#i would just spin around on a swivel chair for hours on end while staring at the ceiling

[mentally-gone002]

keep him safe

summary: y/n brings spencer to her apartment after noticing him acting differently. 

warnings: mentions of drugs, addiction (i think), blood, guns

a/n: this takes place a few weeks after S3 Ep12 (3rd life) where that kid is killed in front of spencer… and yeah!!! also i apologize cuz i don’t know what addiction is like so hence idk how to write it but i tried… pls enjoy🤓

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7:33 pm

outside the building housing the BAU office it was dark and quiet, only filled with the sound of the few cars that passed and loud chirping of cicadas. it was peaceful compared to the past case that only ended hours before this. 

everyone on the BAU team filed into the building to settled into their desks and get a few files of work completed before they went home to repeat the process the next day. some finished their work quicker; the some was hotch, prentis, rossi, jj and garcia. they all left with quick and tired goodbyes to the remaining members of the team until the only tree left were y/n and spencer and morgan. 

when morgan did leave he shot a suggestive look at the two youngest agents. “have fun tonight you two.” he smirked. y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. 

spencer was working slow for once, his eyes not taking in all the words of the page at the quick rate they usually do. his fingers tapped at his desk and made the pen in his dominant hand flip and twist. he was fidgeting more than he usually did. 

y/n noticed this of course. because she was just one bullpen away from him and because they were close friends… and she was a profiler. she knew when something was picking his brain, good or bad. he had been like this for a few weeks and today was the day she would step in. because she knew spencer. he wouldn’t reach out until he was too far into a hole he had dug for himself.

she watched him for half an hour in between work until she swiveled in her seat, turning it until her legs were free from beneath the desk. she stood up and walked around to his desk. 

“knock, knock.” she interrupted the silence with an accompanying wrap of her knuckles against his desk. she didn’t want to startle him, as he seemed to be on edge already. “you doing alright with that?” the question she asked was gentle while she leaned her hip against the desks edge and stared down at the brown haired man as he stared back. 

he shrugged. “i can’t really focus on it.” spencer confessed with a tired voice. his eyes had early signs of bruising underneath them that she caught onto before they disappeared behind his thin fingers that pressed into the corners of his eyes in exhaustion. 

a sigh flowed from her nose. she dropped her head to the side and her cheek smushed against her shoulder. “you okay?” she was concerned for him; he’d been quieter than usual on the way home. 

spencer nodded. “yeah, yeah. i’m okay, just- just can’t focus.” he told her as he slumped back into his chair. his pen was abandoned on the open file on the table. he stared blankly at the case file, almost in horror. 

she looked with him at the papers with the inside of her cheek held between her teeth, thinking to herself prior to flipping the file closed. spencer sat up a little with his mouth opening but she shushed him. “you can work on it tomorrow, okay? we’re gonna go home.” y/n said to him with a tone that told spencer not to fight her in this. 

“you said ‘we’ and ‘home’ in the same sentence. i don’t understand.” spencer followed her with his brown eyes, spinning himself in his chair to keep them on her as y/n walked back to her desk, switching off her lamp and grabbing her purse. 

she looked at him over her computer, turning it off with the almost unheard click of a button. “you’re gonna stay with me tonight.” she answered him simply. 

he furrowed his brows. “why?” 

“because i don’t trust you to be alone tonight.” 

spencer swallowed thickly with how her eyes bore into his own. he could have, no, should have known that y/n would have caught onto his behavior. 

a case from weeks ago had taken a toll on him. seeing a kid shot in front of his eyes after he tried everything he could to convince jack, the father of lindsay who was kidnapped, not to shoot the teen holding her captive. the image scarred him; how the bullet exploded the boys head from the close range, how the blood splattered on the walls, and how he stood there in shock because he didn’t know what to do. 

“i’m okay.” he swore to her. 

she pursed her lips as she walked back to his desk. “don’t fight me on this,” her voice was low in a whisper. “i want to help you, spencer.” she reached down to place her hand on the back of his where it rested on the desk. 

spencer swallowed thickly once more before he sighed, looking away. “okay.” when her hand retracted away from his, he stood up and put his bag over his shoulder. 

y/n smiled at him and started walking with spencer on her heels out of the glass doors of the BAU office, into the elevator and to her car. 

9:07 pm

y/n smiled as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked inside with her hand on the nob until spencer was all the way inside. 

he’d been in her apartment multiple times which meant there was no awkward moments as he took off his shoes and hung his bag on the rack beside the door. 

“are you hungry?” she asked him as she entered her small kitchen and he went to sit at the island. 

“i’m alright… just tired.” he told her with his elbows leaning on the counter. he blinked slowly. 

“okay.” she looked him over with sad eyes. “spencer?” he looked up at her at the utter of his name. “if there’s something wrong you can talk to me.” 

her statement had him nodding with his head lowered and his eyes closed. 

she was the one person he actually told about his addiction problem that had taken him over almost few months ago, and she’d helped him stop. but now he had the urge to use again, and that’s why she brought him home with her. that was why. 

y/n padded out from behind the kitchen island to spencer and her arms went around his middle. her chest was against his curved back from his posture from leaning over the counter a bit and she rested her cheek on his shoulder blade. he was warm through his clothes and his heartbeat was loud, but slow in y/n’s ear.

“thank you.” the words were whispered by spencer. 

“you’re welcome.” y/n whispered back to him. her thumb on one hand slowly trailed up and down where it was against the front of his waist, almost the middle of his abdomen. “i just want you to be safe.” 

“i know.” he breathed heavily due to how her touch was so kind and soft, unlike their job. 

a comfortable silence settled over y/n’s apartment as they stayed where they were at the kitchen island. spencer was in the verge of sleep from how at ease he was, and not a single image of the long past case was in his head, until she pulled away, then it all came rushing back to him. but he wasn’t going to tell her. there was a part of him that knew she knew. 

she always knew. 

“cmon, it’s late.” y/n ran a hand down his back as she stepped away from the proximity, straying to go towards her bedroom. 

spencer stared after her and decided to follow once she disappeared from his sight through the door separating her own space from the open concept of her apartment. 

her bedroom was homy. soft colors made up her bed, curtains and walls, while her dresser and nightstands were a darker shade. spencer liked it. 

“you remember where your clothes are right?” she called from where she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. 

“yeah.” spencer answered. his socked feet carried him to her dresser. the top right drawer was his. it had a set of pajamas and work clothes in it. 

it was almost like spencer and y/n were in a relationship. they had the details of one. with the clothes of the other at each of their houses, the secret looks they passed, some what harmless flirting. they were very close. so close that almost all of their coworkers were waiting for the day they finally got together; they’ve been waiting for three years. 

spencer quickly changed out of his work clothes and into pajamas before slipping into y/n’s bed. he was going to go sleep on her couch but that would only result in her dragging him back to her room. he laid in his left side, facing her empty space with eyes on her pillow u til she joined him, almost coming nose to nose with him. 

“i’m glad you didn’t go to the couch.” she told him. 

his mouth tugged up in the corners. “i decided against it. i knew you’d just drag me back here.” he said it through a yawn. 

“you know me too well.” she hummed. 

“i do.” 

silence. 

“thank you, again.” spencer muttered. 

y/n nodded against her pillow. “it’s my job to look out for people. you just happen to be the most important people i do that for.” 

spencer nodded slowly at her words, smiling softly again. he absentmindedly fidgeted with the top of her comforter, twisting and pulling at the seam between his fingers anxiously. he was at ease with her, but that feeling in his body kept flashing over him. the part of him that wanted to use dilaudid kept resurfacing. 

y/n frowned. “hey,” her hand snaked out from under the comforter to brush through his soft hair, “where’d you go?” she searched his eyes with her own for the previously smiling spencer. he must have gone away for now. 

spencer shrugged with a shaky inhale. “i don’t know…” he blinked his eyes closed, hard. it’s what he did when he wanted to keep himself from crying. he sniffled a little, still toying with the seam of the comforter. 

y/n’s heart ached for him. she’d seen a lot of things that made her feel many different ways, but seeing spencer like this made her want to cry. 

spencer opened his eyes and looked at her. they were glossed over, creating an almost pretty sheen over the amber-brown color. the tear that slipped from one of his eyes made her move the hand she had in his hair to wipe it away. “i almost started using again…” his voice was quivering. “i just don’t want to see that dead kid anymore.”

y/n moved closer to his body under the covers. her hand rested on the side of his face, thumb drawing a gentle line back and forth over his cheekbone. “i know you don’t, babe.” she whispered. “what can i do for you?” 

spencer shrugged immediately after your question registered with him. “i just need distractions.” 

she nodded subtly. her hands retracted from his face as she rolled over to grab a book off her nightstand. “can i read to you?” 

spencer was quick to nod prior to moving closer to her. his arms were acting as a pillow for his head as he remained laying on his side, only inches away from her as she opened her book. 

she started reading, which made spencer’s mind go blank as he listened. he liked how slow she was with the words, taking her time. sometimes she’d stutter, or ask him how to pronounce something. it was a nice change from how he read. 

y/n paused her reading to take a quick glance down at spencer, seeing how he had curled into himself and was now breathing steadily with a few soft snores mixed in. she smiled to herself and closed the book, putting it back on her nightstand and switched off the light.

