#why do I draw Jason in profile all the time?

[phantommermaidqueen]

Happy birthday to @gummy-goat-galaxy who is amazing and everybody should follow. Who also opened my eyes to this ship/ the concept if fembb

Did a big oops and used a fineliner way too thick and was too stubborn to switch

[luveline]

—you meet Spencer again after losing out on the BAU job. he comforts you while you do your best not to flirt. bombshell!reader, 0.9k

You lose out on the BAU job to Elle Greenaway. It drives you crazy.

You work just as hard as Elle does, you’re professional no matter what Jason Gideon has to say about you, and you know you could do it. You have just as many successes as Elle does.

It makes you feel sick. You tried so, so hard.

I’m sorry, Hotch had said, and at least you’d had his support. He was kind enough to tell you in person. I can’t make the decision without Gideon, and if he thinks you aren’t right for it right now, we’ll have to wait.

Wait. As though Jason Gideon was ever going to change his mind about you.

You open your purse and take out the barrel of your sheer lipstick. Your compact is next. You hold the mirror up and angle your face in the sun, popping the lid off of the lipstick, and pressing its flat end to your bottom lip. The line you draw is perfectly precise. Your hand barely trembles.

You drop the mirror down and rub your lips together slowly. No matter what falls out of your control, you can present yourself to your liking. You can be immaculate. You—

“Hi.”

You look up from your rumination, startled. You’d been thinking so hard someone actually got the run up on you.

“Hi,” you say, tilting your head gently toward your shoulder.

Dr. Spencer Reid stands a polite three feet away from you. He’s suddenly changed. The last time you met him he was wearing his long hair in a side part. Now it’s split down the middle, just a touch shorter at the sides, and he’s wearing glasses.

(He’s wearing glasses!)

You’d thought he was pretty before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” you say, tempted to call him baby, maybe sweetheart. He’s a sweet looking boy. His sweater vest makes you wanna hold his hand. “Thank you for asking. Why are you asking?”

You talk to him with no derision nor malice, just curiosity.

He frowns. It gives his eyes a sad shine. “I know you wanted the open position. You would’ve been great at it.”

“You think so?” you ask, surprised.

“I’ve seen some of your write ups. We’ve used your summaries in one of our profiles, do you… remember that?”

You send Hotch anything he wants to see.

“I don’t know why Gideon doesn’t like you… He’s so rarely wrong about people, but you’re…” He licks his lips nervously. “You’re– you’re smart. You’re inquisitive. I think you would be an asset to the team, and it’s a shame you didn’t get your chance.”

You’re making him nervous and it isn’t your intention. You put your hands in your lap and stop giving him the look, swapping your amicable smile for a proper friendly one. “Thank you. Is it okay if I call you Spencer? Dr. Spencer Reid is a lot to say at once.”

He laughs, still nervous. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Spencer, thank you for caring so much, but I’m okay. I think I might still have a chance one day, but with Elle gone, the sex crimes division is going to need me.” You lift your chin. If he’s sought you out to tell you he’s sorry, your premonitions about him when you met a few weeks ago were correct. He’s as kind as he is pretty. “I love your glasses. Are they for reading?”

“I always wore glasses when I was a kid, and then I started working here, and I thought it might make me seem less… childish, if I wore contacts, but they’re the worst.”

You laugh happily. He says it in such a pained voice. “The glasses suit you so much,” you say, shoving your things into your bag and standing. “Did you wanna go for coffee? I need a pick me up before I go back to the office.”

Spencer touches his wrist. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” you ask, again, without a drop of malice. You’re not stupid, Spencer has all the nervousness of someone who’s been mistreated before, and heartily, and it’s easy to be soft with him not solely because of it, but because he seems so sweet. You could happily be his friend. “Do you like coffee? We could get those hot donuts from the cafeteria, have you tried those?”

You close the little gap between you both and raise your hand carefully to his face. Gentle, you try to pull a stray hair from the hinge of his glasses leg without snapping it.

“You can tell me all the stuff I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Spencer says.

“Come on, there has to be something.”

His mouth gives him away. “It’s not that you’re doing it wrong, you’re just– you– you’re not looking at things the…” Your fingertip brushes his cheek as you drop your hand. “…Right way, sometimes.”

“I wanted your recommendations.” You bump his elbow with yours. “I’ll buy you a coffee and you can write me a list. Cool?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Cool.”

You’re thinking it’ll be the start of a good friendship. You and Dr. Reid make quite a pair.

[babyrdie]

Some of your posts gave me the impression that you don't post about characters even though you are interested in them!! Is there a reason for that?

Okay

Because even though my account is small, Tumblr is still a very public site. It's not like I can make my account private like I can on Twitter (I think Instagram has that option too). And honestly, there are some things that are better left unsaid to avoid headaches. Sure, I have the option to just not post here if I have a problem with attention, but I like the posting system and I like running a blog, so the most I can do is avoid drawing attention to myself. That is, avoid using popular tags (e.g. tagamemnon) and, in general, avoid interacting too much. I certainly respond to people who start a conversation with me (whether it's in the comments, reblogs, asks, DMs, or by tagging me in a game post), but it's less common for me to go to someone else's post.

For example, I've already received about 4 really annoying asks from Odysseus fans (which is part of the reason why I currently don't allow anon asks). So, no matter how much I like the character, I prefer not to interact with posts about him or even post much about him. Yes, I still post, but not as often as I could. And that's because his fandom has given me a headache. In fact, when I see that an account is 100% Odysseus, I block it even if there's nothing that displeases me. Tumblr's tag blocking system is practically useless, so blocking his tag would be ineffective. The only thing I can do to avoid this headache again is to avoid as much as possible profiles that are very passionate about this character and, since there's no option to mute profiles like on Twitter, the only thing left for me to do is block them.

I don't interact much with Patrochilles posts, even though I'm part of the fandom. And that's because I simply don't fit into the "proposal" off this fandom. Not because I felt bad there, we just don't have the same interests most of the time. For example, they usually have no interest in Antilochus, Teucer, Deidamia, etc. Talking about the couple itself is nice, but I would also like to have the opportunity to talk about their other relationships. And I don't really get to do that in the fandom.

There are certain characters that I don't give much of an opinion on because there's potential for unnecessary arguments. For example, I believe that Helen chose to go with Paris, since I rarely see anything in the ancient sources that explicitly states that she was kidnapped. And no, "Aphrodite influenced" isn't really a convincing argument, many times Aphrodite and Eros were used to represent the feeling and not necessarily to state that the person has total 0 agency. Medea also only fell in love with Jason because of divine interference (Eros), so why doesn't anyone claim that she has no responsibility whatsoever for what her feelings for Jason made her do? And yes, Medea certainly did much worse than Helen, but I used an extreme example precisely to illustrate the situation better. So, for me, Helen chose to cheat on Menelaus and chose to leave her daughter behind. I'm not saying that she WANTED to hurt them, but she certainly hurt them by not thinking better. And by "thinking better" I don't even mean sleeping with someone else (Menelaus did the same thing, after all. He's really not one to talk about fidelity), I'm talking about leaving Sparta. And I don't think Paris is worse than her, I think they were both irresponsible. It doesn't make them the worst people in the world, especially when there are examples of people with worse attitudes in the Trojan War (i.e. Patroclus and Hector wanted to dishonor a corpse, Odysseus and Achilles have countless attitudes on the list, Agamemnon made the people suffer twice because of his hubris… once with Artemis in Aulis, once with Apollo in Troy), but they aren't little silly saints without any flaw. I don't think Helen is a poor thing like the rest of the people think, sorry.

But yeah, you can be sure I've had thoughts about characters I don't post about. Hell, I've even had thoughts about Philoctetes. Like, who thinks about Philoctetes? And you can't imagine how many times I think about Penthesilea and just don't post about it. Even characters that have no relation to the Trojan War, like Medea, Jason, Theseus, Antigone, Cadmus. So yeah, I think about a fair amount of characters even if I don't post about them.

I've had unbearable experiences with fandom on fic sites (deleted accounts), Amino (deleted account), and Twitter (now a private account). I don't want the same for Tumblr, so I'm in this situation. If someone wants to be my moot and wants to interact with me, I'm more than willing! But no, I don't think I really want to draw attention.

[writtenjewels]

Mirage part 4

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

After Salim got cleaned up, Jason brought him back to the main room and made him finish the sports drink. He stayed close by until Salim was finished.

“I'll put this away,” Jason told him, indicating the rest of the fruit. “You just sit here and rest.”

“I've done so much resting,” Salim pointed out. “I would like to do something more active.”

“Well, if you're feelin' up to it, you could take a bath.” Jason wrinkled his nose playfully.

“That actually sounds like a wonderful idea.” Salim moved to stand up again but his legs were weak from lack of use.

Jason was by his side in a moment with an arm around him, keeping Salim upright. Salim noted how strong the man was before, but was more aware of it now that he felt Jason holding him. He was not a small man, but Jason was supporting his weight easily. It made Salim wonder if Jason had carried him to this place using only his own strength. Salim's heart beat a little faster as he imagined it.

