#Matthew Chapter 11

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 11

Ch 11: The Mountain King- Pt. 4

Blurb: While still anxious to call her friend and check in on him, Grace updates the team on the findings of the autopsy and helps provide more information to try find the identity of the victims. Grace is then tasked with conducting a laborious search of the archives. She is paired up to room with JJ for the first time since joining the BAU. During which, JJ observes some concerning behaviour from the youngest member of the team and can't help but reflect on her own experience joining the BAU at such a young age.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. And how to read around it. TW: violence, crime scene depiction, This case mentions sexual assault (as previous chapters), slight body horror, mentions sexual assault of a child (only mentions), also mention of drugs

Central Police Station, Harrisburg, PA, 7:20 PM

The team gathered round a monitor as JJ linked the conference with Garcia. Grace checked her watch. 7:20, enough time to eat and clean up at the hotel before 9:00pm. She’d been thinking about the phone call all day. The reminder had been sitting at the back of her mind and on the notifications tab of her phone since the morning; don’t forget to call 9:00pm. What was wrong? What had happened? She hoped he was okay. What was she going to say? She couldn’t prepare something if she didn’t know what it was.

A chime sounded as their current call connected, and Garcia smiled at them.

‘Hello, my fine furry friends, please tell me you’re closer to catching this guy?’ Her hot pink fluffy pen drew Grace’s attention like a laser point as she twirled it around her fingers.

‘Possibly,’ Rossi told her and folded his arms, ‘We have an area narrowed down, and maybe, if some history buffs have done the Lord’s work, there could be a map of a mine he could be using, but chances are slim. Can you see if you can find anything online about abandoned mines in the area, check spelunking forums and blogs. I doubt it will turn up anything, but we need to be prepared. This unsub knows the terrain. We don’t want to be caught off guard. Did the phrase I sent you turn up anything?’

Phrase? Grace frowned. Had she missed something? Her head swung between Rossi and the other team members present.

‘Bumpkis.’ Garcia said with frustration laced through her tone. ‘It doesn’t seem to reference anything directly, closest matches I can get are about hobbit hole themed Air B&Bs, wrong kind of trip with friends.’

It was then Grace remembered she had been late to the briefing.

‘What phrase?’ She whispered to Simmons next to her.

‘The unsub called from the woods to the first victim’s friend, used a strange phrase.’ Simmons turned to her and smiled warmly, but she didn’t feel any comfort from it, only guilt.

It was not Simmons’ fault at all. He had never shown her anything to suggest he held any grudge or ill feelings afterwards. She tried to tell herself Simmons had forgiven her, that it wasn’t her fault. But it didn’t change what she felt and what had happened. Things had been awkward between them ever since she had failed him so dismally. He had been the first person on the team to besides Rossi to trust her so implicitly, and she let him down. To label the feeling as awkward was an understatement.

Simmons continued in a whisper to her, ‘It was a very theatrical way of saying come find your friend. We thought it might be from a movie or play.’

Grace furrowed her brow. ‘What did he say-‘

‘Grace has some more identifying features for the victims.’ Rossi interrupted.

‘Oh, yes.’ Grace looked up and turned back to the screen, remembering the notebook she held in her hand. She thumbed through her notes.

Garcia’s hands hovered above her keyboard and she grinned at her. ‘Hit me, Gracie baby.’

She short circuited. Unsure if it was being called “Gracie” for the first time or “baby” for the first time. Probably the latter.

‘I uh, yeah… Um, have some notes from the bodies.’ She stuttered. ‘Can you add this to the victims’ descriptions, then cross reference and distribute this on NamUs? These are things only friends and family would know and look for. Also look at registered hikers for the trail. All victims, except Hope, had a fair bit of muscle on their legs and were in good health. Very healthy lungs too, used to elevation. I think they were experienced hikers. Women register their hikes more than men do and have regular checkpoints. It’s been a few days now. If Three and Four registered, they would have missed a check point by now, see if there’s anyone who’s missing.’

Dr Lewis moved to the whiteboard and posed ready to write the features under the victimology part of the board.

‘To add to our profiles, Three and Four were experienced hikers, active they both have watch tans. But the watches weren’t on the bodies when they were found. The tan lines indicate a thicker band, 20 mm band, 450 mm watch face. Most women’s dress watches have an 18 mm band and a 350 mm face. So most probably they had a digital sport watch or an active smart watch.’ A thought suddenly hit her. ‘Actually, Garcia, see if you can get in touch with Garmin.’

‘The GPS company?’ Rossi questioned.

‘They make smart watches now too,’ Simmons added, seeing where she was going with this.

‘Yeah, a few of their models are in the dimensions we’re looking for. They are quite popular with hikers because of the GPS SOS system. Also, they have challenges their users can undertake. One of them is the Appalachian trail. Users have profiles they can share with family friends or personal trainers to track their progress and send SOS alerts to with a geotag. See if you can get them to hand over user data of SOS signals in this area, and any users who haven’t been transmitting data for a few days in the area.’

‘I can do you a bit better than get in touch with them,’ Garcia Smirked. Grace grimaced. She was not going to tell Avery that Garcia could access his logged data from his Zumba classes. ‘I’m in. User data is encrypted, though. I miss the days where no one knew what they were doing on the Internet. I’ll try a few tricks, see if I can decrypt some of it and find our victims.’

‘Good work,’ Rossi nodded along. ‘What about victim Two? She is the one we have nothing on.’

Grace had been even more determined to find anything to help them identify Two. She had spent almost an hour hovering over the lifeless woman. Double checking the reports, rerunning the finger prints. Taking her time to examine each part of her. She could not leave until she had something to add to the profile. To Grace, there was no fate sadder than sitting in a labelled box with only a number for a name.

‘Victim Two was also athletic, like the others good lungs, healthy, muscled legs. But victim Two played a violin… or viola. Regularly,’ Grace pointed. ‘Their Infraspinatus on the left side is over developed and there’s superficial elevation of the clavicle. Only strings will do that. Tennis comes close, but the muscles on the ventral side will develop as well. Also, her fingertips on the left side are calloused, further confirming that she is a string player, and probably professional or regularly. They are also right-handed.’

‘You can tell handedness on a body?’ Simmons asked, staring at the photos in front of him.

‘They have more skin creases on their right wrist. A person’s dominate wrist will have an extra crease lower and fainter than the ones on the non-dominate wrist. This crease is from writing by hand. Annoyingly, the younger people’s creases are less prominent. But Victim Two definitely wrote a lot. She was a musician, wrote a lot by hand and was outdoorsy.’ She said and her face fell. ‘She must have been creative.’

Grace watched as every person in the room stared at their wrists, rotating them and flexing them experimentally, and continued. ‘The autopsy report noted a surgery scar across the abdomen. I can tell you they had an appendectomy, ye-olde-style, probably cause she didn’t have enough mass for keyhole surgery. That should help. Keyhole is way more popular these days. So having the old style full open surgery is rare,’ Grace watched as Garcia finished typing, then curiously flicked her gaze to the underside of her wrists.

‘Moving on to the unsub’s weapon of choice. Pretty standard woodcutter’s axe. 4 and half inch blade. Unsub is on the upper-side of average strength. Also right handed, taking an average of 4 hacks to decapitate the victims. Hope and Two were attacked from behind while they were sitting or kneeling. Didn’t see the attack coming. Three and Four were incapacitated or dead before dismemberment,’ Grace relayed and shut her notebook.

‘You done? I did not need to hear that.’ Garcia took her fingers out of her ears while Dr Lewis scribed it on the case board. Simmons was twisting and subtle swinging his arm while looking at the photographs, trying to understand how Grace had got all that from just looking at the body.

The truth was, she couldn’t really explain it. It was just what she was good at. It was how her brain had combined her ADHD given skill for pattern recognition, her hyper-focus on morbid topics and her childhood trauma to produce a defence mechanism. It had made her seem physic to some, given her a reliable gut instinct to keep her safe, and made her the best forensic analyst the FBI had. But it was also what kept her up at night. It was also what made socialising a struggle. What acted like a barrier between herself and normalcy. It was what made joining the FBI the only way she could be praised for her skill rather than further ostracised.

There was a rap on the door and Detective garner poked his head in. ‘Good evening, this a good time? I made the inquiries with the historical society.’

‘Come in,’ Rossi waved him through. ‘What did you find?’

‘Well, the historical society can confirm they have surveys and intelligence data archived. No one could recall tunnels being part of the collection, but then again, it is not the most researched area, but you’re in luck they said they have them digitalised.’ He reported.

Garcia beamed, ‘Excellent, just provide me access and I’ll get my program running through those records like a knife through butter.’

‘Unfortunately…’ the detective sighed. ‘Digital doesn't mean online.’

‘Oh no,’ Grace groaned, already familiar with the way archivist like to store things “digitally.”

‘It’s Microfiche, isn’t it?’

‘Afraid so.’ The detective sighed.

‘What’s micro fish?’ JJ asked, looking at Garcia. Their brightly dressed friend only shrugged.

‘It a type of film reel.’ Grace grimaced.

Everyone turned to Rossi.

He held up his hands. ‘Hey, you know more than me, Gracie.’ She frowned at the second use of that nickname as Rossi continued on. ‘Back in the day, the admin staff would put Gideon and I’s case files on it, but I never actually used it or saw it. If we needed old files, we got the secretary or junior agents to prep them.’

‘I heard of my colleagues using it in college for old records of case studies, but I avoided it. I went for more modern cases.’ Lewis shrugged.

Alvez and Simmons shrugged.

‘How is it that I, Gen Z, am the only one who is familiar with Microfiche? You all should have encountered it at college, especially in the 90s!’

‘Never went to college,’ Simmons, Luke and Rossi said in unison.

Then how did they get into the FBI? Grace wondered. It was a requirement that you have at least a bachelor-or equivalent law enforcement or military experience. Military, that would be why. Lewis and JJ probably studied, but did not have to research like she did. Dr Reid probably had used Microfiche. Too bad he wasn’t here.

‘Well, it's film. Tiny film where documents are photographed, one page per frame on a continuous reel of film. If they say it’s available digitally, my guess is you don't have to use a view scope, and they have a film wizard.’

Her team still looked lost.

‘It reads the film and connects it to a computer, where you can extract the document though a screen capture and turn them in to PDFs. It’s used for newspapers usually. Like three years of a newspaper’s issues will be saved on one roll of a compact film. You have to go through it by hand. You can't control f.’

‘Well, guess Five-O’s volunteered to go fiche-ing.’ Alvez said. Rossi nodded, and the team’s heads turned to her.

‘Great,’ she groaned. ‘I didn’t need sleep, anyway.’

---------

Fairway Hotel, Harrisburg, PA, 8:12 PM

After getting the archive’s address from the detective, JJ had been paired up to share a car and room with Grace. They had gone back to the hotel to check in and have a quick meal before she drove Grace to the archives. Now she was unpacking a few of her things, plugging in her phone charger and sitting in silence, taking the time to rest. It was the first time she and Grace had been partnered up to share a room. It was insightful. It was the first time she had seen Grace perform her ‘ritual.’

Prentiss and Tara had mentioned it briefly, said that technically they all should do it, so there was no point in trying to convince her it wasn’t necessary. Apparently, she had always done it, even before the Robinson’s case, so they weren’t particularly concerned that it was an anxious compulsion. JJ had watched curiously as Grace swept the room with a RF-detector, checked every cupboard, mirror and painting meticulously, even shining her phone touch into every vent. JJ wondered why, after all the cases she had been on that she didn’t do those things. She also asked Grace why as she checked the locks, hinges and peep hole. Grace only shrugged and simply said it helped her sleep.

Now with Grace in the bathroom freshening up, JJ eyed the bright blue Squishmellow creature, silk eye mask, waffle cotton PJs out on Grace’s bed and noise cancelling ear buds, melatonin gummies and crossword puzzle book on the bed-side table. Firstly, she wondered how the Squishmellow had fit in her go bag. Secondly, she felt guilty. Guilty for not knowing her young colleague was suffering so much from insomnia and what seemed like anxiety. Guilty for not taking her seriously when she requested to have a couch seat on the plane. Guilty for not seeing her jokes about not needing sleep as simply that, jokes.

And JJ had tried to show she did care. Grace was young. And from her own experience, JJ knew Grace was probably too young to be in the BAU. JJ worried about her a lot, she worried about her in the way she wished someone had worried about her and Spencer. But every attempt JJ made to get closer to Grace had only resulted in establishing more distance between them.

JJ liked Grace. She was a brilliant agent, young and energetic. She had her quirks and was shy and reticent, but damn, could she read people. She may not have been the best at interacting with people, but she could observe a conversation and tell you exactly what each person had been thinking. Grace was one of the best natural born profilers this team had ever seen. They all knew it from her first trial case. JJ remembered sitting at the round table, preparing to be disappointed by the new probationary agent, raising an eyebrow at the preppy-looking forensic officer, who raised her hand and waited for permission to talk. She also remembered all skepticism of Rossi’s recommendation, leave her as this 23-year-old took one look at the crime scene photos and produced a profile that was so specific it shaved days off the investigation.

In many ways, Grace was like Spence. But also, in many ways, she was completely different. JJ missed her best friend, and she recognised that part of feeling distant from Grace was because she was looking for something to supplement the genius shaped hole Spencer’s resignation had brought into her life. It was good, in a way. Healthy. They had needed to distance themselves after the whole… situation. But the thing that JJ couldn’t understand was why she got the sense that Grace didn’t like her. Not that Grace was rude, unkind, or acted in any way that would imply that she disliked her. It was more the way Grace acted with other members of the team that gave her an inclination that Grace was uncomfortable around her specifically, well also Simmons, but after the Robinson’s case that was understandable.

JJ heard the tap run in the bathroom briefly and then suddenly there was a hacking cough and gaging sound from Grace. JJ turned her head. But the retching sound and heavy breaths did not stop. A groan of discomfort creaked out from the room. JJ stood up and knock on the door.

‘Matthews, you okay in there?’ she asked, pressing an ear to the door. She heard the quiet gasps and sniffles, like the sound her children made when they had thrown up.

‘Uh… Fine…’ Grace coughed hoarsely. JJ heard the shifting of Grace’s body slumping against a wall and onto the floor.

‘Grace let me in. Are you okay?’ JJ tried the handle, locked. ‘I’m fine, just swallowed some water the wrong way…’ she stuttered out and JJ could hear her laboured breathing through the thin wall. ‘Sorry, I panicked, just trying to calm down. I’m fine… just give me a minute.’

JJ was torn. She felt like kicking the door down, but at the same time she could hear Grace’s breathing slow down, like she was calming down. Like she really had just choked and panicked. The Mom in her needed to be in that room.

‘You need anything?’ she asked.

‘No.’ Grace coughed out.

‘What about for tonight, at the archive, food? Coffee?’ JJ asked ear to the door still.

‘Uh, a carton of diet coke, and enough Ritalin to kill a blue whale.’ Grace called back. There was a shuffling sound, and then the doorknob rattled.

JJ stepped back as the door swung open and examined Grace from head to toe. ‘What’s Ritalin?’

‘Oh… uh it’s um… Meth. A type of it. It was a joke, you know? Like to keep me awake to do the job.’ Grace explained. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was red, face slightly patchy, like she had been crying.

‘Sure you’re good?’

‘Yeah. Nothing, just… what choking on your own spit and having a coughing fit does to you, you know?’

‘Okay, well let’s get some dinner into you on the way archives. You didn’t seem too taken with the room service options. Do you want McDonald’s or Dairy Queen?’

‘Neither of those are dinner foods.’ Grace said and grabbed her canvas messenger bag and checked her watch. ‘But the Dairy Queen is more convenient. It’s on the way.’

‘But you told Alvez the other day you favourite is the Fillet-o-fish.’ JJ pointed out.

Grace stopped in the doorway, giving her a surprised look and nodding. ‘It is. But McDonalds means we would need to detour, 6 extra turns.’ She looked back at her watch again.

‘You’re not in a rush to spend a night in front of a computer scrolling through miles of film, right?’ JJ smiled at her. ‘We’ll get you a fillet-o-fish.’ Grace’s mouth opened a little in shock and she nodded. ‘And a large Diet coke.’ JJ added, fishing the car keys from her pocket.

‘Thanks, JJ.’ Grace offered her a small smile, and they headed out to the car together.

---------

Civil War Memorial Museum Archives, Harrisburg, PA, 9:01 PM

She stared at the phone for a second longer as one minute ticked over, and she hit “call”. She placed the phone on speaker next to her and turned back to the computer screen and hit fast forward on the film reader. Black and white documents with overly exaggerated cursive scrolled across the screen as the dial tone rang.

After the fourth ring, the phone crackled.

‘Hey?’ she greeted.

‘Hey.’ Harrison answered. Immediately, she could detect the tiredness in his voice. It usually was so energetic.

