#Unlock Phone pattern

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent life photos

[homosekularnost]

not sure if this will resonate but ryan murphys camp horror is to leigh janiaks camp horror what katy perrys second camp met gala look is to janelle monaes camp met gala look

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Urgent Call

"I need your phone."

Tim looks up from his laptop. The boy in front of him looks like he's been dragged to Hell a week ago and just made it back: smudges of soot on his face, his not-so-white t-shirt smelling of smoke, and a nasty looking burn on his hand that he somehow doesn't even pay attention to. Tim thinks back to his mental list of 'Rogues currently on the loose', but it's only Ivy and Harley (who don't even count anymore), and Penguin, who is not known for setting things on fire.

"I can call 911 for you, if you want?" He offers, because this is still Gotham. Despite the fact that a slightly scorched guy casually walking into a coffee shop is not something out of the ordinary here, he's not giving his phone to strangers.

The guy grimaces and starts aggressively rummaging through his pockets.

"No, thanks, ACAB and all that, and they won't do shit here anyway," he says, and then pulls a handful of tangled golden jewelry — rings, chains, necklaces with various gems in them — from his pocket and places it on the table in front of Tim. "I need your phone," he repeats.

Tim stares. First, at the gold — these things look antique, and his parents were archeologists, he knows what he's talking about — then, back at the guy. He looks... ordinary, sans the dirt and smell.

But the burn on his hand looks significantly more healed than it did just a minute ago.

Thankfully, Tim has already had his cup of morning coffee. Which means he is thinking very rationally when he does get his phone out of his pocket and hands it to the guy, just to see what he does next.

"Thanks," the guy grins at him, plucking the phone out of Tim's hand and unlocking it. Tim's eyebrows shoot up — there's a password there! — but the stranger is already dialing in a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

It takes less than a second before someone evidently picks up, and the guy starts talking.

"I have less than three minutes before the phone dies, so listen very carefully. Etrigan is fine, Jason is not, Klarion is still being a bitch. Dora won't help anymore, so you're on your own until Sam makes it there with the staff. I'm in Gotham because, apparently, mazes and I don't mix well together, so if you could summon me back, that'd be cool," he says, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

Tim is back to staring at him. He recognizes some of the names, and, well, one could have been an oddity, two a coincidence, but three is a pattern.

"The fuck you mean you can't, I gave you the incantation two months ago!" The guy raises his voice, his foot tapping on the floor in frustration. "Do you think I just go around giving my summons to people for shits and giggles? Like, yeah, have a spell that unleashes a cosmic being of immeasurable power, use it as a bookmark!"

This interaction, despite Tim only hearing one side of it, gets more and more alarming with every word.

But then, the boy suddenly straightens up and stills, his eyes flashing bright, unpleasantly familiar green.

"You what?" He asks, his voice slipping from just angry to quietly enraged hiss, "Sold it to whom?!" But, before he gets an answer, Tim's phone makes a thin, tiny buzzing sound, and the guy takes it off his ear, looking at the screen.

"No, no-no-no," he mutters, shaking it like that would make it work. To no avail, though: the phone screen flashes a few times and goes black. The guy curses. At least Tim thinks it's a curse because he doesn't understand a word, but the stranger's face and intonation are telling.

"Useless fucking moron of a human, I swear I'm going to drown you in cow shit once this is over," he switches to English, dropping the phone on the table right by the small pile of gold, "I'll bargain your pathetic soul from everyone you've ever dealt with and give it to the Observants, and maybe, after a few millenia of endless Council paperwork, I'll have mercy and sell it back to Lucifer and watch him fry you on a skillet."

...Whoever the boy is, Tim absolutely refuses to ever piss him off, okay. That's an impressive threat to even make, not to mention being able to go through with it.

"Do you need help?" He asks cautiously. If he is getting his context clues right, this is something that involves JLD, and maybe John Constantine specifically since Tim doesn't know any other man who is a magic user, sold his soul numerous times, would care about Etrigan's wellbeing, and could invoke this kind of murderous intent.

The boy looks back at him, his eyes back to normal blue.

"Huh? Oh, no, I doubt this can be helped," he waves Tim off and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Sorry about the phone, but, unless you have a way to yeet me across the globe so I end up in London in the next twenty minutes..." he shrugs, smiling in that helpless 'nothing you can do here' way.

Tim picks up his phone. It's dead, wholly and completely, won't even turn on when he tries.

He really, really shouldn't do that. This is definitely none of his business, and very much out of his capabilities and area of expertise.

But he thinks about the zeta-tube in the Cave.

"Actually," he says, and the guy's eyes snap back to him, a bewildered sort of surprise on his face.

[mggslover]

Between the lines

In which Spencer crosses paths with the woman he's been dreaming about. Their undeniable attraction turns fantasy into reality.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: lots of build up, perv!spence, lovesick!spence, lots of flirting, teasing, sex toys, p in v sweet sensual sex Word count: 4,6k A/n: part two of through thin walls! you can read this as a standalone, but it's a short one so give it a try ;)

It had been three weeks since Spencer last had a nightmare. Ever since his neighbor—a woman he had yet to meet—moved in next door, his nights had been calm, peaceful. Sleep had become something he looked forward to, but it wasn’t just sleep itself. It was the moments before, the quiet waiting in anticipation that became part of his routine.

Every time he came home from an exhausting case, he would crawl into bed and lean back against the headboard, his body settling as he awaited a movement from the apartment next to him. Feeling a sense of relief when her sweet moans would slip through the thin wall.

It didn’t take Spencer long to find a pattern in her routine. On weekdays, it was quick, urgent. The soft moans would rise, then fall—until Thursday. Thursdays were different. He could tell by the muffled groans and the frustrated sighs, that she was unable to find the release she so desperately sought. She would let out a final huff, signalling Spencer to stop his movements.

He was aware that he had no obligation towards the woman, but he found no pleasure in the act of touching himself when he knew she wasn’t enjoying herself. These days left a toll on him. Irritated by the fact that he couldn’t just knock on her door with the suggestion of helping her out. But luckily, there were still the weekends. The weekends were good. Her sessions stretched longer, her pleasure unraveling slowly but intensely. Spencer never managed to keep up alongside her, but he couldn’t help continuing to listen as he laid down with his eyes closed. Savoring each breath, each moment as he found peace in the fact that she felt satisfied by the end of the night.

It wasn’t every day that they would share intimate moments like these. On times she didn’t indulge, Spencer found comfort in the other sounds of her life. Hearing her television hum in the background, not loud enough to make out the words, but her occasional laughter—or her soft humming along with a song—was enough to remind him she was there, just beyond the walls.

It was strange, to feel such familiarity with someone he had never spoken to, someone who’s name he didn’t even know, but somehow Spencer had grown very attached to her presence. He often wondered what the rest of her life looked like. Making it a game to fill in the blanks with the inkling of behaviour he had.

One thing he could confidently profile was her loneliness. Whether that was by choice or by circumstance, or a mixture of both, he didn’t know. Only that he has never heard another voice besides hers, not even the typical hellos and goodbyes one would make on a phone call. He hoped she was settling in well, wishing he could bring her the comfort she has given him since her arrival.

It was noon, on a rare day where Spencer didn’t have to go to the office. But Spencer wasn’t the type to sit still on his free days. He grabbed his saddlebag from the leather chair next to the door, whistling a tune under his breath as he looked for his keys. He unlocked the door with a quick turn of the handle, but before he could step out, a yelp echoed from the hallway.

“I’m sor-,” he froze mid-apology, the automatic reply getting stuck in his throat as he processed the familiar sound. That gasp—it was embedded in his memory, a sound he could recognize anywhere, even though the circumstances were completely different. His cheeks flushed, heat spreading across his face, and he found himself afraid to tilt his head, knowing who he would face.

“It’s okay, don’t worry! I should’ve looked out.” The voice apologized.

Spencer’s mind scrambled. He wanted to tell her that he should be the one apologizing, that it was his fault for slamming the door open without considering who might be walking through the shared hallway. But all he could manage was a strangled silence, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look up. His stomach fluttered and his pupils blew wide as he made eye contact with her. She was more beautiful than anything beyond his wildest dreams. He was almost ashamed for picturing her any less than she is. He felt flustered as his mind began piecing her face and body together with the sounds that he’s been eavesdropping on for the past couple of weeks.

He realized how awkward he was making the situation when she looked up at him with big eyes, clearly waiting for some kind of response.

“Did you like my cookies?” She asked, breaking the quiet, her voice a little hesitant but genuine.

Spencer blinked, surprised at the question, his mind struggling to catch up. "Cookies?" he repeated, brows knitting together in confusion.

The girl noticed his expression and rushed to explain. “I brought you cookies,” she said, her hands moving slightly, as if trying to emphasize the story. “When I first moved in here.”

Spencer stayed quiet, getting her to elaborate further. “You weren’t home. I left them on your doorstep,” she continued, a little sheepishly.

He nodded, letting out a small sigh as he made the connection. “It’s my neighbor,” he pointed to the door to the left of him with a vague sweep of his hand, the gesture almost apologetic. “The other one. Miss Cavanaugh. She has a habit of stealing.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth hung slightly open at the casualty in which he mentioned this fact.

“Oh no, don’t worry! she won’t steal from you.” He quickly corrected, raising his hand to wave off any concern. “Well, she might but it’s not likely she’d, like, break into your apartment. That would be a criminal act—breaking and entering—which is a felony in all 50 states. Actually, it's a federal offense in certain circumstances.” He glances off to the side for a moment, thinking, then gestures with a loose hand.

“My point is, she’s more of a, uh, casual thief, if that makes sense? Like, you know, she might nab food or a basket or something left outside, but the odds of her actually coming into your apartment are really low. Statistically speaking, this building has an impressively low crime rate for DC, especially for this price range. It’s safer than 75.3% of comparable buildings in the area.”

His brows furrowed together at the end of his sentence, as if his brain just caught up with his words. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

The corners of her lips lifted, a soft but genuine smile lighting her face.

“That’s good to know. I didn’t do that much research when I moved in here.” She held out her hand, introducing herself.

Her hand was smaller than his, and without thinking, he clasped it gently between both of his, needing to know if he indeed had the connection with her he assumed he had. The touch sent a jolt through him, feeling the spark of electricity he was hoping for. He surprised himself with how much he didn’t want to let go and, more so, how she didn’t pull away.

"I’m Doctor Spencer Reid," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with a genuine awe as he looked at her.

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Doctor, huh? Good to know there’s one next door in case I drop dead.”

“Oh, uh—” His words came in a tumble as he rushed to explain. “Not a medical doctor. I’m with the FBI. I specialize in criminal behavior. So if you were to, say, die by murder, I’d be the one—uh, the one investigating it.”

The words hung in the air for a beat longer than he intended, and before he could stop himself, he added, “Not that I want you to die, or—uh, be murdered. That’s… that’s not what I meant at all. I mean, if there was even a chance someone wanted to hurt you, I’d make sure to stop it before it happened, but—”

Her laugh, bright and airy, caught him off guard. She then tilted her head slightly, studying him in a way that made her seem like the profiler.

“I’ll see you around, Spencer,” she finally said, her voice teasing but kind. His cheeks flushed at the way his name rolled off of her tongue.

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked off. Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, her presence lingering even after her figure disappeared down the hall. He stood frozen in the doorway, his heart racing from the exchange.

When he finally stepped back inside, he closed the door and leaned heavily against it, letting out a groan.

He’d forgotten all about the plans he previously had. Instead, his thoughts swirled around her—even more curious about his neighbor than he was before. As he replayed their brief exchange, one thing became startlingly clear: he needed to see her again.

It was like faith heard him. Later, on that evening, Spencer stepped into the laundromat of the apartment complex, the soft hum of dryers and the faint smell of detergent filling the air. He just finished taking his laundry out of the dryer when he saw her—standing at one of the machines, pulling her clothes out with an ease that made the mundane task look almost elegant.

Spencer moved toward her, a little too quickly, and nearly bumped into a man coming the other way. “Sorry,” he mumbled, placing his basket down beside hers.

Her eyes flicked up, catching his gaze immediately. The air between them shifted, filled with an undeniable spark.

“Hi, Doc,” she greeted with a warm smile. “We meet again.”

“Hi,” Spencer managed, his voice a little breathless.

He glanced down at the pile of laundry. “Sock day?” he asked with a smirk, genuinely curious.

She chuckled softly. “More like underwear day in general. I like to stick to a schedule.”

“Me too!” Spencer eagerly responded, excited to have something in common with her.

She sighed as she held up a sock, contemplating its mate. “Underwear day is the worst though. It’s going to take me hours to match these.”

Spencer gave a quiet laugh. “I gave up on that a while ago.” He casually rolled up his pants, revealing mismatched socks—one green with avocados, the other purple with yellow stripes. “It’s more fun this way.”

She crouched down to get a better look, her eyes scanning the colorful mismatched pair. Spencer bit down on his lip. The act was so innocent, but his thoughts wandered, imagining what it might be like if she were kneeling for a different reason.

Jesus, it feels like I swapped brains with Derek.

He cleared his throat, wiping his clammy hands on his pants. She noticed, getting back on her feet, though she didn’t seem embarrassed. If anything, her eyes twinkled with excitement.

“It is more fun that way,” she agreed. “You see a serious guy like you, dressed up all neat and then, poof, funky socks. Like magic.”

His face brightened at the mention of magic. “I could show you another magic trick—a sock trick.”

She snorted, clearly intrigued. “A sock trick?”

Spencer’s confidence grew, knowing he could impress her and wanting to make her smile again. He grabbed a polka-dot sock from his laundry basket, holding it up between his fingers.

“Alright. I’m going to take this sock…” He moved with exaggerated care, his hands precise as he folded the sock in half, then folded it again. “And just like that, I’m going to make it disappear.”

He made a quick move, waving his hands dramatically to hide how he tucked it into the waistband of his pants. “See? Gone.”

She looked at him with wide, amused eyes. “You can’t be serious. Where did it go?”

He smirked and leaned in. “Ah, but that’s the trick—you have to keep an eye on me.” The back of his fingers softly trailed up her cheek, his confidence growing as he felt the heat radiating off her. In one smooth motion, he pulled the exact same sock from behind her ear.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “No way.”

“Now look in your basket.”

She shook her head in disbelief. She looked at her laundry pile, and sitting right on top was the matching polka-dot sock.

She threw her head back, laughing, overwhelmed with amazement.

Spencer chuckled softly, enjoying her reaction. “I grew up in Vegas, so I’ve had some practice—but the real magic is in the timing. You were too focused on me to notice the disappearance.”

His words were meant as a mere observation, but the realization seemed to dawn on both of them. She had indeed been too focused on him—only him.

The tension between them grew. She toyed with her lip, and he adjusted the collar of his shirt as they maintained eye contact.

“Laundromat is closing, folks! Everybody out in five minutes.” The announcement through the speakers made them both jump, shaken out of the trance they were in.

“Can I walk you to your apartment?” Spencer asked.

Her eyes glistened, and her smile reached the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They walked out of the laundromat, continuing their small talk about magic and life while sharing the occasional giggle. The stairway was too narrow to walk side by side—especially when carrying a big laundry basket—but that didn’t seem to bother them. The sides of their bodies brushed, their pace matching as they ascended the stairs. Spencer kept an arm behind her back, ready to steady her if she stumbled.

They arrived at their neighboring apartment doors. The air was filled with a mix of the sorrow of their encounter ending and the anticipation of a new one.

The scene almost felt like the end of a first date. Tension hung in the air as they shifted back and forth on their feet, wondering if a goodbye kiss would follow.

“This is mine,” Spencer commented.

She let out a breathy chuckle. “I know.”

After a moment of lingering eye contact, she decided to take the lead.

“Good night, Spencer.” She smiled softly.

“Good night,” he repeated.

Spencer felt a rush of joy as he closed the door behind him. Flirting wasn’t his strong suit. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if their exchanges today could be considered flirting. But there was something comfortable about it. Something effortless. And, most importantly, he’d made her laugh. Several times.