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[oogaboogasphincter]

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break. 

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting​ and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic​. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian​

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?” 

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being. 

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.” 

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.” 

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies. 

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.” 

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you. 

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study. 

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced. 

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left. 

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts. 

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt. 

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out. 

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.” 

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​, @mellowswriting​

[hangovercurse]

Studio Nights

You and Kells spend time in the studio together.

Part ii of Losing a Friend

Colson x Reader

Warnings: cursing

A/N: the first few parts are a lot of fluff, building relationships and such but soon we’ll get into the real angst 😊 

Word Count: 1501

i < ii < iii

September 2016

You had hoped that after 3 months of hanging around the guys, you would have gotten used to their constant energy. But sitting in the studio, you realized you might never get used to it.

Lazily you spun yourself around in the rolling chair at the monitor, Kells sitting next to you with his back to the desk. “Dawg, I’m telling you, you were wasted as fuck,” his loud voice rang through your ears, making the headache you were nurturing even worse.

The boys were having a conversation about something that had gone on in the club the other night with Rook, who was arguing that it wasn’t as big of a deal as Kells was making it out to be. To be fair, Rook was that drunk, but it really wasn’t all that funny.

You tuned them out as best as possible, turning back to the computer and looking at the track again, sighing at the thought of hearing it blare through the headphones. As Slim, Baze, and Rook continued arguing, Kells turned to you.

He seemed to look right through you, taking in the bags under your eyes and the slight frown on your face. “Hey,” he spoke quietly, “you okay?”

You gave him a small nod, placing the headphones over your ears with a fake smile. His hand reached out and tugged them gently off your head. “Seriously, you look like shit.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave a monotone answer, “thanks, Kells. You sure know how to treat a lady.” You let out a dry chuckle as he continued to stare at you, a teasing pout on his face, “I’m fine, I just have a headache, it’s nothing.”

He swiveled his chair so that his front was facing your side, reaching out and turning your chair so you could be face to face. His knees bumped up against your own lightly, “we can take a break if you want, pick back up tomorrow.”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, there’s just a lot of noise right now, but it’s nothing. I just want to finish this song; we’ve been working on it for way too long now.” You tried to play off the throbbing in your brain as Slim and Baze laughed obnoxiously a few feet away from you.

He rolled his eyes, “You are the one that keeps editing it.” His tone was teasing, but you couldn’t help but agree. There was something about the track that just wasn’t right yet. “But it can wait another day, go home. Or I’ll send these fuckers home.”

You chuckled, “aren’t you guys technically at home?” He sent you an unamused look, making you pout, “look, I can’t figure out what it is, but something needs to be fixed.”

He let out a breath through his nose, imitating laughter, “I know, you keep saying that. And I trust you, but you’re not going to figure it out if you’re in a mood.”

A glare came over your features, directed at him, “I am not in a mood.” You shoved him playfully, his chair spinning slightly, “I’m just in pain. My head feels like it’s eating itself.”

“That’d make a good lyric,” he commented with a smirk, shoving you back. “Go home.”

You smacked his hand away lightly, “don’t tell me what to do. Now let me work.” You tried to turn back to the computer while placing the headphones back over your ears, but Kells just spun you back towards him.

“How about you let me listen to it for once,” his tone was playful, but you couldn’t help but gape at the audacity.

You handed him the headphones, “I have been trying to get you to do that for the past 3 hours!” He chuckled, placing the speakers over his ears, and pressing play. “Is this what it takes to get you to work? My pain?” you teased halfheartedly.

Truthfully, Kells had a way of distracting you from whatever happened to be bothering you, including your headache. It was one of the many reasons you liked being around him so much.

He nodded his head to what you assumed was the beat, making you giggle lightly. He paused the song midway, taking off the headphones and frowning. “What if we tried carrying the initial guitar riff through at that little middle part.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning to the computer and fidgeting with the track to add the raw guitar into the space. You didn’t notice, but you and Kells were very closely huddled around the computer.

The other guys in the room, however, did take notice. Slim elbowed Rook, pointing over in your direction as you and Kells cracked lighthearted jokes and worked on the song together.

Rook let out a chuckle that was lost on your ears as Baze quietly teased, “I give it two months, max.”

The younger boy shook his head, “hell naw, you think Kells is gonna wait that long?”

Baze flicked Rook in the head, “that’s why I said max, dumbass.”

Rook shoved the older one, starting a small war between the two of them. Slim rolled his eyes, speaking over the two’s fighting, “she’s way too smart for that, it’ll take way longer for her to come around to that.”

After another 15 minutes of you and Kells working intensely on fixing the music and the guys teasing you about how cute you were behind your backs, you could listen to a rough sample of your new and improved track.

“This is fucking fire, dude,” Kells said loudly as he listened with the headphones. You laughed at the volume, feeling better than before and giddy at the thought of having fixed the track.

Once he had finished, he placed the headphones over your ears and played the song in its entirety, your voices flowing together naturally over the music. When the revised part came, you were shocked at how much better it sounded, even if it was still just a rough edit.

You took the headphones off, beaming at him, “you are a genius.”

He teased, “so I’ve been told.” You rolled your eyes, knocking his knee with yours playfully. He shoved your shoulder softly, voice lowering, “you should go home. We can polish this part tomorrow and get it ready for a release.”

You shook your head, volume matching his “I’m fine, Kells. It’s just a headache and we’re almost finished, I can manage.”

“I’m not touching another button today and you are going home, end of story.” You whined but gave no real protest, reaching for your purse and keys. He patted you on the head mockingly, “good girl.”

You glared up at him, “call me that again, and I will hurt you.” He chuckled, standing up with you, and walking you to the door.

He called to the guys, “thanks for all the work today guys, really helpful.” His words dripped with sarcasm, making you giggle.

Slim shrugged, “looked like you two had it handled, we weren’t gonna interrupt.” Rook and Baze snickered, making you roll your eyes.

“Well, I’m out. See you guys tomorrow.” You threw up a peace sign to the men.

Baze checked his phone, “are you sure you want to drive this late? It’s almost 3 am.”

You sighed, realizing he was right. A pout fell on your face as you muttered, “it’s fine, I’ll be okay.” You turned to head out the door, throwing a smile at the boys. Kells followed you out to the main area of the house, grabbing your wrist gently in the living room to stop you from leaving.

“You can stay here tonight if you want. It’d probably be better anyways if you still feel bad.”

His gentle touch on your arm seemed to send a soft feeling throughout your body, something unfamiliar to you. You shook it off, giving him a small smile. As much as you knew you probably should stay, you needed to get out of this house before any other unexplained feelings arose. “Thanks, Kells, but I’ll be fine. I live all of 10 minutes away.”

He shrugged, acting nonchalant, “fine, just text us when you get home.”

You rolled your eyes, walking to the front door, “okay, Dad.”

He chuckled, “shut up, loser.” You flicked him off playfully as you left, the door closing behind you.

Mere moments after you left he heard three laughs from behind him, “oh Y/N! Please stay the night with us.” Rook mocked an overly dramatic Kells impression.

Baze continued with a “I’ll do anything for you Y/N, I’m just so in love with you!”

Slim shook his head, walking over and clapping his best friend on the back, “ignore them.” He said, “we all know you’ll confess to her in your own time.”

Kells scoffed, an eyebrow raised, “I am not in love with Y/N. She’s just a friend. A better one than you three.”