‘Oh no, what happened?’ she asked. Glancing at the black phone screen and then back to the computer. Still not the documents she was looking for.

Harrison sighed heavily. ‘It was a rough day, you?’

‘It's a rough case.’ She said.

‘So you’re still working? Now?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, but I can talk.’ Grace assured him. ‘I'm trawling through Microfiche. Pun not intended.’

‘Watch out for mircosharks.’ He said with a slight lightness, chuckling to himself.

She snorted. ‘That was more terrible than usual. What happened?’

‘A lot.’ He sighed heavily again. ‘Emma was at my sister’s apartment this morning, figured out where I was staying now. She was crying and said she was sorry, that she regrets it.’

Grace’s face soured. Emma. Narscistsic-controlling-ex-girlfriend Emma. She tried to keep a neutral tone. ‘Oh? Are you-do you feel safe?’

‘Don't worry, I told her to shove it.’ Harrison said.

She laughed. ‘I would’ve paid good money to see that.’

‘I mean, I was more polite about it than that,’ he admitted.

‘Boo!’ she commentated, then hesitated, was that going too far? ‘I’m kidding.’ She clarified. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I don't know.’ There was a shakiness in his voice now. ‘I haven't had time to think about it, really… I just-It was…’ He trailed off and let out a quiet sob. ‘I've had an awful day at work, Grace… It was awful.’

Grace stopped scrolling through the film and cradled the phone in her hand as if she could send her comforting touch through the phone. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

‘I don't want to load you up with more than you need right now, if you’re having a rough case-‘

‘-Every case is rough. Did one of your patients die?’ She asked.

‘No. Today… we had to do a kit. Oh Grace, I… we shouldn’t have to do them on anybody, but in paeds… I never thought-‘ He sobbed.

A tear pricked her own eye as she heard him cry. That was an awful day. She didn’t know what to say. She swallowed.

‘Oh Harri I’m so sorry.’ She voiced, trying to send her urge to wrap her arms around him through the phone.

‘I don’t know if I can sleep tonight. The things that man did to her… She cried when I asked her what colour cast she wanted for her leg. She was terrified by my voice and I… cried. God, I’m crying right now. I’m so angry. And…I want to make it better, but there is nothing I can do. I can't even walk in the room without scaring her. They assigned me elsewhere in the ward since, but I just can't stop thinking about… Why? I… can't even… She was 8, Grace. How could someone do that to her? She’s 8 years old!’ His voice cracked.

Anger filled her too. Anger because it happened, anger because her friend was crying. Anger because it was so senseless. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she found words.

‘You will never understand, Harri, because people who do that are so far gone, even people like me who study those people struggle to understand. It's evil, and it is senseless. Do they at least know who did it?’ she tried to steer the conversation more positively.

‘Yeah, he’s in jail and I’m trying to focus on that, but I just can't get my mind off it, you know?’

‘I struggle with that too, keeping my mind off things.’ She told him. As soon as the admission left her mouth, Groton’s golf course flared in her mind. Images flooded her view and throbbed in her skull. She shut her eyes and shook them out. She couldn’t focus on that, not now. Not when she had taken her meds. She couldn’t get stuck on the wrong thing.

‘What do you do?’ Harrison’s voice called to her.

‘Pardon?’ she asked, even though she had heard him.

‘How do you keep your mind off it? How do you move on?’

She wet her lips and sighed. ‘I guess I do what I can. I do my job, do it well. Go to therapy, talk, do things that keep me busy and happy, create things, remind myself there's good people in the world.’ She imagined him sitting at his sister’s kitchen table, still in his colourful scrubs, probably the Ninja Turtles ones, nursing a coffee cup running his fingers through his ruddy brown hair. She pictured herself next to him, holding his hand. She smiled sadly. ‘Good people, ones who cry because they can’t care for her without scaring her, and are angry that such an awful thing would happen. Good People who care enough to ask a little girl what colour cast they’d prefer. People like you. It’s the small things Harri. Your small good each day, fights tooth and nail to chip away at a whole lot of bad. Your small good. Focus on that.’ She then thought of the way she spent most of her evenings at home. ‘Also children's television and movies. That’s my go to. Because good always prevails in those worlds, it might not be realistic, but it’s cathartic. Got a list I can recommend if you’d like?’

‘Actually, that's why I was hoping you weren't away tonight.’ He said, but there was something in his tone, a hesitancy. She sat waiting for him to continue. He took a few seconds. ‘I, uh, wanted to ask if you wanted to have a movie night at… my place, or yours.’ There was a beat of silence before he scrambled again with his words, ‘That's only if you’re comfortable. I didn't want to say at a theatre in case you weren't ready after the whole… Incident. But I get it if asking is crossing a line.’

Her mind raced. Thoughts crashed against her skull and her fears blared like claxons. Her mouth opened and, ‘I don't know,’ stumbled out.

‘What kind of I don't know?’ he pressed.

Please don’t make me explain, her mind begged. She put the phone done to distance herself from him. She stared at the caller ID and tensed her body in an effort to slow down her mind before her mouth betrayed her. Thank God she had managed to actually take her meds before this.

‘I want to, but I don't know if we should.’ She answered diplomatically. ‘Going to each other’s houses is a bit of a step… it's a bit intimate.’

‘I know the way we met was not an ideal situation but, come on, G, we call and text each other like every second day, we send pictures of weird things we see to each other with no context, we do the Wordle, we debrief with each other. I’m not kidding when I said I'd wait by the phone. Your calls make my day.’ He said what she already knew, but then he really hit the nail on the head with his next words. ‘I think if we are honest with ourselves, we are already past what is an FBI approved relationship.’

‘Appropriate relations with a victim.’ She corrected in panic. ‘Harrison, I feel it too, but what happened to us, specifically, what she did to us, was to make us artificially foster a sense of closeness. That bond, what we feel, it's not really… real. We don't really know each other as well as we feel we do. We need to distance ourselves from what we felt at the time so we can form an uninfluenced relationship.’

You hypocrite, her own mind sneered at her.

‘I know, I know, because of the transference, right? G, I get it. But 6 months of pretending like it didn’t happen, it’s killing me. Calls during lunch breaks from work, conversing only in Wordle scores, walking along the harbour front at night? Aren’t you tired of it? It feels like we’re cold war spies, and not in a good way.’

There was a lot to unpack in that, but her mind clung to one thing. ‘I-I thought you liked National Harbour?’

‘Oh no G, I do! I do. I love the harbour.’ He reassured her. ‘I just want a chance to talk like normal people, you know? Take you out to the movies, have dinner together, hang at each other’s houses. We’re not strangers, but when we meet up, it feels like we pretend we are. It’s like you don't want to be there, or like you feel you're not supposed to. But you were a victim too. You didn’t investigate that case, so I doubt there is a protocol for that. Look, all I’m saying is you said what we feel is not real, that it’s transference or whatever, but I feel it, so it’s real to me. Why can't we make it real, Grace?’

Oh no. This is it. This is where it fell apart, where it ended, where she would lose him. Friendship was good. She learned that friendship was safe. The next thing, though, she could never go there. That was when people would find out that she wasn’t worth it. That was when people wouldn’t want her anymore.

‘Harri,’ she took a breath and tried not to cry. ‘I really don't know. Don't take this the wrong way but I think you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state right now, that case at work today probably didn't do you good and probably brought up some thoughts about Cooper… and you have ended things with Emma, the girl you would previously go home to and… talk with, wind down with… and now you’re looking for that kind of connection, looking for a new… partner. And I'm sorry Harri, I think you're great but I'm not ready for that kind of relationship and I think if you're honest with yourself you aren't either and you could do far better than me-‘

‘-Woah, woah no!’ he stopped her.

‘No?’ she questioned.

‘Grace, I'm not looking for a rebound girl!’

‘A what?’ she frowned.

‘Nevermind. I meant all that platonically. You’re my friend right, even if it's kinda weird?’ he stammered.

‘Oh? Yes. I would consider us weird friends…’ she nodded along in confusion.

‘No wonder you were bringing out your professional tone.’ He laughed nervously. ‘I’m Sorry I wasn't clear, that did kinda sound a bit-‘

‘-No, sorry, I misread that. It’s hard over the phone. I don’t have your expressions to go off.’ She scrambled.

Harrison continued to ramble, ‘No, no, that’s my fault, I said stuff like it feel real to me… and stuff, I meant our friendship-I see how that sounded like I had caught feelings-‘

‘Oh no, it’s my mistake,’ she apologised. ‘I-I thought movies and dinner were like a thing couples do.’

‘Oh Grace, I'm a simple man. If I wanted to ask you on a date, I would. I wouldn't try to trick you into it.’ He chuckled. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I mean yeah, couples do that, but so do friends G.’ He paused. ‘Wait, have you never done those things with a friend before?’

‘Um… funny story about that.’ She admitted nervously and scrolled through the film again. Feeling safe to divert her attention from him again.

‘Oh Grace,’ he said with pity.

‘I’ve never really had many friends my age.’ She explained with a shrug. There were a few beats of silence again, but they were comfortable now.

‘So…’ he said, clearing the air. ‘Is that a yes to the movie? To just being “weird friends” hanging out.’

She thought for a moment. Six months? Was that enough time to have been in a friendship to invite someone to your house? Penelope had invited her to her apartment after about 4 months. Rossi let her come over for pasta night with the team after her first month. Simmons had trusted her enough to babysit after two… She supposed it was.

‘You know what, once we wrap up this case, sure. We can do it at your place, but I get to pick the movie,’ she agreed and found herself smiling. ‘This time.’

‘This time?’ he asked with a curious tone.

‘Well, I figure, since we are both going to have bad days, and you feel walks around National Harbour are impersonal, sounds like something we are going to do more than once,’ she explained, her eyes still flicking over the pages of documents scrolling across the screen.

He chuckled, ‘We are going to have to work out a roster.’

‘Harrison, you know I don’t stick to schedules very well.’

‘Says the girl with like 700 alarms on her phone.’ He laughed.

She giggled. ‘Actually, I’ve found that my phone won’t let me have more than fifty, soo… a lot less than 700.’

Documents scrolled past and her eyes skimmed over the dates and locations as the reel ran out. She sighed and flicked the rewind button. The machine whirled. She unboxed the next lot of film labelled, ‘Pt. G. T. Kayne - Diaries cira 1859-1861’

‘How are you? Sorry I didn’t ask about your day yet, did I?’

She perked up. ‘Oh, no. That’s fine. I’m okay, I’m actually in Harrisburg Pennsylvania, going through civil war archives now, in other circumstances I’d be enjoying myself but, not right now, I’m in for a long night.’

‘Is it a rough case?’ he probed

‘Kind of, we’ve got a lot of missing pieces right now, missing IDs. That’s what rough.’

‘Oh.’ He said, comprehending exactly what that meant for her. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?’

‘Yeah, I was able to give some extra features to Penelope, so hopefully she can turn up some faces.’

‘Oh my God, they don’t have faces?’ He gasped.

‘No! I-They do just uh.’ She winced. Well, he wasn’t wrong. ‘They do… we just haven’t been able to-‘ She cut herself off before she said anything that would disturb him further, ‘I was saying it as an expression.’

‘Well, now you’re looking into it, I’m sure they won’t be faceless for long.’ Harrison reassured her.

She smiled at the compliment. ‘I hope so. But, yeah, there are a few odd things in this case we haven’t been able to get our heads around. We are focusing on what we know, but there have been some things that aren’t adding up, the profile isn’t coming together like it should,’ She loaded the next roll of film onto the reader and packaged the old one back up, sliding into a pile with other reels she had determined were administrative correspondence.

‘What kind of things?’ He asked, then added, ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.’

‘I don’t actually know. That’s the thing. I’m looking at this abrasion and I can’t tell what the unsub was trying to achieve. He is evolving his M.O, but I don’t know why or really how. The guy is a proper A-grade weirdo, Harri.’

‘Wow, and that’s an FBI profiler’s official opinion?’

Grace looked at the piles she had made on the table of the different categories of documents she had come across, and a thought stuck her. There was correspondence, payrolls, orders, reports and surveys, all where different aspects of Military Intelligence. Her whole life, she worked to separate things from a whole. To her most thing where related eventually, that’s why she was constantly being reminded to keep things relevant on topic. But what if now the problem was that she had separated things to where she couldn’t see them as related? When she examined a body, it was dead; therefore, her deductions were based in a criminal and forensic context. But, Harrison saw similar horrors, occasionally, but while someone was alive, in a health and medicine context.

‘Harri, before you worked Paeds, you were ER, right?’ she tested the waters, hoping he would be comfortable enough to answer a difficult question.

‘Yeah, worst year of my life,’ he snorted. ‘Why?’

She cringed internally, preparing for him to hang up in disgust. ‘Did you get a lot of-how do I put this? Bedroom Accidents?’

‘Too Many. G, you wouldn't believe the things people do in the boudoir.’ He said enthusiastically. ‘Why do you ask- actually just remembered your working so the less I know the better.’

‘I won’t scar you with details, but you might be able to help me. We’ve encountered something none of us have seen before. It seems like it has a sexual element to it, but I don’t know. We’ve never seen a serial killer do it before, but maybe some people do it consensually as a kink, maybe? But it could easily go wrong, so it’s likely someone’s gone to hospital for it.’

‘Sure, I was only in ER for a year, I might not be that helpful, but if I’ve heard of it, I’ll tell you.’ He waited for her to gather her words patiently.

'Have you ever seen anything to do with a catheter or externally filling a bladder?’ She asked.

‘Eugh.’ He grimaced. ‘Me personally no, but someone told me about Human Carafes back in college, I’ve only heard of it in an unbelievable story a class mate tells, you know, like a “I heard that there’s a secret sociality of crazy rich doctors with a god complex and each year they host a dinner party and make everyone sign an NDA cause they all have an orgy and human carafes.” I don’t know how it would turn anyone on. It’s more pseudo sexual, like a power display thing… to my ears anyway, is that the kinda thing you’re looking at?’

God complex? Pseudo sexual power display? Sounded exactly like something that could feature in this unsub’s M.O.

‘Human Carafes is not something I’m familiar with and I don’t want to google that. Can you talk me through what that is?

‘Hang on, just let get behind some closed doors, cause Liza is frowning at me cause I said orgy.’ There was some shuffling and a muffled voice, but she couldn’t make anything out. Then Harrison replied, ‘Well, I don’t complain about having to listen to your filthy, Scottish Historical Drama while I eat… Yes it is Grace… NO!… okay fine I’ll tell her…’ Harrison bickered with his sister. ‘My sister says hi, by the way. I need to move out.’ He chuckled, and she heard him shut a door. ‘So I’m guessing the victims are having it done to them? Are they male?’

She raised an eyebrow, momentarily stopping her scrolling. ‘No, our victims’s are female.’

‘Huh, that is weird. Probably not the same kinda kink cause it’s usually a thing done to males cause of the… you know… the appendage.’ He trailed off.

‘Harri, sorry you’re going to have to be a bit more specific, or clinical. Believe it or not, I do know what a penis is.’ She chuckled. There was a moment of silence. Oh no, I’ve freaked him out. She panicked, ‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’re not comfortab-‘

‘Do I want to distract myself from an awful day and evil people with stupid, disgusting medical anecdotes? Absolutely.’ He told her with a lighter tone in his voice. He then laughed a little, ‘Sorry I was just trying to get over the fact that you said penis so causally.’ he giggled.

‘Oh, grow up,’ she snickered.

He took a long sigh before he began. ‘Okay, so let me preference this with two words. Gnarly UTI.’

‘That's technically four words, but my interest is peaked.’ She smiled and listen to him as she scrolled through another three reels of film.

-----------

Fairway Hotel, Harrisburg, PA, 9:10 PM

JJ poured the mixture of the crushed up tablet and solution into the three test receptacles of the standard pill testing kit and averted her gaze, staring at the ceiling.

‘Please…’ she sighed. ‘Please don’t let any of them be positive.’

She peaked back down and her face fell. A bright pink indicator at stared back at her.

She tore her eyes away, afraid to look at the label that would identify the four white tablets that sat ominously on the bathroom counter. She wasn’t supposed to find them. It had been an accident. While plugging in her hairdryer, she had knocked Grace’s bath bag to the floor and a few things had fallen out. That was all. She hadn’t meant to snoop, but as she repacked the scattered items back into the bag, she had picked up a tin of lip gloss and it rattled.

Pills. JJ knew the sound instantly. Pills that were loose and concealed. If Grace hadn’t of been cagey about what had happened in the bathroom earlier that night, JJ wouldn‘t have thought twice, but it wasn’t just the ‘coughing fit’ that had her worried lately.

JJ glanced at the positive indicator and gasped.

Amphetamines.

