azzi threw up on Paige’s bed, Paige would probably usher her to the bathroom, give her some water, and clean the sheets without complaining about it until a few days later. But Azzi still doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so she sits herself up and is about to accept Paige’s hand when she realizes this is much more urgent than she thought. Almost as soon as her feet hit solid ground, the bile rises in her throat at an alarming rate and she has to run across the hall. She doesn’t make it to the toilet but manages the bathtub, which is arguably better.

Paige is there once she’s done, tying her hair up into a ponytail. “That it?”

Azzi spits. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Lemme grab you some pepto or somethin’. Hang tight.”

Once Paige walks away, Azzi wipes her mouth and all at once, like the tide coming in, remembers how the lips now coated in spit and bile were yesterday on Paige’s.

Of course, she also remembers the pet names, the affection, the flash of jealousy in Paige’s eyes that may or may not have been there. But it’s the kiss, the wonderful, tipsy, warm kiss that wrestles its way to the forefront of her pounding head and stays there, the memory replaying quite a few times before Paige comes back with pepto bismol and water. “Here.”

Azzi looks disdainfully at the bright pink medicine. “I don’t think I can swallow that, P.”

“Whoa, pause.“

“Chill,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes. “Gimme that.” she takes them from Paige’s hand and manages to swallow one before throwing up again, this time with Paige by her side to hold onto her while her shoulders heave.

“Aw,” Paige tuts sympathetically when she’s done. “My lil lightweight.”

Azzi rests her head on the edge of the tub while Paige turns on the tap, washing the bile away.

Azzi lifts her head enough to see Paige sit against the wall across from her. “Feel okay now?”

Her throat burns, and her tummy hurts, and throwing up in front of the love of your life is not a glamorous experience. But with Paige here with her, taking care of her, she doesn’t feel too bad.

If it only weren’t for that really good fucking kiss.

Azzi nods weakly even though she doesn’t know the answer, because saying ‘I hate the fact that we kissed last night, not because I regret it—I’ve been wanting to do it since we were kids in high school—but because now I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my feelings hidden for much longer which is worrisome because we haven’t even left for Montana yet, and also I wonder what this means for us and our fake relationship, because if it means kissing will become a normal thing I don’t know if I can do this’ would probably be weird.

“K, good. Thanks for not puking in my bed.”

Azzi smiles weakly at her, mouth still tasting like bile. How could Paige ever return her feelings when she has seen her like this a hundred other times?

Paige reaches a socked toe out to nudge Azzi’s calf. “Okay, you said you feel better, but you still look kinda…green.”

Azzi looks Paige in the eye, and manages maybe a second of eye contact before she’s thinking about how they looked at each other just like this after they kissed last night, and there it goes, the moment playing in her head once and then again. She can’t help but groan and rest her burning cheek to the cool tub.

And the universe should go to hell for making them best friends because Paige gets it instantly. “Oh, this is about last night.”

Suddenly the cool tub isn’t helping anymore. Azzi weakly shakes her head, but she knows the truth is showing plainly on her face.

“Yeah, whatever.” Paige pushes herself off the wall, wiggling her eyebrows. Azzi senses trouble. “It was a good kiss, huh?”

Azzi balks, then tries to reel it in. “That’s not…Paige…”

“Hold up,” Paige says, looking genuinely a little confused. “You don’t think I’m a good kisser?”

“No, no, but I just…” how can Paige talk about this so casually, like it was meaningless, something to be joked about? Azzi envies her lack of feelings. “Don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“Uh, I mean…” Paige scratches the side of her neck, and it occurs to Azzi that the bathroom isn’t an amazing place to talk about this. “Yeah, sure. If you want to.”

Not exactly an encouraging answer. Azzi strives on nonetheless. “It was our first kiss.”

“Yeah. Guess we coulda planned it better.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Azzi trails off. “Don't you think it was sort of…weird?”

Paige frowns again. “Damn! If you didn’t like the kiss just say that.”

Azzi hopes she can blame her flushed cheeks on the hangover. “P, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re my best friend—“

“That’s me.” Paige smiles proudly. It’s too fucking cute.

“And,” Azzi says pointedly, “I feel like, weird, about kissing you.”

She waits for Paige to answer, but Paige just stares, apparently waiting for her, too. Azzi sighs. “I worry we won’t be able to fake it well enough.”

“We did fine last night, didn’t we?”

“We were drunk last night.”

Paige makes a face. “I guess. But I feel like we’d do good even if we were sober, y’know?” She leans her head back against the wall. “And it’s not like kissing’s a big deal, anyway.”

Azzi’s eyes drop down to the tiled floor, cold against the thin material of her sleep pants. “Maybe not to you,” she mumbles.

There’s a shuffling, and then Paige is closer than before, nudging Azzi’s knee with her own. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s my bad.” There’s a silence, both of them thinking, and Azzi wonders if maybe Paige is thinking the same thing she is. About how their kiss last night felt…different. Different than a kiss between two friends, different than the other kisses with other people felt. And the look Paige gave her afterward…

But then Paige says, “Wanna practice, ma?” and Azzi was a fool to ever think they’d be on the same track.

Azzi splutters for a moment. “Practice?”

“Yeah. To prepare, in case we have to do it again,” Paige says casually, like it’s no big deal at all.

“I don’t think that’s…that’s not—“ Azzi cuts herself off on a sigh. Then she looks at Paige, really looks at her, and that’s when she catches the glint in Paige’s eyes, and she realizes—she’s messing with her. She’s taking advantage of Azzi’s obvious shyness about this whole thing.

What a little shithead.

Making a quick decision, Azzi leans forward a little bit, glancing down, then back up, looking at Paige through her lashes before she licks her lip.

Paige clocks it, tracks it with her eyes. Just like last night.

Azzi swallows down the nervousness and wills herself to be normal, reminds herself that this is Paige, and she has no reason to sink into her shell when she has the opportunity to take the upper hand.

“Okay,” Azzi says after a moment.

Paige’s eyes flit up, away from her lips. “Okay?”

Azzi nods, then lifts her hand to place over Paige’s knee, bare in her sleep shorts, before she dances her fingers delicately up her thigh. “You wanna practice kissing me, Paige?”

Paige swallows thickly. And then she nods.

Okay. So. That’s…unexpected.

Paige wants to kiss her.

That would explain the lip-ogling.

Azzi has half a mind to make the biggest mistake of her life and close the gap between them, but then she remembers they are sitting on the bathroom floor, and, ew, she just threw up. Twice.

Azzi manages what she hopes is a cocky smirk and leans away. “Well, too bad. Sick, remember?”

Paige’s eyes widen, like she’s just been snapped out of a trance. “Oh. Yeah.” She backs off then, relief coursing through Azzi, before she’s standing up and dusting off her shorts as she reaches down to help Azzi up. “You good to stand?”

Ok. So they’re not talking about it. Cool.

Azzi nods and takes Paige’s hand, her palm warm against her own as their fingers entangle for the two seconds it takes to go from sitting to standing, feeling a little dizzy from the altitude once she’s up.

Paige frowns at her. “You still look kinda messed up. How ‘bout you lay down. I can go get us some food? Gotta fuel up for all the studying today.”

Azzi groans, palming her face. “No, I forgot about finals.”

“Azzi Fudd? Forgetting about finals?” Paige teases, leading them out of the bathroom. “Last night really fucked you up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Azzi mumbles. “It was definitely the alcohol that did it.”

Paige glances back at her but doesn’t say anything, sitting Azzi down on the edge of the bed once they get there. “Okay, sit here and chill out. Lemme know if you need to puke again.” She smiles down at her, and Azzi smiles weakly back, before the older girl is turning on her heel and walking out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Another door opens somewhere down the hall and then one of the girls’ voices mixes in with Paige’s as the roommates converse too quietly for Azzi to really hear. She sighs and flops down on the bed, hands wringing nervously at her stomach as she stares at the ceiling.

She has really gotten herself into some shit this time.

Her phone starts buzzing from its place on the nightstand, and Azzi straightens up to check it, her mother’s face flashing on the screen. Anxiety coils in Azzi’s belly at the sight of her mother’s contact, which usually brings her so much comfort.

Ever since she and Paige ‘came out’ to their friends, Azzi has been avoiding her mother like the plague. She knows she should just come out and tell Katie, but she’s not sure what she should tell her.

Azzi knows that Katie would disapprove if she found out about their little scheme, the woman avidly against lying. But if Azzi were to tell Katie what they’ve been telling everyone else—that they are a disgustingly happy, perfectly real couple—she’d be lying to her mother. And with Katie being her main confidante throughout her entire life, Azzi’s never really been good at that. She hasn’t gotten enough practice.

Not without guilt, Azzi lets it go to voicemail, holding her phone close to her chest afterwards, lying back down. She feels nauseous again at just the thought of lying to her mom. But if she came clean, would Katie make her feel guilty about it? Urge her to tell the truth, even if it meant not helping Paige like she promised she would?

Just as Azzi’s about to head back to the bathroom, Paige comes to the bedroom, leaning through the doorframe. “Toast’s almost done, Az.”

Azzi nods but doesn’t move. Paige lingers, sensing that Azzi’s going to say something.

Finally, after some internal debate, Azzi says, “What do you think I should tell my mom?”

Paige frowns. “I thought you talked to her already.”

Azzi shrugs. “We haven’t called. I’ve been avoiding her, but I feel bad about it.”

Paige bites her lip like she always does when she’s thinking, and it eases some of the tension out of Azzi’s shoulders, softening her around the edges. She leans against the doorframe, looking right at Azzi. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Azzi shrugs helplessly.

Paige scrunches her nose (very cutely) and says, “Honestly, I don’t think we should tell her. Not yet, at least.”

Azzi heaves out a breath, not liking the sound of that answer. “You think?”

“Yeah. Have you met your mom?” Paige smiles fondly. “Lady can’t keep a secret for shit.”

“You’re right.” Azzi hadn’t thought of that, the fact her mom’s the town gossip. “She’d probably have the truth out before we could even finish telling her.”

Paige nods in agreement. “Exactly. Plus, it’s easier to tell everyone the same story, right?”

“I guess.” Unsteady, Azzi pushes herself up from the bed, walking over to Paige slowly. “You still sure this is a good idea?”

“Even if I wasn’t,” Paige says, “we’re too deep in it now.”

Azzi looks up at her solemnly. “The point of no return.”

“Uh-huh.” Paige sighs out a breath, looking almost regretfully at the girl in front of her. “Sorry again, about asking you to do this. I know it’s kinda a whole thing now.”

Azzi’s shaking her head before Paige can even finish. “I already told you, it’s fine. We go to Montana soon, and before we know it we’ll be done.” Azzi’s stomach sort of sinks at the thought. No more flirting, no more cheek-kissing, no more Paige protectively slinging an arm around her shoulder while they’re in public like she’s telling everyone Azzi’s her’s.

Azzi manages what she hopes is an optimistic smile anyway. “Let’s go eat breakfast. And then I’ll call my mom back and we can tell her together?”

Almost as if reading her mind, Paige easily wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as she leads her down the hallway. “Alright, ma. Sounds good to me.”

@smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #pazzi #fake dating #pazzi crumbs #paige buckets #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #wbb #wcbb #the people's princess

320 notes · View notes

fourstarsoutofnine · 1 year ago

Text

To get away.

Chapter one; out of the woods.

(Player is farore reincarnate au)

Part 2, part 3, part 3.5, part 4

A/n:(in the fashion Of that old disney blue-Ray commercial)here we goooooo! Please lmk what you think. Reader uses she/her pronouns per the poll winnings.

Warnings:feelings of dread. Talk of anxiety.

12:22 am. Swapping through the same four apps, you felt stuck in the dreaded reality you lived in. Sure, your life wasn’t bad by most means, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a looming, general sense of malaise and doom that hung over you like an ugly tapestry of unease. You hated this feeling with everything in you. It made you want to scream and run, despite not knowing what exactly it was you were running from. You supposed that was that old “fight or flight” reaction everyone talked about. You always figured that was reserved for extreme situations like a kidnapping or mugging or that sort of thing, not your usual run of the mill anxiety. Yet, here you sit with your thoughts and music playing in your ears to try to drown them out. And though the effort was valiant, it was no match for the ever-trumping anxiety and need to leave. You went to sleep that night figuring it was just another normal bad night. You prayed to who or whatever would hear for a way out. You had no idea you’d be answered.

You woke to the sun shining in your face and birds chirping awfully loud. It was odd, considering the sun was never this bright in your room and you could never hear the morning birds so clearly before. Then, something blocked the sun from reaching your face. When you opened your eyes and put your hand up to block the remainder of blinding sun from your vision, a boy faded into view. Bright blonde hair, blue shirt with a lobster, and a confused grin.

“You alright, lady???”

“What?” You respond, confused. You knew who this was. You figured it to be a dream.

“I asked if You’re Alright! We found you just laying here!” Who you knew to be the hero of the winds said and helped you sit up.

“No noticeable wounds, so that’s good.” A man knelt by you. His hair was roughly the same color, but a bit lighter. He had strange markings on his face, which you knew to be from the fierce deity mask. This was the hero of time. “Do you remember how you got here?”

“Anything you could tell us will help. Anything at all.” Another said. Pretty boy, tall in stature, slender, and what you thought to be the textbook definition of devilishly handsome. The hero of warriors, no doubt.

“I—uhm—“ you stuttered out dumbfoundedly, trying to process everything. You felt shellshocked and didn’t know what to do.

“Let’s back up away from her, she’s clearly overwhelmed…” a soft voice said, which was all too needed to your anxious ears. The hero of the skies pulled them back and you sighed, resting your elbows on your knees as the ends of your palms dug into your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself from this wild dream. This was crazy. Of course it was a welcome escape, these men were your heroes—a title they knew all too well and some carried like a burden—but they’d helped you in ways they could never know, and ways you could never tell because they weren’t real….so why are they standing in front of you, looking worried? You sighed deeply and opened your eyes. “I don’t know how I wound up here. At all… the last thing I remember is going to bed, and—then I woke up here… that’s it…”

“Strange… but oddly enough, not the strangest we’ve been through.” The hero of time helped you to your feet. “Well; looks like you’re along for the ride, stranger. What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

“Y/n. Well, you’ll be safe with us. We’ve got ground to cover, so we should get back on track.” He led you back to the path. You were met with the sight of the other heroes of hyrule. They, however, were met with a sight that looked more like doe-eyed fear. Innocent and frightened.

The hero of twilight offered kind a kind and welcomed you into the group; as did the hero of wild, and hyrule. The hero of warriors looked at you with a smile, but it was easy to tell he was more trying to gauge your character. He was a captain, and knew all too well from the hero of the wild that often traitors to the crown disguise themselves as innocent travelers down on their luck. When he saw no sign of that he was quick to welcome you and check to see if you were alright. This, of course, left only the veteran and smith. The smith was kind, but a bit cautious of you. The veteran was cautious and indifferent. According to your story, it seemed like someone just picked you up at night and dropped you off here, which was a little sketchy if you asked him. Also filed under odd and sketchy was the marking over your hand. The triforce.