The boys laughed and rolled their eyes, “okay,” Rook said, unconvinced.

tag list: 

@bakerkells​ @elviablo​​ @iambashfulperson​ @sunflowerbebe107​ @crystalbaby12​ @stormrider505​ @ticketstomydaydreams​ @mvrylee​ @daddyavesxx​​ @pettyvxbes​ @prettydreamboy​

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[drcalmreid]

friends - s.r. (pt. 1/2)

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

summary: pure angst - friends with benefits always ends up with one person scorn out of jealousy...and in this case, it’s spencer. especially when he sees you flirting with one of his BAU partners.

content warning: consumption of alcohol, indication of sex (no smut!), anger/trust issues, brief mention of blood

word count: 4.5k // part two

authors notes: lyrics = indicate a flashback!! ALSO this is completely inspired by the song “friends” by chase atlantic, so i recommend listening to it while you read! this part is all in spencer’s pov but the next one will be the readers pov ;)

SPENCERS POV

Sweat and tension hang heavy in the air as I sit in the bar, watching my co-workers from the booth. The condensation slides down my glass onto the table, creating a puddle around the cup. I run my fingers around in the ring of water, creating shapes on the table top.

“You know,” JJ says, taking the spot next to me in the booth. “If you’re going to come out with us, you should try to make conversation.” “I think I’m okay,” I smile at her as she nudges me with her elbow. “Really, you don’t have to babysit me. Go, have fun.”

“Alright,” JJ says standing back up. Her eyes scan over me before she turns to gaze to the dance floor. Luke, Tara, Penelope, Emily, and (y/n) all dance together, obnoxiously close to one another (some more than others). “You should tell her how you feel.” JJ comments, swirling her drink with the straw in her mouth.

“What- who? What are you talking about?”

“C’mon Spence! You really think after all this time I still can’t read you?” JJ asks and I shrug, giving her a small smile. JJ leans down to me and whispers, “just go talk to (y/n)”.

I lean back on the leather seat and crack my back, even though I know that the constant cracking of my back actually causes adverse effects...but I do it anyway. I bring my eyes up from the table and my still sweating glass of water and glance over at the dance floor. JJ just reaches the team as they welcome her into their terribly coordinated group. This is the third time the team has gone out this month and the first time I’ve been here to witness the completely obvious flirt-fest between Alvez and (y/n). How do I even compete with someone like Luke? I was captivated by (y/n) from the moment I met her, but was too scared to even process a relationship with her. My brain couldn’t stop running over every possible scenario of what could go wrong if I asked her out...even just for a simple coffee after work. I couldn’t do it, and I knew I wouldn’t. Until (y/n) took it upon herself…

Girl, tell me what you're doing on the other side?

And so, just tell me what you're doing with that other guy?

Cause I ain't got patience to slow down the bass

“You going to O’Malley’s tonight?” (Y/n) asks, peering down at me from the corner of my desk. She sits on the corner of the wooden top, her legs swinging back and forth. I turn in my desk chair and look up at her. It feels as though someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room and I’m lost in her presence. She captivates me in a way that no one has. “Reid?” She asks again, waving her hand in front of my face. She tilts her head down and smiles at me, but waits for me to answer.

“‘M sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, I just would really like it if you came. That’s all,” she grins and hops off my desk onto the floor. “No pressure.” I swivel in my chair and follow her path behind me, my words get caught in my throat before I finally call after her, “I’ll be there!”.

-

“Y’know Spence,” (y/n) drunkenly whispers in my ear, even though she’s practically yelling over the loud bar music. It was only an hour after the team had gotten to the bar, but (y/n) was drinking as if it were her last drink on earth. “I like you…” she trails off, swirling her drink with the straw. She flips her hair over her shoulder and leans down on her arm to stare into my eyes. Her eyes are glossed over from the alcohol she’s consumed and clearly her filter is completely gone for the night. I laugh at her words and lean down to her, “I like you too, you’re easy to talk to, funny, you actually listen to my rambles. You’re a great friend, (y/n).” I practically choke the words out, and thank God she’s intoxicated otherwise she would have caught my inflexion on the word “friend”.

“No, no, no-” She sits up on her stool and glances around the bar. She spots the rest of the team across the restaurant before she continues talking, “I like-like you, Spencer. I like you a lot.”

“(Y/n), do you know what you’re saying to me right now?”

“Of course I do,” she takes a gulp from her drink. “I’ve wanted to tell you for months, but now I’ve got the liquid courage.” She winks and tilts the glass in my direction. I want to believe that this is truly happening, but I can’t. I want to throw caution to the wind and be with her, but I can’t. I don’t trust myself or my past. I’m no good for her.

“I think we should switch you to water,” I say as I raise my hand to the bartender. She reaches over my chest and grabs my arm, carefully avoiding my hand, shaking her head.

“No,” she says leaning in near my face. My heart leaps into my throat and I feel my pulse quicken as she inches closer to me. “Spence, you can give me all the water you want...but what I said won’t change.”

(Y/n) hops down from her stool to meet the rest of the BAU at the large table, but turns on her heel only a few steps away, “you comin’?”

-

“Hi,” I say as (y/n) swings open her front door the next morning. Her eyes are hooded, red and puffy as she shields them from the sun. Her once perfectly curled hair is now gathered into the messiest bun, as she stands in her beat-up FBI training t-shirt and paint-covered sweatpants. “I figured you would want something greasy, so I got you a breakfast burrito, but when you realize that isn’t the hangover cure, I got you a banana and nut mix with some Powerade.” I say, raising up two separate shopping bags.

“Oh my God, my head,” (y/n) whines, shuffling away from the front door plopping herself on the couch. “I was so fucked up last night.” She mumbles as her face is squished in between couch cushions.

“Yeah,” I shut the door as quietly as I can behind me. “You were.” I chuckle, setting the bags down on her kitchen island. I grab the Powerade from the bag and walk back to her on the couch. I squat down in front of her, tilting my head back and forth waiting for her to look at me. Eventually, she turns to face me and a smile creeps across her face. She whispers a quiet “hi” and I mimic back the word, “hi”. She slowly pulls herself up from the couch and pulls her legs into a cross-legged position. I pass her the Powerade and she rolls her eyes at me before opening the bottle.

“Remind me never to drink again,” she crips. “I have no filter when I drink. I mean, I literally told JJ I like Henry better than Michael...who does that?”

“Same person who confessed their love for me last night,” I mutter and my eyes go wide, heart dropping. Did I really just say that? (Y/n) practically spits out her drink and laughs.

“You’re kidding right? Spence-” She leans forward, panic running across her features as she tries to hide it with humor. “Spencer.” She says and I look up at her, “what did I say to you, Spencer? Tell me, oh God maybe I don’t want to know,” she stands from the couch and pads off into her bedroom. I stand up from my spot on the floor and follow her. “No, tell me,” she pivots and leans against her bed.

“(Y/n), you were drunk and I should have stopped you.”

“Spencer, what the fuck did I say?” She says sternly.

All your girlfriends are wasted

They need it, they chase it

Face it. You want it, you crave it

I shake my head clear of that night and let my eyes linger on her. From my spot at the table, I can perfectly watch the team dance their hearts out. (Y/n) dances to the rhythm of the obnoxious club music, her hips moving at a steady pace. Luke stands dangerously close to her as he follows her movements. (Y/n) spins to face him, her laugh bubbling out of her as Luke smiles down at her. She stands on her toes, whispering something to him, before Alvez throws his head back laughing at her. He leans down to talk to her again and (y/n) wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. The two of them move together now, completely tangled in one another as the songs continue. Luke trails his hands down her sides before they rest just above her waist. (Y/n) lowers her arms and quickly spins in Luke’s grip, her ass now practically grinding on him. Her dress rides up her thighs, inching closer and closer to her waist. The other girls cheer on the two, but JJ looks over her shoulder at me giving an empathetic smile. An anger builds up from deep inside of me and I grip my glass harder than is probably safe. I can’t be here anymore. I stand up abruptly from the bench and work my way through the crowds, desperate for some air and to see anything other than that.

Believe when I say that you'll know once you taste it

“I don’t-,” I start, but (y/n) stands from the bed.

“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t remember’ bullshit, because you can I both know you do,” (y/n) says in a way that leans more nervous and upset than angry.

“You said, ‘I like-like you.’” I choke out, while scratching the nape of my neck.

“What else did I say?” She asks, her eyes wide with embarrassment.

“That, you wanted to tell me for months but didn’t have the courage to.” I say, staring down at the floor before I look up to see (y/n) also keeping her eyes fixed on the hardwood floor.