JJ ran a hand through her hair in distress. It was Hankle all over again. And JJ could not believe she had let it happened, again. They should have known Grace passed the psych evaluations too easily afterwards. She should have suspected after the nightmare on the plane. They should have known; there were warning signs littered around everywhere. Grace’s quietness about the Robinson’s case, her insomnia, joking about taking drugs… Just like she joked about her sleep. Now it made sense why Grace wasn’t sleeping. She was avoiding the nightmares about Robinson’s case by taking amphetamines to stay awake.

JJ didn’t know what to do.

If she told Emily, that would put Emily in a compromising position and Grace could be fired and then who knows what would happen; she could spiral and get worse. But if she did nothing… well, she already had seen what pretending to be ignorant had done. It had worked out fine in the end, but she had many regrets, and she was sure Reid did too. JJ concluded she had to confront Grace. How she was going to do that she didn’t know. Maybe she could ask for Reid’s advice. But for now, while they were on a case, all she could do was keep a close eye on the youngest member of their team.

‘Why Grace?’ she asked herself. ‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’

----------

Just to be clear, Grace is NOT on drugs. See TW drugs.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @bridgeoverstrawberryfields @pleasantwitchgarden @cultish-corner

Sorry this took so long, again. What did you think of Harrison? I will explain the Robison's case, I swear. it is coming soon. There will be a flash back case. I will soon redesign the master list so it will be a bit less busy and organise the chapter's in to "Episodes" this will involve a title card for each chapter and the first and last title cards will have quotes to mirror the show's format. so you might want to check out the new title card when I update the fics over the next few days :)

If you love this story or even just like it, leave a comment, like, reblog, ask a question with Character Mail, will be posting some prompt for this soon so keep your eyes peeled. Any interaction is much appreciated and it really motivates me. Love you guys.

if you want to be added to taglist please comment on this post.

TWs:

Sexual assault, Necrophilia : I will try not to be graphic at all in this story, this chapter just has it mentioned as part of what the unsub does

Slight body horror : I will try not to be graphic here, but in autopsy it is found that unsub fills Bladders externally with a injection. then found that it injures the victim to a point where they bleed. Again not going to describe that more than I have too.

Drugs: If you’re not familiar with ADHD meds, you might not know, but they are in the amphetamine family, and in your run-of-the-mill drug test come up false positive. JJ doesn’t know about Grace’s diagnosis, and she is reacting from her experience with the Hankle and Reid’s addiction because of it. The reality is Grace has an interesting relationship with her medication, which will be explored later along with JJ and Grace’s dynamic. but just know JJ is wrong, and Grace is not taking her medication to stay awake, she simply took her medication here because she was worried about not being able to focus because files are boring.

mentions sexual assault of a child: Harrison, Grace's friend and love interest is a nurse in a children's ward is distraught talking about his day on the phone because he had to treat a young patient who was hospitalised from a sexual assault. He asks Grace for advice on how to deal with the knowledge of such awful things happening.

[cinemgc]

The Mandalorian (2ª Temp.)

Episodio 3: “Chapter 11: The Heiress“

• Dirección: Bryce Dallas Howard

• Guión: Jon Favreau

• Cinematografía: Matthew Jensen

• Cast: Pedro Pascal

[lumidotexe]

END OF CH 11 “In the Flood" - Page 54

Previous | Next Chapter

Masterpost

phew! after a good 6 months (half a year lmao) this chapter is finally complete! I'm taking time to do some extra work for my job and commissions since money situation is rough. but the next chapter is currently in production!

Help support this comic and my work on my Kofi or Patreon

Huge thanks to my Kofi and Patreon members! Leo Andromeda Matthew Brock AsherSpeaksWord Void/Nym Izzeroni Aleena Ellie Hampton Angeline Moon butterfly Dragon Bud

[hearts4chriss]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝓰 𝓾 𝓲 𝓭 𝓮 ↰

there is no order to any of this besides anything under “series”

you are responsible for what you read ( minor or not )

hate will not be tolerated

have funnn :)

// ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊

Christopher Sturniolo ↴

𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬 !!

snaps w/ boyfriend! Chris

snaps w/ boyfriend! Chris

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( black girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris

snaps w boyfriend! Chris

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( black girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( black girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( Latina girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( brown girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( Filipino girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Chris ( Asian girl )

snaps you’d take of boyfriend! Chris

snaps of e/o w boyfriend! Chris ( black girl )

snaps w toxic! Chris pt 1

𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 !!

texts w/ boyfriend! Chris ( black girl )

texts w/ boyfriend! Chris

texts w/ toxic! Chris pt 1

texts w/ toxic! Chris pt 2

texts w toxic! Chris pt 3

texts and snaps w toxic! Chris pt 4

texts w jealous! Chris

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬 !!

“fucking mine” w toxic! Chris 01/27/24

“take a ride” w bf! Chris 02/03/24

“haunted” w bf! Chris 02/06/24

“pour it up” w cocky! Chris! 02/08/24

“eyeblack” w bf! Chris 02/11/24

“tape that shit” w bf! Chris 02/15/24 🫶🏾

“tap that” w bsf! Chris 02/23/24

“Texas baby” w bf! Chris 02/28/24🫶🏾

“Spoiled rotten” w bf’ Chris 03/05/24

“Freshlove for the fit” bf! Chris 03/08/24

"Watch ur mouth" w toxic! chris 03/24/24🫶🏾

"Slice of pizza" w fwb! chris 3/30/24

“That’s my girl” w bsf! Chris 5/13/24🩷

“bratz doll” w bf! Chris 6/23/24 ?

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 !!

Nate doe’s little sister

Chapter 01: Babysat by my brothers bestfriend 🫶🏾

Chapter 02: dirty Girl 03/03/24

Chapter 03: splash 4/19/24 🎀🎁 Teaser: snaps & texts

His Princess! (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 01: princess 02/13/24

Chapter 02: under the table 03/17/24

Chapter 03: leather jacket 03/25/24

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Dom! Bf chris: 04/25/24

pussydrunk! bf chris 06/08/24

Matthew Sturniolo ↴

𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬 !!

snaps w/ boyfriend! Matt

snaps w/ boyfriend! Matt

snaps w/ boyfriend! Matt ( Latina )

snaps w/ boyfriend! Matt + cheerleading black girl

snaps w/ boyfriend! Matt

snaps w boyfriend! Matt

snaps w boyfriend! Matt ( Puerto Rican girl )

snaps w boyfriend! Matt

snaps w boyfriend! Matt on tour

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬 !!

❌

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

❌

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

sleeping with my professor

Chapter 01: “Teachers Pet” w collegeprofessor Matt 4/15/24

Nicolas Sturniolo ↴

𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬 !!

snaps w/ platonic! Nick

snaps w/ platonic! Nick

snaps w/ platonic! Nick

snaps w/ platonic! Nick ( Chris has a crush on u ))

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

Do NOT send me death threats ( unfortunately it has happened to be from some Matt girls and I love y’all but pls stop )

+ need anything my dms are open :)

+ "Why do you add dates?" honestly so I can keep track of how often / when im posting :)

- all works by me ©hearts4chriss ↰

[petalsscribbles]

Intertwined

summary: Matthew and Yn are complete opposites of each other in terms of personality, interests and tastes, yet they're as close as they can possibly be. And yet, even childhood best friends and neighbours as close as them have they're secrets. Matthew doesn't know about Yn's sketchbooks filled with drawings of him, Yn doesn't know Matthew has been deeply in love with him for years and neither of them know they're soulmates.

pairing: seok matthew x male reader

genre: smau, fluff, humor, light angst, childhood friends, soulmates au, mutual pining aka the love is requited but they're idiots, matthew fell first AND harder

featuring: zb1 members, G-Idle Shuhua, Haruto, Lesserafim Eunchae

content warning: alcohol consumption, kms jokes, cursing

status: completed

started: 3.10.2024

finished: 20.4.2025

taglist: CLOSED

@xavi-in-kpopland @starchasing-cryptid @tarotarosung @bubblztaro @gnusihcom @monstaxpuppy @academiq @ningningxx

author's note: tadah! your 200 followers gift :3

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken seriously or as a representation of the idols.

navigation:

profiles:

profiles 1 profiles 2

chapters:

1. moving

2. adapting

3. Gyubin almost dies (not clickbait)

4. defeating social anxiety

5. twists, turns and tackles

6. jealousy is poison

7. hoops and heartbreaks

8. determination

9. in the middle of the night (written)

10. warm winter

11. lovesick (smau + written)

12. for your eyes only

13. emotional support

14. dating?

15. date?

16. worrier

17. impatience

18. iris (written)

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act II : Chapter three

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

When you come home. Your aunt isn’t there. No note, no food in the kitchen, but your met with peace and fucking quiet. So you decide, you’re taking a break from school. And when your aunt still doesn’t come home, it becomes a two-day break from school. The curtains are drawn tight.

A bowl of cereal sits half-eaten on the desk. The TV is on low, reruns of The X-Files flickering across the screen. You lie in bed, facing the wall. Your eyes are puffy. Not even thinking about how you haven’t seen your aunt since Monday.

Then-click.

You bolted upright. The window creaks open.

“WHAT THE FUCK—?”

Jackie climbs through like it’s something she does every day. Winded from the climb, strands of blonde hair falling in her face, cheeks flushed.

“You skipped,” Jackie says, breath catching. “For two days.”

You scowl, pulling your blanket tighter. “So you break into my room?”

Jackie brushes herself off and crosses the floor. “You wouldn’t return my calls. Or answer the door. What was I supposed to do?”

“Leave me alone?”

“Yeah,” Jackie says, voice rising, “well, you disappeared, Smalls. I thought something happened.”

You stare at her, eyes narrowing. “You mean like when you called me Lottie’s project at that party?”

Jackie goes still.

Your voice cracks, not angry - just tired. “Did you mean it?”

Jackie opens her mouth. Closes it.

“No,” she says, too quickly.

You scoff and look away, not believing her. Jackie crosses the room, kneels by the bed. “Look, I was… I was jealous, okay? I saw you with her and I panicked. You and I-we’ve been through more than anyone else in that entire school combined, and I felt like you were just… gone.”

You feel your eyes glisten, but you refuse to let the tears fall. “So you made me a joke?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You never do,” You murmur.

Silence blooms between them. Jackie sits down on the edge of the bed, her voice small. “I came here because I miss you. I miss how we are when it’s just us. And I know I messed up. But I’m still your person, Smalls. You’re still mine.”

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes steady on the wall again. Truthfully, you don't even know what to say to her.

You’re still mine.

If this is what being anyone’s person meant. You didn’t know if you liked it. You were exhausted and confused, for some stupid reason you felt hurt. But despite all that those words made your heart was racing. Because your Jackie said them.

The concept that you were her person. The possible hidden meaning made your palms sweat, but instead of giving you fluttery excited butterflies, you just felt it fall flat into nausea.

Jackie leans in closer. “Say something. Please.”

You finally whisper, “I don’t know if I want to be anyone’s person right now.”

And Jackie, heartbroken, doesn’t push. She just stays. Sitting beside you. Silent. Her frown makes the ache in your chest worse.

You don’t make her leave. And when she makes it clear she’s staying, you make room for her on your bed. Like you were still 11.

The overhead light is off. A lava lamp on the dresser casts warm blobs of red and gold across the walls. Jackie is curled next to you, using the blanket she brought in from the couch downstairs.

Your back is to her, lying in bed with the covers tucked up to your chin. Silence hangs between you, but not the kind that hurts, more like a truce.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Jackie says gently, staring up at the ceiling. “But I’m not leaving until you go back to school.”

Your voice is flat. “That’s blackmail.”

Jackie grins into the dark. “Yeah. Emotional extortion. You should be flattered. Not everyone gets this level of my attention.”

You almost smiled. Almost. Sighing, you finally turn to face her. And Jackie’s eyes light up in a hopeful way.

“I’ll go,” you mumble. “But I’m not promising to be fun.”

Jackie exhales, relieved. “I’ll settle for the crumbs.”

When you make it inside of school, you move through the crowd like a ghost. You don’t talk much during homeroom, you don’t make your usual jokes in English when Mr. Rosen mispronounces “Kafka,” and you skip lunch altogether, opting to sit outside by the loading dock.

Jackie watches you from a distance, anxiety bubbling under her skin. Unable to keep her eyes off you all day. Shauna watches too, from the other side of the quad

You're in the corner, delivering a sealed envelope from the front office to Coach Martinez. Something about permission slips for some tournament. You linger after handing it over, as the team begins filtering in from the field.

Van’s the first to spot her.

“You surviving or just doing a great impression of a corpse?” Van jokes, tugging off her gloves.

You blink, surprised. Then “Little of both.”

Van nods like she understands more than she lets on. “That’s fair.”

You hover, unsure. Looking around you see not everyone is out yet. A sudden relief washes over you. Not needing to see Jackie or Lottie right now.

“You can sit,” Van offers, patting the bench beside her. “It’s not radioactive.”

You consider the spot, like it’s a bad idea. But you still sit. Quietly. You don’t say much, but it’s not uncomfortable. Van pulls out a granola bar from her bag and offers you half. You exhale and then take it.

Jackie walks in moments later, still flushed from practice, she catches sight of you across the room. You and Van, heads bent, sharing a quiet nothing of a conversation.

Jackie doesn’t say anything. But the jealousy is unmistakable in her eyes. Shauna clocks it immediately. Most of the team has already filed out back out from water break, sweat-slick and exhausted. The sky is starting to dim, casting golden lines across the concrete walkway.

Lottie leans against the brick wall near the gym exit, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She spots you exiting behind Van, eyes tired, lips pressed into a line that says I’m fine, but doesn’t mean it.

Van gives you a soft nudge and peels off toward the field.

You slow down when you see Lottie. Lottie offers a small smile, careful, soft around the edges.

“You okay?” she asks gently, searching your face.

You hesitate. Your body still, except for the way your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag. You weren’t great that’s for fucking sure.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Lottie steps closer, her voice lower now. “You don’t have to pretend around me, you know?”

You stare at her for a long second. Then something in you gives way, like a clean break. The tension in your shoulders, the stiffness in your posture. You step forward suddenly, wordlessly, and wrap your arms around Lottie.

It’s tight. Desperate in a way that catches Lottie off guard. Lottie’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t hesitate to hold you back, warm, steady, grounding. The hallway’s mostly empty, and everything around them quiets. The hug lingers. Longer than either of you expect it to.

You finally pull back, eyes a little glassy, but your lips are set again, like armor snapping back into place. “I have to go,” you say softly. “Yearbook stuff.”

Lottie nods, but her eyes follow you as you turn and walk away, disappearing into the next hallway. She stands there alone for a moment, her arms crossed like she’s still trying to hold on to the shape you left behind.

After practice, you're halfway across the lot, bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie tucked tightly around you. The sky is overcast, threatening drizzle, and your breath fogs faintly in the cool air.

“Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of your name. Lottie is jogging toward you, still in her practice gear, hair damp and clinging to her neck. You slow down but don’t stop completely. “Hey, what’s up?”

Lottie skids to a stop next to you, just a little breathless. “Do you want to come over? Like-tonight? We could… work on the project. Or just hang out. My parents are out again. It’d be chill.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to do more homework?”

Lottie laughs, but it sounds nervous. “Not really. I just… I don’t know. I don’t feel like being alone tonight. And I don’t think you do either.”

You look at her, really look, and see that thing in Lottie’s eyes again. That barely-hidden worry. The gentle, desperate hope. There’s a beat of hesitation, then you give her a small nod. “Okay.”

Lottie’s face lights up in a way that’s too quick, too big, like she was scared you might say no. “Okay. Cool. My car’s over there.”

She starts walking, and as you follow, Lottie reaches back, hand brushing the small of your back, just enough to guide you without saying anything. The touch is light, but you notice. The way Lottie’s fingers linger just a second too long before dropping away.

In the car, Lottie taps her fingers against the steering wheel like she’s trying to keep herself grounded. Music plays low from the radio, something mellow and warbled on cassette. As they drive, she keeps glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, like she’s still making sure you're real.

By the time they pull into the long, winding driveway of Lottie’s house, the air between them feels full of unspoken things. You step out, and Lottie is at your side again, hand resting at your back as they walk up the path. It isn’t possessive, just steady. Like an anchor.

Inside, Lottie tosses her keys in the bowl by the door and turns to you with a small smile. “I’ll grab you some socks. My house is freezing after practice.”