He was left alone in the bathroom. Salim happily stripped off the clothes he'd been wearing for the past few days and turned on the water. There was no radio in here or scented oils or anything to make this a real bath, but just lying in the water would be enough after all Salim went through.

Salim let his thoughts drift as he soaked. How long had he been in this small cabin? So far he hadn't seen any time pieces around. His own body couldn't provide clues: he was still recovering, and he hadn't eaten in so long he wouldn't have cared if it was midnight. If Salim had to guess, he would say it'd been at least a day, maybe two.

He got out of the bath and toweled himself dry. His old clothes lay in a pile. The thought of putting those sweaty, sand-caked clothes back on made Salim shudder. He opened the door just enough to peer out. Jason was seated on the beanbag chair, deeply engrossed in a sketch. Salim found himself staring. Jason had a very nice profile. Salim's eyes followed along his brow, knitted in concentration, down the slope of his nose to his lips, corners lifted in a faint smile.

Jason paused in his sketch to turn toward the bathroom. “Salim, are you all right?”

“Yes.” His face felt a little warm. He hoped Jason hadn't noticed Salim staring at him. “I'm just not really looking forward to putting on these dirty clothes.”

“Well...” Jason cocked his head to one side. “It's either that, or wear somethin' of mine. Sorry.”

“If you don't mind.”

“Wait there.” Jason got up, disappearing into another room. A few minutes later he was back with an armful of clothes. He deposited them in front of the bathroom door. Salim stepped back, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. Jason barely glanced at the crack in the door before turning back to his beanbag chair.

Salim waited until the other man was engrossed in his drawing before grabbing the clothes. He dressed, having to do a fair bit of wiggling and tugging to get it all on. He and Jason were roughly the same height, but Salim was more broad. The clothes felt tight around his chest and hips in particular. Salim briefly debated on the possibility of staying in the bathroom.

Why was he feeling so self-conscious? Jason had found him on the brink of death and just watched him vomit in the toilet. This should be nothing. And yet the idea of Jason seeing evidence of Salim's bulkier size made him very nervous.

“Salim?” Jason called out to him. “You okay?”

“Yes, I, ah... I just need to... use the bathroom.”

This turned out to be true. It gave him a few more minutes to pull himself together before venturing out of the bathroom. He finally stepped out. Jason rose to his feet, presumably ready to help Salim should he need it. But he seemed frozen, his gaze locked on Salim. Salim could feel that gaze slowly traveling over his body. His face got warmer and his heart beat a little faster. Was Jason admiring him?

“You're standin' on your own two feet,” Jason observed. The comment, for some reason, made Salim's heart sink in disappointment. What was he hoping for, a compliment on his figure? It was ridiculous.

“I'm managing.” He placed a hand on the door-frame and leaned against it. “My legs still feel weak.” Jason was crossing the room in a moment, putting an arm around Salim to support him. Having him so close made Salim even more aware of how the clothes pressed tight against his skin. He prayed Jason wouldn't notice the blush.

“C'mon, I've got you. Go slow.” Together they moved to what had become Salim's spot in the room. “How's your stomach?”

“Less troubled.” Salim's eyes darted to Jason's face briefly. “I appreciate all of this.”

“I just wanna make sure you're okay.” Jason met his eyes and for a moment they were locked. Salim wanted to say or do something to get the man to smile. Jason looked away first, directing Salim to sit down. “I've got some saltine crackers,” Jason mentioned, “if you wanna try eating again.”

“I'm fine for now, thank you.” He felt the loss when Jason's touch lifted away. “May I see what you're drawing?” he requested.

“Not much to see yet. Maybe when it's more filled in.”

“I'll hold you to that, Jason.” Salim pulled his legs up to his chest and propped his chin on his knees. Jason returned to his chair once again and picked up the canvas he was working on. “You don't have much furniture,” Salim observed after a moment.

“Don't get many visitors,” Jason responded. He glanced up from his sketch to look at Salim. “It's just you and me.”

“Just you and me, huh?” Salim dropped his gaze, feeling fluttering in his stomach. “That's all right. Honestly, I'm just happy to see a human face.” It didn't hurt that Jason's was nice to look at.

“Yeah.” Jason's response was quiet, his focus turned back to the sketch. “Me, too.”

Salim's insides responded with more active fluttering. Good grief, he was acting so flustered around the man. Certainly he was grateful for everything Jason did, but to feel this way... It was silly, wasn't it? To notice how handsome and strong Jason was, to enjoy his voice and hope for his laughter, to still feel the ghost of his touch and want it again...

Maybe if he didn't acknowledge it, he could ignore these growing feelings.

[queenofthequillandink]

Drawings from Tucker's sketchbook to go with the latest chapter of my DPxDC crossover fic Unearthed, Reborn! Everyone please know that Tucker draws better than I do, but I'm doing my best.

Image IDs and a clearer idea of who's writing what below the cut.

[Begin image ID: A series of nine photos showing two sketchbooks pages with black and white pencil drawings. Page one shows hero costume designs for Jason Todd and Sam Manson, with comments written in varying handwriting. The second page shows a costume design for Danny Fenton.

The first closeup shows Jay with his ghostly wings out, hair color-swapped to be mostly white with a black stripe, and wearing simple, functional armor. He is in an action pose, wings extended and lunging to the side. An arrow points to his wings with "WING ARMOR" written in Tucker's handwriting. Sam responds, "you didn't draw the back because you don't know what it looks like, do you?" Tucker writes, "NO PROOF"

The second closeup shows Jay's armor in greater detail, with more notes. One arm on the basic drawing model is extended to the side. Black-shaded hands are labelled, "GLOVES" by Tucker. Danny responds, "no fingieprints," to which Jay has written, "Blocked." An arrow points to the same arm, labelled by Tucker as, "REINFORCED WEAVE FABRIC (TBD)." Tucker labelled a vest with obvious plates drawn on as, "ARMORED PANELS." The model wears a utility belt, labelled with the exchange, "Tucker: UTILITY BELT. Sam: sometimes the Bats have good ideas. Tucker: BASICALLY." Tucker has labelled the elbow and knee pads, "WEAPONIZED POINTY BITS." Danny responded, "nice." Next to the boots, Jay wrote, "Combat boots?" Tucker responded, "WHAT AM I, A SCRUB? OFC." Jason wrote, "Nice"

Below the model is a bust closeup of Jay's costume. It shows a pointy-fronted hood attached to a "vest" that only extends to just under Jay's armpits. Black face paint covers the area over the eyes and a plain mask covers the model's nose and mouth. Danny drew an arrow to the hood and wrote, "Assassin's Creed mfer." Tucker responded, "SHUT," underlined once. On the other side, Sam drew an arrow to the face paint and wrote, "emo." Tucker responded, "SHUT," underlined twice. Beside that, Jay wrote, "Will the hood stay on?" Sam replied, "only time & copious bobby pins will tell."

The third closeup shows Sam's costume in detail on a plain model, in the same one-arm extended pose. She wears a skin-tight undersuit, gloves, a leaf-pattenered scalemail shirt that reaches her elbows, layered pauldrons, an uneven hem overskirt, and knee-high boots. The vague shape of a weapon hangs on her right hip. Above the head, Jay wrote, "hood buddies!"

Around the model are various labels in Tucker's handwriting, including, "LEAF PATTERNED LIGHT SCALE," "GLOVES," "REINFORCED UNDER LEGGINGS (I'M NOT A MONSTER)," and "REINFORCED FABRIC." This last label points to an outstretched arm. Next to her skirt, Tucker wrote, "NOT A MINI SKIRT =]" and Sam responded, "unfortunately, i can't get mad bc i love it." Beside the boots, Sam asked, "steel toe?" When Tucker responded, "TITANIUM TOE," she replied, "hand in marriage."

Below the model is a closeup of a row of the overlapping, slightly curved leaves that make up the scale. Danny wrote, "dude, how many of these did you make?" Tucker replied, "TOO MANY."

To the right of the model is a bust closeup on Sam's hood, pauldrons, and the top of her scalemail shirt. She has the same eye-covering black streak and plain face mask.

The fourth closeup shows the same bust. It also shows a medieval mace, labelled all over in Danny's handwriting. It says, "extra grip," on the handle, as well as "twist here," with a second arrow pointing to the head, labelled "for spikes here." Spikes emerge from half of the mace's head. Below, there's an exchange that reads:

Jay: why don't I get a cool weapon?

Danny: you're 5

Jay: =(

Danny: ...fine

Sam: can i get grippy gloves too?

Danny: ooooh, good idea

Below is a side profile, full-body shot of Sam in costume, hood up. She's lunging forward on one foot, both arms extended. From beneath her scale mail emerge vines, which twine around her arms before shooting forward.