“Old man.” The veteran called. “I gotta talk to you.”

The old man looked at you, a silent ask if you were alright. Upon your offer of a nervous smile, he nodded and smiled back, walking over. You turned back to your quiet conversation between yourself, the traveler and the champion. They were asking you plenty questions on how you wound up asleep in the forest, each of which gave you no room to answer before another one arose.

“The mark on her hand.” The veteran pointed out.

“I noticed it too.”

“Is she a Zelda? She’s clearly not a Link. Not to mention, the mark is on her right and not her left hand.”

“Precisely. I don’t think she’s a Zelda, but there is something odd about this.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for anything off about it. It’d be good to tell the captain, too. He’s observant.”

“Right. I suppose we’ll talk again once we make camp tonight.” He nodded and went to the head of the group, saying something to the captain that you couldn’t hear, and waving a hand in the air that signaled the group to continue moving. This would be an interesting adventure, you determined. You couldn’t wait to see where it leads.

242 notes · View notes

acebytaemin · 4 days ago

Note

I'm not into shinee( do love taemin though) but from what I have seen they're basically chaos incarnated like 99% OF the time .

Also also any tips for someone who wants to get unto them they have such a bug discography it's kinda scary ngl.

hehe yes they absolutely are 🙂‍↕️ best dynamic of any group of people i have ever had the joy to witness. i see how it’s a bit intimidating with their five million songs—when i got into them in 2015 they had 10 years less songs and it still took me weeks to listen to everything and process what i’d heard 🥹 i started out from first album to most recent and i stand by that method bc i firmly believe that the best shinee-listening experience is going full album by full album, just because their entire concept is the fact that their entire concept changes from comeback to comeback (and if i might add in my extremely biased opinion: they do each one masterfully so a shinee album is a neat little thematically coherent delicious package). so i’ll give you a few of my fav albums and you can play a few songs and see what you like! if you come up with some songs you enjoy and wanna hear more of the vibe just lmk and i can expand on my recs.

if you prefer rnb (especially the 00s absolutely desperate ice box by omarion style which just so happens to be my personal favorite) i would go for their first album (the shinee world), with my faves being romantic, replay (ie their debut song and THE quintessential shinee song), graze, and (plug for jonghyun aka one of my fav vocalists ever) y si fuera ella (highly recommend you watch the performance! the thing about shinee is their live performances will always beat the studio versions literally every time)

another shinee classic and prob among my top 3 albums too is 1 of 1 - the concept was broadly ‘retro’ and has sounds reminiscent of mostly the 90s (with some 80s vibes definitely mixed in there if you ask me). the title track is a DELICIOUS nostalgic type (called 1 of 1) and i LOVE shift (this song is mainly why i don’t like to stick to the 90s shtick while describing 1of1 bc it is SO 80s to me—produced by LND noise!) and prism (co-produced by jonghyun and a must-listen if you ask me. again. i encourage watching a live performance bc they’re just. so. good)

also top 3 shinee albums for me and one i have a tattoo for no less so im legally obligated to mention it: Odd! it was a musical turning point for shinee and a comeback to their rnb sound (you must understand between this and their first album they’d BEEN on their eurovision grind with music such as lucifer, ring ding dong, and everybody which is absolutely still enjoyable and arguably got them the most awards/fame/recognition which is why i won’t mention those bc i assume you’ve heard them however! if you haven’t give them a listen you won’t regret it… i think!). anyway odd gave us the summer mega hit that is VIEW.. another must listen if you don’t already know her. and ODD EYE written and produced by jonghyun (are we sensing a pattern here?) which truly.. live performance.. please.. (pattern sensors? anyone?). PLUS i have to mention the repackage that features married to the music as one of their most fun concepts (halloween in the middle of the summer! only shinee 🙂‍↕️)

honestly i feel like i need to stop here because otherwise we will be here all night which i obviously don’t mind but my goal was to make this whole thing LESS intimidating. if you prefer listening to the most popular songs first someone made this great playlist which gives you a good overview of how their vibe changed over the years. happy listening and please do get back to me with thoughts and opinions if you so wish! 🩵

#im frustrated bc i didn’t even get into the story of light and the wonderful way that album deals with grief and jonghyun’s legacy #nor their europop most famous era NOR did i even rec you my favorite songs LMFKAHDODK (it’s hello and stranger btw)#DIDNT EVEN START WITH THEIR JPN STUFF #but honestly baby steps. you tell me what you enjoy and we build on that how’s that!#i love when people want to get into shinee and ask me about them if you couldn’t tell two of my favorite things are: shinee and yap!

10 notes · View notes

petercapaldi-press · 1 month ago

Text

INTERVIEW

‘The government has been too terrible to make fun of’: Peter Capaldi on satire, politics and privilege

Sun 14 Jan 2024 09.00 CET

Tom Lamont

One winter morning, a Doctor Who comes calling. The Glaswegian actor Peter Capaldi lives about an hour’s walk from me and instead of us meeting in some midway café, the 65-year-old wanders over (leather booted, woolly jumpered, cloaked in a dark winter coat that sets off his pale-grey hair) to have coffee at my kitchen table. My son is off school with flu, medicating on Marvel movies and barely able to believe his luck as the actorly embodiment of an alien superhero wanders through our flat. While we’re waiting for the kettle to boil, I ask Capaldi whether he ran into any other Doctor Whos on his walk through the actorland that is suburban north London.

‘You can’t be the cynical melancholic I naturally am’: Peter Capaldi wears coat by Mr P (mrporter.com); jumper by uniqlo.com; trousers by reiss.com; and shoes by johnlobb.com. Photograph: Simon Emmett/The Observer

“You do run into each other. You have a laugh, a gossip, you share. There aren’t a lot of people who have been in that role in the centre of that storm. Most people think the job is being on the Tardis and running around with Daleks. Which it is. That’s the fun part. But there’s a lot of other stuff you have to do, too. You’re kind of the face of the brand and the brand is very big. You can’t be the cynical melancholic I naturally am. You have to pretend to be a version of yourself that’s far more amenable.”

Is it a bit like being the Queen?

“Kind of,” he says. “You embody for a time this folk hero, this icon. I was able to comfort people in a way that would be beyond the powers of Peter. You could walk into a room and people gasped with delight. It doesn’t happen any more.”

Great Scot: Peter Capaldi wears blazer by ralphlauren.co.uk. Photograph: Simon Emmett/The Observer

After graduating school at 18, this confused cross-artistic trajectory continued. “I tried to be an actor, but I didn’t get into drama school, so I went to art school. When I was at art school, I joined a band.” In his early 20s, Capaldi released a single as part of a group called Dreamboys; then he quit music and spent most of his 20s acting, getting small jobs in theatre and TV as well as a walk-on part opposite John Malkovich in 1988’s Dangerous Liaisons. In his 30s, he decided to concentrate on directing.

Feel the heat: in The Thick of it. Photograph: Everett Collection/Alamy

Miramax sent a limo to pick him up from the airport. “I fell into conversation with the driver, lovely man, Ralph. When I got out of the car I gave him a big tip. Because I was a big shot now, you see. Then Ralph said: ‘I’ve been told to wait for you here.’” Uh oh. “Inside, all the people in the office were avoiding my eye. Bob said, ‘I’ll come straight to it, we’re not gonna do the movie, my brother Harvey says he doesn’t know how to sell it.’ He said, ‘But we love you! You’re one of the family! You’ll always have a place here!’ Needless to say, I never heard from him again. Obviously, while I was in the air they’d had a discussion and changed their minds. I was so dumbfounded as I climbed back into the limo I just laughed. I had no money, because we’d bought a little house in Crouch End, and I had no career, because I’d turned my back on acting.”

In a gesture that Capaldi has never forgotten, Ralph the limo driver tried to give him back his big tip.

Fun fact: in Paddington 2. Photograph: Supplied by LMK

He and Collins were young parents themselves when his directing career fell apart. Arriving back in London from the disastrous Manhattan trip, “The initial feeling was shock. Then a pragmatic survival instinct kicked in.” Capaldi rejoined the auditioning circuit. “I was a psychiatrist in Midsomer Murders. I was a beekeeper in Poirot – AN Other Actor. Someone else would have turned down these parts first.” Collins, until that point an actor, too, decided to pivot into development and production, a career move that has worked well for her.

Folk Hero: in his new series Criminal Record. Photograph: Ben Meadows/Apple

When The Thick of It debuted, Capaldi entered the sitcom pantheon overnight. Revisiting episode one, what’s glaring is how fully formed, how exquisite a character Tucker is. Alan Partridge, Samantha Jones, Frasier Crane, David Brent … these creations had to be discovered over time by their actors and writers. With Tucker it’s all there from word one, the controlled fury, the foul-mouthed eloquence, that constant convenient deployment of hypocrisy. Capaldi played the part for seven years, winning a Bafta mid-run. It led to other memorable gigs, as a news producer in 2012’s The Hour and as Count Richelieu in a 2014 adaptation of the Musketeers story. He was Mister Micawber in Iannucci’s 2019 reimagining of David Copperfield, a fun role that was bookended by two equally fun Paddington movies, released in 2014 and 2017.

‘You’re the face of the brand and the brand is very big’: playing Doctor Who. Photograph: Everett Collection Inc/Alamy

We talk about how weird it is that political satire should have fallen into abeyance in the 2020s – perhaps because, as Capaldi says, “things have been too bad to make fun of. Making fun normalises situations I don’t think should be normalised. The planet is burning. They’re pumping shit into the rivers. I’m not gonna be part of making jokes about that… All this highfalutin life I’ve had,” he says, of the awards parties, the film roles, the immortal runs as a sweary spin doctor and an inscrutable Doctor Who, “is because I went to art school. My parents couldn’t afford to send me. I went because the government of the day paid for me to go and I didn’t have to pay them back. There was a thrusting society then, a society that tried to improve itself. Yes, of course, it cost money. But so what? It allowed people from any kind of background to learn about Shakespeare, or Vermeer, or whatever they wanted to learn about. Why did we lose this, this belief in ourselves?”

Shared vision: with his wife and co-producer Elaine. Photograph: Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy

“This business is full of people who are not the real thing,” he says, “people I perceived to be artists ’cos they had posh accents, but who didn’t have it, they just sounded like they did.” He goes on to tell a tantalising but intentionally vague story about a major star he worked with, someone who revealed themselves through the course of an acting collaboration to be a dud hiding in plain sight. He won’t provide details (“Too easy to figure out. When everyone’s dead I’ll tell you”), but he says the experience changed him professionally, leaving him more aware of his own limitations, but grateful to have a little vinegar and grit in the mix. “There’s a kind of smoothness, a kind of confidence that comes from a good [paid-for] school. That’s what you’re struck by: they seem to know how to move through the world recognising which battle to fight, where to press their attentions. But it can make the acting smooth, which to me is tedious. I like more neurosis. More fear. More trouble, you know?”

Burning bright: with John Malkovich in Dangerous Liaisons. Photograph: Everett Collection/Alamy

In the new TV show, Criminal Record, he explores a more mortal kind of ageing, life’s third act, its inevitable professional humblings. Capaldi plays a London DCI in his 60s, coming to the end of a career, already moonlighting as a private security contractor, intimidated by the thrust and purpose of a younger colleague at the Met played by Cush Jumbo. As Jumbo’s character grows in confidence, Capaldi’s shrinks. It is a paradox of experience he can relate to. “I find the older I get, the closer I am to who I was,” he says.

I ask him to explain.

“Like I’m returning to… ‘roots’ is the wrong word. I feel more and more like my mother and father, more and more keenly aware of the values they had.” He provides an interesting example, how he has become all thumbs around the act of tipping in restaurants: “I can be in a complete sweat about that.” He can imagine his parents, both dead now, in a similar muddle. “From the background we come from, you can have a bit of anxiety about coming across as grand. So you have to allay that by making sure you are communicating with everybody, all the time.”

Capaldi shakes his head, chuckling softly. He has finished his coffee. He’s about to put on his big coat, say goodbye to my son, and walk back through Whoville to his home and his family. Before he leaves we return to the subject of actors from privileged backgrounds. He says he feels mean, like he took unfair advantage of them in their absence. “It’s not their fault,” he says. “It’s just that there’s less and less of my lot in the arts.” And this concerns him, he continues, because “people of all backgrounds are sophisticated, are interesting, are equally prone to tragedy and joy. Any art that articulates that is a comfort. Art is the ultimate expression of you are not alone, wherever you are, whatever situation you are in. Art is about reaching out. So I think it’s wrong to allow one strata of society to have the most access.”

He nods, feeling he’s expressed himself better. I agree.

This article was amended on 14 January 2024. The episode in which the Doctor is set “a sisyphean task of endurance” is called Heaven Sent, not Heaven’s Gate as an earlier version said.

Criminal Record is streaming now on Apple TV+, with new episodes every Wednesday

Fashion editor Helen Seamons; Grooming by Kenneth Soh at The Wall Group using Eighth Day; fashion assistant Sam Deaman; photography assistants Tom Frimley and Tilly Pearson; shot at Loft Studio

#peter capaldi #interview #the observer #the guardian #doctor who #criminal record #elaine collins #franz kafka's it's a wonderful life #the thick of it #2024

6 notes · View notes

raspberryjars · 2 years ago

Text

Walking Under the Lights With You

summary: Hobie, a catwalk model, and Miles, a new designer making his way into the industry, see each other fleetingly at a show. But will they meet again?

tag list!! (lmk if you would like to be removed or added)

@spo0kypigeon@not-gifted-but-burned-out @hobiesgender@perfectstrawberrybanana @haelwritesshit@insanity-is-brewing

Lights flashed from all corners of the room as he put one foot in front of the other, steadily making his way down the catwalk. He could feel the loose, chainmail-esk vest bush against his skin as he moved his arms slightly, leaving a pattern of goosebumps in their wake. The large clunky boots he’d been handed were cool as well, big and powerful, maybe something he'd wear in his day-to-day, if they weren’t ridiculously expensive.

Whoever the designer was for this collection though, they were definitely cool. Lots of street wear, baggy jeans, large jackets, trainers and that, but also more punk elements to things, for example his chainmail vest. And he’d seen a girl ahead of him with liberty spikes. One of the other guys too, he’d had loads of patches all over his pants. He liked to imagine the designer as someone chill, maybe tall, definitely a similar music taste to himself. Maybe they’d be pretty similar over all. Seemed like it by the look of the garments and styling.

He turned on his heel and strode back up towards the entrance/exit for models. Not turning off his walk until he was definitely out of sight of any crowds.

As soon as he knew he was safe from any guests, he stopped where he stood and slouched his shoulders, taking a deep breath in through the nose as he slowly made his way to where the others should be sitting around. It was probably his favourite part, the moments right after the runway. When everyone was pretty tired, but still riding that high. It was always fun to hear about what mishaps had taken place too.