You watch her disappear down the hallway, the weight of her touch still lingering. You have no idea what will happen. But Lottie wants you here. That, for some reason, was all you needed to want to stay.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Tell ourselves a good lie

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 11

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: fluff, Matt and reader falling for each other, Matt being charming, swearing, Valentine's Day references

a/n: Hi everyone! Thank you for being so patient with me, it's been a rough few months. I'm hoping to post a chapter every 6 weeks or so but we will see if the muse cooperates. As always, if you enjoy please let me know by commenting/reblogging!

w/c: 5.5k

Vanessa Carlton might be the antichrist. It had been ages since you’d set foot in a church, but you vaguely recalled tales of the seven plagues. Massive displays of divine wrath served as punishment for mankind's many sins. The earworm that was “A Thousand Miles” was definitely a consequence of humanity's freewill.

Cringing as the dissonant speakers blasted the familiar chorus, your body recoiled viciously. You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into ash, remnants to be swept up and disposed of at the end of an employee's shift, eventually discarded and forgotten. Apparently your sulking demeanor was palpable, because Matt huffed out a laugh as he took his seat next to you, sliding the cardboard tray with your coffees onto the table with a smirk.

“Not a fan of the music?” He asked, clearly amused with your displeasure. Lifting his monstrous paper cup from its nest, he took a generous sip, humming in approval. With a slight frown, he spun towards you, shoving your drink further into your line of sight.

Moping momentarily paused, you reached for the coffee, removing it from the cupholder with far less grace than Matt had. “Thanks, trouble. And I guess I'm somewhat tired of this song.”

“Considering that it plays at least once every hour, that's understandable.” Matt replied. “And given how often we come here, it's a miracle we haven’t been driven insane.”

“Speak for yourself.” You groused, sinking further into your chair as you guzzled down the liquid-gold in your cup. “It's been half a decade and Jen is still obsessed with this song. She and Oscar sing it to each other all. the. time.”

“That's sweet.” Matt chuckled, biting his lip to stifle a laugh at your incredulous glare.

“It is not sweet, Matthew. This song takes up far too much space in my mind, and, frankly, it has overstayed its welcome.”

Snorting at your snarky comment, Matt shook his head. One of his thumbs traced over the cardboard band encircling the cup, catching on the heart-shaped sticker next to the cafe's logo. Lips twisting as he became slightly puzzled, Matt's fingertip followed the curve at the top of the image, trying to use the nerves there to determine what the shape was.

Your stomach fluttered, a small smile breaking through your sullen attitude as you observed his curiosity. Gently taking his hand, you guided his movements around the perimeter of the small addition. “It's a pair of hearts. For Valentine's day, I think.” You explained, withdrawing your hand as heat slithered over your cheeks.

Matt smiled softly, continuing to duplicate the shape with the pad of his thumb. “Ah, festive.”

“You have no idea. It looks like Saint Valentine threw up in here.” You shook your head, taking in your surroundings despite the pit of despair churning in your stomach. “There are streamers hung up across the ceiling, red, pink, and white ones all twirled a little bit so they look like helixes? Does that make sense?”

Nodding demurely, Matt's cheeks were tinged pink, his chin angled towards the table as he spoke. “Are they pretty?”

Blowing out a breath, you jostled your head from side to side. “Yeah, Matty. They're pretty. There are stickers on the windows too, more cheesy than pretty, cartoon cupids–like chubby babies in diapers, those cupids.”

Laughing in surprise, Matt's nose scrunched in distaste. “Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Stick with me, Murdock. I'll describe decorations around Manhattan that are FAR worse than half-naked adolescent deities.” You snorted, biting back a sigh as the bell chimed–signaling the entrance of yet another happy couple.

Normally, you weren't this cynical about Valentine's day. As a child, you'd loved the celebrations and opportunity to show your appreciation for your loved ones, even if the love wasn't romantic. While others complained about the holiday and its tendency to highlight loneliness, it had always been a time of gratitude for you. It was ironic, and almost humorous, that the first time you truly understood people's disdain for February 14th was when you were in a serious relationship.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you wanted to have a cliche, romantic Valentine's with your boyfriend. You wanted to get dressed up and go out to a nice dinner, and this random mid-February Thursday was an opportunity to convince him to do that. Or it would've been. If he hadn't asked to take a step back.

You weren't on a break. At least, Everett claimed you weren't. Each day that went by without you seeing him or hearing from him made you increasingly anxious that it was a break. That he was out finding someone better and you were stupidly twiddling your thumbs waiting for him to return to you because you hadn’t received the memo.

The sheer number of romantic gestures you'd witnessed recently didn't help. Walking around campus, everyone you saw seemed to have met their soulmate. Boys opening doors for their girlfriends who would kiss them on the cheek as they passed. Students in your class talking about the reservations at the high-end restaurant that their partner had fought tooth and nail for. Even the rats that lived under the dumpster outside your building seemed to have been affected by the atmosphere, if their horrid shrieks each night were indeed what they sounded like.

As if your thoughts of sickly-sweet couples had summoned them, two familiar faces appeared in the vestibule, ambling through the door with their hands linked. ”The Lovebirds have arrived.“ You mumbled to Matt, trying not to sound aggravated unsuccessfully.

Plastering a pleasant expression on your face as Foggy and Marci approached, you tried to tamp down your frustration from a boil to a mild simmer. Matt grinned as the chairs across from you screeched across the floor.

”Nice of you to join us.“ One of his brows was raised, his comment directed at Marci in a slight challenge.

The pair of them loved to butt heads whenever possible, constantly trying to out-do each other in and out of the classroom. It wasn't awkward or aggressive, though. It was a game for them. Foggy had confessed he liked it when Marci demonstrated how cutthroat she could be, and you weren't one to turn down free entertainment.

Rolling her eyes, the blonde tossed Matt a sly smirk. “It's called being 'fashionably late', Murdock. Besides, it's not like we're holding you back from your important plans.”

Foggy snickered. “She's gotcha there, bud.”

Matt sniffed with exaggerated offense. “And this is why I only bought a coffee for Bug.”

“Woah!” You threw your hands up in surrender. “No need to drag me into this, trouble.”

Marci giggled, batting her lashes at Foggy. “Foggy-bear, will you order for me? You know what I like.”

“Of course, babe.” Foggy nodded eagerly, kissing her lips gently before scurrying to the counter.

“Be warned that I'm keeping a list of everything he purchases for you. If you ever break up, we will be pursuing damages.” Matt's lips curved up, his posture straightening confidently as he leaned forward.

“Oh please,” Marci waved off the implied threat. “Haven't you been paying attention in Contracts? There's no way you'd be able to prove unjust enrichment without proof of expectation of repayment. No legal remedy for wasted gifts, hun.”

Matt hummed, chin bobbing with a tiny nod. “Just making sure you've been paying attention, Miss Stahl. Would hate for you to embarrass yourself tomorrow.”

Shaking your head at their antics, you placed a hand on Matt's arm before changing the subject. “So things are still going well?”

“I mean, you tell me!” Marci laughed, looking over her shoulder at Foggy as he conversed with the barista animatedly. “He's more likely to tell the two of you if he isn't happy.”

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.” Matt smiled, leaning back against the frame of his chair. “He's willingly wrapped around your finger.”

Chuckling in agreement, you gave an emphatic nod. “Seriously, Marci. Head over heels.”

“He's not the only one.” She muttered wistfully, cheeks flushing bright pink as Foggy waved from his place at the counter.

“Awww.” You and Matt cooed in unison, making Marci shrink in her seat.

“Shut up.” She hissed, face continuing to turn a shade of crimson as Foggy returned with two cups in hand.

“Are they being mean, babe?” He asked with a frown, passing her the taller of the cups.

She nodded with a pout, looking at him with wide eyes. “Never leave me alone with them again.”

“Shame on the both of you.” Foggy scolded, throwing an arm over his girlfriend's shoulders. “Harassing this defenseless woman.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you crossed your arms. “Ok, I know you're trying to be sweet but let's not pretend she's incapable of holding her own.”

“Yah, bear. That's almost sexist.” Marci huffed, bringing her coffee up to hide her smile as Foggy stammered.

“Ok, that's not what I meant, we all know that.”

Shrugging, you raised your cup, mirroring Marci. “Intent is irrelevant.”

“Exactly.” Marci agreed, gesturing to you.

Looking between the two of you, baffled by your straight faces, Foggy threw his hands up. “You two are impossible.”

Giggling in tandem, Marci held out a fist for you to bump, the action only spurning Foggy's irritation. “Keep it up, Marce. See where it gets you.”

Snatching him in a hug, Marci kissed the long-haired boy's cheek. “Sorry, Foggy-bear. We were just teasing.”

“It’s all fun and games, ‘til I go to Tartina alone next week.” Foggy narrowed his eyes at Marci, waiting for her response to the threat. 

Gasping dramatically, Marci cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. Forgive me?”

Melting at his girlfriend’s earnest stare, Foggy grinned. “Ok, I guess you’re forgiven.” 

Marci squealed, nearly falling out of her chair as Foggy yanked her into a hug. Next to you, Matt stuck his tongue out, sending disgusted grimace in your direction. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you stifled a laugh, only chuckling harder when the pair of entangled lovers scowled at the sound.

“Laugh it up, bug. We’ll uninvite you from dinner.” Your long-haired friend shrugged, clearly possessing knowledge you didn’t have. 

“Fog, I’m not sure you can use your date with Marci to threaten me as well–as much as I love the ingenuity,” You scoffed, tipping your coffee cup until the dregs of your latte dripped into your mouth.

“Well, actually, we thought it would be more fun–” Foggy started in a low voice, igniting something akin to fear in your heart.

“And less pressure!” Marci chimed in.

“And less pressure,” Foggy reiterated. “If you and Matt joined us for a group date!”

Silence descended over the table. Sneaking a glance at Matt, whose face had flushed bright pink, your lips parted, allowing you to stumble over your words. “Um, what? I mean–”

Linking her fingers with Foggy, Marci twirled a strand of hair around her pointer finger, looking quite determined. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! You can bring Everett, Matt can bring his hussy of the week, we’ll all eat amazing Italian food until we burst. Don’t tell me you have other plans!” 

“Well, it is five days out, Stahl.” Matt snorted, squeezing your shoulder with a rough hand. “And while I might not have a conflict, I’m sure Bug was–”

“I actually don’t have plans.” You mumbled, eyes falling to the seam of your cup as you peeled it choppily with a fingernail. 

The statement captured everyone’s attention like a magnet, their heads tilting with confusion and pity as they processed the statement. Matt’s brows knit together, his tongue trailing across his lips. “What do you mean? It’s Valentine’s day.”

“Thanks for the reminder, trouble.” You chuckled sourly. “But I should be free. If you’re ok with me being a fifth wheel, of course. Evs isn’t interested in going out this week.”

“Fine with me!” Foggy chirped, unbothered by the slight alteration to his expectations. His roommate sat silently as he schemed with his girlfriend about timing.

With a flick of your hand, you attempted to spin your mostly empty coffee cup like a top, resolutely ignoring Matt's concerned side eye. Unfortunately, Matt either couldn't tell or didn't care.

Elbowing you gingerly, he pushed his lenses up the bridge of his nose–shielding the blank irises from your field of vision. “Everett 'isn't interested' in going out for Valentine's day?” His voice was hushed, his question posed only to you, rather than the table.

Letting out a single solemn exhale, your lips quirked up as you forced a smile, which ended up feeling more like a grimace. “Don't get me started.”

“Did something happen?” At Matt's small question, your brain was drawn back to the argument you'd had with your boyfriend, and the reason for said argument.

Heat flew to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“Did you want to–”

“No.” You interrupted, warmth blossoming to the tips of your ears as your embarrassment grew.

“You're still together?”

There was a color to Matt's words that seemed almost..hopeful? “Yes, it's just...” You lifted a hand in a half-hearted gesture, pretty accurately conveying the confusing mix of emotions you were feeling about your relationship.

“Complicated?” Matt smirked at you, his face tense behind the small movement.

“Precisely.” You laughed, winding your arm with his. “Thanks for checking up on me, though.”

“Always, bubs.” Matt turned back to the more animated conversation coming from across the wobbly table, fingers subtly grasping the crease of your elbow.

“Ow, FUCK!”

Frowning at the distant yell, Matt angled his senses towards your apartment to the best of his ability. He was still a few blocks away, but he could sprint to you if–

“Blinding yourself with a mascara wand. That takes talent,” Matt smiled, relief and amusement mingling in his chest as he tuned in to your frustrated mutters. Thankfully, it seemed that you were battling an inanimate object rather than an intruder. More annoying than dangerous, he hoped. 

You were still getting ready, he should have expected that, given that it was nearly an hour until you were expected at the restaurant. But after about an hour of anxious pacing, he’d decided that showing up to your place early was preferable to sitting alone in a dark room while he descended into madness. It was peculiar, his reaction to today’s pseudo-date. Though, you tended to bring out paradoxical reactions in him. The knowledge that today’s activity was inherently more romantic, and trending away from the platonic balance he’d managed to achieve, scared him to death. There were infinite possibilities to overstep the fine line he’d been balancing on, to reveal how he felt about you–which is the exact realization that had ignited his pacing.

Yet, with every step in your direction, he grew eerily calmer. The cellophane-wrapped bundle he’d been slowly mashing with a fist crinkled as his fingers spread into a relaxed grip. Closing in on the familiar building, Matt let out a breath. Less than two blocks away and he could finally hear your heartbeat. Soft and steady, ticking rhythmically like his own personal metronome. 

In his time after the accident, Matt had quickly realized that heartbeats are unique, like fingerprints. Each person influenced by a combination of factors out of their control, creating a distinctive sound within their rib cage. A deep thrumming beat not dissimilar to a wooden drum. He’d found that technology and media often distorted the noise, exaggerating the convulsion and adding an ominous quality. In reality, Matt adored this sound. Walking the streets of Manhattan, he was constantly surrounded by a gorgeous soundtrack, akin to the murmur of rain against a window. 

It wasn’t off-putting, like some people thought. It was his constant reminder that he was alive, surrounded by the living. A sign of a body’s electrical current, each unique tone contributing to the world’s most expansive harmony. 

Of all the pulses he’d experienced, yours was one of his favorites. It encapsulated you perfectly–consistent and restrained, soothing and cautious. A beacon of safety in a tumultuous sea. Matt never tired of it, quite the opposite in fact. On days like these, when he was deprived of your presence, he teetered on the edge of suffocation–his teeth clenched so hard that he struggled to breathe. Your heart beat, the reminder that you were alive, that someone cared for him had become invaluable. Living without it wasn’t living at all. 

…Maybe his reasons for showing up on your doorstep early were more selfish than he’d originally thought. A bit late to turn back now, wasn’t it? 

His hand clasped around the cold steel rod attached to the entrance of your building, tugging it open before he slipped inside. Taking the stairs two at a time, he leapt up the flights, landing in front of your door before he could chicken out. Momentarily catching his breath, his trembling fist made contact with the door, pounding out a knock. 

You nearly broke your ankle answering it, the instability of your stiletto heels aggravated by your rush to let Matt in. Toppling into the door frame, you caught yourself with a shoulder, no doubt giving yourself a nasty bruise in the process. 

“Damn, bug, didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet,” Matt joked, holding out an arm for you to steady yourself as you hobbled backwards into the apartment.

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole.” You groaned, gingerly pressing on the spot of impact. “I wasn’t expecting you, I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”

Shrugging, Matt gave a flimsy excuse. “I figured we could walk together.” 

“Sure,” Whatever jewelry you were wearing jangled as you nodded. Carefully lowering yourself onto the couch, your fingers rasped over the smooth fabric of your gown. “What about your date? Are we picking her up?” 

“Oh, um,” This was the part he was dreading. Scouring the depths of his being for every ounce of courage he could find, he confessed. “I-I didn’t ask anyone. To come with. To the dinner.”

Your eyes narrowed, confusion building as you looked between his face and the bouquet in his hands. “You brought flowers.”

A chuckle burst out of him. The simple observation had caught him off guard, obliterating his apprehension. “I did. They’re for you.”

Your lips parted, unleashing a barely audibly gasp. Matt’s hair stood on end, his entire body flooding with warmth over the tiny puff of air. For some reason, the fact that you weren’t expecting anything made him more determined to show you exactly what you deserved. If your boyfriend couldn’t step up, then he would. Tracing a finger over your forearm, Matt nudged your hand open, settling the bunch of stems into your palm. 

“For me?” The plastic sheet holding the roses together rustled as you brushed it with a thumb, focus locked on the bouquet. Your voice was adorably soft and completely awestruck. “Why?”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day, bug.” Matt explained gently. “And since I’m filling in for Everett today…I just figured you’d like them, I guess.” 

“I love them, trouble.” Your throat was tight with emotion, the scent of salt wafting towards him as you wrapped an arm over his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Matt whispered your name reverently, leaning into your embrace. “I’m sorry if that’s weird–”

“It’s not weird.” You objected, your lips parting with a tiny smile. “It’s so sweet. I’m sorry you couldn’t work your magic on some unsuspecting girl this week though. Are you sure you want to go to this thing?”