The fifth closeup shows Danny's outfit on the model. It's a slightly baggy wrist-to-ankle jumpsuit and an armored vest, both in blotchy camo. The jumpsuit is tucked into combat boots and gloves, with a utility belt over top and the collar of an undersuit peeking out at the top. Danny has written, "Camo? In my costume? It's more likely than you think." Underneath, Tucker replied, "PRETEND I CAN DRAW, PLS." He's labelled the torso, "REINFORCED CHEST ARMOR." Sam drew an arrow to the mask, which is shaded black with a small fanged grin detail on it. She wrote, "this looks terrifying." Tucker replied, "IT'S SMALL! IT'S HARD TO DRAW!"

The sixth closeup shows a bust. Danny's hair is floofed upwards, black at the roots and white at the tips. His ears are pointed. His mask shows his fanged grin in greated detail, higher on the right side than the left and with overly large incisors. Sam has written, "still terrifying," with an arrow pointing to it. Tucker responded, "FINE HE'LL JUST BE SCARY."

Below, a low-detail head profile shows the mask and Danny's pointy ears from the side. Tucker has labelled it, "HOOKS OVER EARS" with an arrow pointing to straps around the ears and, "CLIPS IN BACK" with a arrow pointing to the base of the skull.

The final closeup shows Danny in costume. His right leg is emerging from shadows on the ground while he steps forward with his left left, knee bent. His left hand rests above his head on a rectangular prism with no added detail. It reaches from ground height to just above Danny's hair. He's reaching forward towards the viewer with us opposite hand.

An exchange written over the prism reads:

Danny: What's my hand on?

Jay: Dumpster, bc you're a trash man.

Danny: Ouch

Sam: oooh, get his ass

Tucker: DAMN, VISCIOUS

Danny: You're grounded

Jay: =(

Danny: You're ungrounded

Jay: =)

End image ID]

[gilbirda]

Hello again! I've actually written the down some of my "Jason and the Spraypaint 'Thief'" idea tho its mostly scaffolding and i dont feel ready to share it just yet, but progress is being made!

If I may ask for your advice once more, the story has begun leaning towards Anger Management vibes (thanks for that brainrot too (affectionate)), but i dont feel great that the genesis of Jason and Jazz meeting is after Jason basically stalks Jazz in his hunt for whoever is buying his spraypaint before he can. Like, she is the one buying the paint, but the dynamic feels too onesided atm in terms of agency, but idk what Jazz would be doing that could parallel Jason.

The best Ive got is she tried to find out who bought out the yarn she was knitting with (it was Jason being petty), but I dont think she'd care as much as Jason does with the paint and it also feels too samey.

...Just had this thought while writing this, would it vibe with Jazz's character if she kept tabs on the Batfam for Danny? Like in terms of location. Ive got it that Danny dosnt want anything to do with the Batfam atm, Gothem is their turf fighting-wise and he dosnt want to encroach on that (tho he does help people in need when he comes across them), he just wants to make cool art in weird places (and maybe some ghost king stuff, not sure on that just yet) (maybe as a coping mechanism bc I do like the angst that comes from 'Danny leaves Amity bc the Fentons reactly badly to him being a halfa', tho still not sure how he gets into spraypaint yet, that feels like an important detail), so Jazz keeps tabs on their patrols for Danny so he can spraypaint without drawing their attention, and then Jazz notices Red Hood acting a bit odd and does her own investigating to make sure its not ghost business (she would know that RH has ghost vibes from Danny and his current spraypaint investigating behaviour maybe looks like a ghost obsession without context), and maybe she ends up pulling a Tim and figures out Red Hood is Jason, just due to ghost vibes instead of acrobatics.

I havent even gotten to them actually meeting in my planning yey, its just discovery eachother from afar and general thoughts of 'thats the person Im looking for, they're kinda cute' so far. Current vauge idea is they meet in a fight, tho i might be biased bc i did recently reread 'cant help falling (in love with you)' (i think i said this before, but amazing story btw, eagerly waiting for the next chapter!)

I hope this makes sense. This is the first time I've had an idea I've wanted to share with other fandom people and felt comfy enough to do so.

(your ask got sent twice so im gonna answer one and delete the other. Just Tumblr things I guess)

SO

I see Anger Management and go feral

I see what you mean about there being a power imbalance in their meeting situation - but we have to be aware that the source material is like that. Jason is a crime fighter and a vigilante and also a very extra boy. He is petty and arrogant and sometimes he is not above using his skills for personal use.

You can make it so she knows what's going on and leads him in a wild goose chase just for funsies. Make Jazz petty as well. Make her highly competent. Make her win in his own game and boom, no more power imbalance. (Also that can be a cool "I need to know more of this woman" kind of situation.)

Another alternative, is making her think he is stalking her for unsavory purposes and beat the shit out of him.

I like what you said about Jazz being the one that keep tabs on all the vigilantes. She could have profiled them all, studied their patterns, and Tim Drake her way into memorizing their patrol routes so Danny can paint in peace.

So that's why when her new stalker starts bothering her, she is so Done(tm) that she is not afraid to gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss her way into making him stop.

How she does it? Dealer's choice.

(I'm weak to the fight approach, if it wasn't obvious (✿◡‿◡) )

(But outsmarting him could work as well.)

(Jason is into women that can kick his ass, be it physically or in smarts)

So in conclusion I think if you want to not fall into icky power imbalances and not fall into highly competent Mary Sues tropes, the sweet spot would be Jazz making the choice to take act or not, and base it on actual conflict: If she can't just beat the shit out of him, explain why. If she is not going to make a deal out of it, explain why. Make the character have agency and a choice in the matter, even if that choice is inaction.

Thank you for showing me your progress!!!! I'm so happy when people make content for the crossover and my favorite ship!!!

Also thanks for reading my fics!

🤗💖

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #207

Would you ever become a fan of a team you hate to please your spouse? I have absolutely zero interest in sports and also lying about my interests to please my partner.

Can you handle scary movies? Yes, I enjoy horror movies.

Once a cheater, always a cheater? No. People grow and change.

What word describes your last relationship? Prior to the one I'm in now? Hm. It sounds bad, but... delusional. I thought then I was in love with her, I really did, but after truly experiencing that with Girt again, I know I wasn't. The sensations I've had for Jason and Girt were very different from what I felt with Sara. There was a lot of lying to myself about her shitty political beliefs, too.

Do you have a fake I.D.? I never have.

Would you date someone 5 years older than you? Yeah.

Have you ever been to California? Did you like it? No.

Does it matter to you if your boyfriend/girlfriend drinks? Yes. I absolutely fucking refuse to date anyone who drinks more than rarely, and I would NEVER date an angry drunk. If they knew they got angry drinking, they better never fucking touch it if they want me around.

Do you like deviled eggs? Hell fucking no.

What is your favorite horror movie? The Blair Witch Project.

Has a little kid ever fallen asleep on your lap before? Yes.

What is the last thing you googled? Why anoles here change colors from brown to green. My mom asked me.

Have you ever jumped off a high dive into a pool? No. As a child I think I got all the way up once but backed down.

What foods can you absolutely not eat? Beans are one of many, many options.

Do you like hot, cold, or lukewarm showers? Between lukewarm and hot. Probably more towards hot.

Have you ever taken part in a threesome? No, not into the idea for me.

Where did your mother and father meet for the first time? Work.

What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? Kathryn.

Have you ever been to Disneyland or Disney World? Disney World, as a child. I'd love to revisit as an adult.

Do you feel bored with your life? My biggest depression symptom is anhedonia, severe anhedonia, take a guess.

Who's someone you miss that you haven't talked to in years? Alex.

What's the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. I was given morphine and numbing shots and yet I was still in so much pain that I was screaming and cursing on the top of my lungs. I don't know how scientific this is, but I theorized that they gave me an inadequate dose of the numbing agent, I'm guessing because I'm obese. I wonder if my size just outweighed the effects of the shots. To this day I don't know how I didn't faint, the pain was unfuckingdescribable. It was a bad infection; I delayed going to the ER because initially I didn't even understand what I had going on.

What's the worst level of emotional pain you've ever experienced? A traumatic breakup and its year+-long severe effects.

What was the last thing that made you angry? News about my sister's shitty MIL being a disrespectful and irresponsible twat.

Have you ever been the victim of a crime? Yeah technically, we had a basketball hoop stolen off our property once, when I was a kid. We also had an attempted break-in while my sister was home with only her friend, but I thank whatever powers they may be that their attempt failed. All we know is it the was Bloods gang because they left a flag outside our door.

What is the most beautiful landscape you have ever seen? The mountains driving from NC to Tennessee.

What colour are your brother’s eyes? Blue.

Have you ever played a drinking game? Which ones? No.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? 113. I'm picky with who I add.

Do you regularly check anyone’s profile online? Nope.

Are you any good at drawing? I mean, there are people worse than me. But there are also people leeeaaagues better than I am.

Is there anything unusual about your house? Um, I don't think so. Nothing truly "unusual."

Have you ever met anyone with Multiple Personality Disorder? No, not to my recollection.