So when Hobie pushed through the plastic swinging door and saw his sort of co-workers sitting around on different chairs and tables he didn’t think much of it. He just scanned the room for a spare seat before sitting himself down next to Gayatri. He quickly scanned her outfit, tall knee length boots, a short chequered skirt, a tight black, sort of mesh-y top and a big puffer jacket. Lots of chains, charms and belts had been slung round her neck or tied round her waist, looking messily organised. Her hair had been slicked back and her eyes had been outlined in kohl, making her eyes look a lot more imposing than usual.

“Sick look.” He smiled. He meant it too, he did really like a lot of the designs.

“Thanks Hobie, I could say the same to you.” She smiled slightly, eyes skimming what he was wearing.

“Well, I can’t take credit.” He laughed, casting his eyes around the room. Two more models had come in, one of which was staring quite obviously in their direction.

“Hey, look, you’ve got an admirer.” Hobie whispered, a slight laugh in his voice.

“Oh calm down, like you don’t?” Gayatri smirked back, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head in the direction of the door.

Hobie turned his head to see someone standing in the doorway, someone with an oversized collared red shirt, and some baggy black fatigues. He was looking around with a certain look on his face, one Hobie couldn’t place. And no offence to the guy, but he didn’t exactly look like a model, he just looked slightly plain compared to the room full of accessorised models in chunky platforms. Plus the guy was absolutely not tall enough for a runway, again, no offence.

But he did look cool, he had some silver studs and a thin silver ring in his nose, plus his choice of smart business wear looked pretty casual which he had to respect. And he looked like he loved the collection. It was just confusing thinking about why he was actually back here. He didn’t have a pass around his neck or anything, and he definitely wasn’t tech, too dressed up.

Maybe a friend of someone’s? Who knew honestly, not him, and to be honest, he wasn’t too bothered. The guy looked happy enough. And Hobie had never minded a few stares, what was one more pair of eyes? Beautiful, big, brown eyes, but still. Not anything too unusual.

The last few models slipped in through the doors and suddenly the guy from the doorway wasn’t standing there, and just as Hobie was scanning the room for him, he was making his way down the hallway.

Hobie stood quickly, not thinking too much about it as he followed the red shirt through the corridor. He watched it weave through different people as he walked in pursuit of it. His eyes firmly glued to its’ back.

Then suddenly he stopped.

“Hey Hobes, how’ve you been?”

Okay, it was Gwen, he could talk for a minute for Gwen.

“Alright Gwendy? I’ve been good, what ‘bout you?” He smiled, watching the guy in the red shirt out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah I’ve been great! How was the show?”

“I don’t know I haven’t seen it have I?” He grinned.

“Yeah yeah okay, look I’ve got to get going, but Pav’s having a party later, you should come yeah?”

“Yeah I’ll be there don’t worry love,” He couldn’t see the red shirt anymore, “Look this was great but I gotta go, see you later?”

“Yeah definitely! See you tonight!” She smiled as she walked off, probably looking for Pav or Gayatri.

And fuck. He’d lost the cute guy.

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #punkflower #miles spiderman #raspberryjars #miles morales

121 notes · View notes

xchoxix · 1 year ago

Text

Shuri Angst HCS

It’s been long enough, and I haven’t feed y’all with anything😭 so here are just some silly HCs I thought of, I honestly enjoy angst very gery much. Even though im not really supposed to. I just feel like there isn’t that many stories or HCs that talk about what she’d do when T’Challa passed. And I honestly lowkey like reading angst, there’s just something about it😮‍💨 but yea Lmk if y’all want a part 2!

Mentions‼️: SH, attempts of suicide, depression, eating disorder, ADHD (not sure if I missed anything else)

Tags gng: @neptoons1998 @s0lam3y @mal-urameshi

(Most of these are connected which would most likely be under it or would be somewhere!)

-After T’Challas death she took sleeping pills because without she’d end up laying thinking about him. She also tried to take them when her mother died. But they don’t work due to the herb.

-would draw T’Challa all the time, and even thought about tattooing a sketch she did of him on herself

-T’Challa always smelled good, so when shuri found a shirt that she had stolen from T’Challa, she began to cry uncontrollably because it didn’t smell like him anymore

-shuri began to isolate herself so everything could hurt a lot less. Especially after her mothers death.

-After Ramonda told she T’Challa passed Shuri ran to the table and shouted out at him. Telling him to wake up, but was held back by 5 Dora’s including Ayo and Okoye because she was “disturbing” his peace.

-When Shuri began to think less of brother she slowly forgot what he looked like.

-Never got to say a finale goodbye to T’Challa

-Locked only herself in her lab for an entire month with no food or water as a form of punishment

-Every day for the month Okoye, Ayo, Aneka, M’baku, and the Dora army would try to open her lab

- Once they were able to open it they found her on the ground on the verge of death. She was very skinny and lacked a lot of sleep and energy.

-Everytime someone would try to get her to talk about her feelings she’d blast her music till they sounded on mute

-One of the main reasons why she made earrings, was to be able to ignore people with her music

- Her last words to T’Challa was “Shut up! Can you stop apologizing and saying that I can’t do anything anymore? You’re not going to die, I won’t let you!”

-Everytime Aneka found her having a breakdown she’d called the lab and told griot to lock it for the day so she’d grief properly

-but she would always find a way to go to her lab

-Hallucinated about T’Challa during the day in her lab, and would do the talking for him. She’d often do their handshake that they’d do

-Her lab members would look at eachother knowing that itd be best if they left. Because it would normally end off with Shuri realizing he wasn’t there and she’d get mad

- Always always had eye bags even before his death but it wouldn’t be as noticeable till he did pass away. From afar you could be able to see them, and would think that they weighed a ton.

-Because Shuri would always pull pranks on T’Challa, he’d return them but they’d be a little too much. So when she was shouting out to him on the table, she shouted out “Get up, I don’t like this prank. Please”

- Would make the things T’Challa would ask her even if they were dumb like a some figurines T’Challa liked from movies.

- Sometimes while working if she’s in a bad mood she would often break her pencils or supplies due to the grip/strength she would hold them at

- She left Nakia short, but harsh and cold voicemails the first 2 times she tried reaching out to her. And would ignore the other voicemails

- Sometimes for the fun of it she’d answer the calls and would quickly end it

- Changed her wardrobe because T’Challa really liked Shuri’s style (it was a mix of American style and his style) but at the end she just dressed up likeT’Challa.

- Completely destroyed the outfit that we saw at the beginning of BPWF because it reminded her that it was her fault for his death

- Always late at events because she’d spend so much time in her lab she’d forget what day it was

- She would yell at everyone if they bothered her or reminded her to eat while she was working

- Had mood swings

- She would often fidget with her pen or anything she had near her.

- Would randomly get the most horrifying sickening nightmares or visions/flashbacks about T’Challa. And would act like nothing ever happened

- every time she’d try to sleep she always get nightmares

- Some nightmare,vision/ flashbacks she’d be most afraid was 1. Her being T’Challa’s lifeless body on the table with her screaming to to wake up. 2nd, Falling in pitch black and she’d be surrounded by everyone blaming her for not saving T’challa. 3rd, Her having the best percentage of the herb to save him, but before she could make her to him, there was something keeping her away from giving it to him so she watched him die

- Had sleep paralysis for the first time. It happened during the dream where she’d be T’Challa on the table lifeless while seeing herself shouting at him

- Her sleep paralysis demon would be her family(including Nakia, Okoye, M’baku, Ayo, and Angela) mumbling about how she was a failure

- Tried unaliving her self countless times but was either caught or stopped herself thinking that what would everyone feel like after she did. And how would she help Wakanda from invaders

- she survived her first and last attempt but was caught on her other attempts

- She would SH. And would use raw vibranium to burn herself. So she has burn marks from raw vibranium and scars all over her body

-She skipped her meals every day so Ramonda would watch Shuri eat or send Okoye or Aneka or Ayo to do it

- She would often freeze and begin to uncontrollably shake while having visions when she’d remember T’Challa in some type of way.

—

Live, laugh, love, Angst🫶💕

If you wanna be tagged in my next projects also lmk!

Hopefully y’all don’t hate me after this🌚🌝

#black panther #shuri #letitia wright #shuri udaku #shuri angst #okoye #aneka x ayo #black panter wakanda forever #queen romonda #m’baku #t’challa #nakia black panther #riri black panther #livelaughloveangst

26 notes · View notes

sohmiya · 2 years ago

Note

do u think that maxine would be more compatible with e than seven or even griffin? i’m just so intrigued about anything to do with maxine, u did such a good job creating her

first of all i just want to say thank you for loving maxine 🥹🥹 she’s one of my ocs that make me so glad she’s my oc sbshajsjs

sigh. ok the question…. i’ve never felt so devastated by a pairing that i made but ok 🚶🏻‍♀️ (my answer got so longgggg shajak im sorry)

(also lmk if my characterization is off because sobs. the last if i played was merry crisis and that was back in june/july and i haven’t caught up to any if demo releases and updates because reality is distracting me from my playtime)

ok so. i’m gonna start with griffin. honestly i never really thought about how maxine’s relationship with him could play out bc it’s hard for me to imagine an opening for them to start a relationship. i mentioned in an earlier ask about max that griffin (and even vic) is off limits because despite her being reckless, cheating is just too messy for her. but if he wasn’t married and she did go out with him, i think they might work out until they couldn’t anymore. idk the extent of griffin as a rockstar but for maxine, part of it is business and a front to attract the media and direct the public’s attention to her music. no matter how wild she is, she still wants her downtime. being on rockstar mode can drain her so i think with the height of griffin’s fame and image, i don’t think they’d last. this hc might change tho sjsksks but yeah right now i see them better as industry friends and griffin being more like maxine’s mentor. he’s seen the dark side of the industry and maxine’s wild side so i can imagine him guiding her through the messy parts once her fame skyrockets

sighhh ok evren and seven. this is actually making me sad LMFAOOO anyway it’s hard to weigh which of the two is more compatible with maxine because the connection maxine found with evren is similar to the one she felt with seven. but also for different reasons if that makes sense?

maxine thought seven was the one. the connection she had with him felt rare because it was so she was really devastated after the breakup. they saw each other as equals. they had the same passion, same dreams, same drive, etc. they were always on the same wavelength. maxine and seven were almost one and the same

evren, on the other hand, knew exactly what it’s like to be painted by the media as someone you’re not. the only difference is he doesn’t have much say on his reputation while maxine has a way of manipulating the media to her favor. but evren became maxine’s company in all the times she just doesn’t feel like being a rockstar and maxine was the safe place for evren, not evren acevedo

so like. maxine’s relationship with seven was built on passion and intensity. like if maxine was standing in the eye of the storm, seven would be there next to her. while evren and max became each other’s calm after the storm. the still moments when the curtains close and there’s no one to put on a show for

sooooo you decide who’s more compatible for maxine because i really don’t know jsdnsksmsks

#the ache in my chest as i answered this #but ughhhh this is probably one of my favorite asks ever. thank you <3 #oc: maxine taylor #nikka answers

4 notes · View notes

orange-waterfalls · 3 years ago

Text

Unnecessary Feelings

The Host x gn!reader

ty anon for the request

A/N: BRO. Bro. Bro I. I am so proud of this one don’t even look at me. Also happy spooky month! Might do something with that, idk though. This is more of another character study with the Host, I’ll be honest. I still think it’s pretty cute, though. I didn’t read back through this, lmk about any mistakes. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.4k

Unnecessary Feelings

Host isn’t particularly looking for a relationship, of any sort. Not necessarily. It would be nice, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. It’s not that important. Change is weird. He’s been in his same office, writing the same kind of stories, with the same kind of people. That’s fine. He likes that. He likes his novels, his protagonists, and his office.

He explained all of these things to Wilford and Darkiplier, but neither was having it. That’s how he ended up staying at the manor for a while, while his place was being “renovated”. He didn’t know how much he trusted Wilford to “renovate” correctly.

Wilford likes pink. A lot. Host doesn’t. He can't see it, but he knows it. Pink was loud. Pink smelled like raspberries and icing and cherry blossoms and shrimp. It sounded like fair music and joyful screaming and chalk scraping on the ground. It felt smooth and soft and squishy. It tasted like sugar, sugar, sugar, too much to be healthy. Pink made his brain hurt. He doesn’t like pink. Wilford likes pink. Wilford… Wilford fucking loves pink. And Wilford will say it’s pink, and Host will know it’s pink, and even though he can’t see it, he’ll be upset that it’s pink. He doesn’t like pink. He doesn’t know how to say it. So he doesn’t. And he copes.

He takes the opportunity to talk to the others staying at the manor, which was pretty much just Dr. Iplier and… you. Dr. Iplier was a… reasonable man. He was boring. Very boring, really. He directed every conversation to discuss your health or a weird patient he had recently, neither of which really interested the Host. He didn’t enjoy talking to Dr. Iplier too much.

You, however…

Were also kind of boring?

Well, you mostly just wandered around, reading, cleaning, sleeping, not doing much else. He didn’t initiate conversation and neither did you. If you sat next to him on the couch and he sat a little straighter and breathed a little faster, that was simply a coincidence. And the urge to talk to you about his novel for hours was simply boredom. And the desire to listen to you talk for hours was… it was none of your goddamn business is what it was. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t dislike you either. He felt nothing. You made him feel nothing. This didn’t mean anything.

Really.

It didn’t.

But, entirely too fast, Dark and Wil were done. Or rather, whoever they hired was done. Which was good. Host bid you two goodbye. Dr. Iplier told him to drink plenty of water but not too much, and you told him you’d keep an eye out for his newest novel. He felt like he should be blushing right now, he felt it in his face. Nobody commented, so he assumed he didn’t. He felt a thing happen in his chest as he looked at the two of you.

He didn’t like either of you, and if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would come true.

He received a new office. It was much cleaner and brighter, and he actually had room to think. There was an espresso machine in the corner atop a pink table, a “dandelion” yellow couch next to it, a pastel pink desk against the opposite wall, and a few “motivational” posters on the baby blue walls. At least from what he’d heard. Wilford did his best to explain the room. He appreciated that the walls were not, in fact, pink like he expected.

He had to walk around a few times, keep track of his steps, and get used to the new layout. It’s a good room. Clean. No nails sticking out of the floor, no rats scurrying around, no cobwebs, no holes, no nothing. Clean and quiet. Clean. And. Quiet.

…

He fucking hates the goddamn room.

Who likes silence? Who enjoys that? Who wants to be stuck in a suffocatingly clean office with nothing but their thoughts for hours at a time? Homicidal people, that’s who.

Ignore the fact that he has homicidal tendencies and has almost killed/has killed several people, that doesn’t matter right now.

He can just sit and deal. He can take the office, try to coax the rats into coming back, buy some spiders, and write. No big deal.

Except what if he didn’t deal? What if he told them he hated it and couldn’t work in these conditions? What if he was forced to stay at the manor again? What if he could… talk… and interact with people? Without anything barring him from doing so?

He’s… not lonely.

He’s not lonely.

He’s not.

But if he stays in the manor again while Wilford talks about how he has no taste and Darkiplier decides to be in charge of the renovation now, that’s not his fault.