Lost in his thoughts, Spencer set his laundry basket down on the table, preparing to fold the clothes. He wasn’t paying attention as he reached inside—until his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar material.

He looked down with a frown. In his hand was a pair of red laced panties. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he could only stare at them in disbelief.

A vivid image flashed in his mind—those same red panties, nestled in his neighbor’s laundry basket. He frowned deeper, replaying their interaction in his mind. Could I have taken them by accident? He was sure he hadn’t. With an eidetic memory, he’d be able to remember something like that.

His confusement and worry were quickly overcome by a feeling of curiosity and lust. Spencer’s fingers lingered over the fabric, the soft lace slipping between them.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine her in it. The delicate lace tracing the curve of her waist, the soft dips and rises of her hips. Her body seemed to shimmer in the dim glow of his imagination.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shifted in his mind. His fingers curled slightly around the fabric, imagining the way it would feel against her skin as she moved. She lowered her hands, fingers trailing over her body as she slid the lace downward, over the curve of her hips, the fabric teasing the soft swell of her backside. He could almost hear it—the quiet rustle of the lace moving, sliding over her skin as she undressed, the tension in his chest building with each slow, deliberate motion.

His heartbeat quickened as he imagined her pulling the panties lower. The lace graced the insides of her legs, following the shape of her thighs as she removed it with such ease, such grace. And then, just like that, it was gone. The fabric fell, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing before him, utterly exposed.

As his fingers twisted the delicate lace, the image of her in his mind began to fade, slipping away like a dream that was never meant to stay. His subconscious seemed to know that any attempt to imagine her would only fall short. With a quiet exhale, Spencer loosened his grip, folded the lace carefully, and tucked it into his pocket—out of sight, out of mind.

He decided to lie down on his bed, not to sleep, but simply to relax. But his body had other ideas. Before he knew it, his eyes had closed, and his mind had drifted off. The soft purr of his name pulled him from his light doze.

For a moment, Spencer thought he was in heaven—that his pulse had quickened from the thought of her and now he found himself in a place where he could hear her voice calling out his name, like an angel. But as his eyes fluttered open, he realized the voice was more muffled and coming from behind the wall.

“Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?”

Startled, he swiftly propped himself up on his elbows, his mouth parting before he swallowed his words. Admitting that he could hear her—especially after the sounds from the previous nights—felt like a confession. The idea of those nights ending made his chest tighten, but if it meant he could speak to her again, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“Yes. I can hear you,” he called back, his voice a little louder.

A long silence followed. Spencer cursed himself, anxious that he’d ruined it. But then, he heard the soft, familiar buzz.

“What about this? Do you hear this?” she asked, a playful edge to her voice.

“I- I do. What is it?” Spencer asked, his curiosity peaked.

Her giggle echoed softly through the wall, and his chest tightened with warmth. He smiled without thinking, his heart aching at the sound.

“You don’t know what this is?” she amusingly teased.

“No,” he admitted, sheepish.

“It’s a vibrator, Spencer.”

Her words hit him like a sudden jolt of electricity. He could feel the heat rise in his face, but then came her sweet laughter again. Spencer shook his head, smiling despite himself.

“Have you ever tried it?” she asked, her voice sounding almost daring.

Spencer quietly responded. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

“I- I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

A beat of silence passed, before she spoke again.

“You could come over and find out.”

Spencer’s face went red, his heart pounding in his chest. “N-now?”

“Yes, now,” she answered with a soft chuckle.

Spencer scrambled off the bed, his pulse racing as he hurried toward the door, afraid she might change her mind. He forced himself to stop when he stood in front of her apartment, drawing in a deep breath to steady the surge of nervous excitement. The moment he’d been fantasizing about for so long was a knock away from becoming reality.

Knock, knock.

The door creaked open, and Spencer was met with the breathtaking sight of her.

She stepped aside and gave him that look—the one that made every nerve in his body stir with need. “Come in.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer’s voice barely made it out, thick with anticipation.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she moved toward him, lifting onto her toes as she placed her hand on the back of his neck, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. And then, she kissed him.

There was no rush behind her soft lips. It wasn’t frantic like his thoughts had been. It was gentle—like she was savoring the moment just as much as he was.

She slowly lowered herself back to her feet, and she gazed up on him, a soft smile on her lips, eyes twinkling.

It took Spencer a moment to process what had just happened, but once he did, he pulled her back in, his lips crashing into hers with desperate urgency. She responded in kind, her hands sliding into his hair, tugging him closer. His breath came in shallow gasps as he lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and he carried her to the wall. Their bodies pressed against the same wall that had once held their whispered breaths.

His mind felt like it was spinning—this was real, she was real, and he was touching her. His lips trailed down her neck, the soft skin beneath his mouth sending sparks of desire through him.

“Spencer,” she murmured, and the sound of her voice made his heart stutter. He responded by lifting his lips from her skin, needing to look at her—to drink her in, to memorize every detail.

She met his gaze, her lips parted. “Take it off,” she breathed, pulling at his shirt, her hands shaking with the same feverish need.

Spencer stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving her, and pulled his shirt over his head. His eyes traced every inch of her as she began to undress too, throwing her clothes aside.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself as she revealed her nude body, wearing no underwear underneath the clothes she just took off.

She smirked, her gaze burning into his. “I told you it was underwear day.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with awe and desire.

Her lips curled into a satisfied smile as she pulled him back into her embrace, their bodies stumbling towards the bed. She fell softly onto the sheets, and he moved on top of her, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.

Spencer began to pepper her with kisses, unsure where to start. He hummed as his tongue swiped along the curve of her neck. His wet kisses trailed down to her collarbones, leaving purple marks on his way down, each one encouraged by her sweet moans.

As he moved further up the bed, his knee brushed against something. His focus shifted as he noticed the small, purple object. “Is this it?” he asked, curiously, and she nodded.

He picked it up, noticing it was smaller than his index finger. As he rolled the toy in his hand, it suddenly buzzed to life, making him jump back. She laughed at his reaction, clearly amused.

He quickly figured out how to stop the buzzing and he hovered above her, tracing her lips with the toy. She instinctively opened her mouth, her tongue rolling around it.

“Good girl,” he hummed. “That’s it.”

She moaned softly as she closed her lips around it, sucking gently while maintaining eye contact. He slowly slid the vibrator from her lips, its surface glistening with the trace of her tongue. Turning it on again, he moved it to her nipple, the bud instantly hardening. She let out quiet whimpers, her body trembling with the sensation.

Once satisfied, he placed his mouth on her nipple while the vibrator moved to the other one. She arched her back with a moan as he sucked on the sensitive bud.

Her hips rolled in response to his touch, and with every movement her skin brushed against his length, making it harder to hold back his moans.

“Don’t go quiet on me now. You always make such beautiful sounds,” she purred.

His face flushed as he looked at her, her fingers brushing through his locks. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. I think the whole complex has heard you,” she giggled.

He opened her thighs, and without warning, placed the vibrator directly on her clit. She let out a high-pitched cry.

“I’m pretty sure all they hear is you,” he teased back. Her voice was a mixture of laughter and moans and he kissed her passionately, desperate to hold onto that sound, to keep it locked within him forever.

She loosely wrapped her legs around his waist, her hand brushing against his to keep the toy in place. He leaned onto his elbows, hovering above her, moaning when his length slipped between her folds. He moved steadily, each thrust coating him in her wetness. Every time he thrust up, his tip brushed against the vibrator, sending shudders through his body. She upped the intensity, and their moans became synchronized, echoing in the air.

Their breathing grew heavier, only interrupted by soft kisses. Spencer felt her tense beneath him, her legs trembling against his back.

“You can let go for me. Show me how good you make yourself feel,” he encouraged, his voice low and warm against her lips.

“It’s you who’s making me feel this good, Spencer,” she whispered, and he could feel the butterflies flutter in his chest.

He held her close as she reached her peak, her soft cries muffled by her face buried in the crook of his neck. Spencer was pressed against the vibrator, the sensation overwhelming him.

She placed the toy beside her, her hand finding his hardness and guiding him inside of her. Spencer let out a needy whine as he was enveloped by her warmth. She pulsed around him, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She pulled him into a sloppy kiss, and he desperately moved his hips, driven by the overwhelming pleasure, until he spilled inside of her.

They stayed like that for a moment, their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath. Spencer eventually rolled off her, their legs remaining intertwined.

He turned his head to look at her, and she was already watching him with a sweet smile.

“That was nice,” he mused softly.

“Yeah, it was,” she replied, her voice just as soft.

They spent the rest of the night, and the entirety of the next morning tangled up in each other, until it was time for Spencer to leave for work.

She watched him with adoration as he pulled his pants on, her eyes tracing his movements. As he reached into his pocket, his hand brushed against the familiar lace, and he froze. His cheeks flushed as he pulled out the bundle of fabric—her red laced panties.

“I- uh…” he stammered, holding them out to her. “Here.”

She chuckled. “You can keep them. Consider it a welcome gift. You know, since the cookies didn’t exactly work out.”

“That’s okay. It’s yours,” he replied, holding them out to her once more.

Her smirk deepened. “I didn’t do that little magic trick just for you to give them back,” she teased.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait—you put them in my laundry?”

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. “You’re not the only magician here, Spencer.”

Spencer laughed, coming to a halt at the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked with a grin.

She chuckled softly, nodding. “I think I could get used to that.”

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ The JJ Issue

when Spencer has to work late on a case with JJ, you find yourself spiralling with jealousy. And now, you're determined to make him remember exactly what he's been missing.

cw: 18+ Spencer reid x jealous!fem!reader. NSFW content. Mildly insecure reader, explicit language, alcohol use, mentions of masturbation, heavy making out, slightly toxic relationship and emotional manipulation if you really really look a/n: so this was a request, but I'm technologically inept and deleted it when trying to copy it to my word doc. ANYWAY, I feel like I veered slightly off topic, but I present my take on jealous!reader and some dumb bitch-ish Spencer™ for you mwah mwah please feel free to send in more requests i am happy to take whatever!!! wc: 3k

The clock flicks to 11:00 PM.

You watch the numbers change with quiet contempt, the harsh glow of the display slicing through the darkness. The sheets beside you remain cold and untouched. Empty. Too still and too silent.

Still no Spencer.

It’s the third night this week. The third night of cold pillows and even colder silence. The third night of laying in a bed made for two and wondering if your boyfriend was going to crawl in before the sun came up – or if he’d even bother returning home at all. 

He’d been busier at work in the past month, his absence only being amplified by the newest case.

You’d tried to follow along when he explained it. Something about Montclair, Virginia. Weird geographical patterns, overlapping jurisdictions, unusual victims. Apparently, it was the kind of bureaucratic mess that kept the BAU tangled in an endless supply of paperwork.

But all you’d really heard – what had stuck and started looping in your head – was JJ.

JJ.

JJ and Spencer. Working late nights in close quarters.

Beautiful, capable JJ. With her glossy hair and understanding eyes. Who could read a room in seconds and had helped Spencer through numerous cases. JJ, who had history with him. Real, lived-in history. She probably understood the way his brain worked in ways you hadn’t even discovered yet.

JJ. Who had the privilege of seeing him more often than you did lately, while you were stuck eating leftovers and watching the clock tick toward midnight.

You tried not to be the jealous girlfriend.

Tried so hard.

But it’s easier said than done when you’re alone in a dark apartment, with your texts left on read since 12:23 PM.

You can picture it too clearly – Spencer and JJ tucked away in some dim conference room, heads bowed over maps and files, shoulders brushing. JJ laughing softly. Spencer glancing up from his notes with that boyish smile that he reserves for only his favorite people. A room of shared trauma and comfort, of inside jokes and a history you can’t compete with.

You hate how vivid the image is. 

You hate how much it turns your stomach even more.

Your fingers curl around your phone, thumb hovering for a beat before you start to type:

Any idea when you’ll be home? x

You stare. Waiting.

The dot-dot-dot appears almost instantly. He’s always fast, when he can be.

No, this case is a mess. JJ and I are still trying to determine the geographical patterning. I’ll be home when I can.

That’s it.

That’s it?

No “I miss you.” No “Sorry for the late night.” No acknowledgement that its eleven-fucking-o’clock and you’re still alone, curled up in his shirt, half-hoping for the sound of him returning to break you out of this fog. Just plain, clipped Spencer-speak. Cold. Factual. Like he’s updating Hotch, not the person who shares his bed.

“JJ and I.”

Of course.

Your jaw tenses and you type again:

Should I leave the door unlocked, or is your work wife walking you home tonight?

No response. Probably back to his files. Or worse – laughing with her about something brilliant he said. You picture her touching his arm. Picture him not pulling away.

Two minutes pass, and you try again:

Let me know if she likes it when you quote Voltaire.

Maybe she even moans when you pull out statistics too.

Still nothing.

You throw your phone to the end of the bed with a dull thud, resisting the urge to follow it with your wine glass. You’re not drunk – not quite – but your veins are warm and the wine bottle is getting low. Almost as low as your patience.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

It’s not that your insecure.

But it’s been a long week. And you’re tired. And lonely. And a little more than marginally horny.

And all that serves to make a deadly combination.

You glance at the wine bottle on your nightstand, dragged in here from when the living room started to feel too big. Half-empty now, or maybe half-full, but you don't feel like looking on the bright side today. Your fingers wrap around the stem of the glass like a lifeline, and you take a slow sip.

The taste of sour grapefruit and poor decisions.

It doesn’t take long for you to start wondering things you shouldn’t be wondering.

Like if JJ’s ever seen Spencer shirtless, skin flushed from an adrenaline-fueled takedown. Like if she notices the way his lashes flutter when he gets focused, and the subtle tick in his jaw when he’s trying to hold back a dirty comment. Like if she’s ever heard the quiet, shaky sound he makes when you touch him just right – a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like forever.

You huff, irritated with yourself.

This is not the kind of spiral you want to be in.

But how are you supposed to feel okay when the man you love has spent more nights with someone else this week than with you?

Someone brilliant and bright and right beside him.

Your mind drifts – dangerously, again – to what he might be doing if he was here. What you wish he was doing. Your hand plays absently with the hem of his shirt, sliding a little higher up your thigh, feeling the fabric brush over bare skin. Skin and air and silence.

You wonder if he’d even notice you were awake if he walked in right now.

Or if he’d still be thinking about JJ and her smiles.

Your stomach twists again.

You set the wine glass down, staring into the dark, heat curling beneath your skin like a storm on the verge of breaking.

You’re not proud of the jealousy. Or the spite. But tonight?

You’re not sure you care.

It’s 1:00 AM when you hear the door open.

You’ve migrated back to the couch now. Curled up like a forgotten thing in the quiet throb of the living room. A blanket is pulled tight around your shoulders, forging a cocoon of spite and cheap Sauvignon Blanc. The bottle on the coffee table is empty. There’s half a glass still in your hand, warmed by your palm. Your fingers are molded around the stem like its something keeping you grounded.

The door shuts gently.

Spencer enters the apartment the way he always does when he knows it’s late. Softly. Cautiously. The guilt doesn’t show on is face right away, but seeps in to the little things. The way he trades his leather shoes for worn slippers like they might squeak loud enough to wake you up. The careful way he sets his keys down, not with the usual absentminded clatter, but softly, like he might disturb you.

You hear the rustle of his cardigan being shrugged off and flung over the back of a chair. He moves through the apartment with the measured care of someone navigating a crime scene. Almost like a ghost; present, but not where you need him to be.

The bedroom door creaks. A pause. Then a soft, confused hum, like he’s surprised the bed is cold and vacant. 

You don’t move.

His footsteps return, still soft and hesitant, and then the living room light clicks on. It’s not bright, just enough to paint his face in a warm gold shadow. When he sees you, wrapped up and still, his features settle somewhere between relief and worry.

‘There you are,’ he says gently. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up.’

His voice is warm. Too warm. Like he’s dealing with a wounded animal, already prepared for a potential fallout.

You don’t answer right away. Just lift the glass and sip what’s left of the wine. It brought warmth before, but now just feels thin and useless as it settles in your stomach. A comfort that has already faded.