What is your favourite type of cookie? Just a nice gooey chocolate chip one is grand.

Have you ever taken care of a newborn baby? No, I do NOT have the confidence for that.

How old were you when you got your ears pierced? I really don't remember.

Do you snore when you sleep? Apparently I do, and I'm very self-conscious of it.

What is your favorite breakfast food? Waffles, probably. With butter and not very crispy. Lots of syrup. Or just nice buttery biscuits that are nice and pillowy.

Who do you (romantically) love? Girt.

Where was the last place you kissed someone? My bed.

Do you work any holidays? I don't work.

What would you say if your parents said you were moving away? I literally cannot envision this with my mother, she would never, in a million years, move away from my sisters and I and Ashley's kids. She's bored it into our heads to never leave each other, so SHE never would. If my dad moved away, I mean honestly it wouldn't affect me much, I barely see him. I'd still be sad though, of course.

Do you wish you could go back and change anything about your childhood? I wish my dad was a better dad. I wish I lived in a safer neighborhood.

Have you ever been overseas? I have not, tragically. I praaaay that changes one day, I want to experience more of the world. I know so little of it.

What would your mom do if you told her you were pregnant? Probably fuckin faint.

Do you think you have nice feet? No; first things first I hate feet, but my feet are also obscenely calloused from when I used to walk all the time, and I've never managed to keep the callouses from growing back, even when I loss fucking muscle mass from NOT moving. My big toe on each foot is the absolute worst.

Where did you get your name? My mom just liked Brittany. "Marie" as a middle name runs in my maternal family.

What are you currently worried about? My colonoscopy prep day. I'm not concerned about the procedure, it's just the damn prep.

What was the last new and exciting experience you’ve had? Uhhhh let's see. New AND exciting? That disqualifies an ambulance ride, I was certainly not excited haha. I suppose my last visit to Girt's could count; he hasn't like me in his room only because he's self-conscious of "the mess" (that he's cleaned up a lot), but this time we chilled in his bed and played a game on his big TV. I got so into it that I didn't realize it was like 9 PM 'til I looked out the window and it's pitch black lmao. Point is, I was happier he seemed more at peace, me being in there and just hangin' out.

What's the most unique or exotic food you've tried? Uh, I suppose some genuine Chinese or Japanese cuisine my entire class tried in the 4th grade. I liked literally nothing but the rice haha, very on brand for picky me.

What change or new experience would you like to have in your life in the next year? A stable job.

When was the last time you were part of a large gathering? Easter. My mom and I joined Girt's family for dinner; Girt made steaks and I'm so proud of him, he wants to learn how to make them like his dad did and he did amazing for a second try. They were too salty, that was everyone's opinion, but they were perfectly edible and to me pretty good, and I'm very picky with steak.

What makes social gathering enjoyable for you? Everyone being welcoming, conversations being friendly and interesting, people including each other, sharing humor, that kinda stuff.

Is there anything/anyone/any place you now actively avoid in order to keep your inner peace? Any of Sara's online accounts. I don't care how curious I may be on how she is, I'm not looking, because I've absolutely learned it in no way benefits me, a person who's trying to learn to love and be kind to herself.

Did the last guy/girl you kissed have any piercings? No.

What is your favorite type of cat? Oriental shorthair.

Are you part Native American? I am not.

Who was your first online friend? I only knew her as Kat.

What’s a condition you have that you haven’t been officially diagnosed with? I am 100% convinced I'm a high-functioning autistic. I did get a legit evaluation, and the conclusion was I very likely am, but apparently a proper diagnosis requires a longer period of examination.

What band has the power to make you cry by splitting up? Rammstein haha, I'll cry when they simply retire.

Would you feel funny if you kissed somebody of the same sex? No, I'm pan and have done it before, so it's not something I'd feel funny about.

Can grills be sexy on a guy? In my own personal opinion, they can't be sexy on anyone.

What’s your favorite comic book/graphic novel? I don't have one.

Who is the lead singer of your favorite band? Till Lindemann. Ozzy is obviously the vocalist of his own band.

Do you expect to be married in the next 2 years? I suppose it's possible, but I doubt it.

Who IMed you on Facebook last? My friend Baylee.

What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes.

If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? Sara.

Did you enjoy high school? I enjoyed certain parts of it.

Who was your favourite musical artist when you were 15? Do you still listen to them? Ozzy Osbourne. Duh lol

When was the last time you ate at a food court and what did you get? Oh wow that's a really good question, I have no idea.

Were you mean to anyone in high school? No, I was a good kid. I minded my own business.

Who is your favourite coworker? You can tell me about one from your past if you don’t have one right now. I don't work now, and I've never worked long enough previously to have a favorite at past jobs.

Do you know anyone who’s adopted a child? Yes; my sister's husband legally adopted Aubree (her eldest daughter) when she was still very young, because her biological father has absolutely nothing to do with her and he's a worthless bag of shit. Nick IS "Dad" to Aubree; she has no idea that's not her biological dad. Ashley plans on telling her one day, but Nick really doesn't want her to, but I pray Ash doesn't listen to him. Every child deserves to know this stuff.

What was the last video game or board game you purchased? Uhhhh I wanna say it was Amnesia: Rebirth because Girt gifted me a Steam giftcard.

Are any of your siblings taller than you? My brother certainly is, Ashley is, and I think Katie is slightly.

Is there any part of your sexual/romantic history that you have not told your current significant other about or that you will not tell future partners about? No. I think it is very, very important to be very open about your sexual history with your partners.

How many relationships have you been in that actually got sexual? Three-ish.

Who’s the most romantic person you ever went out with? Jason.

Do any of your family members have an upcoming birthday? My dad, towards the end of this month. Also my brother, on Earth Day.

Have you ever changed in front of the last person you kissed? No. I don't care what he's already seen of me, I hate more than the default amount of my body being shown to literally anyone.

How many siblings does your significant other have? One older sister.

What was the last zoo you visited? Aloha Safari Park.

[hamartiannn]

Batfamily Headcanons - 2

-Bruce, Jason, and Damian like to read. If they got free time to spend they always read in the library. Sometimes they even chat about a certain book, book character, or author.

-Stephanie and Damian can draw very well. Like, they always create masterpieces. Their sketchbooks are full of other's portraits, side profiles, or ext. (They both got their talents from their mothers.)

-They all are good with music and instruments, but Jason, Tim, and Damian are the musicians. Jason is soo good with any kind of guitar, songwriting, and composing, Tim always creates masterpieces with piano, and Damian can play the violin like a professional.

-Tim and Stephanie are the photographers of the family. Sometimes, they down to the city and they took photos of streets and buildings -also, let me give you more secrets, Tim keeps photos of the crime scenes, every single one of them, and photos of his family!-

-Tim and Damian are very close, and no one knows that -even they don't, actually- but they are. Let me explain. After Damian came to Gotham he first met with Dick, yes, but then he met with Tim, in the cave. Tim was nothing like Dick, he didn't surprise about his existence. He was like "Okay, It's Bruce's problem, I got things to do which are definitely more important than dealing with him, right now." and Damian liked that attitude of his. And later Damian learned about him more and more, Dick told him that Tim feels like both a replacement and a savior. He saved Bruce from that deep pit he was in, but he was also only Jason's replacement. So he felt sorry for him but also he felt thankful to him. And with the disappearance of Bruce, for like a month, their relationship got even deeper. Now even though they fight sometimes, in the end, they can't be separated from each other.

-And as you already can understand, Damian knew Jason was alive, but he didn't tell anyone, because he thought Jason wouldn't want him to say it to anyone. If he would want, he could tell them, by himself, that he was actually alive already, right? Also, why would he talk about a man who left him all alone? So he kept quiet.

-But Damian kept learning about Jason, from Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara, because Jason's memory was lost for a time while he was in League, and even though he learned a lot about him from himself -after he started to gain his memory back- and other people in the League, he wanted to know more, and batfamily knew him as well as Jason knows about himself -btw he learned about other members from one another too-

-Now let's start to write some angst... Dick is okay with killing, only if it's Joker, and actually, after learning about Jason's death, he beat him to death. Sometimes he still wakes up from a nightmare about that day. But does he feel guilty? No. Would he do that again? Probably.

-Okay here is a biggg, biggg one. So we all know Jason is a big guy, right? But was he always like that? Hell no. Physically he was a normal kid actually, and he felt always bad about his body, cause he thought he gotta be stronger and bigger for being enough to be Robin, but he never could grow physically. Then at age 15, he got kidnapped by Joker, and there, he realized his body was, even more, weaker than he thought. And with time, his body got weaker and weaker as he could not get enough nutrition. When Bruce finally found him after about a year, all of his bones were visible under his skin. And even after Talia brought him back to life his body did not change, he was still so slim and weak. But in the League, he decided to grow, because he hated being weak, physically, and he already saw its consequences. So he trained his body for any kind of conditions and situation -cold or hot, starvation or dehydration and ext.- and finally, he got everything he want. He got taller and bigger, his body was soo durable and strong, now.