Bim, Eric, and you were staying at the manor when he had to. For the second time. Bim had a thing for rom-coms and dramedy movies, and Eric had started to pick that thing up. You and Host also watched the movies, but whether you actually liked them was beyond him. Usually, you made fun of them together. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear a lot of the ridiculous dialogue. He could drop two random people in a closed-off room together and they’d have more chemistry than half of these Hallmark Christmas Movie couples. You were very quiet during “To All The Boys I Loved Before”, however, so either you loved it or you hated it. He couldn’t really tell.

You two talked a little less than before, you being preoccupied with Eric. Host was fine with that. He could just… talk to you whenever you were done. But you apparently had a low social battery and trapped yourself in a room whenever you were done talking to Eric. That was fine. Host didn’t need to be happy anyways.

He may or may not have showed up at your door first thing in the morning sometimes to get the chance to talk to you. You didn’t know, so it was fine.

But Eric and Bim were smart. They picked up on the Host’s… “feelings” and desire to talk to you. If either were in a room with you and Host, they immediately left so that you could talk. It worked, and Host was happy, but he felt kind of bad.

No. No he didn’t. He felt no emotion towards anyone or anything. The suit he bought for Bim and the journal he bought for Eric meant absolutely nothing. It was a business transaction. You can’t prove anything.

Somehow quicker than before, the room was fixed. Again. And you, Eric, and Bim saw him off. Eric’s voice sounded wet and Bim sounded a little sad as well. You sounded… fine. But he had a suspicion that you knew you were going to see him again soon. And Host was not upset, of course not. And if he was thankful his eyes weren’t exactly working properly because otherwise he might have shed a few tears, it was completely unrelated. You can’t prove anything.

The new room was completely black and white. Black laptop and a white desk with a black chair. White walls and a black floor. A white couch against the wall. No espresso machine this time, which slightly disappointed the Host.

Darkiplier sounded proud when he explained the room. Host could see why, it sounded very pretty. Which he tried to say when he turned to Darkiplier. But his traitorous mouth instead said:

“Host asks if this room is meant for the Host or you?”

The Host was teleported back to the manor this time. Wilford was standing out in front, Host knew because he heard the man’s distinct yell of surprise. He also smelled gunsmoke and wine.

“Wilford.”

“Host. What are you doing here?”

“The Host asks what you are doing here?”

“... I asked you first.”

“The Host asked you second.”

“... business. You?”

“... business.”

“Ah… well, cheers.” Quick footsteps get quieter as Wilford runs away. Host stood for a moment, debating whether or not to apologize to Dark. Before he could decide, the door opened.

“Host?” You asked. Host instantly felt himself straighten up and ball his fists.

“Hello.” He said stiffly.

“Another renovation?” He heard the smile in your voice and forced himself not to smile back.

“Host assumes so.” He nodded.

“So…” You sighed.

“So?” He tilted his head.

“Are you coming in?” You asked. Host let himself smile as he walked into the manor.

He didn’t see you all too much for the rest of the week, and he was severely disappointed. There wasn’t really anybody staying there, just a few people visiting over a few days. Yancy, Illinois, and maybe Bing, if the sound of a skateboard at 3 in the morning was any clue. He was pretty much alone. And that was fine. He was usually alone. He was used to it. This was fine.

Maybe he should stop lying to himself so often.

All too soon, he was on his way back. Again. You were the only one to see him off this time.

“Well… um…” You started. The tension between you two was like a punch to the gut. You were perfectly fine before. What happened?

“Host bids you farewell,” He nodded politely and turned around. Maybe if he left quickly, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Wait, Host!” You called. He froze. “I’m, uh… I’m coming with you.” He spun around to face you.

“Host… asks what you mean?”

“I wanna… see your office. I mean, if I’m… allowed to visit?” You said meekly. Host felt his heart quicken.

“The Host would love-like that,” He coughed as he corrected himself.

“Ok, good,” He could hear the smug smile in your voice. Damn him and his… feelings.

The commute to his thrice-new office was almost silent. Neither of you said anything. You most likely wanted to wait for the Host to start the conversation, but he didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want to talk. It was a little awkward. But after a while, it became comfortable. He liked just being in your presence.

He thought that was what he would miss most about the manor.

You both stood outside of his office door when you arrived.

“Well… here we are.” You whispered. Host nodded solemnly. “Do you want to do the honors.” Host lifted his hand to the doorknob, feeling himself shake. He clutched the doorknob, not moving an inch. He could feel your eyes on him. You were worried. This was fine.

You could visit. But what if you didn’t want to? What if you saw his stories? What if you thought he was cruel? He was, but not to you. He would never be to you. He could stop. He could write different stories. He could write a romance! It would still affect people’s lives, but for the better? At least until the story ended and he had no control over it. What if you wanted him to stop? He couldn’t just stop. Would you give him an ultimatum? You wouldn’t… would you?

“Host--” You started. He whipped around to face you.

“The Host does not want to enter the room.” He said, voice wavering a little. He cleared his throat. Embarrassing.

“What? Ho-”

“The Host wants to talk to people. The Host… wants friends. The Host wants to stay with you and the others.” He grits out. God, this was pathetic. Was he begging?

“Host, open the door.” You sighed. The Host froze. What? Why were you… what?

Oh. So that was it. You were seeing him off… for the last time. You didn’t… you… didn’t like…

Right. Yeah. You were a polite person. He should’ve known.

“But…” He trailed off and faced the floor.

“Host, I really think you should open the door,” You said, the smile clear in your voice. His eyebrows furrowed. Well, you didn’t have to be so eager about it, Jesus.

The Host grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open with a crack against the wall.

“Jesus, man!” Bim’s distinct game show voice sounded from inside the room. Left front corner. “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“I always thought he was a boxer-briefs man.” Dr. Iplier said from the opposite side.

“I can confirm that he is, in fact, a boxer-briefs man.” Google said from the same place as Dr. Iplier.

“I honestly would’ve thought commando.” Eric’s voice was muffled, as if he was facing away from everyone else.

What… What the fuck?

“What. The fuck.” He said loudly. You clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Surprise! We’re invading your office. Please don’t resist.” He could, again, hear the smirk on your face. He almost wanted to be mad. Almost.

“What?” He turned to you. You let go of him and stepped in.

“We fixed your room! You got your bland-ass beige walls, your hardwood floor, cobwebs, dust, and I think there’s a rat somewhere in the walls…”

“His name is Remy!” Eric said happily.

“Sorry, Remy is somewhere in the walls.” Host didn’t move, still processing this whole situation.

“The Host… doesn’t understand…” He rubbed his temples.

“Well, you seemed… lonely. And we like spending time with you. So… we’re gonna spend time with you!” Bim explained.

“You don’t have to do things alone anymore. Just… call someone up and we’ll come hang out.” Dr. Iplier said.

“Only if you ask, though.” Eric added softly. Host didn’t move for a long while.

The others began to fidget, thinking they did something wrong. Eventually, he took a breath, and everyone else held theirs.

“Is… is the Host’s equipment still here?” He asked.

“Your writing stuff? Yeah, it’s on the desk.” You answered. Host went quiet again, thinking.

“Do… You guys want to help the Host write something?” He mumbled.

“Hell yeah we do!” You clapped your hands once. Host made his way over to his desk. All the others, including you, crowded around him as soon as he sat down, pushing each other to get a good look.

This was slightly claustrophobic and pretty uncomfortable…

…

It was perfect.

#the host x reader #the host x gn reader #the host x gender neutral reader #x reader #x you #the host markiplier #the host #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #markiplier alter egos x reader #the author markiplier

92 notes · View notes

juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

Text

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments.

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events.

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt.

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it.

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate.

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend.

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts.

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me.

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong.

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point.

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun.

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.”

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us.

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room.

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug.

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself.

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?”

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.”

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery.

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me.

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction.

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime.

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today

Grant: don’t need to.

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me.

“Who keeps texting you?”

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business.

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!”

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it.

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it.

“No one.”

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going.

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me.

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously.

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet.

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing.

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?”

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?”

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.”

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’”

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade.

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.”

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid.

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him.

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub.

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance.

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly.

“No, sir.”

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me.

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him.

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field.

“You are not going in without a gun,” Reid ordered.

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again.

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in.

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me.

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling.

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more.

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?”

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return.

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent.

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out.

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.”

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red.

This war was far from over.

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good.

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them.

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing.

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly.

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.”

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied.

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.”

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked.

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.”

What you feel.

I clung onto those words.

What was I really feeling?

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me?

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me.

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast.

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely.

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added.

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier.

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked.

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer.

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence.

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too.

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation.

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way.

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual.

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?”

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew.

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken.

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat.

“A dating app, actually.”

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this.

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.”

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.”

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now.

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung.

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed.

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice.

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though.

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?”

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling.

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead.

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face.

He felt sorry for me.

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book.

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.”

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.”

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.”

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words.

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t.

But I should’ve.

_ _ _

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being.

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end.

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat.

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would.

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative.

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?”

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it.

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction.

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.”

_ _ _

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however.

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it.

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this.

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were.

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now?

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me.

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them.

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones.

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head.

You deserve more than that. Much more.

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said.

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened.

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see.

“I asked you first.”

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.”

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before.

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know.

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me.

“What? What is it?” I urged.

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?”

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth.

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.”

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?”

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was.

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second.

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed.

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that.

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize.

That never came.

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust.

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments.

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness.

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.”

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).”

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either.

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up.

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too.

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I.

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well.

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field.

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room.

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?”

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet.

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer.

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it.

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.”

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?”

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart.

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat.

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.”

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here.

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?”

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes.

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least.

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity.

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though.

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something.

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.”

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar.

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me.

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me.

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again.

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again.

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.”

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image.

“Always, trouble.”

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know.

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help.

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.”

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation.

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her.

_ _ _

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left.

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied.

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety.

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D.

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful.

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright.

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened.

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?”

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?”

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.”

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before.

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?”

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before.

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit.

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority.

She was my priority.

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear.

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver.

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms.

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand.

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms.

She was so cold.

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute.

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again.

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all.

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.”

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car.

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way.

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly.

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible.

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there.

I need to be somewhere I feel safe.

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself.

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize.

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever.

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly.

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?”

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.”

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.”

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too.

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that.

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind.

“You’re smart. Figure it out.”

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence.

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?”

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?”

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point?

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt.

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?”

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth.

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never.

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him.

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything.

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us.

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting.

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent

#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid kiss #fighting fire with fire #juniorgman187 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

379 notes · View notes

wheredafandomat · 3 years ago

Text

Safeword ⛓ P3 ⛓ The Party P2

Previous Chapter

Loki knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. So did she

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

The song was drowned out by the beating of their hearts. Y/N immediately deepened the kiss pulling Loki closer to her whilst his hands moved from her hips to her bare back. Her lips were soft against his as he savoured the feeling. Since the first time he saw her, he knew this is what he wanted. He wanted to hold her. Touch her. Kiss her. He didn’t want to let go. Ever.

I bless the rains down in Africa

Breaking the kiss to catch her breath, y/n knew what she wanted. The fantasies she’d have of him laying on top of her, between her, were about to be made a reality. She could tell he lusted after her too. It was obvious, but this was the first time they’d really ever had intimate contact like this. Removing one of Loki’s hands from her back, she began to turn around towards the exit. She knew the next place she wanted to kiss Loki was in her bedroom.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

Walking towards the exit hand in hand with Loki, y/n felt a sudden change in atmosphere. Whether it was the excitement coursing through her body or the abrupt stop in the music, y/n didn’t feel right. Turning around go give Loki a smile of reassurance as she felt his hand tighten around hers when the music stopped, she was greeted with the shattering of glass right by the window she was standing at.

Instantly trying to shield her, Loki’s arms wrapped tightly around y/n’s body as he tried to rush her to the exit. To safety. Running into the corridor, y/n tore herself away from Loki’s grip as she heard the panicked screams of the people still in the party.

“Loki go back” She said frantically trying to meet his gaze.

“And leave you? Don’t be silly y/n come on—”.

“Loki GO. I’m fine, I can defend myself but those people in there cannot”.

“The rest of the team are in there they’ll be f—”.

“GO!” She shouted pushing Loki back towards the reception.

Giving y/n an unsure nod, Loki turned back towards the party trying to help whoever he could. Meanwhile y/n quickly made her way up to her room where she knew all of her weapons would be waiting for her.

Dashing through the hallway, she was met with a plethora of Hydra agents all in fighting stances. Here goes nothing she thought adopting her own fighting stance. Y/N wasn’t the best when it came to hand to hand combat without any of her weapons. Y/N was extremely worse when it came to hand to hand combat without any of her weapons, a lot of alcohol in her system, wearing a dress and in heels. Heels she thought as she kicked them off holding one in either of her hands. One agent lunged at her and he was welcomed with a Louboutin plunging into his left eye and a kick between his legs. Another agent tried to take her down and she managed to dig the heel in his neck whilst wrestling him to the ground. One of the first things y/n learned whilst trying to improve her technique when she joined the team was the pressure points. Knowing how to render someone unconscious with a simple touch was a valuable skill when fighting someone twice your size.

When the other agent tried to take her down, y/n placed two of her fingers just above the pulse point on his neck whilst grabbing his left wrist and placing an index finger firmly on it. Within seven seconds, he was down. Scanning the area around her, she noticed there was one more agent she had to take down. They circled one another as y/n tried her hardest to read his form so she could try and work out where he’d attack first. His breathing was laboured and he was sweating which could signal he was nervous. His posture was slumped indicating he was probably new. Y/N could take him down. She was confident she could but she wouldn’t make the first move. No she’d wait for him to.

Meanwhile Loki was in the party ushering people out. Trying to regain his composure after drinking a lot during the party, he teleported some of the seriously injured people out whilst he helped the others walk out. He tried his hardest not to worry about y/n. Was he wrong for leaving her. No he thought. She can handle herself. She was an avenger. He’d seen her in combat before countless times and she was brilliant. But she hadn’t drunk during the missions.

Still circling the agent, y/n tried her hardest to fight the double vision that was clouding her eyesight. She just had to take down this one last agent then she’d be able to flee to her room and gather her usual weapons. Just one more. When he lunged at her, y/n felt herself fall of balance and sway to one side. This was when the man managed to get his first punch in. Then the second. Then the third. Feeling the pain coursing through her, y/n knew she had to act and act fast if she wanted to escape this unscathed. Dashing to the unconscious man on the floor, y/n grabbed her shoe in the hopes of digging it into this agents eye. Biting down on his hand as he tried to grab her, y/n tried to ram the heel of her shoe into his eye but surprisingly, this man was a lot stronger than she thought he was. Pushing her to the ground, the man then towered over her lowering himself to her ear. As he got further down to her, her eyes widened at the sight of the blade he had pressed against her throat.

“Hail Hydra” the man said before y/n was covered in blood.