Spencer looks like he always does after a long day – exhausted. Shirt untucked and wrinkled at the collar. His hair is tousled like he’s raked his hands through it a dozen times. His lips are parted, already searching for the right apology.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ you say. The words land flat and cold. Sharper than you intended, but not enough to make you regret it.

His brow furrows as he takes a tentative step forward. ‘Oh no. Are you okay?’

‘Oh, just peachy.’ You flash him a malicious smile and tilt your head. ‘How’s JJ?’

‘JJ?’ he repeats. ‘She’s… fine?’

‘I bet.’

You see it in him. The subtle shift. His brain starts ticking, trying to process the change in tone, piece together context clues. His hands twitch slightly at his sides. You’ve seen it before, when he’s dealt with a particularly messy profile. It’s how he acts when trying to decode erratic behavior.

But this time, you’re the chaos.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, slower this time. Careful.

You finally meet his eyes, steady and level. ‘You’ve spent more time with her this week than you have with me.’

He exhales and crosses his arms. Not intentionally defensive, but it comes across that way. Just the subtle shift of someone bracin against a growing storm.

‘Me and JJ? We’re working the same case,’ he offers. Not patronising, just explaining. ‘That’s how assignments work.’

A rational answer. Reasonable. Sensible. And completely useless to the part of you that’s been sitting in silence every night, nursing bitterness like it’s a glass of wine.

‘That’s not what I said,’ you reply.

You toss off the blanket and stand, wanting to be level with him.

His gaze drops, almost instinctively, to your bare thighs peeking out from beneath his shirt. Snaps it back to your face instantly. Like he caught himself doing something inappropriate, even if it wasn’t.

‘She get’s your attention,’ you say softly. ‘Your thoughts. Your little facts. Your laughter. Your time.’

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

You keep going. Getting closer enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

‘And I get cold sheets and texts left on delivered.’

‘I didn’t mean to ignore you–’

‘She gets to share your space. Share your mind. Is that what gets you off now? Criminal profiling and shared trauma? Is that your kink, Doctor?’

His cheeks go red immediately.

‘She’s married,’ he points out, like that’ll resolve the tension.

‘Married women flirt too, Spencer.’

He’s still red, sputtering slightly now. ‘I don’t—I don’t think of JJ like that. I never have.’

‘Do you think of me like that?’ you challenge. ‘Or have I been bumped down your priority list below paperwork and tactical briefings? Do I need to start talking about blood spatter patterns during foreplay? Or maybe I need to join the FBI just so you’ll remember me.’

He swallows visibly, jaw tightening. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘No,’ you snap. ‘What’s not fair is me touching myself alone in our bed to the sound of your voice in some old Quantico press briefing because it’s the only version of you I could get this week.’

His eyes widen slightly. His breath catches. 

‘I think about you constantly,’ he says, almost desperate. 

You scoff. ‘Sure. Right after filing case summaries.’

‘No,’ he says, firmer now. ‘I do think about you. I just—I hyperfocus. And when I hyperfocus, my brain sort of queues everything else. It’s not about priority or importance. It’s about sequence. You’re just… waiting in line.’

‘Great,’ you say flatly. ‘I’m a fucking deli number.’

He winces. ‘That came out wrong.’

You look at him, taking a breath. Run a hand through your hair.

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I think you’re angry and hurt. And I think you’re trying to make me angry and hurt too. Like earlier, your messages were mean. That’s why I ignored them... Now, you’re just sort of scaring me.’

That stops you. Not because you’re insulted, but because he looks genuinely lost. Innocent.

‘I’m not trying to scare you,’ you say quietly. You deflate slightly, some of the heat leaving your voice. ‘I’m just… trying to remind you that I’m still here. Wanting you. Waiting for you.’

There’s a silence.

Then–

‘I didn’t realise it was this bad. I thought you just wanted some space.'

You nod. Not spitefully, just confirming the truth.

‘Do you even remember what it was like?’ you ask. ‘When you used to come home and fuck me like you were starving. Like you couldn’t stand being apart from me. Like the space between us physically hurt you.’

He doesn’t answer. But you see the recognition in the way his jaw ticks, the way his hands clench at his sides. 

‘I miss that,’ you say. ‘I miss you.’

That look returns to his face, unsure if this is a test. If you’re being serious. If you’re going to snap at him for misreading your cues.

So you lean in – slow – until your lips are just inches from his. ‘You say you think about me constantly… prove it.’

He hesitates. Blinks. ‘You mean like—right now?’

‘Preferably in a way that makes me forget I’m mad.’

He pauses. ‘...Sexually?’

‘That would be ideal.’

He clears his throat. ‘I just want to make sure. Because sometimes when you’re upset, you use sarcasm to—’

You lift your hand, cutting him off. ‘No sarcasm now, Doctor.’

He shifts his weight, brows still drawn a little.

‘Right, okay.’ Another pause. ‘So, just to clarify – you’re asking me to have sex with you. Now. Because you want to stop being angry. Or is the sex part of the anger expression?’

You stare at him.

He continues. 

‘Because if you’re just using me to release emotional frustrations, that’s fine, I want to have sex with you, but I’d just like to know in advance so I can—’

You step in and kiss him. 

Not sweetly or softly. 

It’s the kind of kiss used to shut him up. Open mouthed and hard, tongue sweeping across his lower lip before he’s even realised your lips are touching his. For a moment, he’s caught between instinct and hesitation. Trying to figure out if this is you just getting back at him.

Then you feel him give in. His hands grip your waist, grounding himself, allowing his mouth to move with yours in a way that’s messy and uncoordinated – like he’s catching up with weeks of missed makeout sessions.

When you finally pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his lips flushed and slightly parted.

‘I’m not asking you to give me a therapeutic exercise,’ you state. ‘I’m asking you to stop thinking and touch me.’

He nods, too quickly. ‘Right. Touching… now?’

‘No. In another three days,’ you say sarcastically, grabbing his hand and sliding it beneath the hem of your shirt – his shirt – until his fingers are splayed across your ribs. 

His palm is warm. Touch a little tentative.

‘Do you even remember what touching me feels like?’ you ask, breath brushing against his cheek.

Spencer exhales sharply, the memory hitting him and punching the breath from his lungs.

‘I think about it all the time,’ he whispers.

‘Then why are you still just standing there like this is a goddamn team-building exercise?’

He snaps into focus. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just—when you’re mad, and basically half-naked, it’s hard to follow all the emotional subtext and my working memory has lost it’s buffer—’

You roll your eyes, pushing him backward until his knees hit the couch. He drops onto the cushions with a surprised noise. Part yelp, part breathless laugh.

His hands instinctively settle on your thighs as you straddle him. He stares up at you like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he doesn’t deserve for it to be happening.

You place your palm on his shoulder, playing with the soft cotton of his shirt.

‘Spencer.’

‘Yes?’

‘Please stop thinking.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

You lean down and kiss him again. Slower, this time. Deeper. He responds instantly now, hands sliding to your waist, then up your back, holding you close to him. His mouth moves with less hesitation, more purpose.

‘I missed you,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘Missed you so much. I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to say without it sounding like I was making excuses before.’

You shift your hips against him, just enough to feel him getting harder beneath you. 

‘I don’t want an apology,’ you say.

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’ You grind down again, a little harder. ‘I want you to make it up to me.’

He moans softly, head tipping back against the couch cushions. He nods in understanding, taking a moment to catch his breath before pressing his lips to your jaw, trailing them down to your throat, feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue.

‘You’re so…’ he pauses for another kiss to your skin. ‘I mean, you always look good, but—God, you’re so, so pretty. I missed you.’

His fingers dig into your hips, and then his mouth is back on yours, rougher now. He’s kissing to make up for all the nights you went to bed alone, all the hours he spent at work while you touched yourself to a crackly echo of his voice. 

His hands slide up beneath your shirt again. Tracing your skin. He gets to your breasts, and gasps softly, like he’s surprised.

‘You’re not wearing anything under this.’

You roll your eyes at his astute observation.

‘You want to keep narrating?’ you ask, a little breathless. ‘Or do you want to do something about it?’

‘Doing something. Yes.’

He lifts the shirt off your body. Slow and tentative, like you’re something delicate. It’s a sight he’s seen numerous times before, bit his eyes still go wide as he takes you in. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

‘Jesus, Spence,’ you say, nudging his shoulder, getting impatient.

‘Sorry. You’re just gorgeous. And naked. And still angry. And you—’ he pauses, runs his hand up your ribs again. ‘—feel like something I shouldn’t be able to touch.’

‘Well I’m letting you touch me.’

You grab his wrist, guiding your hand to press between your legs. He sucks in a breath, still looking up at your face.

‘This is how mad I was,’ you whisper.

His brain seems to short-circuit again. ‘I have… no response to that.’

You push your hips down against his hands. 

‘Then shut up, and make me come.’

a/n: i ummed and ahhed about putting an aftermath scene but decided not to because I lowkey like 'em toxic >:) We also do NOT hate JJ in this house, she was just convienient. I also (can you tell I like to yap?) don't know what era of Spencer Reid I pictured for this. Somewhere in the earlier seasons, maybe? But idk. You choose. I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. I've decided not to put tags on my 18+ fics, just as I don't want any minor interactions with them Also, to the person who requested this: if it did not align with your request I'm so sorry and I can do if you really really want xxxx

[margecouture]

guide to becoming unrecognizable in 3 months ✉️

𐙚 do you desire to have clear and healthy skin? what about having the perfect morning and evening routine? we all want THE glow up. doing 75 hard challenges, cutting out toxic people, deleting our social medias, finding new workout routines.. the type of glow up where even you don't recognize you. so, here's a helpful guide with tips and tricks to becoming unrecognizable in the next 3 months :

༘⋆ healthy skin starts from within -

i. eat what's good for your gut, not what tastes good to your mouth. prioritize gut health by cutting out constant grease and sugar, drink lemon water and herbal teas. include skin loving nutrients in your meals: blueberries, almonds, spinach, cucumbers. 🍋

ii. try out a healthy skin juice recipe. the ultimate juicing recipe for glowy skin includes oranges, pineapple, ginger, and carrots. green juices are amazing as well! aim to have a juice every day or every other morning. 🍊

iii. let go of stress. stress and holding in any suffocating emotions can cause the stress to show in your skin. dark eyes, breakouts, wrinkles. i recommend keeping a cozy small journal to keep around you at all times to write out any heavy emotions. not attaching and letting it go = no stress = good skin. 🍒

༘⋆ invest in yourself and personal growth -

i. pick up a new book to read. SELF HELP BOOKS ARE A MUST! reading books give you a new perspective and are always better than doom scrolling. some of the best self help books i've read that changed my life are good vibes good life by vex king, the power of positive self-talk by kim fredrickson, and your faith is your fortune by neville goddard. 📖

ii. have a soft hobby. becoming unrecognizable means changing up what you do and what you engage in. what you absorb becomes you. having a soft hobby such as painting or knitting can make you more creative. reading next to candle light or writing while having a cup of tea daily can help soften your heart and calm your emotions. pick up a new hobby to become a new you. 💌

iii. love yourself more. i am a firm believer that self-love is the key to unlocking your best self. by loving yourself, you refuse to let yourself settle for anything less from others and yourself! loving yourself more means getting rid of old patterns, doing what's best for you, setting goals and achieving them. making yourself proud. say affirmations, have slow showers, buy yourself flowers. remember that you are human and this is also your first time at life. do what makes your spirit happy!

༘⋆ "becoming the best me" routines -

i. having a morning routine is important. the perfect morning routine sets the foundation for each day. a calm morning routine can include: no screen time, pray & meditate, make the bed, skincare & brush teeth, drink water & eat breakfast, journal, and take vitamins. how you start your day sets the tone for how your day will go. 💐

ii. create a skincare routine. to become unrecognizable, include skincare practices like icing your face, practice gua sha, have hyaluronic acid and niacinamide in your products, and dry brush your skin before showering. facial products from youth to people and tatcha are the best. glowy yet healthy skin is a must and will help you feel good too. make sure to stay moisturized! 🫧

iii. before bed i will. simple night habits allow for a peaceful rest. having a before bed routine creates a smooth mind and a cozy atmosphere. create a "before bed i will" list and include habits like putting your phone away, laying out clothes for the next day, pampering yourself, and reading 1 chapter of a good book. 🌖

iv. work towards your dream body. one of the best ways to become unrecognizable is exercising! getting and being active feels amazing. do morning yoga poses, have an afternoon wall pilates session, make time for at least 45min- 1 hour at the gym, or even do at home workouts with dumbbells. 🎀

𐙚 becoming unrecognizable won't happen overnight but as long as you're consistent and persist, you'll see results sooner than later. best of luck to becoming the best you!

[shyoko]

☆When you call them by their name instead of their affectionate nickname. ☆

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

 Requests are: open

Before anything else, sorry for disappearing, but my PC died. But well, now I have a new one, and I can keep editing and writing.

Thanks for the support!!! i love u ❤❤❤

Heeseung☆!

You're lying on the couch, enjoying the calm, with Heeseung resting his head on your lap. His eyes are closed, but the way his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your leg tells you he's more awake than he seems. You smile at him, thinking about how adorable he looks, though you also suspect he's waiting for the right moment to do something mischievous.

You take the opportunity to check your phone. Unlocking the screen, you scroll through your notifications and pause on Heeseung’s contact. It’s just his name—no nickname, no emoji. You know he doesn’t like how formal that feels.

Deciding to mess with him, you hold back a laugh and keep staring at your phone, waiting for him to notice.

“What are you looking at?” he suddenly murmurs, not opening his eyes, but his tone betrays that he’s completely awake.

You chuckle, tilting your phone slightly to keep it out of his view.

“Nothing, nothing,” you reply, keeping it just out of his reach.

He opens one eye, a playful glint in his gaze. Before you can react, he’s already on top of you, trying to snatch your phone from your hands. His closeness sends a flutter through your stomach, but you keep up the game.

“Let go!” he laughs, voice full of mischief as he stretches toward the phone.

“No!” you giggle, dodging his attempts to grab it.

Heeseung sighs dramatically, pretending to be offended, but his mischievous grin gives him away.

“Why do you have me saved as just ‘Heeseung’? Not even an emoji. That’s so cold!” he protests, crossing his arms with an exaggerated pout.

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics. He looks so cute that it’s hard to keep a straight face.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” you tease, smiling as you watch him sulk.

“Yes, but it sounds so distant,” he whines, though his playful tone tells you he’s not actually upset. “Give me something cute, something affectionate. I don’t know, a heart or a nickname.”

You’re a little surprised by his request, but you decide to go along with it. Smirking, you think for a moment.

“Hm… How about ‘My Boy 🩷’?” you suggest playfully, tilting your phone so he can see.

Heeseung freezes for a second, as if processing what you just said. Then, his face lights up with a satisfied grin, and without warning, he snatches your phone.

In the blink of an eye, he changes the contact name. “Heeseung” now reads “My Boy 🩷” on the screen.

You stare at your phone in shock, amazed at how fast he did it. Heeseung flops down beside you, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Do you like it?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

You laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up. There’s no escaping now.

“I can’t believe you actually did that!” you protest between giggles, giving him a playful shove.

“Why not?” he smirks confidently, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “I am your boy, aren’t I?”

You keep smiling, feeling the warmth of his embrace surrounding you. In that moment, between laughter and soft touches, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“You’re such an idiot,” you whisper, hiding your face in his chest to keep him from seeing how flustered you are.

“I’m your idiot, remember?” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through your hair. “Always.”

You chuckle softly, hugging him tighter. There’s nothing better than this—the warmth of his arms, the sound of his voice, and his name now saved as “My Boy 🩷” on your phone.

jay☆!

You were sitting on the couch, your phone in your hands, when Jay let out an exaggerated sigh beside you. You tilted your head in curiosity, finding his brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, propping an elbow on the back of the couch to turn toward him.

Jay glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before looking away with a small huff.