-And also, after everything he lived with Joker, Jason, sometimes still can't feel hunger and thirst. While in League sometimes Talia and others even had to check him out if he ate, and drank water.

-In daily life, they all are so clean and hygienic. Their hairs are glowing, they got the smoothest skin, and they smell perfect. But as they get in patrol... Ohh, man... They end up in the dirt and they smell really bad because of all that sweat. Luckily they are rich and got enough bathrooms.

- About hair though, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, all of them used/are using long hair. Let me explain it, while Bruce left to train himself, before becoming Batman, as he could not cut his hair too regularly, he left it like that, and used it long, Dick use it long when he was between 18-20, and he liked it, but he had to cut it as it was disturbing him sometimes, but when he missed it so much he still grows it again. Tim is using it long since 10, and sometimes it grows so much that he can make a high ponytail or a braid. Jason used it long when he was in the streets as he could not cut it too regularly, but after he met with Bruce he start to cut it regularly. But when he was kidnapped, he could not cut it over a year, so it grew. But after he returned to life he kept it, and also Damian was using it a little long so they started to use it long together. They also promised to not cut it too short unless they separated. So after Jason left, they cut their hair. But when they met again, at some point, they started to grow it again.

-All of them got a lot, but A LOT, of scars on their bodies, and new ones are added every single day.

-Well, let's talk about Tim "Stoner" Drake, shall we? Now... Tim used drugs between 15-18. With all the stress that came after being Robin, he tried to find a way to relief. At first, he started with little amounts, but then he needed more and more, and his usage peak was at 18, when they thought Bruce just died, and Dick was Batman now. And as he saw Tim only as his equal, he gave Robin identity to Damian, and actually, Damian was only there for months. Obviously, it was a bad time, so he used more drugs than usual to relieve a little -but still, he was not in that bad situation with the drugs, I mean no one could tell he was actually a stoner-

-And Timothy is a smart boy, so after everything settled down a little, as he understood the danger, he talked with Roy -yes, it was Roy who he talked, because he knew he would not judge him, and he was right- Roy could not let him down, of course, he helped him a lot, and now Tim is drug-free -also, this is how Roy and Tim developed a relationship, before that, they were not caring about each other at all. Also still, no one in the batfamily knows it, cause Tim secured himself while using it. And there is no need to talk about something which now doesn't exist... Right??

-Some Stephanie headcanons?? Yes, plss!!! Now, you can deny it as much as you want... I don't care... She is Bruce's DAUGHTER. Not biological, not adopted, but emotional. Every damn time when Bruce feels down, somehow, she is here for him, first! And also it is not only for him but for everyone. She is the best girl <3

-Also, Dick can understand all of their emotions too, and he can help them. It's weird, cause when things come to his feelings, yes, no one understands him, and even he doesn't understand his feelings.

-Okay before I write that I wanna say something... Talia Al Ghul is a good mother... But... Damian was born as an assassin, so they did not want him to, simply, feel ANY kind of feeling FOR anything. I know it sounds stupid, but listen... For me, it always feels like AS TALIA ONCE TESTED/PREPARED, Damian tested/prepared too. He was like 5 when everything started, his hands and feet made burned, to help him feel NO physical pain, and the same made to the cold. Also, they made him fight until he is breathless, and sometimes they push him even harder, that he was almost dead. Lastly, they made him watch other assassins while they are killing, it was to help him not be scared of killing and death -I know, I know, it sounds sooo, soooo extra/brutal, but let's be really realistic! He is the heir of the Demon! One should not be able to hurt him both physically and mentally. AND ONCE AGAIN, I WANNA REMIND YOU THAT TALIA ONCE LIVED ALL OF THESE TOO. SHE DID ALL OF THESE TO HER OWN SON TO PROTECT HIM, FOR LATER.-

-And hey hey hey... If you think other batfamily members' training schedule was easy... You better think again! Cause they all pushed soo hard too, they had to work for hours in a day to become that good, they not only learned how to fight, but also to dodge an attack. They not only trained their bodies but also their brains, and trained themselves to use both together. They are mentally and physically soldiers.

-Lastly, I wanna add something again... Bruce is not happy or proud because he made them his soldiers, but he is happy and proud because they chose to be heroes and save lives with him.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[writtenjewels]

Match

Salim heard the ping of his phone. Curious, he took it out and saw that the dating app Zain had installed had gotten another message. He knew he shouldn't have let his son talk him into downloading it and posing for the picture. Salim didn't even know why he kept getting messages. The picture was of him in his favorite shirt, the first few buttons undone to show off a bit of chest hair, giving the camera a smile. Zain told him it was because he gave of DILF energy, whatever that meant. Salim opened the app prepared to delete the message like he had all the others.

“Hi,” it read. “Who are you rooting for in the Super Bowl this year?” Salim hesitated, frowning at the message. It didn't make much sense to him. He tapped on the sender's picture to get a better look.

He was a younger man with brown hair, most of it hidden under a gray baseball cap. He wore a plain blue T-shirt and camo pants, with a bandanna wrapped around his neck. He was posed sideways at the camera with a half smile on his face. Salim accepted the message so he could read more of this man's profile. Jason Kolchek, age thirty. Likes rock music, camping, and drawing. Drawing what? That one was interesting.

“What is the Super Bowl?” Salim typed back. A few minutes later he got a response.

“How can you like football and not know the Super Bowl?” Salim puzzled over the response for a minute before it clicked. His profile had wanted him to list three things he liked and he put down radio dramas, football, and gardening.

“Americans call it soccer,” he explained. This time the wait for a reply was much shorter.

“Okay. So who are you rooting for to win the World Cup?” Salim chuckled to himself and gave the answer. “Nice. I'll watch them in their next game.” Salim headed over to the couch so he could be more comfortable, switching on the radio.

“Your profile said you like to draw. What sort of things do you draw?”

“Just whatever,” Jason answered. “I doodle random shit.” There was nothing for a while but the three ellipses indicating Jason was typing. “What are you growing in your garden?” he finally asked.

“Winter vegetables: spinach, carrots, radishes.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Salim agreed, “but it's rewarding when I can harvest them.” They messaged back and forth a while longer. Jason suggested a few rock bands for Salim to check out and Salim recommended his favorite radio dramas.

When they finally said goodbye, Salim was a little stunned by how much time had passed. A smile played on his lips. That dating app didn't seem like a bad idea anymore.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

P1

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Coffee Encounters

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gideon!Reader

Summary:  When (Y/N) spills a coffee on Spencer Reid, he doesn't expect her to become a huge part of his life.

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Substance Abuse, Criminal Minds-Typical Violence

Word Count: 4,481

A/N: My first tumblr-published fic in a WHILE! I’m rewriting my tag list, so if you want to be tagged, message me!

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

- Vincent Van Gogh

The coffee shop was filled with people rushing to get their caffeine fix before work. You turned around and spilled your iced caramel mocha all over a tall, lanky man in an oversized sweater vest behind you.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you said, rushing to grab napkins. “I am so, so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” the man assured you, taking the napkins you offered him. “I probably would have spilled coffee on myself at work today anyway.”

“Still, I’m so sorry. I-I have uh, an interview today and I’m seeing my dad for the first time in a while so I’m pretty nervous, and when I get nervous, I get super clumsy.” You awkwardly held your hand out to him. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Spencer,” he said. “Sorry, I have a, uh, germ thing.”

“Let me buy you your coffee,” you offered. “It’s the least I can do after spilling mine all over you.”

~

Spencer ran through the bullpen up to the conference room. He threw his satchel down on the floor next to his chair before flopping into it.

“You’re late,” Hotch said, not looking up from the paper in front of him.

“I know,” Spencer said, breathlessly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Well, now that you’re here, we can get started.”

The team, of course, noticed the change in Spencer’s behavior. Morgan decided to be the one to ask about it.

“Okay, what’s her name?” he asked, rolling his chair over to Reid’s desk.

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t stopped smiling all day. Even after Hotch stuck you with more paperwork and told us we’d have to stay late tonight. So, who is she?”

Spencer smiled down at his desk. “I met her at the coffee shop this morning. Her name’s-”

“(Y/N)!”

Spencer looked up to see you running towards Gideon.

“Dad!”

Spencer’s jaw dropped when he saw Gideon wrap you in a hug. “How are you, Pumpkin? How was the interview?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. You know how I get when I’m nervous. And I kept thinking about how I haven’t seen you in years and-”

“(Y/N/N), take a breath. You’re rambling.”

“Right. Right.” You exaggerated your exhale. “I’m good.”

“Come on, let’s go to my office. You can tell me about your interview.”

When you followed Gideon up the stairs, Morgan turned back to Spencer.

“That’s her?” Spencer nodded, still in shock. “Oh, Pretty Boy,” Morgan laughed, “what did you get yourself into?”

Spencer was asking himself that same question.