“You know what they say about drunken confessions.” She mumbles, pulling her hands in front of her to play with her fingers.

“It’s been proven that alcoholic drinks cause neurological and psychological regression with the higher blood alcohol levels, so more hostile and truthful responses are common...but alcohol can’t necessarily make you feel new emotions.” I ramble on and (y/n) shakes her head at me.

“Did you know that or did you look it up after I confessed last night?”

“Both,” I answer and we both release our built up stress in a heartfelt laugh.

“Yeah well,” she rubs her arms. “I didn’t lie. I really do like you Spence,” she looks up and holds my gaze. “You don’t have to say anything, or feel anything… I just- I just wanted you to know for so long, and I guess now’s the time.”

Without hesitation I lean forward, my hands cradling her face and pull her lips to mine. Our mouths melt into one another quickly and I lose myself in her. My mind races through every possibility of what this means for us, but I try my best to shut it off and just be in the present. (Y/n) giggles against my lips, pulling away for a second to look at me.

“I like you too,” I smile down at her, while pushing a loose strand from her bun behind her ear. She grins and stands on her toes, capturing my lips again before we step backward, falling onto the bed.

All of your friends have been here for too long

They must be waiting for you to move on

Girl, I'm not with it I'm way too far gone

I'm not ready, eyes heavy now

I step out of the bar into the cool March air, the night temperature chilling my lungs as I breathe in and out rapidly. I lean against the brick wall of the building, pulling at my tie feverishly trying to get it off. I yank off the tie, untying it in my hands while resting my head against the wall. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale… When I open my eyes again, I look out across the busy street as couples pass by. Each one fixated on the other and my heart pounds in my ears.

“Spence?” A voice calls from near the entrance of the bar, “are you okay? I saw you run out, I-”

“I’m fine, (y/n).” I snap at her. She stands to my side, arms crossed, her hands running up and down to keep herself warm.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence settles betweens us for a moment before she steps forward, inching closer to me. We stand next to one another for a moment, both of us resting against the bar wall as cars continue to zip down the street.

“Alright, well if you’re fine, then I’ll leave you,” she sighs. (Y/n) steps back, heels clicking on the pavement as she approaches the bar.

“Do you like him?” I ask, staring down at the undone tie in my hands. She raises her eyebrows and her eyes scan over my face. “Luke. Do you like Luke?”

“Excuse me?” She asks, her hand resting on the door handle to the bar.

“I mean- it seems like you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She drops the handle and turns to face me again.

“Nothing, you- you just were dancing and-”

“Oh my god,” she mutters through a laugh. “You’re jealous. Spencer, seriously?”

“I’m sorry that I can’t see you with other guys, it’s not fair for me to watch that. I can’t, (y/n).”

“Well,” she steps back, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “That’s not really my problem is it? You told me to, let’s see...how did you put it?”

She looks up as if she’s trying to remember the words, “ ‘Get over my feelings because we’re not together’? I believe that’s what you said.” She coolly states, quoting my words from days before. I stand against the wall stunned as I blink away tears.

“(y/n), I-”

“Spencer, please just don’t say anything else. You’ve said enough,” she grabs the door handle again and swings the heavy bar door open. She props it open with her foot and glances back at me, “just so we’re clear. None of this is fair, and I can dance with whoever I want.”

Heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved

Running in circles, now look what you've done

My cool fingertips run up and down her bare back, moving along her spine. Occasionally I trace shapes and words onto her skin as she lays against me. The hours pass as we stay in her bed, the world continuing on without us as we lay tangled together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I glance down at her. Her eyes flutter open as she looks up at me, keeping her head on my chest.

“Yeah? I bet I’ve wanted to longer,” she giggles, sitting up resting her weight on her elbow.

“Mmm,” I humm and pull her face to mine. Pecking her lips once, “I don’t think so.”

“No? Then why didn’t you say anything?” (Y/n) tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and rests her chin on my chest. Her big, bright eyes piercing into mine.

“I was scared,” I say truthfully and I feel as though a weight is lifted off of me. She tilts her head to one side as she waits for me to keep talking, “I don’t have the best relationship history. Actually, I don’t even have a history.” I take a deep breath and (y/n) smiles, tracing small hearts onto my chest with her index finger. “I- I just don’t know how to do this, (y/n). I don’t even know if I can…” I confess, but (y/n) doesn’t take her eyes off of me. She sits up slowly, the sheets of her bed gathered around her bare chest.

“Spence, I don’t know how to do this either,” she giggles. “But, I’m willing to try to figure it out with you...as long as you are.”

“Let me ask you this,” I say sitting up slightly, leaning against her bed frame.

“Oo yes, my favorite Dr. Reid phrase,” she says laying down under my arm. “Sorry, continue.”

“Do you think we could keep this between us? I’m just not ready for all of the pressure and conversations between the team.” She reaches up as I speak and twists one of my curls between her thumb and index finger.

“Of course,” she smiles and our lips meet each other again.

Give you my word as you take it and run

Wish you'd let me stay, I'm ready now

I close my eyes harshly and rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles, so hard that I see stars and swirls among the darkness. “Shit,” I shout, tossing the tie to the concrete, not caring where it lands. I swing my arms around, smashing my fist into the brick wall. “Fuck!” I whip my hands away from the wall, shaking my hand off. My knuckles are open, bloody, and throbbing. I fling myself off the wall again, headed back into the bar. My head is spinning and cloudy, but all I know is I have to get to (y/n). I have to apologize to her and tell her the truth. I need her to listen, I need her to understand, hell...I just need her. I pull open the wooden door and blasting music hits me like a wall. I shake my head at the change in volume and push through the crowds. I make a bee-line for the BAU’s table in search of any one of my team members. Penelope spots me first as she skips over in her brightly colored heels. “Reid, oh Reid! My personal genius! Come! Come,” she tugs on my shirt sleeve, pulling me closer to the back table. I turn my head back and forth, scanning over all of the faces in the crowd in search of (y/n). “Garcia,” I say, trying to put my heels down. “Where is (y/n)?” She ignores me and continues pushing us through the sea of people. Finally our table appears and Emily, JJ, and Tara sit in a semi circle shaped booth. “Found him,” she cheers, pushing me into the booth. She sits down across from me and turns to JJ. “Now shimmy over, I have a question for the good Doctor.”

“Garcia,” I practically beg. “Where is (y/n)?”

“Oh, sorry! She left with Newbie.” Penelope answers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“No, Pen,” JJ glances up from her drink to meet my eyeline. “Not like that, Luke was just driving her home.”

“Are you kidding? Those two were hot-and-heavy on the dance floor. Totally into each other… Oh my god imagine their kids!” Garcia beams, clasping her hands together. JJ frowns, but nods at Penelope, not to give her any indication of my feelings. “So! Tara was telling me that alcohol actually-”

“Garcia,” I interrupt and stand up from the booth. “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go.”

Just give me some time and space to realize

That you, were busy lying, sleeping 'round with other guys

And what the hell were we?

Tell me we weren't just friends

This doesn't make much sense. No.

“Spencer for the love of God open the door,” (y/n) mumbles against my neck. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her words.

“I’m trying, but you’re distracting me,” I respond. The hotel keycard fumbles in my hands against the door as (y/n) lingers next to me.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m distracting you?” She coyly asks, running her hands under my shirt. Finally the door chimes and swings open. “Thank god,” she says pushing past me into the hotel room. I shut the door behind us and within seconds, were connected again, our moans echoing throughout the empty hotel room. It’s been nearly four months since (y/n) and I decided to hide our feelings from the rest of the world. It’s safer and easier for both of us, but every moment with her makes me want to scream it from the rooftops. Everytime we sneak away to our hotel rooms on cases, share secret glances during profiles, bring each other coffee in the mornings, or just be around one another for longer than usual, my heart begs for more. The two of us agreed that with our jobs and personal struggles the easiest thing would be to enjoy each other when we could, but not stress ourselves about the labels. “Friends with benefits,” (y/n) would label it after we spent one of our first nights together. I hated the term, but by definition… it was true.

Moments pass by and before I know it we're both covered in sweat, tangled in the hotel sheets. We both collapse onto the bed, quickly trying to catch our breath. I plop down on my back, curls covered in sweat and slicked to my forehead. (Y/n) nuzzles into my side, our skin sticking to one another as she fits herself under my arm. My eyes get heavy and I continue to move my hands through her hair onto her bare skin. I reach over with my loose arm and flick the light off, before I bring my arm around her and pull her in closer by the waist. Minutes of silence tick by as both of us are drowning in sleep; I close my eyes letting the night time wash over me and (y/n) does the same. After a while, I feel myself losing to the tired, but before it completely consumes me I hear (y/n) whisper, “I love you”.