“It’s just that… you never call me by a cute nickname,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt. “It’s always ‘Jay’ this, ‘Jay’ that. I don’t know, it sounds too formal.”

A smile slipped out before you could stop it.

“Oh yeah? And what do you want me to call you?”

Jay was about to answer, but before he could, a voice interrupted from the doorway.

“Are you guys having a romantic moment or what?”

Ni-ki appeared with a mischievous grin, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Jay immediately rolled his eyes.

“Go away,” he said flatly, not even looking at him.

“Wow, so rude,” Ni-ki chuckled. “But seriously, what’s up with you now?”

Jay sighed tiredly, but when it became clear that Ni-ki wasn’t going anywhere, he finally gave in.

“I was just saying that they never call me by a cute nickname,” he explained with a pout.

“Oh, poor thing,” Ni-ki mocked, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Do you want to be called ‘teddy bear’ or something?”

Laughter burst out of you before you could hold it in. Jay shot Ni-ki a glare, but the younger boy just held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. You guys enjoy your little couple talk,” he said, turning away with a teasing smile.

Once he was gone, Jay sighed and rested his head on your shoulder, hiding his face against your neck.

“Ni-ki’s so annoying,” he muttered against your skin.

You chuckled softly, running your fingers through his hair.

“He is,” you agreed, stroking his hair gently. “But he has a point.”

Jay lifted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

You smiled before leaning closer to his ear.

“You’re my teddy bear,” you whispered playfully.

Jay blinked, his cheeks turning bright red in an instant.

“That’s even worse!” he exclaimed, covering his face.

You giggled fondly before taking his hands and intertwining your fingers with his.

“Okay, okay… but tell me, what do you want me to call you?”

Jay stared at you in silence for a moment, then sighed with a small smile.

“I don’t know, anything… just something sweet,” he murmured, tucking his face into your neck again.

Smiling, you placed a soft kiss on his hair.

“Alright, sweetheart.”

The quiet sigh Jay let out was barely noticeable, but the way he held onto you just a little tighter said it all.

“This is much better,” he whispered, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

Jake☆!

Jake was lying on the living room floor, legs stretched out and a soft smile on his face as he played with Layla. The puppy wagged her tail enthusiastically, pouncing over and over on the toy that Jake spun between his hands. The scene was so adorable that you almost felt bad interrupting it, but still, you called out to him from the couch, trying to get his attention.

"Jake! Can you come here for a second?"

Jake lifted his head immediately, as if unsure he'd heard correctly. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he stayed completely still, still holding Layla’s toy. The surprise on his face was so obvious that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

"Did you just call me Jake?" he asked, squinting slightly and letting out a soft chuckle—though there was something in his gaze that seemed genuinely displeased.

"Yeah, what about it?" you replied, raising an eyebrow.

Jake set the toy aside and slowly got up, crawling toward you with deliberate movements. He rested his arms on the edge of the couch, leaning in until your faces were only inches apart.

"I don’t like it when you call me that," he murmured with a slight pout. "It sounds too… ordinary."

"But it’s your name, Jake." You emphasized his name on purpose, enjoying the way his jaw clenched slightly.

He rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh and took your hands in his, as if that would help convince you.

"Yeah, but not from you," he insisted, lowering his voice. "‘Jake’ is what everyone calls me. Not you."

The way he looked at you, with his lips pressed together and his brows slightly furrowed, had an unmistakable hint of tenderness that made you smile involuntarily. His fingers tangled gently with yours, playing with them as if trying to distract himself.

"Ah, I see. So, my boy gets upset when I call him by his name," you teased, intertwining your fingers with his.

Jake scoffed, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

"I’m not upset… I just don’t like it," he muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I want you to call me the way you always do."

You noticed how his hands tightened around yours, as if afraid you might do it again.

"Alright, my love," you whispered with a smile.

Jake closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the way it sounded on your lips. Then, without warning, he nestled into your arms and rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.

"That’s much better," he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with contentment.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his hair as your fingers ran gently down his back. Layla let out a quiet bark beside you, as if protesting the lack of attention, but Jake didn’t even budge.

"You know this is a little dramatic, right?" you murmured in amusement.

"I don’t care," he replied, snuggling closer. "Just let me stay like this for a while."

And by the way he held onto you, you knew there was no way you’d ever call him ‘Jake’ again.

Sunghoon☆!

You were leaning against one of the tables in the café, chatting casually with a friend. The conversation flowed lightheartedly between laughter, but every now and then, your eyes drifted toward Sunghoon, who sat a few meters away with his headphones in and his phone in hand.

When your gazes met, you smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

"Sunghoon, come here for a second!" you called, gesturing with your hand.

He lifted his head, hesitating at first, but eventually put his headphones in his pocket and walked toward you with slow steps. The usual soft smile on his face had vanished, and the way his lips were pressed together made you blink in confusion.

"What's wrong?" you asked when he reached your side.

Sunghoon shook his head, shrugging, but avoided your gaze. He merely clicked his tongue lightly, crossing his arms and glancing toward the window.

"Is something bothering you?" you insisted, frowning. "Are you upset that I was talking to him?"

"No," he answered quickly, rolling his eyes. "It's not that."

The dry tone of his voice and the way his fingers tapped against his arm gave him away. You sighed, saying goodbye to your friend before gently taking Sunghoon by the wrist and leading him to a more private corner.

"Hey, are you sure nothing's wrong?" you murmured, searching his eyes. "You've been acting strange since you came over."

Sunghoon puffed out his cheeks, avoiding your gaze.

"It's just… you called me 'Sunghoon,'" he finally admitted, a small pout forming on his lips. "Not even a 'baby' or anything. It sounded like you didn’t even know me."

Surprise made you blink a couple of times before a small laugh escaped you. Sunghoon scrunched his nose, clearly offended.

"Ah, so that's what it was," you smiled, tightening your grip on his wrist slightly. "I thought you didn’t like that kind of thing in public. The nicknames and all…"

He huffed, clicking his tongue in irritation.

"I just don’t like other guys thinking I'm not your boyfriend," he muttered, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. "I like it when you call me cute things, not just my name. It sounds too cold."

The sincerity in his tone and the way his gaze shifted anxiously, as if looking for an escape, made you smile fondly.

"Wow, I didn’t know you were this sensitive," you teased gently.

Sunghoon puffed out his cheeks again, turning his gaze away with a small scoff.

"I’m not sensitive…" he grumbled, though the way his fingers intertwined with yours completely contradicted him. "I just… like it when it sounds like I’m special."

With a soft smile, you stood on your tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. The blush on his face deepened instantly, and though he tried to keep his annoyed expression, his lips began to curve slightly.

"Alright then, ‘baby,’" you whispered sweetly.

Sunghoon let out a quiet sigh, and though he crossed his arms as if still upset, he didn’t move away. On the contrary, he leaned his forehead a little closer to yours, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Much better," he murmured, and though his voice was soft and serious, you could feel his smile against your skin—warm and small.

Sunoo☆!

The challenge had started as a simple joke—just to see how Sunoo would react if you called him by his name instead of the affectionate nicknames he loved so much. The guys—Jay, Niki, and Sunghoon—could barely contain their laughter when they saw you walk into the room with that fake serious expression. They hid behind the slightly open door, trying not to make a sound while you prepared to set the plan in motion.

Sunoo was sitting on the mattress, legs crossed, phone in hand. The soft afternoon light streamed through the window, casting warm highlights in his hair. His fingers moved quickly across the screen, and his calm expression made you hesitate for a second before clearing your throat.

"Sunoo! Come here for a second!" you called, trying to sound natural.

At the sound of his name, Sunoo immediately lifted his head. His expression shifted from surprise to annoyance in the blink of an eye, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at you as if you had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His jaw tensed slightly, and his lips pressed together, making it clear that he was not in the mood for jokes.

"What did you just say?" he asked, setting his phone aside and getting up with quick steps. His tone was colder than usual, and the way he held your gaze without blinking made it impossible to take the situation lightly.

"I called you, what’s the problem?" you defended yourself, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

"Don’t call me that!" he protested immediately, frowning. "It sounds horrible. Like I’m just any other person."

The firmness in his voice and the way he crossed his arms in front of you, chin raised and eyes shining with a mix of irritation and defiance, made it clear that the challenge was working. Sometimes, the confidence in Sunoo’s gaze managed to disarm you faster than you were willing to admit.

"But it’s your name, Sunoo," you insisted with a teasing smile, provoking him on purpose.

At the sound of his name again, Sunoo let out an irritated huff, rolling his eyes and pressing his lips together in frustration.

"No more ‘Sunoo!’" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Call me ‘baby’ or ‘my love.’ That sounds much nicer. That’s what I want to hear."

It was right then that a small, choked noise broke the silence. Someone—clearly Niki—let out a stifled giggle, and the faint sound made Sunoo turn sharply toward the door. His eyes narrowed, and before the guys could react, he marched toward it with quick, firm steps.

"Ah! So this was a joke, huh?" he muttered, swinging the door open to find all three of them barely holding back laughter. "Very funny. Really."

Jay and Sunghoon raised their hands in surrender, but Niki burst into laughter, leaning on Jay’s shoulder as he doubled over. Sunoo clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes in irritation before slamming the door shut with a sharp huff.

"You guys are so annoying," he mumbled, pressing his lips together as he rested his head against the door. His expression remained serious, and the faint redness on his cheeks only made his frustration more obvious.

You sighed with a guilty smile, stepping closer to him softly. Before he could complain again, you took his wrist and led him back to the mattress, gently guiding him to sit down as you settled beside him, wrapping your arms around him.

"I’m sorry, baby," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his flushed cheek. "You know it was just a joke. Don’t be mad."

Sunoo huffed, turning his head away from you. His lips remained pressed in a pout, and the way he kept his arms crossed against his chest made it clear that his annoyance hadn’t faded yet.

"You’re all so cruel," he mumbled, his tone dry and sharp. "It’s not funny."

You smiled against his skin, leaving a slow trail of kisses from his cheek down to the hollow of his neck. You felt his shoulders gradually relax, though his lips remained tight as he tried not to give in too easily.

"Will you forgive me?" you whispered, placing one last kiss near his ear. "You know I just wanted to tease you a little."

Sunoo let out a quiet sigh, resting his forehead against your shoulder, though he refused to look at you.

"Maybe…" he murmured, his voice softer but still sulky. "But you owe me cuddles. Lots of them."

And even though his face remained serious and his gaze fixed on the fabric of your shirt, the way he curled up against you, eyes fluttering shut and hands gripping your clothes, made it clear that his anger wouldn’t last much longer.

Jungwon☆!

The argument had ended a few minutes ago, but the silence between the two of you felt heavy and cold. Jungwon stood in the middle of the room, biting his lip nervously, while you took a few steps toward the window, trying to calm yourself. The way you had said his name, without any of the usual affectionate nicknames, hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

"Hey... can we talk, please?" he asked in a low, uncertain voice. But you didn’t respond, keeping your gaze fixed outside, even though you weren’t really looking at anything.

"Are you really going to keep calling me that?" Jungwon insisted, taking a step closer, his dark eyes reflecting a mix of regret and sadness. The way he said your name sounded almost like a plea, so soft that the knot in your throat tightened even more.

"It’s your name, isn’t it?" you replied, trying to sound firm, though your voice wavered slightly.

Jungwon pressed his lips together, his shoulders tensing. He didn’t like hearing that, especially in that distant tone. He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze for a moment, as if debating with himself whether or not to take the next step. But the thought of you continuing to call him that was enough to make him forget his pride.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. He stepped closer, carefully, as if afraid you would pull away.

"I really am, love. I didn’t… I didn’t want it to end like this. Please, don’t call me that."

The way his voice broke at the end made something inside you crack as well. Before you could respond, Jungwon gently took your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. His grip was warm, but he was shaking slightly.

"I know I messed up. But please, don’t talk to me like I’m a stranger," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes with an almost broken sigh.

"Call me like you used to. Just tell me you forgive me, okay?"

The pain and regret in his eyes were so evident that you couldn’t keep up the act for much longer. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as his fingers softly traced yours, as if afraid you’d pull away.

"Jungwon..." you started, and you felt him tense at the mention of his name again. But before he could say anything, you continued:

"It’s okay, my love. I’m not angry, just… it hurt, you know?" you admitted softly, cupping his cheek.

He let out a deep sigh of relief, so profound it was as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. He hugged you without hesitation, burying his face in your neck as he murmured apologies over and over again, clinging to you as if afraid you would disappear.

"Thank you… thank you for forgiving me, love," he whispered, and this time his voice was broken, but filled with relief and warmth.

"I love you."

And in his arms, the weight in your chest slowly began to fade away.

Ni-ki☆!

You were in the kitchen, stirring the food in the pan, when you raised your voice to call Ni-ki from the living room.

"Jake, come here for a second!"

Silence fell immediately. The moment the words left your mouth, you knew you had messed up.

From the couch, Ni-ki lifted his head with a look of disbelief. He didn’t say anything at first, but the way he narrowed his eyes made it clear that he had heard you perfectly.

He stood up and walked toward the kitchen with slow steps, crossing his arms.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his tone dripping with irritation.

You froze for a moment, feeling the tension in the air.

"I'm sorry, Ni-ki… I meant—"

"Oh, so not only do you not call me by a cute nickname, but you say someone else’s name instead?" he interrupted, scoffing in annoyance. "And Jake’s, of all people. How embarrassing."

He placed a hand over his chest dramatically, but the frown on his face showed that he was genuinely bothered.

"I'm really sorry, it wasn’t on purpose…" you murmured, taking a step toward him.

Ni-ki averted his gaze with a small huff, but the way his jaw relaxed let you know he was already getting over it.

"Just… don’t call me Jake again," he said, still keeping his arms crossed.

You smiled tenderly before gently touching his arm.

"I promise, love. I won’t do it again."

The nickname worked instantly. Ni-ki looked at you in silence for a moment, and then, without warning, leaned in and wrapped his arms around you. His embrace was firm, almost possessive.

"You’re mine, you know that?" he murmured against your lips with a mischievous smile.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you placed a soft kiss on his lips, lingering just enough to make the tension disappear completely.

Just then, a low chuckle came from the doorway.

"Dude, that’s disgusting," Jay said, leaning against the frame with a raised eyebrow. "So now you’re one of those ‘you’re mine’ guys? That’s new."

Ni-ki turned his head, frowning.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just remember when you used to laugh at me for being ‘cheesy’ with my girlfriend," Jay replied, making air quotes. "And look at you now—‘mine’ this, kisses everywhere."

Ni-ki opened his mouth to argue, but no comeback came to mind. His ears instantly turned red.

"Screw you, Jay."

"Gladly, but I’m enjoying the show too much." Jay smirked smugly before turning away and disappearing down the hallway.

Jay smirked smugly before turning away and disappearing down the hallway. Ni-ki let out a frustrated sigh and rested his forehead on your shoulder, mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?" you asked, laughing.

"I hate him," he muttered against your neck, clinging even tighter to you.

"And here I thought you were tough, Ni-ki."

He lifted his head with a frown, but the way he held onto your waist even more tightly gave him away—deep down, he didn’t mind at all.

"Hii! Now that I'm back, I'd love to know, do you have any ideas or suggestions for what you'd like to see next? I'm open to recommendations, so feel free to comment. I'm reading you!" ❤❤❤

[archivegyu]

masterlist

unspoken, yet known

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AUGUST 8 — SEUNGCHEOL’S BIRTHDAY

A soft sigh escaped your lips when you unlocked the apartment door. The click of it closing behind you was familiar and comforting. The scent of morning coffee still lingered faintly in the air, left from the to-go cup you prepped earlier—his, not yours. You slipped off your shoes, dropped your bag by the wall, and padded into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled from the afternoon sun and a long half-day at uni.

Your phone buzzed.

A video call.

Incoming call from Drunk Gyu 

You picked it up, leaning lazily against the counter. “Let me guess, you’re calling to interrogate me.”

Mingyu’s face popped into view, sweat-slicked hair pushed back with a towel around his neck. “We’re just checking in. Totally normal. Definitely not to say someone is pouting.”