~

“So, tell me about the job interview. Was it really as bad as you thought?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I got all nervous and jumpy, my hands were all sweaty. You know how I get when I’m nervous. I walked into a scarecrow decoration they had in the hallway.” Your father pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. You sighed. “Go ahead.”

“What? No, I’m not laughing!”

“Dad, I love you, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Come on,” he said, getting up from his desk, still chuckling. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”

You followed your father out of his office. The team was gathered in the bullpen.

“Guys, this is my daughter, (Y/N) Gideon.”

“It’s nice to see you again, (Y/N),” Aaron Hotchner said, shaking your hand.

“You too, Aaron.”

“This is Agent Jareau,” Gideon said, gesturing to JJ. “And Agent Morgan.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the man said, shaking your hand.

“This is Agent Greenaway,” Gideon said, introducing you to the rest of the team. “Dr. Reid, and Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst.”

“So, what was it like growing up as Gideon’s daughter?” Penelope asked you.

“Oh, you know, it was like any other girl growing up with an overprotective father,” you said. “I was in self-defense classes since I was 3, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone until I was 17, my older brother hogged the bathroom in the morning, and when I started dating, I couldn’t go out with a guy until Dad profiled him.”

“Ooh, that’s rough,” Agent Greenaway said. “How did you deal with that?”

You shrugged. “I was a teenager, and Dad was almost always away for work.” Your dad looked at you. “I mean, I was a perfect angel who never did anything wrong.”

“Yeah, nice try, kiddo,” Gideon said. “We’re gonna talk about that at dinner. Speaking of which, ready to go?”

“Sure, I haven’t eaten all day.”

After you and Gideon left, Morgan turned to Reid.

“So, Gideon’s daughter.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer muttered, his face red.

~

When Jason came back from his last case, he noticed that you weren’t there. You’d been staying with him until you heard more about the job. Jason thought for a moment before smiling to himself and heading back out.

“Thought I might find you here,” Jason said, sitting next to you on the grass.

You were sitting in front of a gravestone, a vase of fresh flowers on the grass. You brushed your hand over the lettering on the marker. ”I got the job.”

“Well, that’s great!”

“I guess,” you shrugged. “Is it- is it weird that I feel guilty if I don’t visit when I’m in the area?” You smiled, tracing your finger over the name. “I feel like, if I don’t visit, Mom’s yelling at me from beyond.”

Jason smiled. “It’s not weird at all. Especially since you were so young when we lost her.”

You sighed, letting your hand fall back to your side. “Do you think she’s proud of me?”

Jason was shocked by your question. “Of course she is,” he told you. “She’d be so proud of you, pumpkin.”

“Even though I broke my promise to her?” you whispered. “I promised I’d find a cure so no one would have to suffer like she did.”

“(Y/N),” your father sighed, “you were barely 15 when she died. She never expected you to keep that promise.” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, she’d love that you’re dedicating your life to teaching kids.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’m your dad, I know everything.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder.

~

You settled into the DC area well. You’d become best friends with Penelope Garcia, and you grew closer to the rest of your dad’s team. Even though you weren’t part of the BAU, you were family.

You grew even closer to Spencer, too. Penelope, despite not being a profiler, could tell there was something up. She noticed the glances you’d give him when he wasn’t looking, and vice-versa.

“So, what’s going on with you and Reid?” she asked you over your Saturday morning coffees.

“What are you talking about, Pen?”

“Oh, come on! I see the way you look at him.”

“Wha- the way I look at him?”

“Yeah, you look at him like you’re ready to have his babies.”

“ Penelope! ”

~

The team was in Florida, getting deathbed interviews from Sarah Jean and Jacob Dawes. Gideon was sent in to interview Sarah Jean.

“Do you have children, Agent Gideon?” she asked him.

“It’s irrelevant,” he told her.

“Is it?”

While Hotch interviewed Jacob, Gideon and Reid were looking over the interview with Sarah Jean, looking for anything that might grant her a stay of execution. After some discussion with the team, Gideon headed back in to talk to Sarah Jean.

“Does the strain of your work affect your marriage?” Sarah Jean asked him.

“I’m not married.”

“You wear a ring.”

Jason rubbed the wedding band he still wore with his thumb. “Why would you still be protecting Jacob?” he decided to ask.

“Did you divorce because of putting people like me away?”

“I think you’re innocent,” Jason told her.

“We’re all guilty of something. But it’s… our children who suffer for our sins, isn’t it?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“How old are they?” she asked.

“27 and 24,” Jason said with a smile.

Sarah Jean smiled. “Do you have pictures of them?” she asked.

“In my office. One of my son, one of my daughter.”

“You don’t carry them with you?”

“No.”

“To protect them. Tell me, Agent Gideon, does this job make you worry about your daughter?”

He nodded. “Every day.”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your children, Agent Gideon?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

~

Spencer was pouring sugar into his coffee when he heard you and Garcia laughing. He turned to see the two of you talking in the doorway.

“Oh, before I forget to ask,” you said, “can you come in on Wednesday as a guest reader?”

“I’d love to!” Penelope said. “I’d love to read to those little angels!”

You smiled and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow morning for coffee?”

“Of course.”

You waved towards Gideon’s office before ducking out of the BAU.

Elle came up to the coffee maker and poured herself a mug. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I can’t do that,” he said, sipping his overly-sweetened coffee.

“Why not? It’s obvious you like her.”

“She’s Gideon’s daughter , Elle. I can’t ask her out.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said, stirring milk into her coffee. “You’re afraid Gideon wouldn’t approve of you dating his little girl.” She tossed the coffee stir into the trash and took a sip of her coffee. “If it’s any consolation, I think if he were to approve of anyone for (Y/N), it would be you.”

“You think?”

“The man loves you, Reid,” she told him. “Plus, you’re just as awkward and dorky as she is, you’re a good match.”

~

Spencer sat at his desk, with only his lamp to light the bullpen. A tabloid magazine sat on top of his case file.

“Hey Reid, you’re lucky they didn’t get a shot of you next to the pool trying to draw your gun. You looked like a drowned rat,” Morgan laughed.

Spencer chewed his lip for a moment. “Did you know that, um, she, uh- I kissed her? In the pool? It’s so weird. It doesn’t even feel like it really happened, you know?”

“Sure. She’s a beautiful young actress.”

“Yeah, but…” he paused, looking at the cover of the magazine, “it didn’t feel right. I felt guilty, almost. I felt like I was crossing professional boundaries.”

“Look, some things you can’t control, even with that big ol’ brain of yours,” Morgan told him with a smile.

Spencer was silent while Morgan put on his jacket. “Hey Morgan? Has there ever been a girl you just… couldn’t get out of your mind, no matter how hard you try? Even when another girl is kissing you?”

“I can’t say I have,” Morgan said. “But if this girl is so heavy on your mind, you should see where it goes.”

“So, you think I should call her?”

“I don’t know, Reid. But I do know you don’t have to decide tonight. I’ll see you Monday, okay, kid?”

“Yeah. Have a good weekend, Morgan.” He sat at his desk, looking at the tabloid. He sighed and threw the magazine in his trash can.

~

Of course, you’d seen the tabloids. You were out grocery shopping when you saw the pictures. You picked up the magazine and scoffed.

“It’s crazy how they invade celebrities’ lives, isn’t it?” the old woman in line behind you said. “That poor boy was probably just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah,” you said, putting the tabloid back on the rack. “It’s crazy.”

The next day at work, one of your coworkers came up to you while you were cleaning paint off the tables.

“So, should we talk about how your boyfriend is supposedly dating a tv star?”

Your face heated up. “He’s not my boyfriend, Hannah. He’s my dad’s coworker.” You heard one of the kids start crying. “Oh, Joshie’s crying again. Maybe you should go find out what happened.”

When the last kid was finally picked up by his grandmother, you were exhausted. But you still had to clean up the classroom. You sighed and started picking up the pretend food and sorting it into the proper baskets.

“Night, (Y/N),” your coworker said.

“Night, Ronnie. See you tomorrow.” You hung the costumes back on the hangers and put them back on the rack when someone knocked on the door. When you looked up, you saw Spencer standing in the doorway, his hands fidgeting.

“Oh, hey, it’s Lila Archer’s secret boyfriend!” you said, pushing up from the floor.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy into those pictures.”

“Well, you know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

He walked over to where you were gathering stuffed animals and helped you collect them. “It wasn’t what they made it look like,” he said. “She was attracted to me, but it was just transference.” He rubbed the back of his hand, his eyes looking down at the roadmap carpet. “And she isn’t the girl I like.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lila didn’t make my heart rate speed up just by smiling at me like she does.” Spencer’s eyes were shining as he talked.

“What else do you like about this girl?” you asked him.

“She’s smart, she’s caring, she listens to me when I ramble on about random facts.” He smiled and looked at you. “She’s one of the only people in the world that calls me Spence. And she’s super clumsy when she gets nervous.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re the one I want to be with (Y/N). You’re the one I can’t stop thinking about.”