“Oh yah, I’d rather hang out with you anyways.” Matt snorted, flushing when he realized what he’d said. “You and Fog, I mean.” Intently scanning your body for signs of tension, he let the built up tension roll off his shoulders as you brushed right over his freudian slip.

“I get that, Matty. Dating’s for the birds.” You grimaced, turning the flowers over in your hands. “Did you carry these all the way here? You aren’t wearing gloves!”

“I mean, yes, but it wasn’t–” His voice faltered when your warm hand took one of his, tugging him to your couch while you bustled off to set the flowers in a vase. Before he could regain the ability to speak, you plopped down next to him, tenderly taking hold of both his hands. Warm flesh wrapped around his fingers, squeezing lightly in a line down to the tips, an attempt to bring more blood flow to the affected area.

Tutting in disapproval, you maneuvered his hands until they rested on a blanket, his palms touching both his own thigh and yours as you continued caring for his numb extremities. “You're freezing, Matt. It's too cold to be out there without layers.”

“I was wearing layers.” He muttered, far too endeared by your concern to sound convincingly petulant.

“Clearly too few.” You replied, dragging the back of one hand over his cheek. He hadn't realized how cold he truly felt until your skin collided with his, every cell sapping your heat with the ferocity of a dehydrated creature at a puddle. His body lapped up the touch, tilting into your hold as you gently brushed over his nose, beneath his eyes.

Your nails were coated in lacquer, the smell lingering on the tips of your fingers. The sharp alcoholic tang prickled in his nostrils. You had clearly put an extensive amount of effort into your appearance. He could smell the powdery scent of various makeup products, practically tasting the cloud of hairspray you were still carrying around. As his own hands drifted over the edge of the blanket, they fell near your waist, grazing the cool fabric of your outfit.

It was magnetic, the lack of resistance his calluses were met with. They slipped over your curves with ease, gliding down the smooth garment.

“This is..is this silk?” Still stroking your dress, he bit his cheek, marveling at how it clung to your equally soft skin, as if you and the dress were one and the same.

“Uh, yah I think so.” A nervous laugh tumbled out of you, a small wave of heat caressing Matt's hand as you began mirroring his touches over your abdomen. “Marci's friend let me borrow it. I'm pretty sure it's worth more than my entire closet.”

“I bet.” Matt whispered, flushing as he withdrew from you. Sheepishness dug into his throat, reminding him of the platonic line he'd drawn in the metaphorical sand.

“I wouldn't have agreed to wear it, but Marci was sort of adamant that we match. And I thought that was kind of sweet, like she wanted us to be more of a group?” You clasped your hands, curling in on yourself as you rambled, your heart rate climbing. “And, I don't know, she has a lot of 'girlfriends' but they're all the sorority type, and it seemed like she might want to be our friend too, so..I said yes.”

“That's sweet of you, bug.” Matt smiled, a slimy glob of jealousy rising in his stomach. “Indulging her, trying to be friendly.”

You clearly picked up on the hint of bitterness in his tone, scoffing affectionately. “It's one night, Matt.”

“No, I know. I think it's nice, really!” He lied through his teeth, trying desperately to pitch his voice so it sounded genuine. “And I'm sure Fog really appreciates you making her feel welcome.”

“Welcome into what?” Your tone made it obvious you were raising an eyebrow, amused by his sudden burst of envy.

“I don't know, our group, I guess?” He shrugged, chin nearly hitting his chest as he ducked his head, your scrutiny needling at his skin.

“Woah, I'm not sure I'm ready to go that far, trouble.” Unraveling from your hunched position, you scooted until you were pressed against him, leaning into his shoulder. “I kinda like our little troop how it is.”

Nuzzling a kiss into your hair, Matt grinned. “Me too.”

The two of you remained tangled together for a while, basking in the sound of each other's breathing. When your pulse abruptly spiked, Matt smiled despite himself, rubbing a circle over your back. “You ok?”

Pulling away from his neck, you huffed incredulously. “How on earth do you do that?”

“Do what?” He asked innocently, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“It's like you can read my damn thoughts, trouble.” Face pooling with heat, you brought a hand to cover your mouth. “Oh my god, you can't read my thoughts, right?”

Well, that was an intriguing worry. Were your thoughts so sinful? “No, of course not, bug. You just got quiet.”

“So did you!” You giggled, shaking your head. A stray hair trailed over his cheek.

“Fair enough. But your answer to my initial question was almost an informal admission.” He quipped.

“God, you're such a law student.” You snorted, exaggerating the annoyance in your words.

“Stop deflecting.” He scolded, still smiling at you. Jabbing you in the side with a knuckle, he sent a stern glance somewhere in your direction. “Spill.”

Sighing heavily, you wriggled until your face was buried against his neck. “I'm just worried this will be weird.”

“What, the dinner?” Matt clarified.

Your forehead tugged at his skin as you nodded. “What if it's, like, awkward?” When the question was met with expectant silence, you reluctantly explained. “I guess I’m just not in a super romantic mood, and we barely know Marci, so..”

He hadn’t considered that. In his mind, you’d view this as any other meal with him and his roommate. After all, you weren’t harboring hidden feelings for your best friend. Why would it be nerve wracking for you? At your admission, however, a fond smile twitch at his lips, urging him to draw you close. “We could make a game out of it?”

“How?” You asked shyly, fidgeting with the seam of the throw. 

“Every time one of us feels out of place or Foggy gives us second hand embarrassment, we take a drink?” He chuckled, only semi-joking.

“We aren't of age, Matt.” You laughed, clearly seeing through his attempts to get your mind away from its impending spiral.

“Crap.” He hung his head dramatically, grinning at the giggles that burst out of you.

In the end, you decided on an over-under bet of how many cliche “romcom moments” you'd endure as the respective third and fourth wheel on this date. 

Matt, always the risk taker, guessed thirty-five. You stuck with a more conservative fifteen. The two of you had come up with an elaborate list of possible rewards for the winner by the time you reached the restaurant, finally agreeing to gamble on the price of dinner. Constructing and debating the intricacies of your wager, and what constituted a “romcom moment”, had seemingly swept your anxiety back under the rug. As the two of you inched forward in line towards the hostess, your pulse flapped gently, much slower than the rapid staccato he’d been trying to calm. Your breaths fanned gently over his jaw as you beamed up at him, delightedly listening to his retelling of a roommate escapade you’d missed. 

“I knew Foggy snored, but sleepwalking? That’s new.” You stifled a giggle, accepting the outstretched arm he offered as an invitation to slide into the corner of the booth you’d been assigned. He scooted over the fabric until your thighs pressed together, preening at the relieved sigh you released when tilting into him. 

It felt so natural, this casual affection you both seemed to crave. As if you were made with him in mind. 

“Thank god for semantics,” You muttered under your breath, interrupting his wandering thoughts with the amusement dancing over your tongue. “If there was alcohol in our cups we’d be blackout by the time entrees were ordered.”

“Tell me it’s not that bad already,” Matt chuckled, tuning in to Foggy’s heartbeat, desperate to know if he was already ahead.

“There's a giant pink teddy bear, Matt. I'm talking toddler sized. She's struggling to hold it.” You leaned into his shoulder, swallowing a chuckle as you waved your friends down.

“Oh, Fog.” Matt shook his head, smirking as you wound a hand over his forearm, twisting your fingers into his.

“Thank god you're here, trouble. I'd never make it through tonight without you.” You blew out a breath, your posture straightening as you plastered on a polite smile to greet the happy couple.

Feeling heat flood his cheeks, Matt's brain stuttered as he processed the comment. You couldn't have meant that, right? Not in the way it sounded to him, at least.

“Earth to Matt! Come in Matt!” Matt flinched as a hand waved at his face, fanning air over his lips. “Did we lose ya, buddy?”

“No, just, taking it all in. I hear there's a large carnivorous mammal joining us?” He raised a brow, shooting a smirk towards the cloud of Marci's overwhelming perfume.

The girl scoffed in response, throwing a furry object at him—the limb of the teddy bear, by his estimations. “Don't be so jealous, Murdock. It's not cute.”

“I can go buy you a matching bear,” You offered, concealing your sarcasm with a lilting smile as the fingers of your free hand stroked the fur of the plush creature. “If you're that upset, Matty.”

Grinning as you snuggled into his side, he nodded enthusiastically. “I'm honestly a bit offended that you didn't think of it earlier, sweetheart. What's next? Will I be buying my own heart-shaped box of chocolates too?”

“Christ, Matty. You can’t expect so much from me! I’m not a mind reader.” You jested, your voice barely audible over the creaky table shifting around the two newcomers’ weight. 

“And here I was thinking you truly wanted to put in effort for little old me.” Matt sniffed, turning his nose up with a pout. “My mistake.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, handsome. I’ll make it up to you.” You purred, leaning impossibly closer before Foggy made a retching sound.

“You two are especially gross tonight.” Matt’s roommate shuddered, picking up a menu. 

“Says the man who spent the majority of last week sucking face.” Matt snorted, lifting his own glass up to his smile as you choked on a mouthful of water beside him. “Jeez, you ok, bug?”

“Yup!” You sputtered, waving off his concern. “You caught me off guard with that one. Fog, any rebuttal?” 

Across the table, Foggy and Marci’s blazed with heat, only widening Matt’s smirk. “Guess not.” He quipped, turning to face you as you both erupted into laughter. 

“SO, lamb chops sound good,” Foggy tried to redirect the conversation, ignoring the pair of you resolutely. 

The night progressed in a similar fashion. Each time the actual couple did something romantic, a spark of mirth would shoot through you and Matt, encouraging your teasing. Your combined goofiness eventually wore off on Foggy and his date, forcing them to go to even greater lengths to entertain you.

When Foggy put Marci’s order in as well as his own, Matt followed suit, sending you a sly smile when referring to you as “the lady”. Somewhere during the meal, Foggy smeared mint puree over his lip, letting Marci swipe it off with a finger. You narrated the moment to Matt, stifling a chuckle when he cooed at them fondly. The two of you even copied them when they decided to share dessert, giggling when you nearly dropped spoonfuls of ice cream in each other’s laps. 

When dessert plates had been scraped clean, the four of you groaned in tandem, remarking about the quality of the food for a bit before Marci and Foggy darted off–giving some half-assed excuse about other plans after paying their half of the bill. 

You watched them with a knowing smile, head pillowing on Matt’s shoulder as they made their exit. “Ugh, the love birds.”

“Tell me about it,” Matt scoffed. “I feel like we just gave our blessing for their marriage.”

“We gave our blessing for somethin’.” You giggled, squishing his hand in your own before digging out your wallet with a melodramatic sigh. “Alright, trouble. Time to settle up.” 

Before you could lengthen the accordion-style pouch, Matt’s hand settled over yours. 

“No need. I got it.” Swallowing around the embarrassment in his throat, he slipped his own wallet from his jacket, removing a card. 

He could practically hear your confused frown as you watched him. “But..you won? I’m supposed to pay for dinner.” 

“I never said I wanted you to pay.” He shrugged, smiling at the waiter as he passed his card over. 

Your eye roll was obvious.

“You clever bastard.” You whispered, crossing your arms as he broke into a grin. 

“Why else would you agree to let me pay?” Matt asked, laughing brightly as you shoved him. 

“You are too sneaky for your own good, Murdock.” Slipping your arms beneath his, you squeezed him tightly. “Thank you. For dinner..for everything.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, Matt’s heart glowed with warmth. “Anything for you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

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[i520u]

⸝⸝ ꒰ 𝟏𝟏 : 𝟏𝟏 ꒱

highschool!gyuvin x fem!reader 、masterlist

book one 【 star-crossed 】

SYNOPSIS -͟͟͞☆ gyuvin tells himself that he’ll be okay, and losing friends is a part of growing up. he firmly believes that having to move schools in a different city was the universe telling him to try again. he then meets you, and he hates you. he knows he should be thankful that you saved his life, but every time he sees you, he gets annoyed.

GENRE -͟͟͞☆ social media au, fluff, enemies to lovers, comedy (attempted 😿), angst, sfw, maybe slow burn, pining

FEATURING -͟͟͞☆ zb1’s gyuvin hanbin ricky gunwook yujin matthew, riize’s jung sungchan, aespa’s ningning winter karina, boys’ planet’s jeonghyeon kamden

WARNINGS -͟͟͞☆ profanities, kys jokes, kms jokes, substances abuse, drug abuse, underage drinking/smoking, mental illness jokes, etc. warnings will be stated in each chapters!

PROFILES -͟͟͞☆

y/n’s friends

gyuvin’s friends

taglist request is closed .𖥔 ݁ ˖

━━❝ TABLE OF CONTENT ❞

000. 18:57

001. 03:02

002. 07:31

003. 08:12

004. 09:42

005. 19:56

006. 16:33

007. 03:41

008. 23:44

009. 21:37

010. 20:10

011. 11:13

012. 00:38

013. 14:09

014. 15:57

015. 18:21

016. 21:45

017. 17:02

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [11]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: angst.

wc: 3502

Chapter 11: Haven’t I Given Enough?

When do you realize that something you did—some line you crossed—might’ve gone too deep?

For me, it was when Matt Sturniolo started treating me like we were already a year into something real.

Every morning, without fail, there was a matcha in my hand before I could even yawn properly. My favorite toast, always with strawberry jam, waited for me like clockwork. My camera? Always charged, even on the days I forgot to plug it in myself. 

It wasn’t the grand gestures. It was the quiet ones—the ones that made it harder to pretend we were nothing. The ones that made it harder to believe we weren’t everything. 

One week in LA had flown by, and the second was far more relaxed.

Matt had wrapped up most of his photoshoots and meetings, leaving his schedule wide open. I’d spent my free time exploring the city—little bookstores tucked away in quiet corners, beachside cafés, and the art museum I’d always wanted to visit.

When I wasn’t out, I let myself enjoy the apartment. I spent hours soaking in the oversized bathtub in my ensuite, or unwinding in the private hot tub, bubbles rising around me as the city lights glowed beyond the balcony window.

It felt...peaceful. 

Right now, Matt and I were at a quiet dinner spot just off the shore, the soft crash of waves in the distance mixing with the low hum of music. The view was breathtaking—the ocean stretched out endlessly. 

“I love being in LA,” I said, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into my mouth. “It makes me feel really at peace.”

Matt smiled, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful nod. “You seem to have a heavy dislike for Boston.”

I laughed under my breath. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, eyes still on me, “you left for London for three years, and now you’re saying you love LA, London, and LA couldn’t be more different.”

I tilted my head, considering that. “I guess… I just like places that don’t remind me of home.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not that I hate home,” I clarified quickly, my fingers playing with the edge of my napkin. “It’s just… sometimes Boston feels suffocating.”

“I get that,” Matt said with a small, understanding smile. “I do prefer Boston, though. That’s where everyone is.”

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh, eyes dropping to my plate. “Well, I don’t really have anyone in Boston.”

Matt’s smile faded, his brows pulling slightly together as he frowned. “You have Noah—well, when he’s around. And you have me now, too.”

My heart did that thing again—skipped a beat, fluttered like it couldn’t make up its mind. I looked up at him, caught in the sincerity in his voice, the softness in his gaze. He meant it.

“You have me now, too.”

It echoed a little louder in my chest than I wanted it to.

Matt looked at me for a moment—really looked at me—like he was gathering his thoughts carefully. The calm confidence he usually carried was still there, but there was a flicker of something softer behind his eyes. A hesitation. Maybe even nerves.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table between us. “So… I’ve been thinking about something.”

I blinked, suddenly aware of how warm my face felt. “Yeah?” 

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “I like being with you, Daphne. I like everything we’ve been doing lately. It feels…good. Easy.”

I nodded slowly, heart racing, unsure where this was going but too afraid to breathe too loudly in case I ruined the moment.

“So,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck for the first time in what felt like forever, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to make this official?”

I blinked, stunned. “Official?”

He gave a small, crooked smile—confident, but there was something endearingly shy about it. “Yeah. Like, you know… be my girlfriend?”

I blinked again, my lips parting slightly. My cheeks were on fire. “Oh.”

Matt’s smile faltered for a second. “Unless you don’t want that. Then, uh—”

I shook my head quickly, heart pounding. “No! I do—well, I want to. I just…” I trailed off, chewing the inside of my cheek before finally admitting it. “It’s Noah.”

Matt’s brows furrowed slightly, but he waited.

“I don’t know how he’d react.”

Matt leaned back slightly, studying me. Then, calmly but firmly, he asked, “Do you want to be with me?”

My eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I do.”

“Then nothing else should matter,” he said simply. “Especially not your brother.”

Thoughts were running through my head. I want to say yes…I do. This was my dream guy. Matt was my dream man, and he wanted me. 