But I'm not hurt, I'm tense

Cause I'll be fine without you babe

The bar door swings open again with force and I step onto the sidewalk. The cold temperature chills me again, but I push through the air away from the restaurant. I have no idea where I am headed, but my legs carry me away from the doors and walk for blocks. Thankfully, I had walked to the bar tonight because I am way too restless and anxious to be behind the wheel. Before I know it, I’m in front of my apartment complex. I release a big sigh before climbing the steps up to my home. If I didn’t know any better, I would have ended up at (y/n)’s apartment on my hands and knees, begging for her to take me back. But this isn’t a fairytale, it’s life. Life of a traumatized FBI agent who’s terrified of commitment and loss. I turn my key in the front door and stumble inside the apartment. I toss my shoes by the door and walk through the living room, laying down on my bed as sleep washes over me.

Saturday morning comes only a few hours later, the day drags on as I lay on my bed fully clothed. I rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles before I feel an intense pain in my hand. Shit. I stand up from the comfort of my bed and walk into the bathroom, cleaning off my knuckles and the dried blood from the back of my hand. Pain sears through my hand, but I welcome it, the physical pain taking away from the hurricane going on in my head.

I walk out of the bathroom flipping over a stack of books near my desk. I can’t be trapped here anymore. I have to get out. I pull on a half-worn cardigan over my button up and flatten out my pants, grab my shoes by the door and leave.

Again, I find myself walking in the cool spring air, the streets beginning to fill with morning crowds. I walk the couple of blocks from my house to the BAU, knowing the offices will be empty on the weekend and I can have a space to work without my bed calling my name from the other room. I push open the glass doors to the BAU bullpen and practically collapse into my desk chair. I flick on the reading light and set my head down on the table top. Silence.

“Luke, if you don’t stop,” the words come from the doorway and a chill mixed with shock runs through my body. I whip my head in the direction of the voice and spot Luke and (y/n) laughing together....(y/n) in her dress from the night before. (Y/n) locks her eyes with mine and frowns, “Oh my god, Spence.”

—

oooo shiittttt!! two parter!! whatsss gonna happennnnnnnn ;)))))

part two

masterlist // requests

stay safe & wear a mask!! -m

[heshoes]

She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.

Warnings: smut, slow burn, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse

Harry Styles x OC (Face claim Zendaya)

Uni Daze Masterlist

Chapter 2 ( Word Count 6.7K )

Harry

My school day was absolutely long but it kept me busy and busy to me is a good thing. It keeps me balanced though I know Chelle would disagree since he keeps telling me as such over the phone.

"The only reason you think that trying to fit 72 hours in a 24 hour day is a balance is because of your parents. Just because they're work driven arseholes doesn't mean that you have to follow in their footsteps.”

"That's impossible to do, I don't work that much. My parent's aren't arsehole's they're just successful. Is that so wrong to want success?”

"It is when its your last year of uni and you're being a kill joy.”

"I said I would go out for drinks, Chelle. How is my compliance to something that I don't want to do being a kill joy?”

"Because you're not doing it with a smile. You've become boring. Your sex life and your regular life has turned about as vanilla as a middle aged man. We never had to beg you to come out last year or over the summer, Harrow. Think of it as a week of extended holidays. No one does anything the first week of classes anyway. It's all rules and instructions on how to prepare. We've been in uni for three years. We should know the jist of it by now.”

"But it's not summer anymore, Chelle and you know some professors like to give assignments in the first few days. We have two papers already in seminar for fucks sake.”

Michelle sighed in annoyance.

"Yeah, but, those aren't due for ages, Haz. Fun is due right now.”

"This is the year to pull your shit together. Everyone can't not study and get perfect marks like you. Sorry.”

"The phrase 'can't not' is a double edged sword.”

"What?" I spun around in my desk at work, handing a first year her keys. Its only the first day and she's already lost her keys and has to use her spare for a fifty pound charge. She looks nervous as well and her face is kind of red. She grins at me and says a shy 'thank you' before walking away, staring back at me and kind of tripping over her own feet on her way to the lift. I tried not to laugh, but honestly it was kind of funny.

"You know, a double edged sword? A double negative?You can't say 'can't not' next to each other in a sentence. It's repetitive of itself. You should be embarrassed. This is primary school stuff Harrow. Mr. “I have to take the UKCAT this year.”"

"Whatever Chelle! See? That's what I mean. I need a balance. I need to be able to be involved in school. I should have taken it more serious when we first started out.”

"You do realize balance means a good amount of your job, school work, AND a social life which includes parties and pubs and going out with your mates without a grumble?”

"I'm going out for drinks tonight! You're starting to piss me off."

"If the truth is anything it's annoying, Harry." I nodded my head and began to swivel around in my chair. I'd just gotten to work and had three and a half more hours to go. I'm glad I have a job and all but this one is fucking boring.

Speaking of truth.

"Do the boys know about your um...your new team?”

"No. Actually they don’t."

Oh.

“Oh?"

"Yeah, um, I was hoping that it was something that we could keep between me and you for now. Just until I can figure things out. I'd love to say that I'm for sure just this one thing. I know I said it this morning, but I'm still not sure, okay?”

"Yeah. Sure, of course." I stopped spinning in my seat and dizzying myself when I heard my manager's voice,"Look I've gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone and my boss is coming.”

"Oh so there is some rebellion left in you? You're living on the edge now, Hazland. Why can't you use your phone? All you do is sit in a chair and answer phones and make people keys when they lock themselves out of their dorm.”

"Bye Michelle!" I quickly hung up the phone and stuck it into my pocket smiling awkwardly at Professor Forrester as he approached the front desk with someone else right next to him. She had on a Cambridge work shirt much like myself letting me know that I more than likely wouldn't be alone for the rest of my shift.

"Rion, this is Harry," Professor Forrester spoke to her before addressing me, "today is her first day here at the university and working. I told her that she would be in good hands if I left her here with you. Show her the ropes and maybe show her around campus when you're not at work? I've got to go," Professor Forrester turned to face the new girl before he nodded back at me, "any questions you have, ask him. He'll know all of the answers.”

She nodded her head up and down slowly before giving a shy grin and we were left alone as Forrester left the building.

“Hi."

“Hello."

"I'm Harry.”

She laughed to herself before nodding her head at me.

"So I was told. Nice to meet you.”

Rion, I think her name was, sat down in her seat next to mine after speaking back to me, lowering her rucksack down to the ground before pulling out a book. It was a good idea really. Maybe I should have brought one? I barely get the chance to read, especially living with Michelle. She always finds a way to interrupt, either that or my ADD kicks in, all the more reason for me to put in more effort at school. I took out my phone once I knew that Forrester was gone, but I really had nothing to do with it. I had no new text messages besides Michelle.

Chelle: Drinksssssss 🍻🍺🍺🍺🍻🍻🍻😉

I grinned before shaking my head and replying back to her, something just as stupid as she sent me.

To Chelle: Tortureeeeeeee😣🔫🍺😒

Chelle: Dramatic!

Ignoring her last text, I took out my earphones and turned up the music on my phone as I placed them in my ears. I suppose it was a bit loud because out of the corner of my eye I could see Rion scrunching her nose while she tried to read.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you.”

"No disturbance, I was just trying to figure the tune. Runaway?”

“Wh-what?"

She laughed before she pointed to the phone in my hand and repeated herself.

"Is that Runaway by Ed Sheeran?”

I nodded my head, not able to stop the stupid grin that cut across my face.

"You know Ed Sheeran that’s not on top 40?”

"Who doesn't? The man's a musical genius.”

She smiled at me before she turned back to her book, but I couldn't help but to keep talking to her.

"What school did you used to go to? Um, if you don't mind me asking…"

"Nope, don't mind at all. I used to go to Bristol Uni. How about yourself? Have you been at Cambridge all of your university career?”

I nodded my head and she looked impressed, but I'm sure she wouldn't be if she knew that I was a legacy and that I slacked off for the first three and a half years. Good thing that I'm getting my shit together now.

"Yeah, it’s alright here.”

"Just alright?”

"One of the best alrights I guess. Welcome to Cambridge and congratulations.”