New fave gif 🤣

AN: Another part? Lmk what you think so far and thank you for reading 🖤🖤

#hiddlestoners #tom hiddelston loki #loki layfeson #loki layfeyson imagine #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #avengers #loki angst #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine

123 notes · View notes

ninyard · 4 years ago

Note

part two of the stefan/andrew au PLEASE

WELP this might not be the part two people wanted but here’s what I wanted so~ enjoy!

(Part 1 ? is here)

((this got rly long so I had to stop but if u want a third part lmk 🥺👉👈))

Neil made his first mistake by not bolting the opposite way when Coach Hernandez told him he had visitors. An Exy racquet to the chest and a single glance at those bright hazel eyes turned Neils entire world sideways in seconds. This couldn’t be happening. Neil almost couldn’t hold back the ‘Andrew?’ that wished to escape his lips. Of course, this wasn’t Stefan’s Andrew, but Neil knew that already. Life had turned Andrew Minyard into a man of manufactured emotions, a life of violence and misled decisions landing him on Coach Wymack’s pity party guest list that was the Foxes’ lineup. Andrew didn’t flinch looking at Neil, and Neil begged the universe to have erased the memory of Stefan from Andrew mind. He hung around a motel, for Christ’s sake, how many other people would he have met before and after Stefan? Neil Josten looked totally different, with puberty, hair dye and new contact lenses on his side.

The second mistake he made was not realising Kevin Day was going to be around. If Andrew wasn’t dangerous enough, Kevin was even more so. Neil couldn’t believe his eyes the moment he looked closely at the teams lineup from the previous year. Kevin Day would have forgotten Nathaniel Wesninski, he was sure of it, but to look across to a picture of the teams goalkeeper and seeing the short blond boy he met in California? It was a sure sign for Neil to stay the hell away from South Carolina.

Neil’s biggest mistake was deciding to push his luck and take a plane there to sign with the Foxes. He was signing a death wish; but he didn’t care anymore. He was a dead man walking, living off stolen hours. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with him. His mother was dead, god, his mom, Mary Hatford, the woman who taught him how to be. It wasn’t just like Debby, who died leaving Toronto, or Alice, who died leaving London, or Judy who died on the train between Germany and Prague. This was permanent, and Neil didn’t think he could run for much longer.

Andrew didn’t say anything during their meeting, in which he had plenty of opportunities to at least look like he recognised Neil, or the features of Stefan still left on his face. Kevin didn’t say anything either, and his words made it clear he didn’t remember Nathaniel, either. Neil was walking a thing line between life and death, with Stefan on one shoulder and Nathaniel on the other, waiting to tip him over, to expose the truth, to leave him buried like his mother.

The first night Neil slept - or more so lay on the couch in silence for hours, brain filled with noise and regret - in David’s apartment, he couldn’t stop thinking about Andrew. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kid with white-blond hair and a toothy smile, who ran his fingers so gently over Stefan’s skin, like he would break if Andrew dared get any closer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the playground, and the motel, and the kisses… and the punches, the kicks, the pulling of hair, the slaps across the face with yells to accompany them. Before Neil knew it he was stuck with his face hovering over the toilet bowl, his stomach threatening to burst at any moment. After a minute of gagging and spitting into the water, Neil washed his face and headed towards the balcony that David told him to smoke on if he needed to. This was one of those needing to moments.

Weeks went by without any indication he was going to be caught. Kevin looked at him like a stupid amateur, which was good for Nathaniel’s sake, but for Neil? Neil, who fought like his life depended on the racquet in his hands? Neil, who ran like his father was hot on his heels every single time he set off down the court? It hurt him to be insulted so often, but Kevin was leagues above him when he played. Neil was never going to be good enough. Andrew avoided him as much as possible. Nicky told him that was just how Andrew was; if you brought him no benefit, or if you made him bored, he would put you on a high shelf and never look at you again. By the way Andrew only spoke to Neil when Neil stood up to Kevin, Neil thought it was obvious that Andrew didn’t recognise him.

And then came the invite to Columbia.

“Get rid of the contacts, by the way.” Nicky had brushed off the realisation like it was nothing. It sounded like ‘you have something in your teeth’ but felt like a screaming siren above Neil’s head. It felt like a punch to the gut, like a gun to his head. “Andrew’s decision. And brown, Neil? You’re so predictable and boring it’s adorable.” He’d left a bag of clothes with Neil.

When Neil looked at his blue eyes, he felt too many feelings he couldn’t describe, or name. He felt like he was looking at his father. He felt like he was looking into the mirror like he had the last time he was Nathaniel. The last time he was in Baltimore. He’d cycled through the catalogue of contacts during his time on the run, but never once went back to blue. They were the icy eyes of a murderer, not the eyes of quiet, boring Neil. But at least they weren’t green. Neil was worried about Kevin recognising him by his eyes, but it was going to be dark out by the time they left. Neil would just have to stay in the dark around Kevin, and hope he got too drunk to notice, too drunk to remember.

When Andrew’s group came to pick Neil up, there was a change in dynamic Neil hadn’t seen before. Instead of Nicky being the middle man in their conversations, or Kevin being the reason to talk, Andrew was taking charge of their night. Neil’s heart raced every time he looked into his eyes. Every time he heard that voice it told him to run, the same voice as before, only deeper, emotionless. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew crying. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew being open, about his sexuality, or his feelings. If he didn’t look almost the same only older, he would probably doubt this was even the same Andrew.

“Oh! Oh, now, that’s interesting!” Andrew had commented as Neil left his dorm room. Nicky, Aaron and Kevin had walked ahead of the two of them. When they’d disappeared around the corner into the elevator down, Andrew turned and grabbed Neil’s face to inspect it. “What a change, hmm? Blue to brown is a bit drastic for fashion, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never liked my eyes,” Neil spoke through the fingers that rested over his lips. “I’ve worn them brown most my life.” Andrew tutted as Neil spoke, but left that thought there. His features were angry, like Neil had insulted him, but he S miled like he’d been talking to his best friend. He placed a cigarette between his lips as they joined the others in the elevator.

Before long, they were walking through the doors of Eden’s Twilight, music pumping and swirling through the air, vibrating their bodies as they walked. Andrew motioned for Neil to follow him to the bar once they’d found a table.

“Shots on me.” He’d come down from his manic high, waiting for his dust adrenaline to kick in. His smile was gone, but his tone and way of speaking was still the same. “What do you drink?”

“I don’t,” Neil answered, having to yell over the music.

“Sure you do.” Andrew waved him off. “I’m being polite. What do you drink?” He asked again, as the bartender came over.

“A coke for me.” Neil told the man behind the bar before he could ask Andrew. “Just a little ice.”

“See, now, Pinocchio, when someone offers you a gift you say thank you and accept it.” Andrew turned towards the man. “Roland. This is Neil. He’s a newbie.”

“I hear you,” Roland nodded, already placing shot glasses on the tray he’d put on the bar. “My choice, with dash for the new kid.” He poured a clear spirit into eight shot glasses, and used the fountain tap to fill a larger glass with cola. Andrew passed cash over and waved off his change as a tip. Before Neil knew it he was heading through the crowd, Andrew balancing the tray on one hand held high above his head. They reached the table and nothing has spilled, and before Neil knew it, the shot glasses were stacked in a tower on the tray as Neil nursed his coke.

“You don’t drink.” Andrew turned to Neil after watching the others take to the dance floor, coming up on their high, dusting when they couldn’t be seen. “Why?”

“Hate the taste, mostly.” That would be the truth if ‘taste’ actually meant ‘feeling of being out of control of my body’. He shrugged at Andrew’s dissatisfaction with that answer.

“You come to university and you don’t drink?” Andrew scoffed. “Do you smoke?” Neil shook his head. He’d tried an edible by accident once in some cafe in Europe, and got so paranoid they had to move on that night. He swore he saw his dad staring in the windows in the red-light district, a blunt between his lips, a smile made of murder wrapped around it.

“Not for me.” Neil took a sip from the cold coke. “Hard to find when it’s not legal and I hate the cops. Takes too much effort to roll.” Neil lied, like he knew what he was talking about, but he just remembered watching people in the cities he went to, everywhere having their local stoners, the folks who sat in the parks without a care in the world.

“You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you won’t dust.” Andrew rattled off the options. “Is it molly you’d prefer?” And when Neil shook his head again: “Psychedelics? Benzos?”

“I’m just not interested.” Neil looked into his glass, focusing on the ice. If he kept looking at Andrew he felt like he would crack. “Don’t we get tested before games anyway? What’s the point?” Andrew didn’t answer before he heading back up the bar. Neil didn’t follow this time. When he came back, there was ten shot glasses on the table. Again, eight filled with an unnamed spirit that burned Neil’s nose and twisted his stomach. The other two were cola.

“I’d hate for the new boy to feel left out.” Aaron, Nicky and Kevin had arrived back to the table for their shots. Andrew handed Neil one of his glasses. Neil knocked it back when the others did. It was ordinary coke, no surprises, no weird tastes, no reason for Neil to believe Andrew would have given him a shot of alcohol instead. That was, until he clinked glasses with the others and swallowed the second shot in a quick movement. He felt the alcohol burn his throat. It warmed his chest, but the familiar feeling wasn’t what worried him. It was the taste of salt on his tongue when he hadn’t licked any before hand. He quickly excused himself from the table and left for the bathroom.

Andrew had drugged him. He didn’t know why, but all he knew was the crackers were already coursing through his veins with deadly adrenaline. He was sure his racing heart wasn’t helping. It didn’t help, either, when Nicky reached the stairs before he did, and pulled him in for a salty, dusty kiss. Neil pushed him off as discreetly as he could.

“Nothing?” Nicky complained as he Neil bounced up the sticky stairs two steps at a time. Neil was sure he heard him say something about Neil being too hot to be straight, but the roaring anxiety in his ears was enough to drown it out. He locked himself in a stall and tried to best to throw up. He hadn’t eaten before he’d left, and he hadn’t drank anything other than he soda, so his attempts were fairly futile. A knock at the door interrupted him, and when he answered with a quick ‘occupied!’ He heard the door unlocking from the outside. Andrew pushed his way into the cramped stall and shut the door behind him. Before Neil could even begin to object Andrew had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, Neil struggling to keep his balance with the toilet in the way.

“You don’t like the taste of alcohol or you’re afraid of losing control? Telling your truths?” Andrew’s drug induced smile had returned with mischief and malice. “Let’s see how this does!” His voice was low as he spoke, with an enthusiasm to his words that made Neil sweat. When he went to protest, Andrew covered his mouth with his free hand.

“Shut up,” He clicked his tongue. “You have spent your entire extended stay here lying to me and lying to poor, gullible Coach. I see the way you look at Kevin, too. Either you’re lying about not swinging or there’s something deeper to that intimidation.” Neil tried to get out a ‘I don’t swing.’ Before Andrew shushed him again. “Don’t keep lying, newbie! One last chance at honesty.” He lifted his hand no more than an inch from Neil’s mouth. Neil was sweating, his hands shaky, his mind turning into fog, desperate to cling to any sort of euphoria it could find. When it’s search came up empty, it filled his stomach, his head, his hands, his feet, with anxious buzzing instead. He couldn’t ignore the nauseating feelings the drugs brought with them.

“I don’t swing,” Neil stood his ground. “I don’t.” Andrew brought his hand up to Neils hair and yanked him down to his level, hard. He kept an inescapable grip in his curls as their faces almost touched.

“Still don’t know?” Andrew pouted in fake-pity. “Ten years later and you still don’t know?” Neil’s stomach would’ve fallen from his body if it’s got the chance. His heart would’ve went with it when Andrew continued. “There better be a good reason for Neil existing, Stefan, and I can’t wait to hear it.”

“What?” He tried, but it was no use. His voice failed him, cracking as the futile attempts at lying left his lips. “I don’t know what-“

“Shut up.” Andrew repeated. His grip not relaxing. Neil was worried he was pulling his hair from the root, but that was probably the least of his worries. Probably. “Do not lie to me again.” Neil searched his eyes for a sliver of doubt. A tiny, tiny possibility that he might think he was wrong. It wasn’t there. He’d been caught.

“Andrew.” He wrapped his hands around Andrew’s wrist, the one hovering over his head, muscles tense from the grip on his head. “Can we talk without ripping my fucking hair out?”

Before Neil could react, Andrew had let go of his hair, but in doing so, had swung his head with full force into the side walls of the stall. His balance finally failed him, but Andrew caught him by the neck of the black turtleneck he’d been gifted. He heard a few stitches pop, but it didn’t matter. The sudden movements turned Neil’s stomach with a violent wave, and he gagged hard, his stomach threatening to come out his mouth. He leaned over to spit into the toilet and bared his teeth at Andrew, breathing heavily through them.

“So he lives,” Andrew smiled, his pupils blown, a white-knuckled hold on Stefan-Neil’s collar. Neil was afraid he was going to pass out. His body was on fire, his mind screaming like an emergency broadcast alarm. “Tell me you didn’t know, oh humour me! I’d hate to think you’re stupid enough to come here still in possession of the memory from there.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neil didn’t break eye contact.

“So you ARE that stupid!” Andrew pushed him back, letting go of his top. Neil tried to assess his escape routes, but it was no use. He couldn’t get out of this. “I remembered little Stefan the second Kevin showed me your file. I didn’t think it would be you, surely it couldn’t be, but our little visit to fuckport, Arizona couldn’t lie to me like you did. So is it Neil, or is it Stefan?”

“Neither.” He spat out the honesty, worried if he waited, another lie would take it’s place. “But you can call me Neil.”

“Oh, no, no!” Andrew grabbed him by the neck, holding his jaw in a way that could become a choke very quickly. “Maybe I’ll stick with Stefan. You don’t get a say. You know, I thought mommy killed you.” A knife twisted in Neil’s gut.

“She’s dead.” Neil tried to breath through his unwanted come-up. “That’s the only reason I’m here. Because she wasn’t alive to stop me.”

“Did you do it?” He held Neils face like the world would end if he let go. He held even tighter when Neil tried to pull away.

“No.” That was all he said. He thought about continuing, considering the fact he was a dead man already. But he stopped himself. How could he say it was his dad without saying he was the mafias right-hand-murderer? Was he wasting his time lying?

“Didn’t think you did.” Andrew laughed, barely even blinking as he intimidated Neil. “No balls then, no balls now.”

“I was twelve.” He spat through crushed cheeks. “We were kids.”

“Old enough to be a liar.” Andrew let go of Neil’s face with a forceful push and turned to open the stall door. “You’re going to lead us outside. If you deviate or try to run I’ll kill you. I will kill you.” So Neil did just that. He led the way in silence, down the stairs and towards the exit. When Nicky stopped and excitedly asked where they were going, Neil looked back to Andrew who waved his pack of cigarettes, a smile on his face, no essence of a lie present. Neil just kept walking, kept his head down, and tried to ignore the pain on the side of his head. When they reached the outside of the club, the brisk air biting their exposed skin, Neil turned to the first man he saw, a club-goer at the top of the queue, and swung a punch up. Andrew noticed the second his hands left his sides, balled up with a plan. The man threw a hefty punch back, shouting intimidations, knocking Neil’s short frame to the ground. As quick as humanly possible, Andrew had hoisted him up, wrapped his arms around his back and twisted his wrist in such a way that a single jolt would break it. He held him in that position with one hand, putting all his strength into keeping Neil still.