I sighed, glancing down. “Can we just… keep it on the downlow for a bit? Just until I figure out how to talk to him?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then I heard the faintest chuckle, warm and low. “So you’re agreeing,” he said, his grin spreading. “You’d agree for me to be your boyfriend?”

A warm blush crept into my cheeks, and I gave a small, bashful nod.

“I want to hear you say it,” he said, voice low and teasing.

“Say what?” I asked, already feeling my smile tug at my lips.

He leaned in just a little, his gaze soft but unwavering. “I want Matt Sturniolo to be my boyfriend.”

I let out a quiet laugh, heart racing. Then, looking at him through my lashes, I whispered, “I want Matt to be my boyfriend.”

His smile was immediate, soft, proud, and full of something that made my stomach twist in the best way. He reached over, lacing our fingers together across the table.

“I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

“How many girlfriends have you had?” I asked softly. We were back at the apartment now, tucked under a blanket on the couch. The TV was on, but neither of us was really watching.

Matt let out a low huff. “Do we really want to get into that?” he asked, glancing at me.

I grinned. “I’m just curious.”

He rolled his eyes, then answered flatly, “Four.”

My brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“One in high school,” he said. “Three during college... and one after.”

I nodded slowly, filing that away, even though part of me already felt a flutter of nerves just knowing the number. 

“Four’s not bad,” I said, trying to sound casual, though the thought of him with someone else still made my stomach twist a little.

Matt turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, well… not all of them were serious. Some lasted a few months, some barely even that.”

A sudden thought slipped out before I could stop it. 

“I don’t remember you having a girlfriend back in high school.”

Matt chuckled softly. “That’s because, sweetheart, you were way younger then, and barely ever out of your room. I probably saw you, what, four times as a teenager?”

He smirked and added, “Besides, how would you even remember?”

I laughed, nodding. The truth was, younger me had always known exactly what the older, cute Matt was up to. I had even once asked Noah about him, pretending not to be curious. 

“Why’d you and your exes break up?” I asked quietly, trying not to sound too nosy.

Matt raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a curious little thing, huh?”

I instantly regretted asking. “Sorry, forget it—”

“No,” he cut in gently, still smiling. “It’s fine.”

He leaned back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling for a beat before answering. “Three of them just didn’t work out. No big drama— different paths, that kind of thing, and one of them cheated.”

My chest tightened a little. “Oh.”

Matt let out a short laugh at my quiet “oh,” clearly amused. “Yes—oh.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who would cheat on you?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “Her, apparently.”

“Well, that was stupid of her,” I said, crossing my arms.

Matt tilted his head, studying me with a smile that had just a hint of something more serious behind it. “I don’t know. That whole mess did end up with me meeting people. Especially you.”

I glanced over at him. “Me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Weirdly, I’m kinda glad it happened. It led me here.”

His words made my chest flutter, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away. “Well… then I guess I’ll thank her for screwing up.”

I hesitated, cheeks warming as I looked away for a moment, then back at him with a nervous smile. “I never thought this would happen.”

Matt tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath. “Like… I never thought you’d like me.”

He smirked, brushing a gentle kiss against the back of my hand. “You’ve thought about me liking you?” 

My heart raced, debating if I should get this small secret off my chest. 

 “Well… I guess I liked you when I was, like, thirteen.”

Matt blinked, his eyes wide with surprise. “You liked me when you were thirteen?”

Immediately, I wished I could take it back. My cheeks burned hotter as I fumbled over my words. Reflexively, I covered my face with my hands, but Matt gently pulled them away, revealing my flushed face.

“You’ve already confessed, sweetheart. No taking it back now.”

I rested my head against his chest, unable to meet his gaze.

Matt chuckled softly, leaning in with a teasing smile. “So, you had a crush on me, huh?”

I nodded slowly, still tucked against his chest. “Yeah,” I said softly, almost under my breath.

Matt let out a low laugh, still clearly amused. “I would’ve never guessed that,” he said, shaking his head.

“Really?” I tilted my face up slightly, still too shy to fully meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, voice warm. “You were so quiet back then. Always reserved. Barely ever left your room.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah… I didn’t. But I watched from afar.”

His brow lifted curiously, a smirk tugging at his lips. “From afar, huh?”

“Just a silly teenage crush,” I muttered with a shy smile.

Matt’s hand moved gently up and down my back, slow and soothing. “So what happened to that teenage crush?” he asked playfully. “You been into me this whole time—even when you were off in London?”

I pulled back just enough to look up at him, rolling my eyes. “No,” I said with a grin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Matt raised his hands defensively, laughing. “Okay, okay. I’m just asking.”

I smiled, leaning back against him. “It faded eventually—probably around the time you left for college. I think I was over it by the time I turned fifteen.”

“Right,” he said softly, and I felt him nod behind me—his voice carrying a mix of curiosity, a hint of hope, maybe even the faintest thread of disappointment.

There was a beat of silence between us.

“What?” I asked, my voice small, suddenly shy again.

He smiled, eyes fixed on me with a softness that made my cheeks warm.

“Nothing,” he said, a light laugh in his tone. “I just still can’t believe you liked me all that time ago.”

I didn’t say anything—just let out a quiet, breathy giggle, eyes dropping to my lap.

There was a short pause before he added, “So… what about now? Do you like me the same?”

I turned my head just enough to smile at him, my voice light but sincere. “It’s really fulfilling the delusional teenage girl in me.”

Matt laughed, his chest vibrating softly beneath me. “I apologize for not fulfilling your delusions earlier,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips. “No offense, but back then… You were just Noah’s quiet little sister. I didn’t really see you as anything else.”

He paused for dramatic effect before adding with a smirk, “And even if I did—sweetheart, I wasn’t trying to commit a felony.”

I gasped, lightly smacking his chest as I sat up slightly. “Matt!”

He only laughed harder, pulling me right back down against him. “What? I’m just saying. You were like, what? Thirteen? I’m not a nasty creep.”

I shook my head, cheeks warm. “I know, I know. It was just a silly crush.”

He looked at me now, eyes softer. “It might’ve been silly then, but I don’t think it’s silly now.”

I blinked, heart stuttering. “No?”

Matt shook his head. 

“No. Not even a little.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his voice low and sure. “You’re not just Noah’s little sister anymore. You’re your own person now, a successful woman.”

I looked down, biting back a shy smile. “You know, this is very full-circle for me.”

He grinned. “Delusional dream fulfilled?”

I smiled softly, cheeks warm, and repeated, “Delusional dream fulfilled.”

Matt laughed under his breath, his fingers still gently brushing my jaw. “Glad I could make teenage you proud.”

I looked up at him, heart fluttering. “She’d be losing her mind right now.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine. “What about the you right now?”

I hesitated, eyes searching his. “She’s still kind of losing her mind.”

Matt smirked, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. “Good.”

I let out a small laugh, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “Noah would lose his mind right now, too.”

Matt groaned, dropping his head back against the couch cushion. “Can we not talk about him?” He glanced back down at me. “Especially not when you’re literally all over me.”

I smiled, a bit guilty. “Sorry. It’s just… hard not to think about.” 

Moments later, we got up, making it into the guest bedroom. Both of us lay down. Matt had slept with me last night, it was normal, he stayed a good distance from me on the bed. I was comfortable. Matt makes me feel guarded. 

Tonight felt different, though. 

I felt Matt cup my cheek and make me face him. He leaned down and connected his lips with mine. Warm, familiar. 

Matt’s hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer, his lips pressing harder against mine. My heart raced, heat pooling low in my stomach. It was like every nerve was alive, every touch electric. 

It felt really good. Like really good. 

But the scene felt too familiar, so dark when it was with someone so soft. 

But something about it felt too familiar. The room was dim, the sheets tangled around us, his arms tight around me. I wasn’t trapped, not really—but my mind couldn’t separate safety from fear.

His hands moved lower, and I didn’t pull away. Then they tugged my waistband, and I didn’t pull away. However, then I felt his fingers lace on my underwear, and a sudden surge of panic hit me. My body stiffened, and I pulled away sharply, breaking the kiss. Like I’ve always done, recently. 

“Daphne?” His voice was soft but confused, searching.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the sudden tightness in my chest. “I… I just need a minute.”

He frowned but didn’t let go. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He blinked, hurt flashing in his eyes. “You’re pulling away.”

I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him what I’d been carrying inside me for years, but the words got caught, tangled with fear and shame. 

So instead, I snapped, “Can you just stop? You don’t get it.”

I regretted it immediately. His face hardened, shocked. “If I don’t get it, maybe you should tell me.”

I swallowed my panic, but the lump in my throat only grew. Haven’t I given enough?

“No,” I whispered. “I can’t.” 

His brow creased with frustration. “Why are you shutting me out?”

“I’m not,” I shot back, voice tighter than I wanted.

He let out a sharp laugh, half-scoffing. 

“No, you are. Every time things start getting serious, you pull away, Daphne. You shut down. You’ve been doing this the whole week”, he sighed, his voice calming down. “If you don’t want to have sex or anything, just say it. I’m not in this just for that. But when you pull away like this, it makes me feel like I’m pushing you to do so many things.”

I was trying to stay calm, but I couldn’t. 

I swallowed hard, anger and panic bubbling under my skin. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I snapped, moving away slightly. “You think it’s easy to just ‘say yes’ or ‘say no’?”

He came closer again, voice low but intense. “Then tell me what’s really going on. Don’t just push me away.”

I shook my head, my voice trembling, “You don’t get to decide when I’m ready, Matt. And right now, I’m not.”

He shook his head gently, his tone softening, “and that’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be ready.”

“I’m just… trying to make sense of all this,” he added, going to gently touch my shoulder. 

“Well, you won’t—” I cut him off, not letting his hand touch me, with a bitter scoff.

Matt’s eyes narrowed, the warmth fading from his expression. I could tell his mood shifted, as he was the one moving away, not. 

“Alright, what’s really going on, Daphne? This ain’t normal for you. Why are you acting this way?” 

The truth was, I didn’t even know; I knew damn well this wasn’t like me either. 

Why was I snapping at Matt? Matt was kind, soft, and calm. Matt, who’d never hurt me. 

“Just leave me alone, Matt.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed, tension tightening his jaw. After a moment, he stood and faced me.

“Alright,” he said quietly, but there was a firmness beneath his calm. “Listen, I don’t think this dating thing is going to work right now. You’re not ready, and that’s okay. I told you, I don’t care about the intimacy—but it’s clear something’s weighing on you.”

Without a word, he turned and left, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence he left behind.

I broke down—my sobs caught in my throat, more a strangled gasp than a cry.

Of course. I’d finally gotten a boyfriend, only to lose him on the very same day.

I curled up on the bed, tears slipping quietly but unceasingly down my cheeks. My chest felt unbearably heavy, weighed down by everything I wasn’t ready to say aloud. I’d lost Matt before I even truly had him.

In that quiet, suffocating moment, I realized just how alone I felt. How alone I’ve been feeling. 

I stared up at the ceiling through watery eyes, my chest still rising and falling unevenly. The ache wasn’t just in my heart—it was everywhere. In my ribs, in my throat, in the pit of my stomach.

I thought of Matt. His face when I pulled away. The confusion. The hurt. The way he tried—genuinely tried—to understand something I hadn’t given him the words for.

My fingers clenched the bedsheet as guilt twisted in me.

Maybe I should tell him. Maybe he deserved to know. 

He had been patient. Gentle. Never once pushed me too far, and I’d pushed him away without a single explanation. I’d left him in the dark, expecting him to understand a wound he couldn’t even see.

But how do you explain something like that? How do you say I pull away because someone taught my body to be afraid, not because of you?

I bit my lip, blinking hard against the tears again. Maybe he would look at me differently. Maybe he’d think I was broken. Maybe he’d tell get over it. 

Or maybe… he’d just hold me. The way he always does. The way I’ve never let anyone else.

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my sleeve and stood up, my knees unsteady beneath me. My chest still ached, but the weight of silence was worse.

I padded down the hallway and stopped at his door. My hand hovered before I finally knocked once, then again.

Nothing.

I swallowed, panic starting to crawl up my throat.

“Matt?” I called out softly. I knocked again, firmer this time. Still nothing.

My heart dropped.

What if he left? What if he meant it—that this wasn’t going to work? What if he left me alone here for the night? A shaky breath escaped me as I turned and started toward the living room, tears welling up again.

But then—through the dim glow of the apartment lights—I saw him.

He was on the balcony, hoodie on, elbows on the railing. His head was tilted back slightly, just standing there looking out into the night. Relief hit me like a wave.

I immediately regretted getting up. I can’t tell him. Not now. Not today. I don’t know if I’ll ever. 

Maybe I wasn’t built for love. 

Maybe all I can do is carry the weight and keep going. 

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: short chapter today. Like and reblog! and comment! i love reading your thoughts! mwah] –ceyana

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[nosebleedsturn]

Welcome to NOSEBLEEDS I’m summer or autumn or winter depending on whatever season we’re in, but you can call me whatever. Originally written on Wattpad (user: Luvr_0f_Min3) so I’m not copying anyone that’s MY account!

THE WATTPAD VERSION

Vega’s Moodboard:

Matthew’s Mood Board:

Christopher’s Mood Board:

Camille’s Mood Board:

Malerie’s Mood Board:

Nicolas’ Mood Board:

Sam’s Mood Board:

Justina’s Mood Board:

Daniel’s Mood Board:

Madi’s Mood Board:

Nate’s Mood Board:

Nessa’s Mood Board:

Madison’s Mood Board:

Lucille’s Moodboard:

Devon’s Moodboard:

Tracklist:

Prolouge: nosebleeds (march 1, 7:00)

Chapter One: rbf (march 3, 7:00)

Chapter Two: men (march 7, 7:00)

Chapter Three: frozen heart (march 10, 7:00)

Chapter Four: talk, talk, to me (march 14, 7:00)

Chapter Five: sympathy is a knife (march 17, 7:00)

Chapter Six: girl, so confusing (march 21, 7:00)

Chapter Seven: von dutch (march 24, 7:00)

Chapter Eight: don’t wanna fall in love (march 28, 7:00)

Chapter Nine: after midnight (march 31, 7:00)

Chapter Ten: peach pout (april 4, 7:00)

Chapter Eleven: when the phone rings (april 7, 7:00)

Chapter Twelve: the one where cami’s upset (april 11, 7:00)

Chapter Thirteen: truth be told (april 14, 7:00)

Chapter Fourteen: cherry baby (april 14, 7:15)

Chapter Fifteen: not dressed like that (april 18, 7:00)

Chapter Sixteen: call it a love story (april 21, 7:00)

Chapter Seventeen: too hot to cry (april 25, 7:00)

Chapter Eighteen: what happened in vega’s room (april 28, 7:00)

Chapter Nineteen: stir-knee-oh-low (april 28, 7:15)

Chapter Twenty: given enough (april 30, 7:00)

Twenty-One: ice queen (may 2, 7:00)

Twenty-Two: sweet november (may 5, 7:00)

Twenty-Three: locket (may 7, 7:00)

Twenty-Four: finals week (may 9, 7:00)

Twenty-Five: cindy lou who (may 12, 7:00)

Twenty-Six: frappe (may 12, 7:15)

Twenty-Seven: snowflakes and dewdrops (may 14, 7:00)

Twenty-Eight: v. (may 16, 7:00)

Twenty-Nine: faith, trust, and pixie dust (may 16, 7:15)

Thirty: degage (may 19, 7:00)

Thirty-One: disco (may 21, 7:00)

Thirty-Two: mustang baby (may 23, 7:00)

Thirty-Three: heartbeat (may 26, 7:00)

Thirty-Four: one step forward, three steps back (may 28, 7:00)

Thirty-Five: get him back! (may 30, 7:00)

Thirty-Six: she loves me, she loves me not (june 2, 7;00)

Thirty-Seven: babydoll (june 4, 7:00)

Thirty-Eight: pins and needles (june 6, 7:00)

Thirty-Nine: the silence between albums (june 9, 7:00)

Forty: home to another one (june 11, 7:00)

Forty-One: friends who get pierced together stick together (june 11, 7:15)

Forty-Two: lucille (june 13, 7:00)

Forty-Three: dirty little secret (june 16, 5:00)

Forty-Four: safe word (june 18, 5:00)

Forty-Five: the one where cami comes home (june 20, 5:00)

Forty-Six: a little party never killed nobody (june 23, 5:00)

Forty-Seven: right here right now’s all we got (june 25, 5:00)

Forty-Eight: blue valentine (june 27, 5:00)

Forty-Nine: no, i’m not in love (june 30, 5:00)

Fifty: miss possessive (july 2, 5:00)

Tracklist 2

Fifty-One: strawberry moon (july 4, 5:15)

Fifty-Two: love looks pretty on you (july 4, 5:30)

Fifty-Three: aftercare (july 7, 5:00)