"Thank you.”

I smiled at her and the conversation was on the verge of ending, but before I stuck my other ear bud in I paid closer attention to the book that she had in her hand.

"Scott Fitzgerald."

"Pardon?" Rion raised an eyebrow at me.

"That's F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

She raised her book showing me the spine, shocked that I hadn't seen the cover but still got the author right.

"You know F. Scott Fitzgerald?" She smiled at me while relaying my words back to me.

"Who doesn't? The man was a written genius. Not to mention that the book you're reading happens to be one of my favorites.”

She smiled again.

"Usually people only notice Fitzgerald if The Great Gatsby is involved." She turned her chair towards mine giving me a better view of her.

"Gatsby is a classic, but I think that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has more character.”

We continued to talk and before I knew it the shift was over. No one else needed keys and the phone barely rung. I probably would have stayed beyond the time that I was supposed to get off talking and creating awkward conversation with Rion had it not been for Michelle's reminders:

Chelle: Tonight is gonna be fun 😊

Chelle: You're off work in 1⃣5⃣ min🎉🎊

Chelle: I'm gonna get you so fucked up!😝

Chelle: I'm excited 😬

To Chelle: No 💩. Too excited I reckon 😐

I laughed to myself as I gathered my things to leave the building, not fully believing that I allowed Michelle to talk me into drinking tonight, even though part of me knew that I wouldn't be able to break tradition. Rion put her book away, that she never really got into reading and followed behind me out the door and to the parking lot. She seemed cool from what I got to know about her in the amount of time that I did and since she's new, I figure that it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Hey, a couple of my friends and I are getting together tonight to The Mill. Its a pub right up the road on Mill lane, if you're not busy, you should, um, you should come.”

"Mill pub? On a Monday?”

"Yeah, it's kind of a tradition that we started when we started here." I rub my shoulder as I wait for her answer. I don't know why I feel nervous about it but I do.

"It sounds like fun, but I shouldn’t, not tonight at least. I wouldn't be able to bear it if I missed class tomorrow because of a hangover, and I kind of also have plans.”

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it like you didn't have anything else to do or-”

"No it's fine it's just... I have a date.”

"Right. Sorry again.”

"I'll see you around though I hope?”

"Yeah, I'll see you at work.”

Rion nodded her head while giving me a content smile before she got into her car and as she pulled off, she waved to me. I waved back but as soon as her car was out of sight, I slapped myself in the face with the palm of my hand. Maybe six months is too long to go without any type of real interaction with the opposite sex besides Michelle, but honestly she doesn't count...or maybe she counts for both now?

I cleared my head of my thoughts as I got into my car that I feel like I'm too tall for. Even with the seat pushed down as low as it can go, I still can feel the top of my head brush against the roofing of it. By now I'm sure I've saved up enough to get a new one. A new car could be my mini treat to myself for cutting myself off from a social life. The more that I think about the way that my conversation with Rion just ended the more that I start to agree with Michelle and the more excited I get for the night of boozy tradition.

As soon as eleven thirty-five hit, my phone rang. When I answered it Michelle's voice came through clear as if she were sitting here next to me in the car, even though background noise and music blares in the room around her.

"Everyone is here but you. Are you en route?”

"Everyone?" I ask her with skepticism in my tone. I would be shocked if everyone showed up.

"Yes everyone. Niall, Darragh, and Zayn. Everyone but you. Are you on your way?”

I don't know why I even asked her if everyone would be there. I knew that Louis wouldn't show even though it was him and Darragh who started this tradition..

"Yeah, I'm on my way. This should be fun.”

"That's the spirit I've been looking for Harrow. It sounds like you've had a change of heart since earlier.”

"Yeah, I think I've been looking at my textbooks too long and not at real people. One night won't kill me I suppose.”

"If one night is done right, then yes, yes it will. And what do you mean you don't see real people? I see you everyday.”

"You're not a real person, Michelle. I'm not quite sure what you are yet.”

"I think I might have an idea by now." Michelle said while chuckling on the other end of the line.

"And what would that be?”

"Getting lucky tonight. Get here soon and I can be your wing-lady.”

The pub was in the early stages of being crowded when I got there and I couldn't deny how excited I was to see the boys, Michelle included even though I saw her only just this morning. The last time that we were all together was in the middle of June, but after that we really hadn't had time to hang out. Everyone had gotten busy and into their own things. Besides keeping in touch over the phone occasionally, we haven't really talked that much either.

The first person that I saw when I got in was Niall. He sat next to Darragh with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting down his jeans in search of a lighter no doubt. When we made eye contact, he stuck his arms out to the side with his fingers spread wide and a smile on his face. Darragh looked at him as if he lost his mind until he followed Niall's line of vision and then quickly stood from his seat.

"Harry! How are you lad? Drinks are on Liam so order the most expensive thing possible.”

I received two claps on the back from each of them when I reached the table and then a smack on my ass that made me jump and then turn around find the guilty culprit. I should have known who it was straight away.

"Chelle! That actually hurt.”

She laughed at my discomfort with some kind of frothy drink in her hand as I grabbed my bum cheek and rubbed it over my jeans.

"Probably because there's barely any meat there to cushion the blow.”

I shook my head at her and squinted my eyes before I responded, "It's not about what's back there, its all about what's in the front. Girls don't date me for my bum.”

“Well, according to you, girls don't date you at all, not recently at least.”

Niall and Darragh started to laugh and a stream of smoke came through Niall's nose reminding me of an angry bull from a cartoon before he took another drag from his cigarette, this time intentionally blowing a ring of smoke before sucking it back in through his nostrils. I probably could have strangled Michelle in that moment, but it was true. My mind goes back to Rion and work and I can feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Mitch told us about your six month drought.”

"Stop calling me Mitch!”

Niall ignored Michelle's outburst before continuing, "She says you haven't gotten laid since your birthday.”

"Do you know what a penis fly catcher even looks like anymore?" Darragh added to Niall's teasing causing my nose to scrunch.

"Penis fly catcher?”

"Yeah, it's better than what you call it. What do you say again? Bajango?”

"No Darragh," Niall cuts in, "Django was a movie. He says bajingo. It makes sense to me.”

Michelle scrunches her nose in disgust and confusion at our conversation but doesn't say anything. Really though, what more could be added to this?

"It's not that big of a deal guys." I bring the conversation back to where it was before it drifted into a dark place so quickly. It can't be that bad. Can it? Perhaps it is? I don't even know at this point anymore.

"Oi leave him alone," Zayn chimed in as he walked up to the table with Liam with two beers in hand, passing me one before he sat down, "its alright Harry sex isn't everything...but six months is a long ass time. But enough about that. What has everyone been up to?”

It was almost like a show and tell as we went around the table talking about what we'd missed out on over the summer since we hadn't seen each other. Niall and Darragh went to Ibiza for the month of July staying in hostels and partying until all hours of the morning. Apparently Niall is in love with a girl he met there, but he doesn't remember her name so I don't know how accurate that is

Zayn spent a good amount of time in France with his girlfriend, sorry, fiancé. The fucker got engaged in France. Everyone thought that he and Daphne were gonna be a short lived thing since they met at a club and all, but people find love and fall in it in mysterious ways I guess. Michelle would be a prime example of that...but love is not involved with her apparently. A player not to be played anymore. I still have questions to ask her about that but I guess I'll have to wait until later since she doesn't want the guys to know that she's traded outies for innies. I could out her like she did me and my drought, but that's way more personal and I've decided that I'm not that much of an asshole, if I'm one at all that is.

Liam was arrested and his parents flipped out. For what I'm kind of scared to ask, but I'm sure it was something accidental. Sometimes I wonder how Liam even got into Cambridge, but I guess that they don't test for common sense, only book smarts.

When it got to Michelle's turn, she just talked about how she flew back home for a few weeks at the very start of summer to visit family and then came back here, but of course that's not anything that I didn't already know. When she came back was when I noticed all of the girlfriends that she had. It was odd to me because Michelle generally hated girls and hanging out with them, but then again, she obviously doesn't hate them that much.

When I told them that the most exciting part of my summer had been joining a book club for some work that I had to get ready to do for senior class, studying for the UKCAT that's not until the end of the school year, and sometimes coming here to Mill pub with Michelle I realized that what she said was true. My life had become vanilla, but I'm honestly kind of alright with it.