“Damn, girl, if you don’t take him, I will!” Hannah said from the doorway, making you both blush.

“Go home, Hannah,” you said.

“Okay, okay, I’m just saying.”

Spencer chuckled, looking down at his Converse.

“You know, I like you too, Spence.”

Spencer’s face lit up. He grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you. When he pulled away, his face was red.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thin-”

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in to kiss you again.

~

“Guys, conference room. Now,” Hotch said, walking through the bullpen.

Morgan pushed up from his desk, walking up the stairs next to Garcia. “Is it just me, or has Reid been weird around Gideon today?”

“Oh, no, he is,” she said. “He and (Y/N) kissed last night.”

“Wait, so Reid and (Y/N) kissed?”

“Yep.”

“And Gideon doesn’t know?”

“Nope.”

“So everything he’s saying is making Reid uncomfortable?”

“Yep.”

“Should we exploit this?”

“Definitely.”

After everyone settled into the room, JJ started her presentation of the case, with the help of Gideon and Hotch.

“Uh, Gideon,” Morgan said, “When the plane kisses down on the air strip, do you want me to go to the scene with you?”

Spencer’s eyes widened as Gideon looked over Morgan. “Uh, weird way to ask that, but yeah. You, me, and Reid will visit the scene.”

“Do you think we can make out any information from the victims?” Garcia asked.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Hotch asked.

“Nothing!” Spencer said. “Can we just get to the jet?”

Hotch eyed Spencer suspiciously before saying, “Wheels up in 30.”

~

You’d heard about Elle, of course. You’d heard about her injury, investigation, and resignation. Spencer was shaken up about her leaving.

The team was bunkered down at the office when you stopped in with some coffees.

“Excuse me,” you said to the dark-haired woman standing by the printer, “is Agent Gideon in?”

“Yeah, were you meeting with him for this case?”

You laughed. “No. No, I’m his daughter. I’m (Y/N).” You shifted the coffee in your hands to shake hers.

“Emily Prentiss.”

“Oh, you’re the new agent. Dad mentioned there was a new transfer.”

“Well, he should be up in his office,” Agent Prentiss told you.

“Thank you, Agent Prentiss.”

“Please, call me Emily.”

You smiled before climbing the steps to your father’s office. You knocked on the door, waiting for him to answer.

“Come in.” You pushed the door open to find your dad at his desk, his glasses perched on his nose as he filled out paperwork.

“I brought you a coffee,” you said, setting the cup on his desk.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the hot cup closer to him.

“And I made you some meals for when I go away.”

“(Y/N), you didn’t have to-”

“Dad, you know what the doctor said. Your blood pressure is way too high, and I know you won’t stop this job. The least you can do is stop eating so much takeout.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dad, I’m serious. I don’t want you dying before you have the chance to walk me down the aisle. At least eat them when you’re home?”

He sighed. “Okay. Alright. What time does your flight leave again?”

“Five in the morning,” you said.

“You’ll call me when you land?”

“Of course, Dad,” you promised.

“Good. Tell Miranda I say congratulations.”

“I will,” you said. “I’m gonna go deliver these coffees to Penelope and Spencer.” You walked out of his office, closing the door behind you. You walked into the BatCave, setting the mocha frappuccino on her desk. “Last coffee before I go to Maine,” you said, sitting in Penelope’s spare chair.

“You better show me those wedding pictures, you know I love weddings,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Are you gonna talk to Reid before you go?”

“Sure, I have to give him his coffee.”

“No, (Y/N), are you going to talk to him about the kiss? It’s been months and you two still haven’t talked about it.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you guys are always on a case.”

“Garcia, conference room,” JJ said, poking her head into the office.

“Speaking of,” you sighed. “I’ll see you when I get back, Pen.”

Before you left the BAU, you left Spencer’s coffee on his desk, a sticky note with a smiley face on top of the lid.

~

“ Hey, Dad, it’s me, ” you said on your message to Jason, “ I got sent straight to voicemail so I’m guessing that means you’re on the jet. I’m just calling to let you know my flight got delayed. There’s a huge storm so the plane is grounded until it’s over. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you, bye. ”

“You okay?” Hotch asked when Gideon slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah. (Y/N) just left a message, apparently it’s storming so her flight is delayed.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are we any closer to finding Reid?”

“No. But Garcia found a way for us to get a video to him . We can let him know we’re looking for him.”

~

Spencer was struggling. He could feel the little glass bottles in his pocket, and he was itching for them.

“Hey, Spence!” you said, your bubbly voice shocking him as you set a cup of coffee on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“Dad said the last couple of cases were hard on you guys, I thought you might want a pick-me-up.”

He pushed the coffee towards the back of his desk. “I’m fine.”

“Spencer, what’s going on? You never turn down free coffee from Winnifred’s. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, okay?” he snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

When he saw your face, he knew he fucked up. “Fine. When the Spencer I know gets back, let me know. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.” You walked out of the BAU, brushing passed Hotch and Morgan as they came from the break room.

“What was that about?” Morgan asked.

“Nothing,” Spencer said, pushing up from his desk and walking away from the two.

When you hadn’t visited the office for a few weeks, the team knew something was off. While Morgan talked to Reid, Gideon went to your apartment to talk to you.

“Hey, Dad,” you said when you opened the door. “What’s up?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said. “You haven’t visited in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, getting a bottle of water and offering it to your father. “Mack wants me to get my Masters, she said I’d be a good academic director.”

“That’s not the reason,” he said, taking a sip of the water. “What happened between you and Reid?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, (Y/N), I’m your dad. I know you have feelings for each other.” Your face turned red and you looked down at your feet. “You’re a grown woman, (Y/N). You don’t need my permission to date anymore. But if you do want my opinion, I think you and Spencer would be a great match.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. Now, what happened?”

You sighed, flopping onto your old, worn out couch. “You’d all been so busy lately, so I decided to bring him coffee from our favorite shop. But he was, he was acting different . And not a good different. When I tried asking him what was wrong, he got all defensive and he lashed out at me. So I told him that when the Spencer I know gets back, he could let me know.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s going to happen,” Jason said.

“What do you mean?”

Your father sighed, setting the bottle on the old trunk you used as a coffee table. “On one of our cases, he got kidnapped.”

“Oh, my god,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh, Spence. No wonder he was different.”

“He needs you to be there for him, even if he doesn’t think he does.” Jason’s phone started ringing. He sighed when he saw the caller ID. “I gotta go. Oh, but before I forget,” he pulled a disk out of his jacket and handed it to you, “happy birthday.”

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know how long this case is gonna be, I might not be home in time for your birthday. Just watch the DVD.” He kissed your forehead before heading out the door.

~

You were curled up on your couch, wrapped in blankets as you rewatched the DVD again. It was all the home movies your family ever filmed from your childhood. You were tearing up as you watched your mom push you on the swings.

“Higher! Higher, Mommy, higher!”

“Hold on tight!”

There was a knock at your door. You paused the video and untangled yourself from your nest of blankets. You peered through the peephole and saw Spencer standing outside, his hands behind his back. You undid the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Spencer-”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry.” He brought his hands back around, showing you a bouquet of flowers- all your favorites. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I was out of line. I-I wasn’t in my right mind and-”

“Spencer, breathe.” You motioned for him to come in. He handed you the flowers. “Dad told me what happened in Atlanta.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “He didn’t tell you everything.”

“What do you mean?” You set the flowers on your kitchen counter and sat next to Spencer on your couch.

“Promise me you won’t blow up and get angry.”

“Spence, what’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “When I was kidnapped, the unsub injected me with dilaudid. It was meant to keep me passive and subdued.”

“And now you’re addicted, aren’t you?” you realized. “Oh, Spencer.”

“I’m getting help,” he assured you. “Gideon kind of, uh, talked a little sense into me.” His hands were fidgeting. “I, I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you might, I don’t know. I thought you might not like me anymore.”

You took his hand in yours. “Spencer, I knew I liked you when I spilled my coffee on you and you didn’t freak out on me. Then I got to know you, and your kind, gentle heart. I don’t think I could ever stop liking you.”

Spencer’s smile came back. His real smile. He turned his head to the tv. “Is that your mom?”

“Yeah,” you said, a sad smile on your face as you hit play.

“You don’t talk about her much.”

“She died when I was in high school,” you said. “After she died, my uncle took over recording family videos when Dad was off on cases.”

“You look just like her,” Spencer told you. “Wait, what’s this one?” he asked.

The camera was pointed at a stage, lights coming up on apartment buildings.

“Oh, this is from when I did Little Shop of Horrors !” you said. “I played Audrey.”

“Wow, really?” He cleared his throat. “I-I don’t mean I think you can’t do it, I just meant I can’t see you letting a man treat you like that.”

You shrugged. “Acting, Spence.”

He laughed and you leaned against him. His face turned pink, but he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He kissed the top of your head.

~

Your dad left the bureau, for good. He dropped off the map, not even telling you where he was going. Spencer was beyond upset. When he found the letter, he showed up at your apartment, tear tracks down his cheeks.