Fifty-Four: lovers point (july 9, 5:00)

Fifty-Five: breaking news (july 11, 5:00)

Fifty-Six: filling chris’ bedroom with 1,000 balloons! (july 14, 5:00)

Fifty-Seven: handy matty (july 14, 5:15)

Fifty-Eight: like me (july 18, 5:00)

Fifty-Nine: 2nd date, kinda nervous (july 25, 5:00)

Sixty: catch a vibe (august 1, 5:00)

Sixty-One: pornstar (august 1, 5:15)

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Father, Forgive Them

Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. — Luke 23:34a | Cambridge Paragraph Bible (CAMB) The Cambridge Paragraph Bible of the Authorized English Version, by Scrivener, Frederick Henry Ambrose, 1813-1891. Published by Cambridge University Press. Cross References: Psalm 22:18; Matthew 5:44; Matthew 11:25-26; Luke 22:42; John 17:9; John 19:23

Read full chapter

Father, Forgive Them

[natgoodmans]

books read in 2025 🤍

books read so far: 89 reading goal: 100

as always, askbox + dms are open if have any questions or would like to chat about books! you can find me on goodreads here, and on bookstagram here. 🤍

♡ indicates any new favorites; ⊹ indicates a reread.

january ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. writers & lovers by lily king 2. the art of memory collecting: 15 scrapbook, collage, trinket and zine projects for crafting treasured moments by martina calvi 3. tom lake by ann patchett (audiobook) ♡ 4. our town by thornton wilder ⊹ 5. beloved by toni morrisson 6. promise me sunshine by cara bastone (arc) ♡ 7. days at the morisaki bookshop by satoshi yagisawa & translated by eric ozawa ♡ 8. small things like these by claire keegan (audiobook) 9. beartown by fredrik backman ♡

february ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. the fellowship of the ring by j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) 2. i'll pretend you're mine by tashie bhuiyan (arc) 3. sense and sensibility by jane austen ⊹ (audiobook) 4. the lonely city: adventures in the art of being alone by olivia laing (audiobook) 5. everything i learned, i learned in a chinese restaurant by curtis chin (audiobook) 6. tiny moons: a year of eating in shanghai by nina mingya powles 7. sorcery of thorns by margaret rogerson (audiobook) ♡ 8. more days at the morisaki bookshop by satoshi yagisawa ♡ 9. mysteries of thorn manor by margaret rogerson

march ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. an enchantment of ravens by margaret rogerson (audiobook) 2. white ice: race and the making of atlanta hockey by thomas aiello 3. lost and lassoed by lyla sage 4. holy terrors by margaret owen (arc) 5. swift and saddled by lyla sage 6. circe by madeline miller (audiobook) 7. a dark and drowning tide by allison saft (audiobook) 8. intermezzo by sally rooney (audiobook) ⊹ 9. my side of the river by elizabeth camarillo gutierrez (audiobook) 10. four weekends and a funeral by ellie palmer ♡ 11. the bell jar by sylvia plath (audiobook) 12. the break-up pact by emma lord 13. love lettering by kate clayborn 14. the partner plot by kristina forest 15. the rom-commers by katherine center 16. emily wilde's compendium of lost tales by heather fawcett (audiobook) 17. dolls of our lives: why we can't quit american girl by mary mahoney & allison horrocks (audiobook)

april ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. you between the lines by katie naymon 2. my not so perfect life by sophie kinsella 3. a quantum love story by mike chen (audiobook) 4. the siren of sussex by mimi matthews 5. the love wager by lynn painter (audiobook) 6. you belong with me by mhairi mcfarlane (audiobook) 7. puck and prejudice by lia riley 8. swept away by beth o'leary 9. great big beautiful life by emily henry (arc) 10. second first impressions by sally thorne (audiobook) 11. i who have never known men by jacqueline harpman ♡ 12. the belle of belgrave square by mimi matthews 13. the kiss countdown by etta easton 14. lovelight farms by b.k. borison 15. the wedding people by alison espach (audiobook) 16. the ex vows by jessica joyce 17. deep cuts by holly brickley 18. remember me? by sophie kinsella 19. here we go again by alison cochrun (audiobook) 20. the most wonderful crime of the year by ally carter (audiobook) 21. mistakes we never made by hannah brown 22. when you least expect it by haley cass (audiobook) 23. pitcher perfect by tessa bailey (arc) 24. the next chapters: an on the same page novella by haley cass (audiobook) 25. on the same page by haley cass 26. it happened one fight by maureen lee lenker 27. hello stranger by katherine center 28. ps: i hate you by lauren connolly 29. the rose bargain by sasha peyton smith (audiobook) 30. out on a limb by hannah bonam-young 31. make the season bright by ashley herring blake (audiobook) 32. flirting with disaster by naina kumar 33. first-time caller by b.k. borison 34. welcome to the hyunam-dong bookshop by hwang bo-reum, shanna tan (translator) 35. funny story by emily henry ⊹ 36. the guest cat by takashi hiraide, eric selland (translator)

may ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. evenings and weekends by oisín mckenna (audiobook) 2. the dragon's promise by elizabeth lim (audiobook) 3. the examiner by janice hallett 4. i want to die but i want to eat tteokbokki by baek se-hee, anton hur (translator) 5. the manor of dreams by christina li (arc) 6. lonely castle in the mirror by mizuki tsujimura (audiobook) ♡ 7. john proctor is the villain by kimberly belflower ♡ 8. the crucible by arthur miller, christopher w.e. bigsby (audiobook) ⊹ 9. in a not so perfect world by neely tubati alexander (audiobook) 10. the vanished birds by simon jimenez 11. time is a mother by ocean vuong 12. promise me sunshine by cara bastone ⊹ 13. straight white men / untitled feminist show by young jean lee 14. before we forget kindness by toshikazu kawaguchi, geoffrey trousselot 15. passion project by london sperry 16. the killer question by janice hallett (arc) 17. the cat who saved books by sōsuke natsukawa, louise heal kawai 18. bibliophobia: a memoir by sarah chihaya (audiobook)

[glassrowboat]

Kiss Me (Kill Me). Dottore.

Summary: And then his breath halted. Nails slotting into the same marks she had left in the leather as he gripped it tightly. One sentence was enough to have his synthetic heart beating wildly, pounding as he took in the most simple phrase possible. After all, how can one mistake the words sitting neatly right before him?

Series warnings: suicidal ideation, gore, Dottore, the author trying their best to write a psychologist without any formal studying themselves, suicide, self harm, drug abuse, unhealthy relationships, depressed reader, reader is her own character, eventual smut, religious symbolism

Chapter one:

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

Matthew 11:28-30

Pages were pinched between deft hands, crinkling them with ease as if the words printed out on them in a rushed, messy scrawl meant no more than a spider being crushed to death under a white tissue. All without so much as a hint of protest, for what could paper do against merciless hands?

It was merely a dead tree at the end of it all. Torn from its root, broken off and left to dry in the heat of a warm day, sapping it of all the life it had only to be dunked back into water. Boiled; down to its most basic properties and pulped. All to be formed into something new: the base that starts a creation. From books, art, or scrawled secrets in a diary.

But the dead do not praise the almighty that snuffed it out, nor do any who go down into silence. So the plant it had once been withers away.

A page was torn, a sound that grated on his ears. Dottore almost recoiled on instinct, having gotten so used to the distinct rip of paper that was torn asunder after hours of work had been documented only to turn out fruitless. A waste of his time and effort as a trash bin would slowly fill and tip over.

A scowl grew on his lips.

Now just what was she doing?

In the matter of a few long strides, Dottore had moved from his spot, leaning against the doorframe to her, grabbing her wrist with ease. Capturing her attention. The woman he dared to whisper the pet name habibi to in the dark of the night between rumpled sheets and had long since dubbed Beauty jolted back, looking up at him in a manner he was well used to by now.

Her gaze was as analytical as always; from the very moment they first met to now in their silent reverie. Observing him in the very same way Dottore looked down at a subject below his eager fingers or a piece of Khaenri’ah's legacy left behind in fragments scattered across Teyvat; breaking them down and building them back up so he may understand every last piece. How it works, how it moves, how it falls, and watch it all come together again with a newfound piece of knowledge to utilize.

But contrary to those moments hidden away in his laboratory, there were no gloves separating Beauty from him like there always was with those who lay strapped down on a stainless steel vivisection table. Nay, there was only the warmth of skin against skin he had so greedily chosen to relish in for he was a man who has never tasted sweetness being drawn in by the red sheen of an apple, pointed teeth biting into it for the first time as its juices befouled his maw. Not even the snap of blue rubber against his wrists could save him from the heat of her touch.

That was something Dottore had learned long ago.

“This is the first time I've seen you out of bed in days, and it's to tear apart your work?” Dottore questioned.

At least, that's what he assumed it was. She hadn't even given him the proper chance to peek at the pages he was expecting to see littered with bullet points and breakdowns of this subject or that one all in glittery ink before her free hand was brushing it all away. Nearly knocking it off the desk as she formed a measly excuse of a stack. Ruffling could be heard, but that paled to how her fingers were splayed wide to block his prying eyes.

Only a few messy words had caught his attention, drawing him in before she ripped everything right out from under him. Sheets of paper a rug his feet weren't even planted on suddenly throwing him off balance.

Tilting his head back to thunk against something all with the gentle scoff, she huffed, not even looking up at him as “peeking now” was asked in an accusatory tone.

“Could you blame a scholar for being curious?”

“Yes, I can.”

He felt her swatting at his chest, touch as light as the gentle caress of a falling feather, as she tried to get Dottore to give her some space; if not an ample amount. It's just like she's been insisting on for days now. Endlessly. Assurances of how she's fine, that they're fine, and everything is simply peachy besides the fact she's simply been feeling a little under the weather as of late have been stuffed into his ears again and again like cotton swabs. Soon, no doubt, they would pierce the tympanic membrane and leave only blood in their wake. For today, it had reached the two week mark, and Beauty was still insisting she was “fine.”

It took no effort on Dottore's part to capture the offending limb.

His thumb ran over her wrist, over her racing pulse, until he was tracing the lines on her palm. Mapping out how they curved around them and shifted with each flex of her hand. “Someone's nervous.”

“You..” Beauty's voice trailed off, fading down to a whisper only from uttering one word. But still, he stared down at her, waiting for a proper answer on what this entire debacle had been about. “And you know I don't like you going over my work when it's incomplete.”

Dottore's fingers twitched, threatening to tighten his hold on her before he let her go.

“Then I suppose I should have come home at my usual hour then. That way, you would have had the time to hide this”- he gestured to the mess on the vanity- “away.”

Of course, she jumped, nearly throwing herself off a cliff in the process, at the chance to change the subject. “Actually, I was wondering why you're back early. You're usually so wrapped up in work.”

Which would usually end with Dottore trudging through their bedroom door after a long day, only to slip his coat off as silently as possible to drape it over a lone chair off to the side. A dull blue light would always fill the corner as he came back, flickering over his face and hers as Beauty laid in bed, illuminating the way her eyelids twitched in irritation at the sudden glow; still, she always pretended to be asleep anyway.

Never stirring from the covers.

Not even as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and slipped into the bathroom to get ready for the quiet night that awaited him; one of Dottore staring up at the ceiling while she slowly fell into the depths of the dream world he had once been ecstatic at having access to when he first ripped the Akasha from his ear and called it what it truly was: a limitation. An inhibitor. A chain wrapped around the necks of human beings like they were dogs to be shackled by Celestia's will.

The very same irking feeling at the thought greeted Dottore tonight like an old friend, beckoning him as he made his way downstairs, pulling her along with him and away from her supposed work and the wooden vanity so they could have dinner together.

Though she had first insisted on cleaning up, on getting rid of the “trash” she had “dared to pen down in the first place.” Her purple bound leather notebook with loose, torn pages sticking out of the sides was suddenly shoved into a nearby waste bin and quickly taken out to be dumped by one of the maids as they worked. All before he could even make out the design stamped into the front.

It was so unlike her, but she always did have a way of confounding him.

A reticent meal had taken up his evening; one Dottore never would have imagined bothering with five years ago, not when he could have been down in the lab with the sounds of metal clanging or the gentle hum of a machine running as he tinkered with a ruin guard. Rust would be filling his nose rather than the scent of roasted duck as he was left with something that would at least make eye contact (or the closest a ruin guard can get to such) without Dottore having to draw its chin up to look at him.

Her eyes boring into his before she pushed Dottore's hand away and told him to eat lest he let another meal go cold before he finished it. Again.

So he laid in their shared bed, the taste of mint still on Dottore's tongue from brushing his teeth after dinner, and once again started counting each dot in the ceiling above as he stared up at the all too familiar sight.

When he was younger, before he knew the truth about the false sky and the lies it whispered to him, a little boy with wide eyes and his mother’s favorite blanket wrapped around his shoulders to keep off the starving cold had done the same with the stars. No matter how itchy it had been, he would have tugged it closer, welcomed its warm embrace, as he wordlessly mouthed the words:

One thousand forty-three.

One thousand forty-four.

One thousand forty-five.

Until he was dragged inside by a hand that grabbed him a little too tightly to do the very thing Beauty had now: to fall asleep.

Her breathing steady, as unshakable as those devout to prayers and a lifetime in pews as Beauty laid curled up against one of the many pillows littering the bed, taking more comfort in the foam stuffed inside it rather than Dottore and his awaiting arms. Comfortably, her nose sat buried away in the shirt she had stolen from him, again, and her legs coiled themselves up in the sheets. She always did have a way of taking them from him in the midst of slumber.

It would be so easy to pull that damnable pillow from her clutches, to throw it off to the side and hold her close until the morning came, and he'll have to leave when the sun rises. Casting its glow across her form lying alone. Only an imprint of his body in the mattress for company, but the few words he has been able to catch scratched out from the mess of papers have been worming at his brain the entire time he had laid there counting away.

Maggots to a corpse.

Feasting on curiosity he had in spades.

One thousand fifty-two, Dottore counted.

His name had been painted across the pages. Dottore, Zandik, and the nickname she called him. Matching the one he had for her. Back then, she had a smile on her face that had halted his breath, just the way it did as he stared at handwriting he could recall all the way down to every flick of an E.

Observations, no doubt, for human behavior was her bread and butter; the very air she breathed; and the ink spilling from her pen as she wrote down every sin he dared to confess.

He had received hundreds of reports from her by now, far too many to count but stored away nonetheless, about the latest test subjects detailing every last thing she could think of. To the point that he already had a vague idea of what she would have written about him, but it was more than that. It had to be. For she wouldn't have tossed that damn journal out otherwise.

Cast it aside like dross.

With one last lingering glance her way as Beauty snored against the sheets, Dottore got out of bed.

The floorboards didn't even so much as creek below him as he walked to the door and shut it with a silent click.

A book of all things was haunting him. Causing Dottore to leave his chambers in the middle of the night to make his way down chilled halls. The presence of the cryo Archon herself decorating each corridor, each twist and turn, with the cold he had worked so hard to combat a few centuries ago with heaters so hot to the touch you couldn't even graze past one without it leaving a burn on any trace of exposed flesh. (As learned from personal experience).

Zapolyarny Palace's rubbish room should be…

The flutter of his white jacket followed Dottore as he pulled it on, having only just plucked it from where it hung before the door had smacked him in the face he made his way down a flight of steps.

Briefly, Dottore could hear his segments over their shared network prying into what he was doing. Or arguing with themselves, really; that seemed to be their favorite hobby. They always had something to say. To jabber about to the point that tamping each voice down had become second nature.

Shutting them out was easy, something he had done millions of times by now. And that was just this past six months.

The last thing he heard, flickering out as the connection was temporarily cut to dull the ache in his head was Epsilon. Petulant, as between the radio static Dottore caught something about “and you say I'm the one who should mind their own business.”

Then, all Dottore was left with was the loud groan of the trash compactor. A sound that had welcomed him time and time again after all the times he had been down here. His shoes had always hit the floor louder than necessary as he had to deal with tossing supplies that unfortunately hadn't lasted through his experiments.

It creaks a nostalgic hum.

But that wasn't why he was here.

Flexing his hands, the leather of his gloves moving with them, Dottore set to digging through the plastic bags in front of him. Tossing anything that wasn't his goal out of the way, cluttering the floor with paper cups, shredded files, and whatever else had been used and forgotten. A lesser man might have been disgusted, but this was just another Tuesday.

And then his fingers met the stained purple leather.

Kalpalata lotus print embedded on the front.

A white figure huddled over trash stood in the middle of the room, a reverent touch grazing over the cover of the journal covered in scratches and fingernails prints worn into the leather just like the flower marking the front from having gripped it too tightly.

Surely, if someone came in now, they'd look at him as if he was crazed. Maybe even shout about ghosts suddenly intruding on the palace; to which he'd only laughed.