We continued to talk, share, laugh and drink until it was at least half three in the morning. I was waiting to see if Michelle was going to change her mind and let the lads know about her newfound liking but she kept it private between me and her the way that she said she would and it kind of made me smile. That along with the ridiculous amount of beer and shots consumed brought a goofy smile to my face by the end of the night.

By exactly three forty-five I was seeing double and couldn't drive home. Niall and Darragh had left to go back to their apartment that happened to be a few blocks down from ours, and Zayn and Liam stayed behind at the bar to drink deciding that they were too far gone now and might as well finish strong. They also decided that class tomorrow isn't important.

Michelle would have stayed behind with them I'm sure, but she has the tendency to be this odd motherly type when I get beyond the legal limit. I think she just likes to laugh at me because I start to say foolish things when my tongue loosens up in my mouth and my words slur. I tried to get up from the table discreetly so that I could walk home while Mitch, Zayn, and Liam continued to chat, but I knocked over a chair.

“Oh shit. I'm sorry bro." I chuckled to myself like an idiot as I picked up the chair earning the lads attention.

"Where are you going?" Michelle's eyes seemed to widen as she took in the state of me.

"Home. I've got class in the morrow-morning.”

"Do you honestly think that you're going to make it to class? Look at you, you can barely stand. My job is complete.” Michelle grins in triumph and I squint my eyes at her trying to figure out when she was going to tell me that she was a triplet.

"You're a horrible people and I don't know why we're friends." I think I was looking at her when I said it, but it could have very well been one of her sisters.

"Alright, and that's my cue. We'll see you later guys." Michelle spoke to Liam and Zayn as stood from the table, a little wobbly at best bus still in a better condition than I was in.

"You don't have to walk me home, Michelle. I'm not no kid.”

Michelle laughed as I stumbled, almost tripping on a crack in the pavement.

"Since I live there too I'm not technically walking you home. I'm walking home with you.”

I checked to see if my car was locked before we began our walk. The crisp early morning air sobered me up a bit, but I was still highly intoxicated and grinning.

"How was your first day of classes?" Michelle asked me breaking the silence of our trek back to our flat.

"Hmm, was okay. Good actually... I met this…met this girl.”

"You did? You were holding out on us at the pub! Who is it? Do I know who she is?”

"No, I don't think you do," I paused to hiccup hoping that was all that I had to do, "She's new here and you don't like girls. I mean, well, you know what I mean. You wouldn't know her.”

Michelle laughed while shaking her head.

“So it's a first year? I'm ashamed of you! I know you haven't dated in a while but that's sweeping the bottom of the barrel, Harrow.”

“No not a first year," hiccup "She's around my age, just new to Cambridge.”

“Oh," Michelle spoke putting her key in the door before she opened it "Where'd you meet her?”

“Work. I kind of asked her to come to the pub with me, but she said she had a date and I kind of sounded like a blubbering idiot when I asked her. I don't know.”

“Harry! You can't just invite people to come to the pub and we haven't met them yet! What if she was awful? Good thing she didn't come. That tradition is sacred for us. Whatever you said to her was probably fine. She just had other plans... Do you know why I've recently started calling you Harrow Harry?”

“Because it's one of the many odd nicknames you've created for me?”

“No. Harrow as in the adjective, it just so happens to fit with you. Har•row when used in verbal tense, means to cause distress to. You're causing unnecessary distress to yourself when you worry about things like the UKCAT and assignments that aren't due until the end of the year, and whatever you've said to this mystery bird that you've met at work. Fun. You used to be much less tense and more fun. You need to chill out and relax. You need to I don't know, get some maybe.”

I rolled my eyes before running my hand through my hair and walking into the kitchen, opening the cabinet in search of my favorite drunken snack, grabbing it when I found it and heading for my room. Quickly stripping off into my boxers, I fell against my bed before I turned on my television and got under the covers. I ate my snack in peace before Michelle knocked on my door twice and then let herself in.

"I could have been naked! you could at least wait for me to say come in.”

“Yeah well, its not like I've never seen a penis before and they're not really my main thing anymore you know?” Michelle climbed into bed with me, intruding while I tried to hide my snacks.

"What are you eating?”

“Nothing.” I slowed my chewing in hopes that she would lose interest.

"Harry I see them! Are those teddy grahams?”

“No!”

“They are! They're a snack for a five year old.”

“Teddy grahams don't have an age limit.”

“You should be embarrassed.” Chelle spoke before grabbing the box and taking a handful for herself, moving around too much for my drunken stomach to handle.

"Oohh these are nice. These are new sheets aren't they?”

"Chelle! Stop moving! Why are you in my room? Get out!”

“My room is too hot, so I've decided that we're going to have a sleepover. You get the better ventilation. You should trade with me.”

“What?”

“I'll sleep on the floor. It really is dreadful in my room.”

I sigh before I grab my pillows and comforter and toss them on the ground leaving Michelle the bed as I make my way to the floor.

“Aww Harry you're the sweetest, but I can really take the floor.”

“No, it's fine. Just don't do anything perverted while you're up there.”

“What like masturbate? I'm not you.”

I chuckled turning to face her from my position on the floor.

“Exactly, but if you do at least that I’m asleep first…Thats just common courtesy. ”

“Sure thing, Harlot. I can do that for you.” Michelle responded without pause causing me to chuckle before my head hit the pillow.

****

“ My head,” I groaned, waking up on the floor with my covers wrapped around me too tight much like a swaddling cloth. After successfully the blanket away from me in an attempt to escape confinement, I sat up slowly only to make the headache worse than it already was and add a new pain to the mix. “My back.”

I had almost forgotten that I slept on the floor to be nice and allowed Michelle to stay in my bed, but when I turned around to look at it I quickly discovered that she wasn't there. I could hear fumbling around in the kitchen and when I stood to follow the noise, the pounding in my head grew. When I reached the small space that we mostly use to microwave shitty food and store alcohol and juice, I saw that Michelle was fully dressed. I mean, well, if you can call an oversized sweater and tights with ladders down the legs in random places dressed then thats what she was.

“Morning, sunshine. How do you feel.”

“Like my head might explode all over the kitchen and I still have to get ready for class. Today is going to be long as shit,” my words slurred proving that there was still traces of alcohol in my bloodstream and when I swayed back and forth feeling as if I might lose my balance, I knew, “I'm still fucked.”

Michelle laughed at me before she flipped her pancake onto a plate and ran it back and forth below my nose. I snatched it from her and took a bite of the buttery breakfast cake without using the fork that she offered.

“Don't be such a savage, Haz. I'm not going to take the food from you after I've clearly been slaving over the oven for five whole minutes so that you could eat. Slow down, chew your food, and sit like a civilized human being. If you eat like that you're going to require the heimlich maneuver and unfortunately I don't know it. You'll turn blue and die in front of me on a Tuesday afternoon and that would put a slight damper on my day.”

“Afternoon?” I asked her while chewing around the pancake, “Afternoon?”

“Yes, Styles. Thats what I said.”

I put the plate that I was holding down on our small kitchen bench before I walked out into living room to squint at the only other clock that we had besides our cell phones, only to confirm what Chelle had just said. I rubbed my hands over my eyes hoping that it was just an illusion and what I'd seen was wrong because if it was the truth, I'd missed all of my morning classes for the day.

“Three eleven? It can't be three eleven! I had classes from nine until two!”

“And you slept through them like a baby.”

“Fuck! Michelle why didn't you wake me up? What's the point of having an Ultimate Alarm if it's not going to be used?”

“Harry, remember that little chat we had yesterday about distress and the use of your nickname? And in order for me to wake you up, I would have had to been up too. Even if I was, I wouldn't be using the Ultimate Alarm to save you with the splitting hangover that I had,” Michelle shakes her head in clear disgust before she continued, “too loud.”

My eyes widened as I looked at my friend, bewildered, annoyed, and somewhere deep down, somewhat amused. I waved my hand between the two of us before I gave up and ran it over my face exasperatedly. This is not how I intended to start the year off. My hand ascended from my face to sliding through my hair in distress, “Thats the point of the alarm, Michelle. It's supposed to be loud. It's supposed to wake you up.”

“Harry, calm down. When we got to sleep it was like seven in the morning anyway. I don't know how you expected to be up, awake, and alert in class. Don't you have like seven others that you can go to tonight? Over achiever.”

“If I shower now I can make it to my organic chemistry class.”

“Gross.”

I looked over to Michelle and frowned before I continued, “ Thanks for throwing me off by the way, making pancakes at three in the afternoon and making me think that it was morning.”