Joshua leaned over from behind him, sitting on the floor of the practice room. “He waited until 12:03. You didn’t call. Or text. He thinks you forgot.”

You blinked, stunned. “Wait, he stayed up that late?”

“Correction,” Joshua said, raising a finger. “He was already up. He was with Woozi, in the studio. Jihoon was working on a new arrangement, and your sulking best friend sat there staring at his phone in the dark like he was waiting for a prophecy.”

Mingyu chuckled. “At 12:03, he sighed so loud we thought something broke. Said, ‘She must be tired…’ Then walked out like a rejected K-drama second lead.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, running a hand down your face.

“And,” Joshua added, “Cheol told us that he came home at, like, 3 AM. To quote him ‘I woke up three hours later annoyed’ then, found your note next to a packed breakfast and thought you were avoiding him.”

“I had class” you said defensively, though your voice softened. “Today’s a half day, I swear.”

“Then why does he think you’re gone till night?”

“Because I might have told him my schedule was full just to buy time for the surprise?”

Joshua gasped dramatically.

Mingyu leaned in closer. “So you’re cooking something up. I knew it.”

You smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward the empty tote bag by the front door. You hadn’t even bought the ingredients yet. There was dinner to prepare, decorations to set up, and a cake to pick up. Your window was tight, but you were determined.

Joshua wagged a finger. “Well, better make it count. He’s been sulking all day. Even Minghao told him to go lie down somewhere.”

You laughed, already heading for the door again. “Then I’ll make it worth the wait.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The city was golden and bright, dusted with the warmth of a late summer afternoon. You strolled with Kkuma trotting happily beside you, her new pink bow bouncing with every step.

First stop: the bakery.

A quaint spot tucked into a side street, lined with ribboned boxes and pastries that sparkled under glass. You stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming.

“Back so soon?” the baker greeted with a knowing smile.

“It’s his birthday,” you said, crouching to pat Kkuma. “I need a cake that’s… not plain. Not white. Not boring. He pouted for an hour last year because I gave him a minimalist one.”

The baker laughed. “Sounds like he’s particular.”

“He’s sentimental,” you corrected. “And dramatic.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So... something cute? Thoughtful?”

“With effort,” you added. “Like, it has to look like I lost sleep over it.”

“Got it. Leave it to me.”

You left the shop with a receipt and a promise to come back in two hours. Kkuma trotted beside you, her ears twitching.

Next was the gift shop. You wandered between shelves of candles and accessories before settling on a simple silver bracelet. Not flashy. Just… sincere. You had it engraved with the words:

“with you, always.”

You turned the small box in your hand, heart fluttering at the thought of his face when he’d open it.

On your way out, you spotted a set of pastel hairpins: lavender, peach, and daisy-patterned. You looked down at Kkuma.

She stared back with resigned eyes.

“I know,” you said. “You thought Cheol was the shopaholic in this house.”

She sighed (you swear she did), and followed you anyway.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

By early evening, the apartment had transformed.

The lights were dimmed. Soft fairy lights strung along the ceiling glowed in a warm hue. You lit a few candles, small ones, nothing too dramatic, just enough to give the room a flicker of intimacy. You cooked carefully, triple-checking the taste, adjusting the plating. Bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, soft egg rolls, seaweed soup.

You set the table, added a handwritten note under his plate that read:

“For the one who never lets me feel alone. Happy Birthday !!”

Kkuma sat by your feet, freshly brushed, with one of her new pins clipped into her fur.

You held the cake, tiny candles flickering, and stood by the entryway, the soft hum of music playing low in the background.

The door clicked open.

Seungcheol stepped in, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. He froze the moment he looked up.

You.

The lights.

The food.

Kkuma, who immediately barked and ran to him.

He picked her up with one arm, still staring.

You smiled, lifting the cake gently.

“Happy birthday, Cheol.”

His expression cracked, eyes glassy, smile shaky.

“I thought you forgot.”

“I never forget,” you said softly. “You just had to wait a little.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Dinner passed in a haze of warm lights and quiet laughter. The living room, usually scattered with Kkuma’s toys or forgotten laundry, had transformed into something soft and thoughtful: dim lights, a candlelit table, the faint scent of soy and sesame oil wafting through the air.

Seungcheol was glowing under it all. Not from the candles, not from the wine, but from something gentler. His eyes were crescent-shaped from smiling too much, and his shoulders had lost that weighted, practice-room tension.

“You really made all of this?” he asked again, looking at the food like it had just told him a secret.

“Mhm.” You fought the grin tugging at your mouth as you refilled his bowl. “Twice, if you keep asking.”

He scooped another helping of rice with exaggerated reverence. “I’m serious. This is…” He took a bite, chewed, and let out a dramatic groan. “Okay, no. This should be illegal. You could honestly take over the world with this marinade.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic. If you ever betray me, please do it after dinner.”

You tossed a napkin at him, and he dodged it with a smug smile, eyes twinkling under the golden light. Then came a quieter beat, one that didn’t need to announce itself. He lowered his chopsticks and looked at you with a kind of fondness that made the room feel smaller.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” he said, voice softer now. “Coming home to you. Just… being here.”

You paused mid-reach for the pitcher of water, surprised. “You’ve only been gone a day.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Felt longer.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So you looked at him a moment longer, then rose from your seat.

“I got you something.”

His gaze followed you as you crossed the room. You came back with a tiny wrapped box, not flashy, not extravagant—just you, wrapped in care. You placed it gently in front of him.

Seungcheol blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

He opened it slowly, carefully peeling away the tape like he was afraid to ruin whatever was inside. When the lid came off, he stared.

It was a silver bracelet. Simple. Clean. The kind he could wear every day.

His thumb grazed the small engraving on the inside.

“with you, always.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed the box gently, like sealing in something delicate. Then he stood up from his seat, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, and walked toward you.

When he wrapped his arms around your waist, it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was quiet. Steady. Honest.

His head lowered, resting gently against your shoulder. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let out a breath, like this was what he’d been waiting for all day without realizing it.

“I really love it,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

You placed a hand gently on the back of his head. “I’m glad.”

He stayed there a little longer, his grip loosening just a bit, but his thoughts only tightening.

If only you knew how much of me is already yours.

He didn’t say that part out loud.

Instead, he let the silence speak for him, and held on a little longer.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Later that night, the three of them— Seungcheol, her, and a half-asleep Kkuma— ended up in his room instead of the living room like they’d originally planned. The shift was unspoken, effortless. His room always felt warmer anyway, a little smaller, a little softer. Familiar.

The bedside lamp was dim, casting golden shadows across the room. Outside, the city moved quietly beneath them, but in here, everything had settled into something quieter. Safer.

She was curled up next to him under a shared blanket, legs tucked beneath her and sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. Kkuma was nestled in her lap, already asleep, little breaths even and steady.

Seungcheol scrolled through the movie options with one hand, trying to ignore how close she was. How she smelled like vanilla and clean laundry. How his heart had been pacing with a quiet urgency ever since dinner ended and they sat down together like this was just another normal night.

It wasn’t.

He turned to her with a small, knowing grin. “Let’s watch Made of Honor.”

She groaned. “Why this one again?”

“It’s funny and chaotic!” he said with a shrug, like it didn’t mean more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

His heart stalled for a beat, but his smile didn’t falter.

She threw a handful of popcorn at him, laughing. He caught one piece in his mouth and grinned like an idiot, like this, her laughter, this version of home. It was something he could hold onto. Something he wanted to.

Eventually, her laughter faded into a soft, comfortable quiet. She leaned into his side, her head barely brushing his shoulder, but it was enough to make him forget the movie had even started. His body went still. Not rigid, just focused. Aware of her warmth, her presence, the weight of how easy this felt.

The movie played on, but his attention kept drifting. He’d seen this film enough times to memorize the lines, but tonight, the only thing he could memorize was the slope of her cheek in the golden light and how her fingers absentmindedly stroked Kkuma’s fur.

There was a part of him, maybe the reckless part, that wanted to reach for her hand. Just to hold it. Just to know how it felt to be allowed that much.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

By the time they were halfway through the second movie—Love, Rosie—her head had gently slipped onto his shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Eyes closed. Sleep found her easily.

Seungcheol turned his head to say something about the scene. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue. But the moment he looked down at her, words disappeared.

She was asleep, soft and unguarded. Kkuma had shifted, curling closer into her chest.

And he just… looked.

There was no other way to put it, he looked at her the way someone does when they’re trying to hold a moment still. Trying to memorize every detail so they could carry it through time.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how many versions of this moment lived in his memory. How many times he’d chosen silence just to keep things the way they were. How many times he’d wanted to say something and instead, just like now, said nothing at all.

But he loved her.

He loved her the way you love someone you never want to lose.

Quietly.

I hope you always feel how much I love you, he thought, staring at the way her face softened in sleep. Even when I say nothing at all.

He reached for the remote and clicked the screen off. The room dimmed into stillness. He adjusted the blanket, pulling it gently over her shoulder, tucking it beneath her chin like she’d done for him once months ago, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch after a rough night at practice.

Then he lay back, careful not to jostle her or wake Kkuma, and settled beside them.

He let himself stay like that. Close, quiet, content.

And just before sleep started to pull him under, he turned his head, eyes still on her.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. A pause. A breath.

“I love you.”

Soft. Gentle.

A secret tucked into the dark.

One she’d never hear.

Not yet.

[thragedys]

Midnight Visitor

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: Thanks to the takeout you ate last night, the effects of food poisoning from poor catering have finally kicked in, hitting you when you least expected it. To ensure you’re properly cared for, Sol takes the duty of watching over you.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: Gender neutral reader, sick reader, Sol being soft, affection, trespassing, jealous Sol (+ more!)

After undergoing a series of nausea and intense dizziness, Sol insisted on walking you home despite being out in the city with him and Hyugo. It was as though all life was drained from your face, the only support you had while walking was Sol’s arms holding you upright. 

Food poisoning… Should’ve never eaten from that takeout place with less than three stars in their reviews.

Grabbing the key from your bag, he unlocks the door and escorts you inside, directing you to your bedroom while you whine and hold your face in your hands. Even the slightest tilt of your head would send you spiralling sideways, a recipe for disaster as your stomach decides to conjure its own storm.

Inside the kitchen, Sol spots a paper bag. The logo of the company which made you unwell is there, presented in a large font. Retrieving his phone, he snaps a picture of the logo, alongside the contact details printed on the back. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he has more important things to tend to. You.

Rummaging through your cupboards, he successfully finds some medication that will ease the aches in your stomach. As for your dizzy head, the best thing he can do for you is close your curtains and encourage you to get rest. Fluid intake is also vital, it’ll aid dehydration. Returning to your side with a glass of water and some pills, Sol places them on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your bed.

“Are you okay? Let me feel your head.” Sol sighs, placing his palm flat on your forehead.

“Sol…” You whine, one hand remaining on your stomach and the other clutching his free hand.

“You’re not that hot, yet. Leave your window open—”

“No! No, I can’t! You’ve seen the news…”

“You will be fine, I promise. Fresh air will make you feel a lot better.” 

“I’m sorry for burdening you with this…”

“Don’t be. I’d rather it be me taking care of you than anyone else.”

“I’ll buy you a—”

“No. Sit down.”

“Ugh, Sol—”

“Rest.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you gift when I’m better…” You mumble, pouting at him as he leans against the doorframe.

“Send me a text or call me if you need me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Text… Call… Yeah.” You repeat, rubbing your eyes while burying your head into the pillow.

“Don’t forget, take your medicine.”

“I’m gonna take it… Now.” You reach over and drop the pills into your mouth, then take a small sip of the drink to wash them down.

“Goodnight. I hope you feel better soon.”

Before leaving, he waited until he heard your breathing pattern change, signifying that you were asleep. Alongside the medication, he slipped in a sleeping pill, its dosage strong enough to keep you out for the correct amount of time. 

As if he would leave you alone so easily while you’re sick.

Right now, however, his main concern is dealing with the business that made his soulmate ill, after all, what good is a company in operation if its only achievement is casting a vast majority of its customers extremely unwell upon eating their cheaply sourced food?

Upon arriving back at his apartment, he stripped from his usual attire and threw on a set of his darkest clothes, a matching surgical mask to cover what remained exposed on his face. A complaint wouldn’t be enough, they clearly racked up enough of them online but did not change a singular thing about their selfish ways.

It was just after midnight when the streets were soundless and the civilians were tucked away inside of the safety of their homes. Strolling down the deserted sidewalk, Sol stops outside of a building, comparing the logo to the one saved in his photo album. A perfect match. 

Subtly, Sol explored the perimeter, tracing the outline of the building before returning to the front. It’s no wonder why all of their customers become unwell, the amount of trash that remains behind the building is piled up, much taller than him. 

There is no point in teaching those who do not wish to learn. An ignorant mind reflects an ignorant heart. Only the careless would profit from neglect like this.

Flicking his lighter on, he tosses it to the ground before walking away, the flicker of flames igniting in the distance as he glances back. It won’t be long before a passerby calls the fire department, but that’s no concern to him. When the authorities see the state the building was in previously, they could rule it out as the impact of an unkempt business.

His feet led him back to your apartment, the open window a much easier entrance for him as he climbed up. After all those locks you’ve bought in the past, he’s surprised you never gave up your safety protocols. Securing his footing, he creeps back into your bedroom, kneeling beside you as you rest peacefully in your slumber.

You are so beautiful. Every feature of your face was crafted with tender hands. He traces over your lips with his index finger, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. “I’m going to check your temperature again.”

This time, Sol uses the back of his hand. Thankfully, he would say you are around average, partially a slight bit higher than usual.

“Good… You’re going to be okay. You might be sick tomorrow but I’ll come over to make sure you aren’t alone.”

“You like having me here, don’t you? You feel so safe, so loved.” He strokes your hair similar to how you would pet a fragile animal. As his hand ventures under the blanket, he comes in contact with something.

“You still sleep with the plushie I bought for you? You…” Sol’s smile expands, his cheeks lighting a subtle shade of pink. “You must love it. Or me. I hope it’s me.”

In your sleep, you moan, your body beginning to shift. He strokes the side of your arm, calming you down as you endure whatever dream is unfolding. After a while, your body stops with its relentless motions and goes still again.

“This is our special time together. It’s my favourite part of the day.” Sol’s lips curve up, his eyes filled with adoration as he clutches your plushie close to his chest. “I’ll make it smell like me again, don’t worry.”

“Mph…” Your lips moved, but he couldn’t decipher the sound that left them.

“Hm?” Sol pinches your cheek, a procedure to test if you’re awake or not. 

You must be mumbling to yourself since you didn’t respond to his touch.

“I’m guessing you missed smelling me then. That’s cute.” When he finished rubbing the plushie against his flesh and clothing, he tucked it under your chin. “You’re cute.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know?” Sol mumbles, sinking onto the bed beside you, fingers toying with your hair.

“He would never do the things I have done for you.”

“I know you prefer me. It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it right now. I can wait.” He rolls onto his side, your face now in view. 

“You make it hard for me to leave every single time…” His pitch was low, an almost pouty tone as he nuzzled his head against your chest. Lifting your limbs, he wraps them around himself, drawing the blanket over both of your bodies this time.

“I’ll just stay like this for a few more minutes… Then I have to go.” Sol closes his eyes, the therapeutic beats of your heart are a soothing melody to his ears.

…

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a bitter breeze hitting your clammy skin. Compared to yesterday, you’re feeling a lot better, the only thing remaining is the dull ache in your stomach. Rubbing your eyes, you squeeze your plushie, only to hear a strange noise. 

Last time you checked, this plushie shouldn’t be able to communicate. Shooting your eyes open, you find a mess of green hair sprawled out on top of you. 

“Sol?” You rub your eyes again, unsure if what is in front of you is reality or a fever dream.

“Yeah…?” Sol mumbles in response, his body shifting. Then he goes still, springing up from his previous position. Shit.

“I thought you left last night.” 

“After you took your medicine, you asked me to stay. You went out like a light but I made sure that you were okay.”