“Spence, what happened?” You took his hand and gently pulled him inside. “Spencer?” He handed you the letter as the two of you sat on the couch. “Oh, Spencer.”

“He left. He left us. Without even saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, Spence.” You wrapped your arms around him and he rested his head on your shoulder. “I know how you’re feeling. I can’t tell you the number of times I expected Dad to be at something, and he wasn’t there. It got to the point where I was surprised if he did show up.”

“How did you deal with that?” Spencer asked you.

You shrugged. “I guess, I just… focused on who was there for me.”

~

Spencer woke up the next morning to his phone blaring. He was disoriented, and didn’t quite recognize his surroundings. Until he looked to his left and saw you laying next to him.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. “Is that the team?” you asked, your voice still rough from sleep.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed.

“Go. They need you.”

“But-”

“Spence.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.” You kissed him and pressed your forehead to his. “Go save the world, my genius.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Extreme Aggressor: Part Two

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

After arriving at the police headquarters, you followed Gideon and the rest of the team inside the building. It still felt awkward between you and the rest of the team which is why you stuck to Gideon’s side the whole time. He walked fast throughout the building, and you did your best to keep up.

“He never stands with his back to a window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move,” Derek gossiped about your friend.

“That's hypervigilance. It's not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Just how much disorder are we talking about?”

“Morgan, it's been six months. Everything's okay,” Hotchner calmed him down.

“And he brings along a woman we don’t even know? How do we know we can trust her? I’m sorry, but she doesn’t mean anything to me yet,” Derek asked just as you passed them.

Looking at them over your shoulder, you caught Spencer’s eyes before moving on.

“Give her time. You gave me time,” he said, catching up to you. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. He’s right. I’m a stranger to you guys.”

“Hopefully by the end of this, you won’t be,” he smiled, walking into the main room with you that was crowded with uniforms.

“This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, special agent Reid—”

“Dr. Reid,” Gideon interrupted.

“Dr. Reid, our expert on well, everything, and the newest member of our team, Y/N Y/L/N. And after two years busting my ass in this office, I hope you all remember me,” Hotchner smiled with the laughter that ensured throughout the room.

“He's willing to travel with the body,” Gideon speaks, looking at the map.

“Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one,” Hotchner added.

“1 in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV,” Spencer spat out.

“But how do we know it's his car? Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug. What about a Jeep Cherokee? Jeeps are more masculine,” Derek voiced his thoughts.

“We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity,” Gideon chuckled.

“When did the bureau become involved in the case?” Hotchner asked the lead police officer.

“After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state.”

While everyone was conversing and talking, you walked up the board with the recent pictures of the latest kidnapped victim, Heather. She went missing about a day ago which means she has about 24 hours left until she is dead—and the clock is ticking. Her image and the photos of the abduction site certainly does something for you, but it’s not enough. Reaching up to touch the image of her, you closed your eyes to see if you can get anything from a picture.

A flash of an orange car here, her heart rate increasing while inside the car, but other than that, you got nothing. It would be better if you were touching some of her things since the human body leaves traces wherever they go, whatever they touch. Since she wasn’t murdered, there isn’t a dump site that would give you even more clues and answers.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked when he saw you.

Opening your eyes, you lowered your hand before looking at him.

“I am trying to connect myself with her through a photograph. It’s not that common to get anything, but it does happen. I see an orange car and her fearful expressions, but that’s about it.”

“What do you need in order to get a clearer picture?”

“Her belongings. Every human leaves a spiritual trace wherever they go. It’s stronger with personal items.”

“Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?” one of the policemen asked.

“Let's start at the site of the last murder. Y/N, you coming?”

“I think I’ll get a better read on Heather and whether she’s alive or not if I’m with her things. I’ll go to her house.”

“Reid and I will go with you,” Hotchner announced.

Knowing you wouldn’t go alone, you bit your own tongue and followed the two men out the door. The fact that the Bureau provided government standard SUVs were pretty cool. It didn’t take long to go to Heather’s house, and when you arrived, you met her brother and the dog she owned.

“Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry,” Heather’s brother, David, apologized when the big dog started barking and trying to playfully attack you three. However, when it came to you, the dog just stared at you silently.

“No, it's okay. It's what we call the Reid effect,” Hotchner stated, causing the young doctor to be confused. “I'm agent Hotchner. This is special agent Dr. Reid and Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N is fine,” you quickly added.

“You two look too young to have gone to medical school,” the man observed.

“They're PhD's. 3 of them. She has two.”

“Spencer,” you whispered softly to get him to shut up about it.

It’s not like you don’t want people to know you have 2 PhDs, but you just didn’t want the attention. Plus, if your dad knew you went to school to be a profiler in the FBI, he’d have your head.

“Are you a genius or something?”

“I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he gushed. The man stared at him like he was crazy, so the young doctor just agreed. “Yes, I'm a genius.”

“Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?” Hotchner asked the dog who just panted.

Instead of being with them, you took a look around the room to see if you can get a feel to the place. Heather’s spirit was here through certain items, but because there are more than one, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from. The conversation went on about her dog until it got back on track.

“David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?” Spencer asked when he picked up a magazine.

“No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?” he asked, and Spencer held it up. David just shook his head and took his dog outside since she was getting antsy.

“There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a certain level of trust. If I want to coax a young woman into my car, I’d offer her a test drive,” you said, causing the two men to stare at you.

Their bodies were emitting tension, and you knew they didn’t trust you at all. You needed to do something to prove to them that you were worthy enough to be on this team.

“Let me show you what I can do, okay?”

“Alright,” Hotch said.

Taking the magazine from Spencer’s hands, you closed your eyes in concentration. A multitude of pictures flashed through your mind due to the residue that Heather left behind, until those pictures turned into film. Heather was seated on the couch right behind Hotch and Spencer, flipping through the magazine happily. When she got to the page she wanted, she grabbed the red marker on the table next to her and circled the orange car a bunch of times. She then grabbed her money and began counting it to see if she had enough money to buy it.

“Heather is sitting on that couch, super excited to buy the orange car I keep seeing. She circles the one she wants with a red marker, and she starts to count her money,” you open your eyes, and began to flip through the magazine until you found the page you were looking for. “If I’m right, it’s this page she was on. She found someone with this exact car, and whoever took her did it because they got her to test drive it.”

The page you landed on was the same exact page with the red marker.

“Nice job,” Hotch complimented.

“That’s amazing,” Spencer muttered.

“Thank you. I just want to help, Agent Hotchner.”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

“Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis, but the autopsy protocol says what?” Derek asked.

Back at the office, everyone was talking about the case and how the MO of this unsub didn’t make any sense. Derek was the one who was freaking out about everything since apparently not having a profile ready didn't bode well for him.

“Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes,” Spencer answered.

“He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby.”

“Not the MO of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled,” Spencer added.

Gideon stares at the drawing board while the rest talked about the case. Just by the look of his face, he was drowning out whatever they were saying. Even though you can get a read on his spiritual energy, that didn’t mean you could understand what he is thinking.

“Jason? What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, making sure only he could hear you.

However, he didn’t answer you directly.

“Alright, enough,” he interrupted the chatter in the room. “Let's tell them we're ready.”

“We're ready?” Derek gasped as Gideon left the room. The young genius started to write something down on his notepad, but the older agent wasn’t finished. “Reid, you're good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore,” you noted.

“It's called a major depressive episode.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek sighed.

Walking away from the board, you looked at Spencer quickly right before you left the room. Gideon gathered everyone in a conference room to deliver the profile and stood in the middle of the room with the tables blocking him in on three sides like a square. The rest of his team stood off to the side, and while Hotch, Spencer, and Derek were listening, you were watching the reactions of everyone in this room. If your abilities told you anything, it’s how untrustworthy even the most highly respected person could be.

“The unidentified subject is white and in his late 20's. He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record--petty crimes, maybe auto theft,” Gideon began. Running your eyes over every person in this room, you tapped into their energies to see what the normal eye couldn’t.

“We've classified him as an organized killer—psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene, and he's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find,” Gideon continued. The person right in front of you wanted to pay attention, but all of his focus was centered on his phone. He’s got some private issues at home that you rather not delve into right now.

“He's mobile, and his car in good condition. Our guess is a Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. The murders have all involved rapes, but rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate.”

The person to your right is paying very close attention to what Gideon is saying, but she is focused on his lips and the way he talks which says that she’s attracted to him right now. That made you want to laugh because you knew for a fact that Gideon was seeing someone on the down low.

“What is it?” Spencer whispered when he saw the hint of your smile.

“That woman over there wants to bone Gideon,” you whispered back.

“How do you know?”

“I’m psychic, Spencer. I know more about a person than you think. Want me to do you?”

“No, thank you,” he whispered and got back to what Gideon was saying.

“Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent or family member, and now he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think in fact, I know you have already interviewed him,” Gideon finished, causing the entire room to feel shocked at the news.

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