“He gets crazy on tequila!” Andrew laughed, shaking his head as he took out his wallet and pulled out a fifty note. He threw it at the guy as compensation, his friends holding him back from beating Neil’s vulnerable, ballsy ass. He continued yelling as Andrew hauled him away. He grunted in pain as he refused to loosen his grip on Neil’s wrists. He walked him around the back of the club, to an empty, barely lit parking lot. He threw him to the ground so quickly he didn’t have time to stop his fall.

“Every moment I spend around you, you prove you’re much fucking dumber than I thought.” Andrew spat down, then crouching down to Neil’s level, balancing on the tops of his feet. Neil cradled his head, arms wrapped around the nape of his neck. He was sure he had a concussion. He could barely open his eyes through the pulsing blood rushing through his head, but forced himself to, to look up at Andrew’s smiling face.

“What happened?” Spit dripped down his chin, blood slowly trickling from the busted lip he’d earned himself. “What happened to that Andrew?” Andrew froze for half a second, and Neil noticed. “The Andrew who cried because he was gay? The kid who actually fucking cared about anything?”

“Oh, you are treading thin fucking ice for someone who doesn’t know how to swim.” Andrew tilted his head. “Mention another precious memory and I won’t hesitate to actually break your wrist next time.”

“Why?” He spat blood at Andrew’s feet. “Afraid somebody might remember what you’re actually like when you’re not pretending to be a sociopath?” Andrew opened his mouth at the challenge, a smile creeping up one side of his face. “Are you afraid to actually have someone around you know anything about you? I’m a threat. That’s all you care about.” He continued. “What, do you think I’ll use it against you? You’ve been treating me like shit since we met. If I was going to stab you in the back I’d have done it already, asshole.”

“Since we met, again.” He corrected the most irrelevant part of Neils sentiment.

“Let me go now and I’ll move on. You won’t ever see me again.” Neil bargained. Andrew’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. “This time I’ll get a chance to say goodbye.”

“No,” Andrew stopped him. “You don’t get to arrive in to my life like a tornado and disappear. You don’t get to dig your own grave and push me into it.” He bent down to get closer to Neils shaking face. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened first. Tell me what she did to you.”

“No.” Neil strained. “I moved on. You were dangerous. You almost got me killed.”

“Boohoo, do you hear my tiny violin, liar?” Andrew grabbed a hold of his hair again. Neil let out a cry of pain, trying to pry Andrew’s fingers from his scalp. “Talk. Talk or I will get you killed.”

“My father is a very dangerous man. He’s murdered more people than there are days in a year.” Neil wiped the blood from his lips. It stung as he did so, but it didn’t matter. He took out a small stack of IDs from his wallet and threw them across to Andrew. For a second, anyone would’ve thought they were real, but closer inspection killed that thought. Andrew was holding a driver’s license belonging to Chris Angle, 21, from New York. A European passport card signed by George Debois from Paris. A gym membership from Seattle, an employee pass from Toronto, two more drivers licenses from cities across the globe. All the names were different, but they didn’t belong to different people. They all had pictures of Neil on them. Some he had long hair, short hair, an unfortunate buzz-cut. He wore a beard in some, the baby face of a teenager in others. “You aren’t the only one I’ve lied to. Don’t think you’re special.” Andrew snapped the IDs with angry force. Neil took a deep breath, knowing the last memories of his mother were buried in the face of Christopher Hart, snapped in half, just like that. He continued searching through his wallet. Deep into the card pockets of the tattered leather. He didn’t look up when he heard Andrew drop the scraps of his identities on the ground. Neil found what he was looking for and threw it again, across the space separating them, it clattering by his feet. “If my mom found that she’d have killed me herself. We ran so she could protect me. I made that so much harder on her by meeting you.” Andrew inspected the card he’d been thrown. An under-eye twitch and a slow inhale accompanied his realisation. “You want to hate me for what she made me do, fine, but it was inevitable. You were never going to be the reason that made us stay.”

Neil had given Andrew something he couldn’t bare to part with. His old wallet stayed buried deep, deep in his belongings, so well hidden his mother hadn’t even known it existed. He usually kept his current IDs on his person, and never in a wallet. It was a ticking time bomb, but Neil needed something. He needed a reason to feel, and if that was the memory of the good day his mom had had when they finally showered after weeks of baby wipes and deodorant, it was something to hold on to. Neil had to stay grounded in some sort of reality. He was on the run, sure, but the people he met, the things he’d done? They were real. It hurt to see those memories snapped on the ground like trash, but Andrew didn’t snap the memory he held in his hands.

Andrew held the library card of Stefan Montgomery. It had a faded black and white photo on it, scratched out with time. He had begged the librarian to let him have the card without taking a picture, but she had insisted it was necessary so people didn’t have more than one. In the photo was a scared little boy, a gash on his cheek, with crispy curls and a skinny face. Neil remembered walking to the library when he couldn’t find Andrew, taking out books to help him learn any of the languages he needed to know. The library in Oakland taught him about the history of Spain, and the culture in France. There was something about Stefan that Neil didn’t want to forget. He’d kept that library card safe as if it were a lifeline, like he knew it would come in handy some day.

And then Andrew threw it across the empty parking lot like a frisbee.

“She didn’t see anything.” Neil tried, as if it would help. “We left because I made a friend. Not because… you know.”

“I was not your friend.” Andrew stood up and put a cigarette between his teeth. He lit it, one puff, two puff, three puffs until it burned red. “I was never your friend.”

“You were.” Neil struggled to stand up and join him. “Don’t lie to a liar.”

“You remember it wrong!” He took a short drag and flicked ash as he spoke. “You were a toy to play with when there was nothing else to do.”

“You could’ve went home.” Neil took the cigarette from Andrew’s fingers. “But hey, I wasn’t the only one who needed to escape heavy hands, right?” He pulled the smoke into his lungs and breathed out before flicking the barely smoked cigarette away. “You were my friend. You had Stefan killed because I cared about you when Stefan wasn’t supposed to care about anybody.”

“Be quiet.” Andrew pulled another cigarette from the packet and squared up to Neil who was standing so close he could feel Andrew’s breath hot on his face. “You didn’t care.”

“Are you listening?” Neil spat again, the heat of the cigarette having hurt his cracked lips. “We left because of you. Because I let you in, and I’m sorry you were collateral damage in our war against the world but fuck, we didn’t have a choice. Do you think I wanted to leave? I was going to leave you a note, but she wouldn’t leave my side until we were in another city and Stefan was just another name in the pile. Fuck you if you don’t want to believe that. I don’t owe you an explanation but you’ve got one anyway. Tell me to leave and I’ll go. Tell me you understand and I’ll go, Andrew.”

“I waited for you.” Andrew exhaled honestly through cigarette smoke. “Every day! The fourth day I tried knocking on the door of your motel room. Fifth day a random couple opened the door and I knew you weren’t coming back. Why should I give you another chance, hmm? When you so easily could run away before, who’s to say you won’t do it again?”

“I’m not asking for another chance,” Neil head was pounding. He felt like he could pass out, his ears ringing and body jittery. “I don’t know, maybe I’m asking you to remember what I meant to you.” Andrew pursed his lips at that. He was struggling to keep his composure, like the memory of before was chipping away slowly at this version of Andrew. He was holding himself together with twitches and small fidgets.

“I hate you.” He said, coldly. He had lit his cigarette and smoked through half of it before speaking again. Neil just stood, suddenly thinking about if Kevin were to find the IDs scattered on the floor. He didn’t even think he could lie to Nicky about that. He would pick them up in a moment, but he couldn’t afford to lose Andrew’s interest in the conversation. If Neil got distracted now he could ruin every chance he possible had at reconciling some sort of relationship with Andrew.

“I hate what the world has turned you into.” Andrew snorted a laugh at Neil’s dramatics.

“Oh, you are a pipe bomb.” Andrew started to walk away, but when Neil grabbed his arm to stop him, in a quicker movement he had twisted Neil’s arm in some sort of self defence move that hurt. “You don’t have a right to touch me anymore. Keep your lying hands to yourself or I’ll break every one of your fingers.” He didn’t let go immediately.

“Do you miss it?” Neil searched Andrew’s eyes for something, anything. “Being vulnerable? Being comforted instead of being alone, blaming the world for your problems?” Before Neil could even think to keep going, Andrew had used his free hand to manoeuvre a knife from his arm bands and hold it up to Neil’s face.

“I dare you to keep pushing.” His words were casual, but a threat nonetheless. “Stop trying to control a life you left. I won’t be a scratching post for your mommy issues, runaway.”

“What did Jakub do to you?” Neil brought a memory out from the depths. As soon as the name left his lips, Andrew’s entire body hardened and his eyes turned to glass. He slashed a cut into Neil’s cheekbone without hesitation and proceeded to let go of his arm and jam a thumb into the fresh wound. “Why did you spend your childhood alone in a playground?” Neil spoke through gritted teeth.

“If you want to keep your fantasy alive I advise you to really shut up now.” Andrew pushed him backwards, a final squeeze in the gash as he did so. Even more blood dripped down his face. Andrew wiped his hands in his pants and picked up the ignored cigarette he’d dropped in the altercation. “You are going in circles. This is your last warning.”

“My mom nearly broke half the bones in my body trying to get rid of the memory of you.” Neil took his spot back up so close to Andrews face he could practically see every one of the pores in his face. He still had freckles scattered across his face, his skin soft, with faint acne scars here and there across his cheeks. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You should have.” Andrew threw his cigarette at Neil. “Make your choice. Run like you’re used to.” He looked him up and down one more time and turned on his feet back towards the club. Neil didn’t follow. He started to pick up the remnants of his past and he felt his nose ache in psychosomatic pain, remembering a nose-breaking punch his mother threw when Neil dared asked if they could stay. He spat again, still trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the shards of plastic evidence of who he used to. After picking them all up he had to stop, and sit down. He was afraid he was having a panic attack, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drugs still ravishing his system, or if it was because of Andrew. Maybe it was both. It probably was. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken the truth if he wasn’t high, but God, if he were sober it would’ve been so much easier to run. High Neil was emotional Neil, empathetic Neil, hurt Neil. He’d only had the experience of being really, genuinely high a few times, and every single time just reminded him how much he hated the feeling of being out of control. Of his nerves, his feelings, every fibre in his being misfiring and doing the opposite to what he wanted. His brain was begging him to feel the chemicals it was pumping out, but all it did was amplifying the aching feeling in his chest. He let out a noise that didn’t quite resemble a cry, or a sigh, or a grunt. It was a noise born from pain, a mixture of anxiety and heartbreak, maybe. He wasn’t sure what that felt like. Maybe this was it.

He tried to steady his breath and he stumbled across the empty lot. The booming bass from the music at Eden’s practically shook the ground as he walked, at least, it sure felt like it did. He stumbled as he reached down to pick up the library card so carelessly thrown away. It hurt him even more looking at Stefan, feeling this pang in his stomach that wished things could’ve been different. He didn’t think he liked Andrew like that, and being on the same team was just the destruction of a childhood crush. Neil tried to come up with excuses in his head to how Andrew felt, but it was obvious he had thrown Stefan into the bad memories pile a long, long time ago. Neil showing up again just ripped through Andrew’s closure, and knowing he had feelings beneath what he showed, he was probably hurting too. It didn’t seem like it, but maybe he was. Neil had put the ID away, and looked around. He had no real idea where he was, or how to get home. Before he knew it, he was sprinting away from the club, going nowhere, going anywhere but there. His head wasn’t in a place to decide that he should stay. He’s worth it. His heart raced at the thought of Andrew’s face, looking down at the long unused library card. He’s worth it. Neil couldn’t look back. He was wondering what Andrew was telling the others, and if they would believe him. He wondered if he’d told Nicky about Neil’s Idontknow sexuality, and that’s why Nicky thought it okay to kiss him. But he didn’t feel anything with Nicky. He didn’t look at anyone in the way he looked at Andrew. He ran and ran and ran until he’d sweat out the drugs, until his head was more focused on trying to breathe than it was on Andrew, and his mom. It took a while, and he was lost when he stopped. Unfamiliar streets, him a stranger in someone else’s hometown. Maybe that made things worse. This feeling was too familiar. Lost, lost, lost. Sometimes lost became familiar, became home. He didn’t think he could be un-lost again.

Part 3

#this is about older andy n Neil #so pls send an ask if u want more of them when they were young #cos I love Stefan + Andrew #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #andreil #tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil hc #just want ppl to read this bc I’m really happy with it :(

110 notes · View notes

jackrippner · 3 years ago

Photo

What if you hurt because it feels so good? Like you have a tingling, like someone left a switch on in your body. And nothing can turn that switch off except hurting? What does that mean?