“Did you have this on yesterday?” You tug at his hoodie. “I’ve never seen you wear clothes like this before.”

“These are my comfy clothes, that’s why. I keep the hoodie in my backpack.”

“Oh…” That food poisoning must have hit you hard to leave you so delirious. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“…?” Sol flutters his eyelashes while your hands cup his cheeks, drawing him near. Your lips plant a peck on his forehead, a suiting reward since he went out of his way for you.

“Ah… You shouldn’t have to thank me… It’s what anyone would do.” Sol rubs the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his face.

“I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get you to the bathroom. Get all of that food out of your system for good.” Sol stands first, offering his hand to assist you to your feet.

“I don’t like vomiting.” You mope, refusing to move despite your stomach cramping further.

“But it has to come out. You’ll be okay, I’m right here.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it gently.

The only option is to get up if you don’t want to clean your bedsheets. Swiftly shuffling between rooms, you kneel before the toilet and allow your body to regulate itself, removing the foreign pathogens that invaded your meal. Sol rubbed your back, making the process easier. There wasn’t a lot of retching, but you still felt that familiar burn in your throat when you were finished.

“Any more?” Sol pats your upper back and you shake your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time. No more buying from trashy food places.”

“But they’re cheap…” You puff air into your cheeks, taking your toothbrush which he handed you to remove the bitter taste from your mouth.

“My meals are free. Don’t be ashamed to ask.” Sol takes a final glance at you before heading back to your kitchen, scouring the cupboards in search of something to work with.

For you, he would do anything. Make anything. Even if it’s from scratch. No matter the simplicity or complication of a request you have, he will ensure that you get what you ask for. You don’t deserve anything less. If only you were aware of the lengths he has gone and is still willing to go for you.

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

[yawnderu]

Perfect Life — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

The first night the baby is home, Simon is so elated, mind racing 100 miles per hour. He glances at you and the sleeping baby between both of you, afraid he would crush her in his sleep despite knowing he sleeps like a rock.

What if this time is different? What if he has a nightmare and accidentally hurts either of you? What if someone breaks in? He doesn't have nightmares as often anymore, sleeping with you helps keep them at bay and you both have a fancy security system, yet he'd never forgive himself if anything goes wrong... so he does what he does best; be a guard dog for his girls.

"I love you." He whispers to both of you, laying on his side and looking at you both as if he was examining you in a lab, your breathing pattern he memorized years ago is still the same, and now he's memorizing the one of the little girl in front of him, carving it in his brain just in case if anything is wrong, he'll be able to tell.

It's been almost two hours and Simon isn't sleeping, staying up late and having a bad sleeping pattern became a part of him after so many years serving yet this time he isn't watching an enemy or a facility they're targeting, no, he's watching something much more important. He's watching his wife cuddle the baby in her sleep, her touch delicate yet protective, just as he imagined it would be ever since he found out you were pregnant.

He moves carefully around the bed, hand grabbing his phone and turning the brightness all the way down. Simon looks at you again just to make sure you're asleep before unlocking his secure folder, the corners of his mouth tilting up when he sees the contents of the folder.

It's full of pictures and videos of you, starting back in the day the 141 was formed, until you were heavily pregnant. The latest picture was of all three of you, holding the newborn in the hospital room, happy smiles on both of your faces and pure pride in his eyes. A small chuckle escapes him when he remembers how the nurse he approached seemed scared of him until he asked if she could take a picture of him and his girls, looking around one more time to make sure you were still asleep despite being able to hear your soft snores.

I'm so proud of you. His lips curled up into a soft smile, eyes starting to sting as they did every single time he remembers how far you've come. You look so different from the first time he met you—in fact, you both do, yet you're as beautiful as ever; fresh out of the hospital, no makeup, messy hair, and a peaceful look on your sleeping face while you hold the baby.

Thank you so much. In the quietness of his room and in bed with his two girls, Simon allows the tears to escape his eyes for the first time in years. I didn't even know I could cry anymore.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead and does the same for his little girl before laying back down, an arm protectively wrapped around your waist and over the baby, setting a safe distance between him and his little girl in fear of crushing her in his sleep. With one final look at his pride and joy he drifts off to sleep, his behemoth frame used as a protective shield for both of you in case something happens. Deep inside, he knows you're all safe.

[pathologicalreid]

the anniversary effect | s.r.

in which the anniversary of reader's assault nears and Spencer would move heaven and earth to make sure she's okay

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: past sa, rohypnol, chemist!reader, technically a continuation of don't get dark, but you don't have to read it first, not proofread because im a freak, panic attack, hydroxyzine, ptsd, read with care word count: 1.96k a/n: @lilacsandlavenderhaze you asked me to tag you when i publish this <3 so here it is <3 also hey guys do we like our summaries in the second or third person?

Spencer looked down at the keypad that would unlock the door to your lab. A custodian had let him in the chemistry building after a slight misuse of his bureau credentials, but he hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t be able to get into the laboratory. Every time he’d been here before, it had been either during working hours or you’d known to expect him. This time, you had no idea he was here.

He'd been looking everywhere for you, and he wasn’t sure why the lab wasn’t the first place he checked. Garcia had checked your phone’s location for him.

He eyed the keypad as if it were an enemy, looking for patterns in which keys were more worn than others, but your lab wasn’t the only one behind these doors. There was no way for him to be sure.

Ten keys mean ten thousand possible permutations, and that didn’t include the possibility that he might need to hit the pound sign or asterisk before or after the code. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he called your cell first—it went straight to voicemail. When he called your lab phone, it rang six times before he was asked to leave a message. He put his phone back in his pocket and tried a number—your birth year—and tried the same number with the pound sign and asterisk.

Spencer ran a frantic hand through his hair. He never should’ve gone on the case. He never should’ve been in Arizona while he knew you were stuck in your own mind. He tried another combination—the year you got your PhD—to no avail.

The two of you had talked about it last week. You started pulling away from him, and he finally commented on your behavior when his hand on your shoulder frightened you so badly that you dropped your favorite mug on the kitchen floor. Thankfully you hadn’t been burnt by any of the hot coffee, but upon discovering the mug was ruined, you were inconsolable. It was as if the broken mug had been your final straw, and Spencer had left for Flagstaff that day.

He tried a new combination—your birth month and date—and the keypad still flashed red. He released a huff of frustration and wondered if it would be fair form to shoot out the lock. Spencer shook his head, dismissing the extreme option from his list of choices before he resorted to wiggling the door handle, hoping the mechanism would fail and he could open the door.

A noise behind him caught his attention. Briefly, he made eye contact with the custodian, a young guy with spiked blonde hair, “Did you forget your ID?” He asked, pulling a wired earbud from his ear and jutting his chin in the direction of the door.

The lie formed in Spencer’s mind, already building a story to run by the custodian in order to get through the doors, “I left it in my office, would you mind?” Spencer gestured to the keypad, hoping he could get the custodian to swipe him through.

“Yeah, sure,” the blonde guy said, stalking over and pulling on his badge reel, swiping his university ID, and opening the door when it finally flashed green. “Have a good night, man,” the employee said, replacing his earbud before returning to his cart.

It was almost too easy to get him to open the door, which Spencer didn’t particularly appreciate. In this instance, it turned out to be beneficial, but he didn’t like that anyone could be let into the labs if they simply looked like they might belong. Instead of griping about it, he thanked him and slipped through the door, shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way to your private lab.

You’d taken a new job recently, jumping to a different university in the district where they offered you a private lab for your research, and you seemed happy here. You had all of the freedom you needed to do things like stay at work even as the clock approached midnight. Maybe it was too much freedom, at least for right now.

He opened the door that had your name written across it, slowly stepping into the dark lab as he looked around for you. Spencer didn’t see you, and there weren’t many places for you to be out of view, in the dark, his other senses accommodated the loss of his sight, and his ears pricked when he heard a small shuffle.

Taking another step forward, he peeked around a lab table and found you.

You backed yourself into a corner, leaving nothing but a pile of limbs flush with the cabinet as you sat in silence, either ignoring or unaware of Spencer’s presence. He approached you with the same delicacy that one would approach a doe, he didn’t want to scare you. Hundreds of possibilities flurried through his mind as he crouched in front of you and took notice of the small bottle in your hand.

When you and Spencer had just started dating, before you’d ever been intimate, you’d told him about a time you went out with a group of college friends that ended with one of them attacking you. He drugged you and assaulted you, leaving you with a physical scar on your side and an emotional one on your heart.

Spencer didn’t make a habit of hating people he never met, but he made an exception in this case. He allowed himself to despise this man on your behalf, justifying his emotions every time he remembered how badly the memories made you cry.

It’d been three years, almost to the date since you’d been attacked, and all it took was a good look at the bottle in your hand and he knew exactly what was going on. He read the label over again. Flunitrazepam.

Rohypnol.

“Hey, baby,” Spencer whispered, morphing his tone into something that would suit the atmosphere. He watched your body language, the way your breathing hitched at the sound of your voice.

The despondent look in your eyes snapped into fear before you settled, your shoulders calming down slightly at the recognition that there wasn’t an enemy in front of you. It was Spencer.

Swallowing thickly, he reached out a hand and took the bottle. You tightened your grip on it, not wanting him to take it from you, “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he assured you, “I’m just gonna set this on the counter for you.”

Your grip slackened and he followed through on his promise, keeping a wary eye on you as you looked around the lab, staring at the floor as if it was entirely foreign to you, “I don’t remember sitting,” you muttered aimlessly, looking up at Spencer through your safety goggles. Spencer noticed the way your breathing quickened, “I didn’t— What time is it?”

He shook his head, trying to grab your hands before you pulled them into your lap, he settled for one hand on your knee, something to ground you, “It’s late,” he told you.

“I… I had a meeting with a professor in pharmacology. We were… he wanted to work with me on a project,” you placed your head in your hands, shaking your head like you had lost time. “He’d read my research on the dye they use in Rohypnol to make light-colored drinks turn blue, and wondered if we could find something to color dark liquids like cola.”

It was terrible, atrocious timing on the part of the pharmacist, but he didn’t know any better. Instead of telling you that, Spencer sat down on the floor in front of you, “Baby, do you remember what we talked about last week? Did you call your therapist?”

Nodding absently into your palms, you lifted your head and haphazardly pulled off your goggles, “I saw her today, she talked to me about the same thing you did.”

You and Spencer had an in-depth discussion about the anniversary effect. “It’s okay that you were triggered by a conversation that normally wouldn’t have had such a big impact on your day,” he told you gently, squeezing your knee comfortingly.

“Stop,” you responded, dropping your hand and looking back at him, you set your goggles on the floor and took a deep, trembling breath. “Spence, I can’t—” your voice broke off in a mess of gasps, and Spencer instinctively moved closer to you.

Gingerly, Spencer lifted your chin in hopes that it would open your airway and help your breathing, “I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he reassured you, taking your hands in his when you started anxiously scratching at your forearm. “I’m right here,” he murmured, “it’s me, I’m not going anywhere.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your hands as he comforted you, whispering sweet nothings to you as he waited patiently for your breathing to even out before speaking again.

“Do you need anything?” Spencer was silently offering you the same three options he always did: space, water, and medication. You had a prescription for hydroxyzine that you were supposed to take as needed, and when you very softly answered ‘pill’, Spencer let go of your hands to go get it from your backpack.

He pulled the bottle from the front pouch and grabbed your water bottle from where it sat in front of your computer, he dosed out one pill and handed it to you, watching you wash it down, closing your eyes, and leaning your head back. “How was work?” You asked.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer smoothed your hair back, “It was fine, we can talk about it later if you want. Right now, I’m focused on you,” he answered, avoiding your redirection.

You nodded in understanding, allowing Spencer to maneuver you when he helped you to your feet.

Spencer cupped your face in both of his hands, “Let’s get you home, huh? Have you eaten?” His brown eyes studied you now that they’d adjusted more to the dark, your under-eye circles looked more pronounced in the moonlight, and he wondered if you’d been sleeping. “I think there’s a bowl of soup with your name on it at home,” he whispered, taking your keys and locking the Rohypnol up in a cabinet.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel like that was a victory. “I’m okay,” you told him, some strength returning to your voice.

Spencer nodded, sweeping a lock of hair behind your ear, “Let’s get some food in you,” he reemphasizes. He kept your keys in his hand, you took the metro to work, so Spencer could just drive the both of you home. He looked back at the door, watching you as you slowly shut down the lab and gathered your things, “Hey, what’s your code to get into the labs?”

You frowned at him and shrugged, “1-0-2-8,” you told him, powering off your computer monitor and letting him help you pull your jacket on.

His movements faltered, and without a second thought, he carefully wrapped his arms around you. You hummed in response, reciprocating the hug after taking a deep breath. “I love you,” he whispered, tenderly rubbing your back.

“I love you too,” you responded, finally relaxing into him. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologized, loosening your embrace so you could look at him.

He shook his head once, “it’s okay,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just, next time—well, hopefully there isn’t a next time—answer your phone,” he said, watching you. He’d continue to keep an eye on you, but you were strong. Spencer knew, just like the others, that this storm would eventually pass.

[badasoneandonly]

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,154𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N endures heartbreak as she suspects In-Ho of cheating but avoids confronting him, fearing loss. Trapped between love and betrayal, she clings to the small remnants of his affection.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌:

𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘙¡ 𝘐𝘕𝘏𝘖!, 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘐𝘕𝘎¡𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙!, 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌, 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛, 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘖𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘈, 𝘐𝘕𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘛, 𝘉𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘠𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘗, 𝘚𝘈𝘋 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘉𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘒

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢 :) 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘸 𝘪'𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺... 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 ;)

The night was cruel in its quiet. The faint hum of the streetlights outside crept through the drawn curtains, casting pale shadows across the room. Y/N sat on the edge of their shared bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her phone sat on the nightstand, face down, like a secret she didn’t want to uncover.

She already knew the truth.

In-Ho wasn’t at work, nor was he out on a late-night errand as he had claimed. He was with her.

The woman she’d never met but knew existed.

Her chest ached as she glanced at the clock. Midnight. He hadn’t even texted to let her know when—or if—he would come home. It had been this way for weeks now: the late nights, the distant glances, the perfumed scent on his clothes that wasn’t hers. At first, she’d convinced herself it was nothing. That he was just busy. But the signs were too clear, too glaring to ignore.

In-Ho was cheating on her.

“The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume…”

The song played softly in her head, the lyrics cutting into her like glass. She imagined the other woman—poised, confident, everything Y/N wasn’t. She pictured her with In-Ho, laughing at his dry humor, running her fingers through his dark hair, holding his attention in a way Y/N could no longer seem to do.

Her stomach churned at the thought. She wiped her damp palms against the blanket as the clock ticked forward, dragging the night with it. Every second felt like an eternity.

But Y/N didn’t dare confront him.

The fear of losing him entirely outweighed the agony of knowing she already had. What would she do without him? Despite everything, he was still her anchor, her safe haven in a world that often felt too heavy. If she confronted him, he might leave—and she wasn’t sure she could survive that.

---

The pattern continued.

Each night, Y/N sat in the same spot on the bed, waiting. She left the bedside lamp on, its faint glow her only company as the hours ticked by. Sometimes she wondered if she should turn it off and pretend to sleep. But her body wouldn’t let her. It craved the sound of the door unlocking, the proof that In-Ho would come home—even if his heart didn’t belong to her anymore.

It was nearly 3 a.m. when she heard the familiar jingle of keys. Her breath hitched as the lock turned, and the door creaked open. She stayed still, her back to the doorway, feigning sleep. She listened as he shuffled inside, his footsteps hesitant and soft, as though he didn’t want to disturb her.

The faint scent of perfume wafted into the room, mixing with the cold night air. Her stomach twisted at the smell. It was sweet, floral—so unlike her own.

In-Ho sighed heavily as he sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and she felt the warmth of his presence even as her heart ached. She wanted to turn to him, to grab his hand and ask him why. But the words never came.

Instead, she lay there, tears slipping silently down her cheeks as the lyrics echoed in her mind:

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

---

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N became a ghost in her own life.