Taking the treasure in his grasp, Dottore turned it over methodically, studying just how well worn it was. Threadbare, down to the bone as the binding threatens to fall out on him, the first page already hanging out of the book as he opens it to read his habibi’s name claiming this as hers all with one simple signature staining the surface; in a way that he couldn't find himself to mind even with the occasional drops of ink.

It was enough to have Dottore pulling his gloves off, throwing them to the floor to collect later so he could trace over each word. Even with the splatters, it was still so much neater than his own notes written down in a crazed frenzy.

And then his breath halted.

Nails slotting into the same marks she had left in the leather as he gripped it tightly.

One sentence was enough to have his synthetic heart beating wildly, pounding as he took in the most simple phrase possible.

After all, how can one mistake the words:

Wouldn't it all be easier if I was dead?

In pure black ink. No colored pens, no glitter, not even doodles in the margins or a little heart just for him, a sight Dottore had grown well used to seeing in her reports to him.

The sight made him want to hurl the book into the shadows of the room around him. Let it be forgotten between heaps of trash and plastic bags. They could hide the pages, cover them in scraps of food, and soak in the drops of half finished drink until each letter was blurred beyond recognition.

She did, after all, decide it was trash.

So wouldn't it make sense he let it be treated like it was? As long as it meant never seeing those words again.

His arm was already extended, waiting to toss it into the foul abyss and say good riddance, but what would that do, really?

In the end, he still knew.

Dottore could sit here, close his eyes, and picture that damned sentence again all because he knew.

That simple fact was enough to have Dottore grimacing in annoyance. Mind telling him the obvious, just as always, even in this moment where his emotions were stirring into a storm. Clouds in his veins and behind the eyes, raining down as he flipped to the next page.

Thursday, May 13, 1675.

Graduation was today.

I sat with a few other people in my Darshan in the cheap chairs they set up (one I swear gave me a splinter) and watched as people took their scrolls with smiles on their faces. Years of work finally came to fruition.

Good for them, really. Good for me. Or, at least, that's what I tried to remind myself as I climbed up on stage and faked a smile as I was congratulated for making it this far. But even then, I was glad to cast that hat aside, the yellow Vahumana badge staring back at me as I put it away for the last time.

Another page.

Wednesday, May 19, 1675.

I have everything packed up and ready to go for my trip back home. My clothes were cleaned and folded, books were stored in cardboard boxes (I never noticed how many I've bought or been gifted over these past few years until I saw three boxes stuffed full), knick knacks wrapped in paper for safe travel, and the key to my room set out to be returned to the dorm mother tomorrow morning.

Everything is ready for me to leave and forget these hallowed halls.

Just like my roommate already has.

She didn't even say anything to me other than a passing goodbye as she left. It's not like I was surprised. Still, you think someone you have lived with for so long would be missed despite the harsh tension between us, but maybe that's just my own feelings.

Regardless, I'll be heading back to my family home soon, at least. So that is some comfort for whatever it's worth. Even if that does mean I'll have to prepare answers for the questions they will undoubtedly ask.

And another.

Saturday, May 22, 1675.

I have just arrived back home and already I want to leave.

My family was all smiles as they welcomed me in, told me to unpack what I could before dinner, and then barged into my room to talk.

What were your classes like? What did you do while you were gone? Did you make any friends? ….And I couldn't bring myself to tell them that no, I don't think I did. Not unless you count the someone I kept bothering for the sake of helping me translate texts full of the old Sumerian dialect for my papers.

Sunday, May 23, 1675.

Sunday dinners are the same as ever, I see. The last time I had to deal with this was when I was a freshman and visited for the first official break between semesters. From there, I decided I would prefer to stay in the dorms even when it's the holidays.

But tonight, I sat before a plate full of sabz meat stew and rice and watched everyone bow their heads as my family prayed in thanks.

The entire time I refused to even blink.

Friday, May 28, 1675.

I need to find a job. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for the past five days.

The very idea of getting up and searching is draining, but so is putting a smile on as someone pops their head into my room (without knocking, mind you) and asking how I'm doing. To which I always respond with I'm fine.

I’m fine.

I have to be.

Monday, May 31, 1675.

No more heads have been poking into my room, not since I told them I was going to join the Fatui despite all the other places I applied and got accepted into. The looks I got when I told everyone over dinner, right after they all prayed, had been priceless. Completely, utterly, stupefied, and I had to keep myself from laughing.

At the very least, this new job will keep my mind distracted. I won't be able to sit at home staring at family photos from when I was younger and- all that matters is I can keep my mind distracted.

A busy mind is a good thing, keep it from wandering, so I intend to let it stay that way.

And lastly:

Friday, June 13, 1675.

Dottore traced his fingers over the date, one he knew well. Not that he'd willingly admit that. If anyone did dare to ask, they would be simply dismissed, waved away as Dottore tells them something along the lines of “I have no need to pay attention to anniversaries.”

The thirteenth of July. It was the first day she started working for him.

Dottore found himself walking back inside, journal tucked into his jacket to make sure Beauty wouldn't see it in case she was awake and sleepily tripping over her own two feet in an attempt to find him to drag him back to bed. The door to his steady swung open without so much as a creak and closed just as silently. Lock turning in place before Dottore sat down in the couch chair he so rarely used these days; not when she was always there nagging him about how it would give Dottore crooks in his neck if he fell asleep there one more time.

Her hands lingering on his shoulders and lips pressed to his mask…

Dottore pushed the wry grin that threatened to grow on his face down, opting to lean back into that same chair that threatened to swallow him into the cushions the same way the open book did its pages.

Devouring his attention.

Settling in had been…far from fun, but I unpacked what I needed for the night and left it at that; the rest can be dealt with later. Besides, compared to the day I had a few cardboard boxes barely mattered. After all, what could compare to meeting the elusive Lord Harbinger Il Dottore himself?

The endless white halls had already started to blur together, forming a maze in your head as you tried to map out each and every turn of a corner as you followed behind the man in front of you. The stray posters tacked up on the wall about lab safety barely differentiated one place from another, not even with their cheesy lines and reminders to use basic common sense. All you could rely on at the moment was the one dutifully leading you along, giving you a tour inside the depths of Zapolyarny Palace like it was nothing.

For him it surely must be.

But you were stuck watching the swing of his badge as every step you both took it moved back and forth, taunting you. It was in Snezhnayan, not common, meaning you were left glaring at symbols you couldn't understand all because you hadn't heard the man's name properly when he introduced himself after giving you a pair of safety glasses.

Lab mandated, apparently.

They would take time to get used to and you can already see yourself forgetting to take them off at the end of the day, but for now you were focusing on the tour you were being given as you chewed over the idea of just simply asking for his name again.

But by now, it felt a little too late to ask again. Even if it just was for clarifications sake.

The tapping of shoes came to a halt as you both stopped before a pair of open doors leading to a giant room. It was mostly bare, but it had three practice dummies close to the wall currently falling from the pikes they had been strung up. Keeling over onto the black stained floor beneath them covered in ash.

A lone boot print stood in the inky black, leaving a patch of white into the inky abyss.

And more boot prints trailed a path along the floor until they fully disappeared.

“And here is where we run physical trials for test subjects.” He shot you a look as he said: “but I don't think you'll be here much.”

You only nodded in response.

Another room came after another hall to add to your mental map you had long since lost track of as everything seemed to wander off into dead-end alleys and dark dungeons. All as the sound of rustling clothes filled your ears and mindless chatter about how working down here had been for him. Even in a place known as Heresy’s he managed to seem carefree as a door was pushed open to an archive.

Hand above your head to give you the chance to peek in to see stacks of books right from the moment the door swung open with a loud groan.

You could already see yourself spending far too much time in here as your eyes scanned over the seemingly endless rows, but you weren't given much of a chance to take it all in before you were on to the next stop.

You both passed by a few labs. Some seemed calmer than others, some had posters about safety lining the walls, but all of them had you pulling your head away only seconds after sticking it in the doorway to scrunch up your nose as the smell of disinfectant and other chemicals you couldn't place assaulted you.

For a moment, you heard your tour guide mutter a “bless you” as you sneezed (again) before walking on ahead to another sector of Heresy's.

One full of hustle and bustle as people in lab coats moved around the room with an ease that only came from knowing a space inside and out. Shuffling around giant crates, pieces of machinery you couldn't name but certainly recognized from a few constructions in Sumeru you had been told not to stray near, and steel tables all currently occupied with Fatui.

Faces hidden away by metal masks.

Just like the ones who openly walked around under the Tsarita's employ back home, never sparing you a glance.

The masks were only lifted away long enough for a light to be shined in their eyes, ones you always questioned as you passed them by on the streets or in Lambad's tavern, and then their faces were hidden away again. Blocked from sight so the individual fell away, and they once again belonged to the mass. To the service. To the worship of their beloved cryo Archon.

Would there be mercy in the eyes of the neighboring nations' people as they fulfill Her orders? Dutifully listening to whatever they're told simply because someone divine uttered a word or two.

The only thing that halted your train of thought with a resounding screech, breaks pulled back and forced to kick up sparks along well worn rails that lit your mind afire was the same man's voice who had been showing you around calling your name. All so your gaze could follow his pointed finger towards one figure in the room.

Pointing, pointing, and pointing towards a head of blue hair and a black mask.

Funny, you could have sworn you saw that same distinct shade in a few of the other sectors before you had been encouraged to keep up with the wave of a hand.

But the man at the other end of a finger and its broken nail was standing tall as everyone moved around him. A lone figure unbothered by the crowd that already had your shoulders tensing as someone passed behind you with a quick call of an “excuse me.”

“It's rude to point you know.” You said, trying to make a joke as you took everything in at once.

Between bustling figures was an earring like beryl only for it to glow the same way the flicker of a flaming torch lighting up the darkest of nights would, clothes ironed but clearly rumbled from today's work, and a mask with the gleam of burnished aluminum as this man stood before an occupied steel table. (You had later been told the correct term is vivisection table). A hand over a random Fatuus arm, checking for something or another with rippling skin as the limb was turned this way or that; discolored, but against the pale skin the bruises looked like the ice cold ocean you had sailed upon as a boat took you further and further away from your home.

You didn't even register your tour guide, saying that being rude was the least of your worries as that mask turned towards you. The end of its beak, birdlike as it was, stabbing at the air between you and who you could only guess was-

“Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

An arm was dropped, forgotten about with ease as Dottore himself moved to stand before you.

The man beside you bowed his head in respect, and you followed his example.

Head lowered, safety glasses sliding off your face and only stopping thanks to your ears as the sound of a multitude filled the air. All from a sentence so short it barely came across as a sign of acknowledgment.

“You must be the new hire.”

“I am.”

“I hope you prove your worth then. I would hate to have wasted my time bringing you here only to have a lack of results from bringing in a psychologist for my test subjects.” A pause. “But I am sure you understand. After all, you are only here temporarily. A trial run if you will.”

And as you looked up, meeting Dottore face to mask, all you could see was your own reflection staring back at you. Dark circles under your eyes from the lack of sleep you were able to get last night having tossed and turned in an unfamiliar bed before you slowly succumbed to the constant pull at your mind to let it all go.

To simply rest.

For humanity, after all the time you have sat back with a colored pen and a notebook in hand, it has spilled its secrets to you. That it is afflicted in every way; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

And you could only say you long since stopped hoping for destruction to turn a blind eye to you.

“Well, I am honored to be here as a trail run, Lord Harbinger.”

You didn't miss the way his lips curled up, twisting to reveal pointed teeth as Dottore drawled out. “Good. Then we're on the same page."

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (the extras) -

chapter xi instagram blurb

mickey speaks : read chapter 11 first then come here!!! or not you do what u want fr

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y/n three different outfits because it’s my birthday all week idc

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christophersturniolo happy bday friend 😁 !

y/n thank you chris 🤓

nicolassturn PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD JUST TURNED 22 !!!!!!!

y/n prettiest?? oooo imma kiss uuuuu 🫦

nicolassturn you promise ? 😩

christophersturniolo brotha UUEEHHHHHHH

remibaby77 happy birthday my sweet sweet angel 🥹🥹!!!!!!

y/n remmiiiiiiiiii I LOVE YOU

remibaby77 oh i don’t get a kiss…? but the white man does 😂😂😂??????

nicolassturn girl why am i in it 😭😭😭😭

y/n NOOOOO rem come over im giving out free kisses tdy

remibaby77 staying far away from ur house actually! those drinks last night were ready to take me out 🕊️

matthew.sturniolo HBD ☀️

y/n thank u matthew

andreatorresss MY PRETTY BEST FRIEND :,(((!!!!!!! i love u happy 22nd bby

y/n I LOVE U MOST

andreatorresss i love u more-er

y/n don’t start w me

andreatorresss we all know i love u the mostest

y/n nuh uh!

andreatorresss yes huh!

y/n shakes head no

andreatorresss crosses arms

christophersturniolo y’all are so not normal 😭

andreatorresss CHRIS MOVE

erinnluhh yayyyy birthday girl 😍😍😍

y/n i❤️❤️❤️you

read more . . .

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andreatorresss gf birthday dump ayyy

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christophersturniolo dammnnnnnnn 😮‍💨😮‍💨 i look good

andreatorresss boy where

christophersturniolo omg i didn’t even notice you’re there too. how pretty

andreatorresss get fucked ❤️

christophersturniolo if the implications are implying … well🙏🙏 (i need a jump for joy emoji)

y/n THE FIRST PIC ...i died

andreatorresss noooooo come back 2 me you can’t die ur too sexy

matthew.sturniolo 🔥🔥

andreatorresss 💦💦 put ts out

remibaby77 HUBBBA HUBBA LOOKKAT YOU

andreatorresss hiiiiii (twirling my hair)

nicolassturn gorgeous wow

andreatorresss ily my favorite 🥇

read more . . .

taglist -★

@deadxrx @breeloveschris @saintsturn @honestlybab @starrysturniolo @st7rnioioss @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @sturnioloa @tcvazq @novasturniolo03 @sturnsintrouble @sturnrc @wovenribbons @watercolorskyy @imsosillygoofylol @sturnrc @wh0resstuff @peachmels @udonknowmeh12 @solaceinwritings @h3arts4harry @imaslutforwhitemen @lovingregulusblack @sturnsintrouble @rxeae

[pleasereadmeok]

"Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow?" ...

Matthew froze, confusion flitting over his face along with something I couldn't name...

"I'd like that," he said slowly.

A Discovery of Witches Real Time Read Chapter 11

Yep - I got my shoe horn out again to make the images fit the text. But in the book it's when Matthew drops Diana off at her college that she asks him to dinner - so these images from Ep 3 seemed to fit. 🤷‍♀️

📷 ADOW S1:03 my edit

[lonerwolff]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ⌇𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤𝑠

this story is also published on wattpad and AO3 !

What will happen when Daisy Duval—a sweet, innocent girl who wouldn't even hurt a fly— gets stranded in the middle of nowhere with her soccer teammates? And what will happen when, 25 years later, a postcard arrives at her door, and so do her old friends?

chapters: chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4- chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8- chapter 9- chapter 10- chapter 11- chapter 12 - chapter 13 - chapter 14 - chapter 15 - chapter 16

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ┊𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓┊.ೃ࿐

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ introducing . . .

. . . [ Desirèe "Daisy" Duval ] ◌ೄ

❝ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 ❞

┊

「𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜.ᐟ 𝘿𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙮 portrayed by 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖𝙝 𝘿𝙤𝙙𝙙 」

「𝘼𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩.ᐟ 𝘿𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙮 portrayed by 𝙍𝙚𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙘𝙖 𝙁𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙤𝙣 」

⊹₊ ˚⋆✶⋆˚ ₊⊹

⊹₊ ˚⋆✶⋆˚ ₊⊹

. . . [ Charlotte "Lottie" Matthews ] ◌ೄ

❝ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑻 ❞

┊

「𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜.ᐟ 𝙇𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙚 portrayed by 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙣 」

「𝙊𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧.ᐟ 𝙇𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙚 portrayed by 𝙎𝙞𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙆𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙡 」

⊹₊ ˚⋆✶⋆˚ ₊⊹

⊹₊ ˚⋆✶⋆˚ ₊⊹

「𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴.ᐟ」

╰ ︎︎✦ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 ━━━ ︎︎︎︎︎strong language, alcohol, violence death, cannibalism and more. . .(yk the usual) ━━━

authors note⭑.ᐟ

Hii, so just a little disclaimer English isn't my first language so please don't mind if there might be some spelling errors (even tho I'm really careful in not making any) but please feel free to correct me if I'll spell anything wrong! I'm also open to constructive criticism (be nice tho pls🙏). This is my first book, (well, actually not really) BUT this is definitely the first book that I'll actually continue/ finish(hopefully). Okay, I think this is it, so I hope you'll have a good reading and enjoy the story!