[ chace crawford & he/him/they/them & male ] : my oh my, is that JACK RIPPNER in bon temps ? what the hell are they up to hanging around BON TEMPS HOSPITAL listening to RUN FROM ME by TIMBER TIMBRE when they should be doing whatever a PHYSIOTHERAPIST does ? between you and i, the 300+ year old VAMPIRE is avoided for acting CRUEL, but whenever they let their CHARMING side shine through people flock to them. i guess they're in town because THEY'RE PROCURING AN ITEM. explains some of it, though i can't help but wonder if there's more to a WALTZING WITH THE DEVIL IN A CANDLE-LIT ROOM, BLACK LATEX GLOVES SLEEK WITH FRESH BLOOD story. ─── lenny, 25, est+2, she/her.

tw: death, child death, murder, if i missed anything lmk

very quick annoying facts before we dive in:

i’m not gonna lie to you ... he probably supports witches before he supports vampires bc he thinks they’re very broody & annoying oops ~~

thinks he’s really... all that. gross

totally doesn’t have a cage in his basement, nope :-)

if you didn’t think vampires were bad before... get ready, he about to drag their reputation thru the mud

classical music whore

will be very offended if you call him old, what do u mean ?????? he’s a pretty boy, how dare u

likes gardening how nice

probably buries women in his garden too ngl

very upset sb is serial stealing his thunder rn

somebody stop him

here we go folks,

jack currently works as an occasional contract killer and physiotherapist , under the fake alias of jack rippner , which he uses because... frankly, it amuses him

turned nearly three hundred years ago , but his life has been far from that of an ordinary man . dominik markos , a name long forgotten in history by now , was born in Hungary , late 1700

jack was born in poverty and was forced into labor from a young age . prideful and greedy , he was never content with his situation .

he knew from the start he had two, and only two things going for him: his looks, how deceitfully harmless he’d seem to prying eyes, and his mind. although denied proper education , dominik taught himself to read and write in the shreds of time he had for himself , then used his expanding knowledge and manipulation to convince others into doing his work for him, to therefore, have more time to sate this growing curiosity.

for all his intelligence, he’d been plagued with an appetite for destruction that could not be quenched. to think now , it barely seems real how happy his parents were the day he came into their lives , they’d been praying for a boy for so long . but dominik was no gift from the heavens.

it was the little things at first : the silent treatment , the calculated tantrums , how he always seemed to have others catering to his whims . then it escalated , little by little, into ripping the wings off flies to watch them crawl across the ground , and that dog who went missing the night after it bit him. then there was the incident, which cemented the true nature of the creature under their ceiling. lia had always been a rumbustious spitfire : blonde hair singing in the wind , mouth bubbling with laughter , until the day she ran into the house weeping with a broken arm , limb dangling limply like a twig . dominik stood still behind her , looking nonchalant as ever . lia never said anything, but they knew. they knew from the way she refused to stare at her brother, and the way he’d casually brush off the subject whenever it was brought up.

lia married off at the age of 16 and never returned home to visit . mirella, the youngest, became gravely ill and passed at the age 19.

then there were the missing girls , nobody really looked for them , not for long anyways . they all reminded him of lia : pretty , blonde , lower class .

the blots of blood on his clothes were always brushed off as accidents at work .

his parents no longer saw him as a blessing . they knew their prayers hadn’t been heard by god , but something else .

at the same age of his sister’s passing , 19, dominik married off a young girl from a wealthy family and said goodbye to his family house . they had a child together , which they named olivia . she too was struck by tragedy, and died at the age of 5 from smallpox .

when he was 26 , dominik was approached by a man and offered an interesting proposition : to hunt the things that bump in the night, help protect the world from evil, blah blah blah --- if he were being honest , he stopped paying attention once the offer became somewhat appealing . and all for the small price of leaving his old life behind him . dominik was intrigued - a life of hunting and killing seemed far more fitting for somebody like him, didn’t it ? so he accepted .

dominik went on to to become an even more relentless killer than he was before - this time with permission and approval from his peers . but he never abandoned his side hobby. it was like a compulsion, one he was unwilling to let go of. the other hunters didn’t know, or didn’t care- he was beyond useful and that was all they chose to focus on.

his last job was perhaps, his most memorable . if he were to recount the story, he’d say the details are fuzzy -- but there was a lavish party happening someplace that he wasn’t invited to , nonetheless , he easily made his way there - he’d always excelled at that : blending into walls, being a part of the crowd .

except this time, it was different . the air was stale, the walls were impossibly tall, and something about that night promised danger. when he climbed those steps, weapon in hand, ready to slay whatever monster hid in those chambers , he was finally faced with a strange reality: he couldn’t kill his target , couldn’t even bring himself to try .

call it love, if he will --- he thinks it was adoration at first sight . she was the most terrible thing he’d ever seen , completely rotten to the core . he dropped his weapon on the spot and for the first time in a long time, something inside him urged to be soft again.

he was bewitched . he’d never shared his colleague's hatred for the supernatural, after all - it’d always been pretense, like most things in his life - it was mask . except for this, except for now.

he pledged loyalty to her instead - such a frightful creature, and offered his crew in exchange for his life. when he went back home that night , he killed every and each single one of them in their sleep with the very same weapon they’d given him as a gift , and he sat there , completely unfazed by his handiwork .

when they met again , the next night , he was faced with another interesting proposition: a lifetime of servitude in exchange of immortality. he accepted - of course he accepted, and she fed him blood from a vial before slashing his throat then and there . dominik died at her feet that day , and came back as something so much worse than anyone could imagine .

dominik dedicated himself to be the witch’s personal bodyguard for the remainder of their existence , and right arm , as promised . decades went by , and he’d grown almost accustomed to their routine when she entrusted him with a quest to procure an item for her . they then parted ways , as he then went on to roam the world in pursuit of it .

while tracking the the item , he adopted the pseudonym jack rippner and got himself a job to blend in with the crowd, but it was this very same job tempted him into falling back into old habits . he’d never gotten rid of his faithful scalpel, after all

#macabreintro #intro.

13 notes · View notes

amazingorangedangantrash · 4 years ago

Note

Excuse me Orange. I have seen the posts of Makoto interacting with class 77 and as much as I would love to hear about it I'm really curious about how a relationship with class 79 and Makoto would be. More specifically Makoto and Kokichi.

Yes this is because I can't get the fic "Rosemary" out of my head. In summary, Makoto loses his memories and becomes a counsellor at a school in Germany after meeting Rantaro and adopts Kokichi. Besties Rantaro and Makoto with the disaster child that is Kokichi.

Hello anon! Thank you ever so much for being so polite and patient with me :). This post has been a long time coming, and people have requested it ever since I made those class 77 headcanons. I put it off partly because I was worried I wouldn't do the V3 characterisation justice. I based a lot of this off the wiki info, so I highly encourage anyone to add their thoughts or counter if they think of something different!

(Also since pre-game personalities are basically non-existent outside of headcanons, this is based off their killing game personas)

Makoto is excited to greet another school year, and some underclassmen along with it! With all the... interesting characters (turned friends) he's encountered in both his own and the above year, he can only wonder what the new students will be like...

Kaede- out of all the protagonists, I'd say Kaede shares the most similarities with Makoto, moreso than his own sister. These two would definitely get along and make a great tag team- watch out Hope's Peak, because these two will have befriended you before you know it! Makoto definitely admires Kaede's straightforwardness and her optimistic nature. They act as great support for each other if tag teaming another person/persons, as Kaede is bolder then Makoto, whilst Makoto acts well as a medium. They're both extremely loyal, arguably to a fault. Both Kaede and Makoto have lied in a class trial to protective their friend (a detective each time too, lmao). Apparently she also lied for his sake in the demo, which is sweet. I feel like they'd connect well over their mutual optimism and kind hearts. I think Makoto would convince Kaede to step out of her comfort zone- socially, she's very bold, but she strays away from activities that could affect her piano playing (by hurting her fingers) and can waste away a lot of time in the practice room. She misses out on a lot of potentially fun activities that way. On an outing with some others, she accidentally cuts her finger, and whilst Makoto apologises and tells her she was right to be cautious, she waves him aside. Despite being unable to play the piano for a few days, she fills her time with other activities and it actually... doesn't bother her so much. As an 'ordinary person', Makoto helps a lot of talented students by opening their eyes to seeing that their identity doesn't revolve around their talents. In return, Kaede offers to teach Makoto whilst he spends time with her in the practice room. Whilst piano is her favourite, she knows how to play other instruments, and teaches Makoto the violin (maybe you think he'd play a different instrument but violins are my favourite so I'm going with that-). They even practice together, and whilst Kaede still practices nearly every day, she finds that it can actually be even more fun with company.

Shuichi- ah yes, yet another detective. Makoto was initially surprised that they'd accepted another Ultimate Detective, since there's normally only one ultimate at a time in the school (aside from Luck, which is decided each year with a raffle or draw or whatever). It's revealed that Shuichi is actually undergoing part of a new tutoring programme, in order to increase the number of people with talents especially useful to society. He's to be tutored by his upperclassman... *drumroll* Kyoko! Being close with Kyoko and with Kaede, Makoto sees a lot of Shuichi and befriends him too. He helps out with Shuichi's lack of confidence and feelings of inadequacy. Unlike Makoto, Shuichi has an obvious role model that he both aspires to and compares himself against. Unlike Kyoko, Shuichi is much more connected to and feels responsible for the people his detective work condemns. Whereas Kyoko is confident in her goal to obtain the truth, in totally neutrality, Shuichi is hesitant about it, unable to feel unbiased and take a neutral stand. Makoto convinces him this is a good thing, that feeling guilt is normal and is a sign of being a passionate and sympathetic soul. Shuichi doesn't have to be the kind of detective Kyoko is- sometimes that kind of compassionate and caring person is exactly the mindset people want. He also reassures Shuichi that as painful as the truth is, uncovering it means being able to eventually move on, and embrace hope. (He also tells Kyoko to maybe be a bit more... /welcoming/ in their lessons, and eventually Kyoko grows quite fond of her student, discovering a fondess for teaching she didn't know she had).

They're both very humble and polite, and whilst Makoto isn't reserved, he can be very passive. I think the two would appreciate having more of a calm relationship, typical of a 'normal' friendship that is often er- 'lacking' at Hope's Peak. With Kaede's help, Shuichi would open up to Makoto and others over time. I personally headcanon Shuichi to have an anxiety disorder and depressive bouts, so I think someone like Makoto would be a great support friend, for him to go to when he needs company and comfort, someone to listen and to understand, and vice versa to an extent. I like to imagine Makoto, Shuichi and Kaede often spend time together (with Hajime too protag gang ftw). Shuichi likes to study in the music room with them. He's already good at research, but the music actually helps him... enjoy it more. (Maybe he takes up an instrument too, to give him a hobby to focus on, hmm).

Kokichi- Kokichi Ouma. Kokichi Ouma... what do I even say? Trying to wrap my head around his character is like trying to clear the death road of despair in your first try. Still, I'll try my best!

I've seen a headcanon before (i dont remember by who, if you know lmk and I'll credit them) that Makoto via his unpredictable luck would be immune to Kokichi's pranks, and I think that'd set up a pretty good basis for their introduction. I think if Kokichi and Makoto had to describe the other in one word, it would be... "frustrating". At first glance, they're practically opposites- someone like Kokichi, who seems to breathe lies instead of air, and a person like Makoto, who's so honest and open it's almost stupid. Makoto doesn't like how Kokichi lies so much, even if it means people hating him. He almost seems to WANT people to hate him (I think he said once that honest people scare him more than strangers). Makoto has a tendency to break down even the most difficult characters (coughcoguuh class 78 coughcofuh), and that both scares but intrigues Kokichi. Makoto couldn't hate him if he tried (literally the only person he ever even /disliked/ was Junko. Not /hate/, but just /dislike/? Really???), and it frustrates Kokichi that Makoto is so willing to trust him and put faith in him. Makoto isn't blindly optimistic either, he genuinely believes in people, and I think Kokichi would feel envious towards being able to trust so... freely. Part of Kokichi's childish and carefee personality and his perchance for lies is the manifestation of his desire for freedom. If no-one knows what he's thinking, if no one can guess his moves, if no one can use emotions or weaknesses against him, and he can do whatever he wants, isn't that freedom? Except it isn't. By not letting his guard down and being honest with people, in a way, Kokichi's lies have left him trapped, unable to open up out of a fear of vulnerability. Whilst Kokichi would be initially suspicious of Makoto, maybe even distrustful of or uncomfortable around his personality, I think having such a grounded, honest individual whom he can /rely/ on would be... comforting. Kokichi would warm up to him, and see that with Makoto, what you see is what you get. He's above all else, a /genuine/ person, though certainly not an ordinary one, and Kokichi learns to respect and even admire that. Kokichi intentionally pushes people away to avoid expressing vulnerability, by being intentionally unlikeable, but even so I think he's lonely. Pushing away others isn't out of a true desire to be alone (it never is), but a defense mechanism. That tactic wouldn't work on Makoto, and so Makoto could become someone who Kokichi not only considers a friend, but who wholeheartedly returns the sentiment.

Makoto isn't sure what to think of Kokichi at first. He's heard so much about this terrifying new student, an overlord of a secret underground organisation with roots all over the globe... and yet the first time they meet Kokichi is trying to drop a bucket of custard on him. I don't think Makoto would like how Kokichi lies so much- especially about things like killing people or sending them away to never be seen again. It upsets him how Kokichi can joke about it, and how he seems to enjoy toying with people's feelings. When Makoto has a goal, he'll follow it through to the end, so when he's determined to break through Kokichi's walls... well, it's not easy at first. He's also willing to keep Kokichi company and give him attention and hear him out, which Kokichi admittedly likes. Whilst Makoto isn't a pushover, he's also not going to threaten Kokichi or retaliate with mean words, he genuinely listens and entertains Kokichi even though he knows Kokichi is messing with him, which is.. really nice, actually. Even if he tries he can't really shake Makoto that much (pls after all the other -weirdos- people he's met?). Like oh-? They have to duel to the death with yu-gi-oh cards? It's lucky Makoto brought his stack with him! Kokichi orders him to play tea party with him? He loved playing it with Komaru when she was younger and was sad when she stopped! Kokichi tricks him into eating a really gross weird food? How did you know that was a family favourite! Kokichi is fond of Makoto, and is desperate to keep Makoto's attention on him, whilst at the same time not wanting to reveal his true feelings, leading to plenty of complicated situations. Eventually they reach a breaking point (i love drama ok) and whilst Makoto doesn't lash out at him, exactly, he admits that maybe it's best he leaves Kokichi alone, believing that maybe Kokichi truly is content to be the way he is. It's this event that causes Kokichi to realise that Makoto really is someone he'd rather not hurt- that he doesn't just 'like' him but truly cares for him. From then on he tries to dial it down a bit, and Makoto comes to understand how Kokichi's lying and 'cruelty' stems from a place of insecurity and fear of trust. He promises to be a person Kokichi can trust, to show him that vulnerability doesn't have to mean gettint hurt. Whenever the two are around each other all kind of wacky hijinks are bound to ensure, really. Kokichi loves having someone around to not only give him attention, but want to as well, and Makoto enjoys how Kokichi is willing to spend time with and entertain him, pushing him and supporting him in ways that he didn't realise initially. They both find the other extremely interesting, and their encounters usually lead to significant changes in their relationship and mindsets.

I like to imagine they'd spend time playing games and fanboying together- Kokichi adores video games, and it always poses a challenge going against Makoto's luck, which is great for someone competitive as he is. Kokichi also seems a fan of the shounen genre, and 'basic' Makoto is the only other person in the school aside from Hifumi and Tsumugi to even watch anime so you know those two nerds geek out constantly. Kokichi likes to play other kinds of games with Makoto too- and they really like word games- especially two truths one lie. Makoto is... suprisingly good at it. He's pretty poetic, and his genuineness makes it hard to disbelieve him. Which makes it all the more fun when going against Kokichi!

Rantaro- how would these two describe each other in 5 words? "A breath of fresh air". They're both some of the "normal-est" in the school tbh. It's really great for both of them to have someone to do normal teen stuff with. They love going shopping together, hanging out at cafes and arcades. They actually meet when looking for a birthday present for their sister(s). They both reach for the same one before apologising and insisting the other have it. Rantaro insists Makoto take it, since, well, it's not like /his/ sister would get it anytime soon... confused, Makoto asks why and somehow Rantaro ends up confessing the whole thing about his sisters' disappearances, and how he always buys a present for each of their birthdays, waiting for the day when he can give them to them in person. (Pls why does this always end up with makoto counselling the students akdhsjsj-). Makoto could definitely sympathise, having a younger sister of his own. I think they'd bond over that "older brother" role they share, and Makoto would definitely help alleviate some of Rantaro's guilt. I like to imagine that Makoto, whilst being a 'typical teenage boy', also has a lot of feminine interests that he might be a bit insecure about. I love the idea of Rantaro encouraging him to embrace that (guy has like 12 sisters, he gave up feeling shy about makeup, nail polish, jewellery and dressing up in tiaras years ago). Rantaro is the first person to paint Makoto's nails and he loves it so much-!!! They go out for boba together and wear matching green nail polish pls its awesome. Rantaro also tells Makoto stories from when he was travelling and its also amazing- Makoto loves hearing all about it, and Rantaro is actually an incredible storyteller. Though Rantaro initially adventured to find his sister(s), he remembers why he loved travelling in the first place, and he's able to look back fondly on those memories that used to be clouded with the despair of his sisters' disappearance. They even go on vacation together to a tropical island at some point (maybe with friends). I'd like to say Makoto's luck might even lead to them finding one of the sisters, but maybe that's a bit too coincidental ahaha.