She stopped going out, stopped calling her friends. She moved through her days like a shadow, her energy drained by the constant weight on her chest. The apartment, once filled with laughter and warmth, now felt like a cage.

She busied herself with small tasks, trying to keep her mind occupied. Cleaning became her solace, her escape. She scrubbed the counters until her hands ached, vacuumed the carpets until the hum of the machine drowned out her thoughts. But no matter how hard she worked, the sense of emptiness never left.

One evening, as she was folding laundry, she found a lipstick-stained napkin in one of In-Ho’s jacket pockets. The stain was faint, but it was enough. Her hands trembled as she stared at it, the reality of his betrayal staring back at her in stark clarity.

She wanted to throw it away, to tear it to shreds. But instead, she folded it neatly and placed it back in his pocket. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was easier to pretend she hadn’t seen it than to face the confrontation she was too afraid to have.

---

The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the world in a quiet, peaceful white. Y/N sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she watched the flakes drift down.

The silence in the apartment was deafening. In-Ho had left hours ago, muttering something about meeting an old friend. She didn’t ask for details. She knew better by now.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. But when she saw her best friend’s name on the screen, she hesitated.

“Hey,” her friend said when Y/N picked up. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied automatically.

“No, you’re not.” There was a pause, the silence heavy with concern. “Y/N, talk to me. Please.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. The words were right there, begging to be spoken. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“I can’t,” she whispered finally. “I’m sorry.”

Her friend sighed, the disappointment clear in her voice. “I’m here when you’re ready.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N feeling more alone than ever.

---

One night, as In-Ho slept beside her, Y/N lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She could hear his steady breathing, feel the warmth of his body next to hers.

She wanted to shake him awake, to demand answers. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her. But fear held her back.

Instead, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall silently, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each passing moment.

She thought of the other woman, wondering if she ever felt this way—if she ever cried herself to sleep the way Y/N did.

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

The lyrics played over and over in her mind, a cruel reminder of her own heartbreak.

---

The weeks blurred together, each one more unbearable than the last. Y/N found herself sinking deeper into despair, her once-vivid world now a dull gray.

She stopped trying to hold onto the pieces of her old life. The framed photos of her and In-Ho that once adorned the walls were now tucked away in a drawer. The books she used to love sat untouched on the shelves. Even her favorite mug, the one In-Ho had bought her when they first moved in together, stayed hidden in the back of the cupboard.

It was easier this way.

Easier to pretend that the life she had once dreamed of no longer existed.

---

One night, as the snow fell outside, Y/N sat by the window, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She watched the flakes drift down, her mind blank.

In-Ho was out again, and she hadn’t bothered to ask where he was going. She didn’t need to.

Her phone buzzed on the table, but she didn’t pick it up. She knew it wasn’t him.

The hours ticked by, the apartment growing colder as the night deepened.

When the door finally opened, Y/N didn’t turn to look. She stayed by the window, her eyes fixed on the snow.

“Y/N,” In-Ho said softly, his voice hesitant.

She didn’t respond.

He stood there for a moment before walking past her and into the bedroom, the faint scent of perfume lingering in his wake.

Y/N closed her eyes, the ache in her chest threatening to consume her.

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

The tears came silently, soaking into the blanket draped over her shoulders. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Because she knew nothing would change.

And so, she stayed.

Not because she forgave him, or because she believed things would get better.

But because she was too afraid to leave.

And in the quiet of the night, as the snow continued to fall, Y/N cried herself to sleep once again.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @warlabels @sandor4ochk @totowolfffcheco @icomehereforthefics @m0rtifiedg0th @crystalizia @endlessfl4mes @floweradroble1123

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘬𝘬, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮 :) (𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘸)

[duvetchico]

kingston

summary late night cuddles turn into disgustingly soft confessions that’ll make you blush so hard you gotta bury your face in a pillow. karina’s dramatic, you’re down bad, and love is real unfortunately.

genre fluff / humor / pure sapphic delulu

pairing yu jimin × fem!reader

masterlist.

it’s 11:43pm and you’re deep in the trenches of your nightly tiktok scroll. you’ve been in bed for a solid hour, under the covers, screen brightness on 2%, volume dangerously loud for no reason. karina’s next to you, already in her sleep shirt, hair tied up, looking like a sleepy ethereal creature while you look like a raccoon hopped up on internet trash.

you’re laughing at some stupid video of a guy falling off a trampoline and cracking his ass on a fence when you feel karina shift beside you. she doesn’t say anything at first, just rolls over and stares at you, head propped up on her hand.

“babe,” she says, voice still raspy from just waking up, “what in the fuck are you laughing at.”

you turn your phone to show her. “he fucking died. look.”

she squints at the screen for two seconds before groaning and rolling back over. “i swear to god you’ve watched, like, 700 videos in the last ten minutes. go to sleep.”

“you’re not my mom,” you mutter, still laughing.

“no, but i am your girlfriend and i’m getting fucking ignored,” she says dramatically, flopping onto her back like a princess having a tantrum.

you snort. “you’re literally right next to me.”

“physically, yeah. spiritually? emotionally? i’m abandoned.”

you side-eye her. “babe you were literally asleep two seconds ago.”

she turns her head to glare at you. “i was trying to sleep. but your dumbass laughter keeps waking me up. and now i want cuddles.”

you glance at her, then at your phone. she sees you hesitate and immediately sits up, squinting at you like a cat about to attack.

“don’t make me do it,” she threatens.

you blink. “do what?”

she lunges, grabs your phone straight out of your hand, and tosses it on the nightstand like it personally offended her.

“HEY—”

“enough fucking phone time for tonight,” she says, dead serious, already pulling you down onto the bed and manhandling you into a spooning position.

“karina, i was watching a dog do backflips—”

“nope. shut up. you’re mine now. cuddle time. no negotiations.”

you whine but let her wrap her limbs around you like a fucking koala. she always does this. every night. like clockwork. it’s either "get off your phone" or "i missed you even though we were together all day."

you let out a dramatic sigh. “you’re so clingy.”

“and you’re so fucking addicted to your phone. seriously. how are you still entertained by people fake crying to subway surfers gameplay?”

you shrug against her chest. “it’s soothing.”

she kisses the top of your head like she feels bad for how dumb you are. “you need therapy.”

you go quiet for a minute, enjoying the warmth, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. the room’s dark, the covers are heavy, and her breathing’s starting to slow like she’s falling asleep again. you’re about to close your eyes when she whispers, dead serious:

“...but what if we scrolled together.”

you pull back just enough to look at her. “bitch.”

she grins. “we’re a team. give me your phone.”

“you just threw it across the room.”

“and now i regret it. go get it.”

you groan, roll over to grab the phone off the nightstand, and crawl back into her arms like some obedient little tiktok-addicted gremlin. she’s already smiling like she won the war.

“okay, but i get to pick the videos,” she says, unlocking your phone with her face like the nosy little shit she is.

you snort. “fine, but if you start sending me k-pop fancams like you did last time, i’m muting you.”

karina gasps. “how fucking dare you. i only send you the best fancams.”

“you sent me one where you were screaming ‘THAT’S MY WIFE’ in the background.”

“and i was right.”

you roll your eyes but let her cuddle into you again, the two of you scrolling together now, watching dumb videos and occasionally screaming over the stupidest shit. at one point she shows you a tiktok of a girl falling face-first into cake and you both lose your shit for like five solid minutes. like, actual wheezing, stomach cramps, tears in your eyes level laughter.

“why was the cake just there??” she says between laughs. “WHO LEFT THAT OUT—”

“IT’S THE WAY HER FACE BOUNCED OFF OF IT—”

and then you’re dying again.

somewhere between the chaos, she turns the phone off mid-scroll, holds you tighter, and buries her face in your neck.

“you smell good,” she mumbles. “and i like when we do this.”

“scroll tiktok and talk shit?”

“yeah. and cuddle and be dumb. it��s my favorite.”

you smile to yourself, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “same, honestly.”

she pauses for a second, then adds “but next time you ignore me for subway surfers edits again, i’m breaking your phone.”

“that’s fair.”

it gets weirdly quiet. like suspiciously quiet. and you're laying there in karina’s arms, thinking the chaos is over. but then you hear her sigh. not dramatic. not stupid. just… soft.

you peek up. she's staring at you.

“what?” you ask, already suspicious.

she blinks real slow. like some dramatic bitch in a romcom. “sometimes i think you were custom made for me.”

you immediately choke on air. “HUH—”

“like, look at you,” she says, voice suddenly all gentle and low, “you’re literally everything. you’re so fucking pretty it pisses me off. and your laugh? don’t get me started. it makes my brain feel like melted jelly.”

“karina—”

“no. i’m on a roll. let me finish before i pass out from the gay.”

you just sit there, clinging to her hoodie with your face heating up like a microwave burrito.

“and the way you always know what to say when i’m spiraling?” she continues, now whispering into your hair. “or how you always save me the last bite even when you really want it? that’s love. like real love. stupid, reckless, mushy-ass love.”

you bury your face in her chest. “i hate you.”

she grins, smug as hell. “no you don’t. you’re in love with me and it’s ruining your whole life.”

“…maybe.”

“you are. you look at me like i invented the sun.”

you groan. “you didn’t, babe.”

“but you act like i did. that’s what matters.”

you can’t even fight it anymore. you're full-blown BLUSHING. like red-eared, heart-thumping, can't-make-eye-contact blushing. and she knows it too. she’s smirking like she just won the love lottery.

then she gently grabs your hand and threads your fingers together. no teasing. no dumbass joke. just her thumb brushing over yours.

“i’d literally live in a cardboard box with you,” she says softly. “no phone. no snacks. just us. and maybe a dog.”

you blink up at her. “…you hate dogs.”

“i’d learn to love them. for you.”

you’re gonna fucking die. she’s too powerful.

“karina—”

“yeah?”

you whisper, “you’re it for me.”

and she just melts. like full body flop, head buried in your shoulder, arms around you like you’re the last fucking person on earth. and in the quiet, she murmurs

“if you ever leave me, i’m kidnapping you.”

“…that’s not how that works—”

“shhh. we’re in love.”

[l-starsz]

a/n: i’m half asleep while writing this and you don’t know how bad i wish for someone who would come to my house in the middle of the night to hold me when i can’t sleep🥲 and i might write a part 2 of this i’m not sure yet.. anyway, goodnight.

i tried. i really had tried. sleep just would not come to me no matter what i did. some nights were like this. sometimes it lasted weeks. other times it was just a one day thing. tonight was one of those times. i felt so exhausted, ready to pass out at any minute now, but still i tossed and i turned, before ending up on my phone again.

maybe a movie would help? i placed my phone on the bedside table, and turned my tv on. it wasn’t long before my favourite movie was playing through the tv. the sound was quiet, but enough for me to hear it through the silence of my bedroom. the screen was bright. blinding almost. i turned to my side, and covered my eyes with a pillow, hoping sleep would finally catch me. but it didn’t.

of course it didn’t. i was starting to get frustrated with myself. surely it can’t be that difficult to sleep? i just needed to close my eyes and sleep would come. but it wouldn’t. my body was awake, so as much as i wanted to sleep, i was stuck awake too. it eventually got to a point though, where i was ready to cry because all i wanted to do was get even just an hour of sleep at this point. and it was impossible. so i did the only thing left i knew would help.

‘billie?’

‘bils?’

‘are you awake?’

the second i set my phone down on the sheets next to me, it buzzed. she answered so quick.

‘i’m awake’

‘everything okay sweet girl?’

i sighed at the nickname. billie was my best friend. we’d known eachother for years, and often people said we were too touchy, always curled up together or holding hands at any chance we’d get. falling asleep on each others shoulder during long car journeys. it was normal for us. well, mostly normal.

i couldn’t help but love billie. more than in just a best friend way. i always wished the feelings weren’t one sided, but it was impossible to tell with billie. she was touchy with most of her friends, but it felt different with me. it felt closer. but i never knew for sure.

i’d tried everything i could to not feel this way. i tried distancing myself, it just made me want her more. i tried finding someone else to forget about my feelings, but they weren’t billie. i tried waiting it out, maybe it was just a silly phase? nope. the feelings only grew. nothing would work.

‘can you come over? please?’

‘can’t sleep.’

‘and i miss you’

my heart raced. as much as i knew i shouldn’t be feeding into my feelings by doing this, i couldn’t help it. she was the only person who could send me to sleep quickly. the only thing that would work when nothing else would. being in her arms, her fingers tracing small patterns up my back, it never failed.

‘i’m omw baby. i miss you more’

‘find a movie for us to watch’

‘or to fall asleep to’

i let out a breathy laugh at the last message before sending a quick ‘thank you’ and finding something for us to watch together. it was only a few minutes before i heard my front door being unlocked. of course billie had a key. i got one made for her almost immediately after i’d moved in.

it felt like forever before i heard her footsteps, lightly running up the stairs, and then she was finally here. she didn’t even hesitate before jumping into bed next to me, pulling me into her arms and pressing play on the movie i’d chosen.

“how come you can’t sleep then? something on your mind, hm?” her fingers ran through my hair.

the hoodie she was wearing smelt like her. the perfume she’d always wear. it was comforting, and smelt like home. like safety. i shifted slightly against her, and shook my head before answering.

“just one of those nights.”

“one of those nights where you needed me?”

i nodded hesitantly and looked away from her. her other hand was running up and down my back, tracing soothing shapes.

“that’s okay, angel. i’m always here for when you need me. you know that.”

we weren’t even watching the movie, just making quiet conversation with eachother. the longer we spoke, though, the more my tired eyes began to droop and my face sunk further into her hoodie. my muscles that were once tensed, were now relaxed as i practically melted against her, and i was beginning to slur my words.

“i think i’m about to fall asleep, bil.” i frowned, clinging onto her waist.

“that’s okay, i’ve got you. go to sleep, baby. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

the second those words left her mouth, i was fast asleep. i knew she would help. she always did. and she always stayed. i just wished i could spend every night like this with her, wrapped in the comfort of her warmth and love. i wished i could spend lazy mornings with her, and those late night thunderstorms that always had me on edge. i’d do anything to spend forever in her arms. to spend forever with her.

billie

as her breathing evened out and her eyes finally fluttered shut, i waited a little while before reaching for the tv remote, turning the tv off since i was getting tired too. i shifted further down under the sheets with her still laying on my chest, and then moved a stray piece of hair from her face.

i continued running my fingers through her hair before placing a gentle kiss against her forehead.

“i love you so much, my baby. i hope i can tell you soon. sleep well, i’ve got you. i’ll be here when you wake up. i’m not going anywhere.”

maybe i’d find the courage to tell her how i felt soon. i just didn’t know if she felt the same way. but the way she felt so safe with me, and she knew she could rely on me to be there when she needed it. the way she was clingy with me, but not that way with her other friends, i had a feeling that i wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

(part 2)

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 12

Word count: 3400 we are almost there...gotta love a slow burn amiright

Last night changed everything. Azzi wasn't quite sure how yet, but she woke up this morning knowing something had shifted between her and Paige. They stayed attached the entire night, especially Paige. Nothing could remove Paige from the nook of Azzi’s neck last night. It’s like she decided that was her safe space to hide in until the real world came back to haunt her. With the sun just beginning to rise, Azzi lies awake, running her fingers through her blonde hair, when Paige mumbles something incoherent. 

“What did you say, P?”

Paige just cuddles further in, and Azzi laughs at the gesture. The gentle pattern of Paige’s breath lulls Azzi back to sleep. The next time Azzi wakes up, however, the bed is empty. She looks around the room and immediately checks her phone. No text from Paige. Shit.

Did last night scare her off? Is she freaking out? Sometimes, when Paige opens up she closes and locks here doors ten times fast. Either way, it’s not like Paige to disappear without a hint of where she’s at. As shitty as they are when it comes to communicating their feelings for eachother, they’ve never has issues over-communicating every other part of their lives. Before Azzi could entirely go into panic mode, the hotel door unlocked. 

“Oh, mornin’, Az. Sorry, did I wake you?” 