Miu- hmm. I think Makoto would be a little put off at first by her vulgarity and very openly sexual and crude behaviour. It's not that he dislikes her, he just isn't really sure... how to react around her? Her and Kaede don't get along, and Makoto often finds himself playing peacemaker when he stumbles upon their arguments. To his surprise, though, she seems to actually... like it when they fight? In fact- she seems to like it when people give her the time of day at all, really. Maybe she's just... lonely? And well, she can be a bit... um- /obnoxious/, but she can't be that bad! Making him go to see her weird (weird) inventions, that must be her way of reaching out and trying to spend time with him, right?

And then she starts calling him "Ma-crap-to", "Naegidiot", "Makusoto", and "Na-unchi"

nevermind she sucks

Makoto, with his saintly patience, would probably end up getting closer to her similar how Shuichi does in his FTEs. (I'll be honest there's not much difference I can think of akdjsjjssksj-)

Kaito- Kaito! Who doesn't love Kaito. It's no secret Kaito thinks himself the centre of the Universe (insert space joke here haha)- he's the protagonist of his own life, and luckily for him, Makoto fits quite nicely into the sidekick role. Both of them are passionate, with big hearts and strong spirits. Kaito is really good at seeing through people too- (idk how accurate this is but apparently in the wiki it says he sees that Nagito isn't interested in his talent or him as a person so much as him as a symbol). Whilst Makoto obviously has a lot of respect and admiration for all the talented students, I feel like it's a lot more... genuine? In a way that he can appreciate the person behind the talent, more than the talent itself. Kaito is someone who likes to inspire people and I think this would resonate with him. I think the two could seriously get along! They're both hopeless (haha) romantics and stupidly optimistic lmao. Kaito can be a little hotheaded at times, so I also like the idea that Makoto could calm him down, or at least reel him in a bit. He's stubborn when it comes to... um.. certain types of people (kokichi) so maybe Makoto could open his mind a bit.

Maki: MAKI ROLLLL. Ok I'm sure she'd probably have to hide her talent until it all came out at some point. I think Makoto is someone who's very against killing (even Junko he believed there was a better way for), so whilst he wouldn't agree with her talent, I think he wouldn't hold it against Maki, especially because he's very good at separating person from talent. Makoto is very understanding, and I think that like with Kaito, he would try to befriend her and open her up. He'd probably feel bad for her, not knowing what a "normal" life was like, so he'd try his best to do that. I think Maki in turn would appreciate that, and slowly get to know him like she did with Kaito and Shuichi. (She also likes complaining to him about Kaito lmao).

(he also takes her out for sushi so she can see for herself what a harumaki is LOL)

I'm sorry anon, this is as far as I could go aksnjjssj. When I feel up to it I'll try and make a part 2 to this, but I hope this is good for now?

(Also that fic sounds awesome and I'll definitely have to read it at some point)

#makoto naegi #v3 #drv3 #makoto + class 79 #anon #my post

38 notes · View notes

amberskywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort With You

Masterpost | AO3 Link | FF.net Link

Fandom / Genre: Stardew Valley / Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Harvey/Farmer or Harvey & Farmer (can be seen as romantic or platonic)

Warnings: Talk about death of a major character, and characters becoming depressed while grieving, though both are in reference to a nightmare. Lmk if there's anything I should add!

Summary: Harvey gets a visitor late one stormy night looking for comfort.

Harvey didn’t normally get visitors late at night. In fact, it was rather worrisome when he did get visitors after dark. Visitors after dark typically meant someone was injured or very very sick and needing his immediate attention. After the farmer arrived in town, Harvey had gotten quite a few visits in the very early hours of the morning, when the sun was still far below the horizon, someone often dragging the unconscious body of the farmer back into town.

It had been a while since one of the late night visits, though. The farmer had been more careful lately in the mines - especially the Skull Cavern mines in the desert, which they had many stories to tell Harvey - and had even said this year they were going to focus on some other things, like getting more animals and organizing the farm a bit better.

Tonight, it was storming. It had been all day, and it would be for all of tomorrow. Harvey didn’t have an issue with storms, not unless lightning struck a little too close to the center of town.

On a night like this, Harvey really hadn’t expected any visitors. Really, he thought it’d be quite stupid of anyone to be wandering around in this weather so late.

However, those thoughts from earlier that evening were proved wrong as he was woken up by banging on his front door, loud enough to echo up to him over the steady downpour.

Harvey wasn’t sure he had actually heard anything at first, rubbing his eyes and glancing about the darkened room. There were a few beats when nothing happened, and then the loud and obnoxious knocking started again.

Harvey almost thought about ignoring them, his bed very warm and he was just so comfortable. But then he glanced at the clock and saw it was two in the morning. Eyes widening, Harvey scrambled out of bed, swaying slightly as he grabbed his glasses and booked it towards his door, ignoring the need for water at the moment.

The knocking was much louder downstairs, and the lights upon being flicked on suddenly made his eyes burn, but Harvey ignored it for now. He could deal with the massive headache later.

“Coming!” Harvey called, fumbling with the lock on the door. The knocking ceased, whoever finally settling on waiting, and Harvey threw the door open, expecting some awful sight to greet him or the worried expression of someone needing aid back home.

Harvey froze at the sight before him, though. The farmer, unharmed, but shivering and holding themself tightly, absolutely drenched.

“Wait, what…?”

They swallowed, stepping just a little closer to the clinic, but not yet entering. They never entered without Harvey’s permission, not unless it was urgent.

And that’s what was even more confusing to Harvey - they were here, in this awful weather, for something that wasn’t urgent.

“H-Hey, um, I’m really- really sorry, for coming here so suddenly but can I- can I stay here? For the night?”

Harvey blinked, and the farmer curled in further on themself, shifting from foot to foot. Harvey couldn’t tell if they were nervous, freezing, or both.

Wait- right, freezing! They had to be freezing!

“Yes- Yoba, get in here, before you get yourself sick!” Harvey ushered them inside, ignoring their small squeak when he had grabbed them - not too hard, he just had a firm hold on them - and pulled them through the door. He made sure to lock the door before ushering them to the stairs, not giving them the chance to protest or worry about dripping water on Harvey’s floors.

Before they knew it, Harvey was brewing them both coffee and was digging through his things for something they could wear, something warm and not soaking wet. The farmer watched quietly, having given up on trying to tell Harvey they were fine, he didn’t have to do all this for them. Harvey insisted. He refused to have a dear friend risking their health like this.

He finally found some clothes that would work - they were very soft, but not so soft that it bothered the farmer, who had told him about certain textures making them extremely uncomfortable - and passed them to the farmer, letting them change in the small bathroom he had upstairs. They were still quiet as they left, and Harvey watched the coffee drip into the pot as he waited.

He hadn’t asked why they were here yet. He’d ask soon enough, but right now he was concerned about them catching a cold. Despite what the farmer claimed, Harvey knew they didn’t have a strong immune system. One of the colds they had caught last winter left them sick for a lot longer than it should have.

The coffee machine beeped, and Harvey poured two mugs without thinking. It probably wasn’t a good idea to have coffee right now, but the farmer hadn’t said no - they would have if they really didn’t want it - and Harvey figured he’d need a small energy boost. His room was still rather dark, only lit by a dim lamp on his dresser so they could see at least a little bit.

He waited for them to come back before beginning his drink, and they smiled softly as he handed them theirs. Their wet clothes were left in the bathroom to dry, and Harvey made a mental note to put them in the wash tomorrow.

The farmer sighed as they gulped down the coffee, shoulders finally falling and they slouched a bit, and Harvey was relieved to see them relaxing.

“Thank you,” they mumbled, finishing off their drink far quicker than Harvey. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Harvey shook his head. “It’s nothing, really. I only wish I could do more.” He nodded towards his bed upon finishing his own mug, taking both of the empty dishes and placing them beside the coffee machine. He could deal with them tomorrow - or rather, later in the day. “Do you want to sit?”

The farmer glanced at the bed, at Harvey, then to the floor before they nodded. They followed Harvey over to it and sat beside him. They both sat on the side of the bed, the farmer hugging themself while Harvey watched them. He wanted to hug them himself, but thought better of it for the time being, in case they weren’t comfortable with that right now.

He did bump his knee lightly against theirs, and it drew the farmer’s eyes away from the floor. Harvey gave them a gentle smile. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you just need someone around right now?”

They shifted a bit, making a small hum in the back of their throat while their lips twitched upwards, just slightly.

“Right now, just the company. Maybe talk about it in a bit.”

“Alright, want to get more comfortable then? Or want me to put on some music?”

“More comfortable…?” They sounded confused.

Harvey nodded, patting the bed and making a small gesture towards the messy blanket and pillows. “It’d be a tighter fit than what you’re used to, but if you want we can just relax under here.”

The farmer glanced over the bed again before nodding slowly, untangling their arms from around themself. Soon enough, the two of them were under the blanket and leaning against the headboard of his bed, arms and legs pressed between them so neither would fall off or be squished against the wall. The farmer drummed their fingers on their thigh, biting their lip before glancing at Harvey.

“Hey…”

Harvey hummed softly.

“Can…” they took a deep breath. “Can you hold me? Please?”

He smiled and nodded, opening his arms for them. The farmer released a breath Harvey hadn’t realized they’d been holding, and they relaxed a whole lot more than they had earlier, practically launching themself into Harvey’s embrace.

Harvey held them close, running one hand over their back gently as the other went to cup their head, stroking the nape of their neck. They sighed again, much happier, and snuggled closer to the doctor as though it were possible to be any closer with them essentially laying on him.

They stayed like that for a while in silence, the only noise an occasional creak as one of them shifted on the bed. Harvey drew the blanket a bit higher over them, up to their shoulders, and the farmer almost giggled at the action.

The farmer tucked their head into Harvey’s neck after a good amount of time had passed, the clock showing it was almost three. Their breath tickled his neck as they sighed again, and their grip around Harvey tightened briefly. They eventually shifted a bit, curled on their side atop of Harvey. They brought one hand up to trace random shapes in Harvey’s chest.

“I… I had a really bad nightmare,” they whispered. Harvey couldn’t glance down at them with the way they were tucked against him. “Normally, they’re… I can reason myself out of them, out of breaking down, y’know? But- But this one was different. It felt so real.”

His neck felt damp, and Harvey frowned deeply, tightening his hold on them just that little bit. “D’you want to talk about it?”

The farmer hummed ‘no’ yet still let out a long breath. “But I should.”

He moved his arms so one was draped over their back, and the other was closer to their shoulders, allowing him to rub their arm in an attempt to soothe them. “Take your time.”

They nodded, and took a deep breath. They burrowed closer to Harvey.

“I… I was in Skull Cavern. Really, really deep in it. Past where I had seen Mr. Qi and I think I was well past three hundred floors, which was insane, there can’t be that many floors in that place it has to end somewhere. But… But I kept falling, deeper and deeper into shafts.

“Everything was going fine, more or less. It was going as usual, except for the many floors. And then, I reached this infested floor. Which isn’t too uncommon, but this floor was infested. I- there were so many things on top of me as soon as I had entered, I barely had a chance to even try and fight. I couldn’t even grab a bomb before I was knocked out cold, despite having my best gear.”

Harvey felt their hand grip his shirt, so tight he could imagine their knuckles paling and nails making indents into their palm despite the fabric between fingertips and palm. He tilted his head slightly to rest his cheek against their head, giving their arm a very light squeeze as they began to tense.

“Normally, when I pass out, they leave me alone. I think they just attack conscious things. Which is weird. But- they didn’t. Not this time. I- I watched as they- they-” The farmer took a very deep breath. “.... destroyed me, completely.” They were stiff as a board now in Harvey’s arms, but just as Harvey was about to try and soothe that tension they continued.

“I- I was gone, but not completely. My spirit was still there. Time was weird. I jumped to a few days after, and- Yoba, Harvey it was awful.” His neck felt suddenly more wet, and they began to shake, voice cracking. “I- I saw everyone finding out, saw them break down- Shane drank until he was nearly poisoned, Haley spent days going through photos of us together and completely forgot to do things like eat… Rasmodius was looking through ancient books for anything that could bring me back, but there was nothing- he knew there was nothing besides real dangerous and life threatening magic and he would have probably gone through with it, and then you-” They stopped suddenly, unable to hold back a sob that raked through their entire body.

Harvey pulled them closer, holding them tight to him and they hiccuped and trembled and let tears roll down their cheeks. Harvey was going to ask what he had done, but the farmer was clinging to him as though he would disappear if they let go, and they seemed so distraught Harvey wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

They stopped talking, just crying into Harvey’s neck, and Harvey held them the entire time, stroking their back and arm and neck and head, just anywhere he could reach and try to provide any comfort he could.

Their sobbing eventually quieted down, their breathing still uneven and grip on Harvey never loosening. It had been almost another hour. Harvey very slowly pulled them away from him by the shoulders, just so he could see their face. They sniffled, both hands moving to Harvey’s chest to hold themself up, though they swayed slightly on their unsteady arms.

Harvey gave them the most reassuring look he could, hoping to convey all the love he felt for them in that expression alone. He cupped one of their cheeks, rubbing his thumb along her cheek soothingly. They gave him a small, very weak smile, leaning into his hand. The smile soon turned into a frown.

“I’m sorry,” they mumbled.

Harvey shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He let them curl up on his chest again. Harvey began to rub their back again. “I get it if not, but do you want to try and sleep again right here?” He knew they had to be exhausted. A nightmare like that, the trek from their home to the clinic, and then the breakdown… it was definitely draining.

The farmer hummed. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“... Alright then.”

They yawned, slowly relaxing in Harvey’s arms once again. They shuffled a little bit around once again, preparing for sleep. Harvey sunk back into his sheets and pressed a soft kiss to the farmer’s head. He could feel them starting to drift off, their breathing slowly evening out. He almost joined them, but staved off his sleep for just a few more moments.

“Hey.”

They hummed quietly after a second of silence.

“You can stay here whenever you want, no matter the time.”

There was another soft hum, and the farmer burrowed closer. “Al’ght, ‘nks…”

Harvey stayed awake until they were softly snoring, and only then did he let himself doze.

#amberskywrites #ambersky #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley harvey #harvey sdv #sdv harvey #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #farmer sdv #sdv #hurt/comfort #character death #(ask to tag)

71 notes · View notes