Azzi exhales in relief and then takes in the older girl in front of her. Paige is wearing athletic shorts, a cropped tank top, and a messy bun. She’s a bit red and sweaty, clearly coming from a workout. 

“No, it’s okay. I was awake wondering where you were.”

“Yeah, I felt antsy this morning, so I figured I should get a good workout in.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I would have gone with you.”

“You looked so cozy, Az. Waking you up would make me like a monster or somethin’. Anyways, I got you coffee.” Paige hands the iced coffee after taking a sip for herself. 

“Ugh, you’re amazing.”

“So I’ve heard,” Paige smirks. “Imma go shower, then we should head down to breakfast. It’s the last day before all the big festivities.”  

“Mm, okay, I’ll be here.” Azzi distracts herself by catching up on the TikToks sent to her that she’s been ignoring. Usually, she wouldn’t need the distraction, but seeing Paige after a workout and letting the thoughts of her in the hot shower was enough to let Azzi know she needed to refocus. 

Meanwhile, in the shower, Paige let the hot water fall on her and relax her muscles. She chose not to wake Azzi up this morning because she needed space to think and make sense of that past week. Azzi was right about one thing last night: she can’t live her life in fear, letting it dictate everything she does. And the thing she wants the most is the thing she’s the most scared to lose. Azzi. 

Paige replayed every kiss, lingering touch, and intimate moment between them. She knew what they had was real. Paige had a moment of clarity about what she would tell Azzi how she’d felt all these years. Paige rehearses all the things she could say to Azzi. 

“Azzi, the past week has been eye-opening, and I don’t think I can handle just being friends with you anymore. I love you, Az. Like head over heels in love with you in very much not a best friend way. And if you’re not into it, I tota—” 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

“Sorry, Paige, but I just realized we need to be at breakfast early to help set up!”

Paige sighed, letting the water hit her shoulders just a second more. “Kay, be out in a sec.” 

Paige forgot to bring clothes into the bathroom with her, so when she opened the door in just a towel, Azzi froze. The two girls looked at each other for a beat too long.

“Uh, sorry, I just need some clothes.”

“Y-yeah right, duh.” 

Paige walked past Azzi to the dresser in an awkward silence. 

“Any dress code for today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so? It will mostly be getting ready for the rehearsal dinner and last-minute preparation for tonight and tomorrow. We’ll change right before the rehearsal for the dinner and after party.”

“Aight, I like chill. You stayin’ in what you wearing, right?” Azzi has on a Uconn t-shirt and athletic shorts. Nothing special, yet Azzi’s heart still races when Paige's eyes track her body. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d be moving stuff today.” 

“Bet.” Paige grabs her clothes and heads back into the bathroom, leaving Azzi to finally take a deep breath. 

When Paige comes back out of the bathroom, she’s wearing grey Nike tech sweatpants that are sitting dangerously low on her hip, a sports bra, and her hair slicked back in a bun. She’s humming to Justin Biebers That Should Be Me as she walks back towards the dresser. Azzi’s eyes are stuck on her abs, so naturally turning into the V line before her sweatpants. 

“Forgot a t-shirt, my b.” Paige grabs a t-shirt and then turns to Azzi, uncharacteristically shyly and totally oblivious to Azzi’s view while she plays with the hem of her t-shirt. “Hey, Az, thanks for last night. Life feels like it has a little less weight to it now.” 

Azzi’s brain is in overdrive, considering she was just eye-fucking her best friend but now needs to respond genuinely. Azzi stood up from the bed and put her hand on Paige’s arm. 

“Of course, P. You know I’m always with you, okay?” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

The two girls smiled softly at each other, and Paige pulled Azzi in for a hug. Azzi’s hands are resting low on Paige’s bare skin. Paige breathed her in, letting the world pause for a moment before their day began. Before pulling away, Paige softly kisses under Azzi’s ear. 

“I’m always with you, too, Az.” She whispers. 

The girls finally pull away, and Paige quickly throws on a simple black t-shirt. 

“Ready, Princess?” Paige smiles softly at Azzi and puts her hand out for Azzi to take. She takes the soft blush on Azzi’s cheeks as a sign that maybe she felt something last night, too. 

====================================

The wedding party and their plus ones meet in the lobby to help the couple finish setting up for their big day. Mrs. Miller is focused on her clipboard, assigning groups and tasks. 

Paige leans into Azzi and whispers, “Jeez, you’d think we were in charge of organizing the damn olympics.” 

Azzi giggles and pushes Paige away with her shoulder. Never able to sit still, Paige sits down on one of the stools behind them and starts to mess with the bottom of Azzi’s shorts, causing her to tickle the younger girl. 

“Paige! Hands to yourself.” Azzi is scream-whispering, trying not to bring attention to them. 

“Nah, I don’t wanna.” 

Paige grabs Azzi’s hips, pulling her backwards between her legs. She wraps her arms around Azzi’s waist and rests her head on her shoulder. 

“This okay?”

“Mhm.” If only Paige knew how okay it really was. 

Azzi finds herself relaxing into Paige’s touch in an attempt to ignore the nagging ache in her knee. Despite her best efforts, of course, Paige notices.

“You okay, mama?

“Yeah, just a little sore.”

“Come switch with me.”

“No, P, I’m fine, really.”  But Paige is already standing up, shifting to stand behind the stool and pulling Azzi down. Azzi dramatically sighs, but sitting down actually helped so much. Paige rests her hands on Azzi’s shoulders and gently rubs them while Azzi leans back into Paige. 

“Feel better?” Azzi nodded and leaned her head back to smile up at Paige before refocusing on Mrs. Miller. From there, things felt easy for them again. Their conversations flowed with each other and those around them easily, without the weight of ‘what if’ taunting them. 

Eventually, they were broken into new groups to start carrying heavier supplies to the ceremony rooms, which would have been totally fine if it hadn’t been for Matt, the icky groomsmen, volunteering himself. He walks up to Azzi with a smug look on his face and nods his head at her before thoroughly checking her out. 

“Hey, babe.” 

“My name is Azzi.”

“Right, well don’t hurt yourself carryin’ anything too heavy, Princess.” Matt winks at her as he walks away. 

Azzi almost gags at hearing him call her princess. How is it so endearing and hot when Paige does it, but the grossest thing in the world when he does it? Not wanting one of her favorite names ruined, she immediately looked for Paige, but she should have known she’d already be there.

“Dude, she can easily lift more than you just pick up a box and move.” 

Paige rolls her eyes and speaks with so much confidence that Azzi completely forgets what she was upset about in the first place. Without hesitation, Paige picked up two large bags, which caused her muscles to flex and her shirt to lift, emphasizing how low those sweatpants were. Paige and Matt are the most efficient ones in the group because they practically used the task as a strength competition. Considering Paige brought more and didn’t even break a sweat, that win was pretty obvious. 

Eventually, Matt stopped trying to hit on Azzi when Mrs. Miller scolded him and sent him to a different area of the property. Now that the two girls can relax, they naturally become more affectionate and giggly. They kept stealing glances at each other from across the room, smiling when they noticed each other. 

Azzi walks up to Paige and wraps her hands around her biceps. “Who knew you were so strong?”

“Uh, me? I literally tell you all the time. I mean, look at these guns, man.” Paige lifts her sleeve to flex her right arm. Paige smirks when she sees Azzi gulp.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re still a noodle.” 

Paige leans in to whisper in Azzi’s ears, “Yeah, that’s only because you’re so hot that I get soft around you.” 

“Oh my god, Paige, that was so dorky.”

“But like, cute dorky?”

“Yeah, P, cute dorky.” 

====================================

Azzi returned from the rehearsal to Paige, who was asleep on their bed with her iPad open. Anyone else she’d roll her eyes, but somehow this is just endearing. 

“Paigey, wake up. We gotta get ready for dinner.” 

“I missed you, baby girl.” Paige mumbles, barely awake. Azzi’s heart started racing. She could really get used to this. 

“I missed you too, baby,” Azzi said softly as she moved the blonde strands out of the older girl's face. Paige smiles back and sighs into her pillow. 

Azzi starts getting ready, knowing that Paige is a slow riser and gets ready twice as fast. 

“Ugh, this zipper is so stupid,” Azzi mumbled under her breath and started angrily pulling at the zipper of her dress. She is wearing a short, silky dress with a deep V-line showing her cleavage, thin spaghetti straps, and bright hot pink heels. 

“Damn, what the dress do to you?” Paige laughed from the bed. 

“The zipper got stuck on the fabric, and I’m ready to give up.” Azzi pouts dramatically. 

“Can I help you, Princess?”

Azzi nods while keeping her pout. Paige walks right up to her and looks down at her lips. She’d do anything to kiss that pout right off her face. “Turn around.” Her voice had more rasp than she intended. Azzi, on the other hand, listened to her immediately. Paige’s telling her what to do with her voice lowered like that? Yes, chef is all Azzi could think in her head. 

At first, Paige was gentle with the fabric, trying to address the zipper without touching Azzi. Paige takes note of the lack of bra in this equation, making it harder to focus. She groans in frustration at the stuck zipper, and her competitive spirit takes over, leading her to be more aggressive with her approach. She grabs the fabric by wrapping her hand around Azzi’s waist and pulls hard, finally getting the zipper to work. Azzi expected her to get the zipper unstuck and then leave. Instead, Paige zipped her dress all the way and then let her hands linger on the bare skin. Azzi could feel her deep breaths and closeness, forcing her to take a deep breath to ground herself. 

Paige leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You look perfect.” Then, she walked to the bathroom as if nothing had happened. Azzi gathered herself and moved to the mirror to do her makeup. In the reflection, she saw Paige come back out in flowy black slacks and a high-neck black crop top. Something so simple shouldn’t look so good.

“Ready to bounce?”

Azzi’s eyes snap up to the blonde's bright blue eyes at the interruption. “Mhm.” She can’t trust herself to speak right now. They gather everything they need and head to the elevator, where Azzi finally finds the courage to tell Paige how she looks when she presses the button to the lobby. 

“I really like this outfit on you, P.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, a lot.” Azzi bites her bottom lip, stopping herself from saying too much, but her eyes already said it all. Paige steps closer to her, keeping eye contact, and then asks, “What do you like so much about it, mama?”

This girl is going to be the death of her. Thankfully, Azzi was quite literally saved by the bell of the elevator notifying them they had arrived at the lobby. 

The flirting and subtle touchiness only grew from there. At dinner, the two girls always found a way to touch one another. The wine started flowing, and their personal space started to disappear. Once they finished up, the wedding party gathered in the van to head towards the club. Azzi sits in a window seat, and Paige quickly slides in next to her, immediately putting her arm around her back like it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly? It was.

Azzi found herself shifting closer and inching her hand towards Paige’s thigh. It was intoxicating to experience Paige’s reactions. Once they made it inside the club, they found their private group tables and started ordering drinks.

As always, Paige was the life of the party, dancing and singing with everyone. But even then, she made sure always to keep close to Azzi, finding a way to touch her in any way possible. Azzi finished her drink and leaned into the blonde girl, enjoying the comfort she provided. 

“I'm gonna get you another drink, okay, pretty girl?” Paige kissed the side of her head and went towards the bar. Azzi was hypnotized by Paige. She found herself watching every move. It was oddly enjoyable to simply take Paige in. That is, until some girl walks right up to her at the bar. Paige is always so friendly to everyone she meets, which Azzi loves, but sometimes she wishes people didn’t feel so comfortable around Paige. The girl is giggling way too hard at something Paige said and leaning in closely. Jealousy takes over Azzi’s body. It’s not even at the girl throwing herself at Paige. It’s that she even can throw herself at Paige, and Azzi isn’t in a place to claim what’s rightfully hers. Thankfully, Paige didn’t pay much attention to the girl. Once she got the drinks, she nodded at the other girl to say goodbye and walked directly towards Azzi before sliding in next to her on the open booth with a toothy smile.

“Miss me, cutie?” Paige says, leaning in to kiss Azzi’s cheek and another, lower one on her jaw. 

Azzi takes the drink and immediately takes a sip, trying to hold back everything she wants to say. This proves to not help her at all because she still finds herself questioning the older girl. 

“You didn’t seem to miss me.”

“Hm?” Paige is mid-sip and looking very confused.

“Seems like you had plenty of company, that’s all.”

“Watchu talkin’ bout?”

“You had plenty of company up there. No need to come back and sit with me.” Azzi knows she’s being a brat, but she’s too far gone to care. 

“The girl that was talkin’ to me? Nah, she’s just some girl that walked up. Not my type anyway.”

Paige acknowledging her type alerts Azzi’s brain to refocus. She is reminded of her conversation with Caroline, in which she pointed out that all the girls Paige dates look similar to Azzi somehow. Azzi can’t help but grin at the opportunity handed to her.

“Hmm, so what is your type?” She leans closer into Paige. 

“I think you know my type, Azzi.”

“Maybe I want to hear you say it.” 

Their eyes meet, and everything around them fades. 

“Alright. I like pretty, athletic girls with beautiful smiles and curly hair.” Paige’s eyes dart down to Azzi’s dimple when she smiles.

“Interesting.”

Paige wrapped her arm around Azzi’s back, pulling her closer. “Interesting, indeed.” 

“Hm.” Azzi takes a sip of her cocktail. “Well, it seems like there’s plenty of girls interested in you.”

Paige never takes her eyes off the younger girl. “Like I said, none of them are my type.” 

The intensity behind her voice almost feels like a confession, giving Azzi the confidence to push more. 

“So what if your type was interested in you. Then what?”

Paige's eyes dilated at the thought of Azzi being interested in her. “Then I’d give her the world if she asked for it,” Paige said as their faces leaned closer and closer together. Her words were so sincere that something inside of Azzi broke. She closed the gap, entering into a heated kiss. Their kiss was almost animalistic, grabbing at each other, trying to get closer. Azzi hooks her leg around Paige’s hips, straddling her, causing Paige to gasp at the forwardness. 

Azzi slowly starts grinding into her while keeping eye contact. Paige’s hands gently move down the grip at her hips and begin to push her in harder. However, it’s still not enough. Azzi wants Paige to want her. Every bit of her. She wants her to grab her and make Azzi hers over and over and over again. Azzi starts to grind ever harder, creating a rhythm as she kisses Paige’s neck.

Paige responds by gripping tightly onto Azzi’s hips with a shaky breath. Azzi pulls at her hair to create more access to her neck, but the movement causes Paige to let out a moan. “Azzi.”

Finally, Paige is breaking. Paige is letting Azzi have her. Azzi licks and nips at her neck, keeping the rhythm of her grind into the blonde. Paige starts to move her hands lower on her hips towards her ass, making Azzi regret wearing spandex under her dress. 

Paige pulls Azzi back to her mouth, slowing them down by deepening the kiss. Azzi knows her noises would probably embarrass her, but she can’t find it in herself to care when she knows she’s one step closer to having Paige. 

Now Paige is the one to move down Azzi’s neck and suck at her pulse causing Azzi to grind down even harder than before and grab tightly onto Paige’s shoulders. Paige is shamelessly licking and kissing her way down Azzi’s neck and cleavage, taking advantage of the low dress. 

“Mmm, P. Tell me what you want.” Azzi is well aware that this isn’t the time or place to have this conversation, but all she wants is for Paige to want her. 

“I want, I w-want...” Paige’s moan interrupts her sentence, only encouraging Azzi more. 

“C'mon, baby, tell me.”

Suddenly, fear and panic crept onto Paige’s face as she started breathing heavily. “W-wait. We can’t do this.” Paige moved her hands off Azzi as if she was caught red-handed for a crime and began to slide out from underneath her before Azzi could fully sit up. 

“Wait, Paige! Can we just talk about this?”

Paige’s eyes dart between Azzi’s eyes. “I j-just...I—fuck..” Before Azzi can stop her, Paige turns on her heel, rushing towards the bathroom. 

Azzi is done. 

She’s done wonderding. Done waiting. Done hoping. 

She took a deep breath, fixed her dress, and decided that they were having this conversation whether Paige liked it or not.