“Whatever time of day that you wake up is morning to me. I was feeling like pancakes, so I made pancakes. You didn't seem to mind them by the way that you were eating them a few minutes ago, arsehole.”

The mention of the food reminded me of how dry my throat was and how alcohol will leave your mouth feeling like you'd guzzled sand if you consume enough of it. I felt like a raisin.

“Do we have anymore orange juice?”

"No. Sorry I finished that all yesterday morning when you almost killed me and Alison with that damn fog horn.”

“Alison?” I smirked at Michelle before I started to tease. "Usually a player doesn't remember a conquests name.”

“You would know," she retorted back while squinting her eyes, “ you used to be one. But don't worry, Harry. I'll get so good at it that you won't ever catch one of them leaving the next morning ever again. I'll be like a black widow or is it a praying mantises that kill all other intimacy as soon as they've finished with them? I'll send them on their way so that I can sleep in my bed alone. It'll be like a switch.”

Michelle grinned as she spoke, silently approving her idea as I thought about how lonely it sounded. It actually saddened me. Michelle isn't the type that can handle being cold hearted and callous enough to kick people out of bed. After being in a monogamous relationship for three years, I could tell that she was the type who craved intimacy. She deserved it. What she just explained to me sounded like eventually it would take its toll on her and she would break down like she did before, substituting my shirt sleeves for tissues.

I keep my opinions to myself, not having enough time before my next class starts to really sit down with her and talk about them. If it's one thing that I cherish about Michelle and I's relationship is that we can literally almost talk about anything, if we had the proper amount of time to do so. I shake my head at her before I head down the hall, calling back to her.

“I never was a player, Mitch. I just wasn't steady in my relationships like you.”

"Whatever you say, Harold. Please go put on trousers…I don't want to see your moose knuckle.”

****

I'd made it to my chemistry lecture on time, and though I tried my hardest, it was extremely difficult to keep my eyes open. Even though I'd slept past all of my morning classes, I still didn't get the best rest from sleeping on the floor. Michelle was irritatingly right again. The only thing that was really mentioned today since it was still the very beginning of the school year, was instruction and what the professor expected from us as a class, so when my eyes closed momentarily as I sat at the back of the room, I didn't feel so bad. Before I knew it the lecture was over and I was rustled awake my the movement of students as they gathered their bags to leave the room.

"You've got a bit of dribble there." A familiar voice laughed as I stepped out of the classroom I wiped my mouth sheepishly before smiling at her.

“Rion, hi how are you?”

“I'm good. Getting around campus well enough, but how are you? You look pretty worn out and its only the second official day of the school year. Did your tradition get the best of you last night? You've got imprint marks from your sweater on your face.”

My hand went to the side of my face that she pointed out, the imprints from my clothing giving away my previous position before I flashed her a quick grin and responded ,Um, uh yeah kind of. I may or may not have missed all of my classes this morning. Mitch didn't wake me up, bad influence I guess.”

“Mitch?”

"Oh, um sh- Mitch is just...Mitch is my roommate." I explained in a panic I didn't want to scare her off with the details. I think I might actually have a chance with Rion, if I don't put my foot in my mouth that is.

“Oh I see.”

Rion smiled at me and I didn't even realize that we've been walking and talking this entire time. Conversation flows easily with her even though I stumble over my words. I feel like I'm just remembering how to talk to the opposite sex besides Michelle and feel kind of pathetic, but Rion doesn't seem to mind as she continues to smile laugh and start on new topics of conversation.

“So how long were you out for?”

“I didn't go to sleep until seven this morning and my head was pounding when I woke up. I really have no one to blame but myself. I told my friends that I would only have one drink and ended the night on my ass. I still have to go back to the pub and get my car, because I had to end up walking home. How I got to the right apartment on the first try is a mystery to me.”

Rion giggled in a cute way before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear allowing me to see her features more. Her neck was slender and long, connecting to her shoulders delicately. She had a small tattoo that looked to be a ballet flat behind her left ear. Those tattoos placed just there always seemed like they might hurt, like they deserved to be kissed better even though the ache from the needle has been long gone. I could envision my lips on just that spot. I must have glanced at her just a bit longer than I should have causing a rosy hue to make its presence known on her cheeks. It made me smile before I quickly changed the subject this time, not wanting her to think that I was rude or weird for staring.

"How did your date go?"

She took deep breath before deciding if she wanted give a response or not and we ended up in the courtyard right before the student parking lot.

"It came and went, I suppose. Nothing really interesting to report. It sounds like I would have had more fun if I had taken the offer to go out for drinks with you. I'm usually not really big on drinking on the weekdays, but after that date I honestly might have taken a shot or four."

I smiled, selfishly happy that she didn't have a good time. I want to ask her out, but I feel like its too damn soon. I only met her yesterday anyway. Maybe its a good thing that she turned me down. When the time is right to ask her I'm sure I'll know. Hopefully I will.

"I'm sorry it didn't go as planned. Someone should take you out and show you a good time."

"Yeah, hopefully someone will sooner rather than later."

I think the emphasis that she put on the word someone was aimed at me, but I could be wrong. I don't know what else to say so I cap the conversation off with a , "Yeah" and mentally slap myself in the face before I grin awkwardly at her. I look around the parking lot as we come up to a white Toyota and she takes her keys out signaling that the tiny car is hers.

"Oh, well I'll let you go and get on with the rest of your day. Good seeing you."

"Okay, yeah." She responds quietly before she puts the key in the lock to open the door.

This has to be the most awkward I've felt in a while. I radiate awkward and though I don't want to believe it's because of what Michelle and the boys said, I'm kind of starting to think that they might be right myself.

"Wait, Harry?"

"Yes?" I turn my head to look over my shoulder before turning around to face her.

"I can take you to go get your car if you'd like. It looks like it might rain and it would suck if you were to get all wet."

All wet. I blush at her word choice and from that point on I know. Michelle, Niall, and Darragh were right.

"No. No its okay. You don't have to and I mean, don't you have other classes?"

She shakes her head and then opens her other car door, "I'm done for the day. Really I don't have a problem taking you. Get in."

I walk back towards her, thanking her and then giving her directions to the pub from the main campus. When we pull up, sure enough my car is there. Along with a ticket taped to the window for leaving it in the lot overnight. I sigh and rub my hands over my eyes before I get out and thank Rion again. Just as she's about to pull off, I call her name causing her to stop the car and reverse.

"Yes?" She looks at me eagerly with her eyes slightly widened and and traces of a grin on her face. I scratched my head out of embarrassment before I speak while pointing to the passenger side of the car.

"I left my book bag in your car."

"Oh, sorry. Here you go." The grin falls as she unlocks her car door so that I can get my bookbag. This time when she pulls off, I wave an awkward goodbye to her before getting in my car, knocking my head against the steering wheel in defeat causing the horn to honk.

[solomonish]

longtime listener (solomon x reader)

“Hi, uh, I’m a longtime listener, first time caller. Is it just me, or are we two halves of the same soul?”

It felt like the late night talk show was made for you specifically….and you know what? Maybe it was.

ao3 link: here!

3 a.m. It was 3 a.m. in this nowhere town of yours, the summer crickets screaming loud enough to become a steady thrum in the back of your mind. This insomniac routine had gone on long enough that your bedroom light was not off. You had gone past the empty attempts at counting sheep, spent countless hours relaxing your muscles from head to toe, everything. The orange bottle of melatonin mocked you each time you opened your medicine cabinet, half-full of pills that didn’t do a damn thing for you. Now, surrounded entirely by trees and the sounds of nature keeping you company, you had taken to merely entertaining yourself in the hours of the night when you should be asleep.

If idle hands bored you in the daylight, it was even worse at night. The cover of darkness seemed to bring with it a blanket over your mind, insulating your thoughts with slowly creeping dread and loneliness the longer you allowed yourself to stew. Scattered across your house were projects in varying degrees of completion: a crochet granny square half-completed, a needle still stuck in a loop lying on the small table beside your couch. Sad as it is, it is still better off than the elephant who’s box was opened and instructions spread out, but too indecipherable to a novice like you. On your desk lay scattered coloring book pages and paint-by-numbers, even an adhesive jewel coloring activity that was far too expensive for the one page, delivered by a man who’s baseball hat brim never revealed his face. It was the first unfamiliar face you had seen in a while, even though you technically hadn’t seen it at all.

A small stack of books that you tried to read stared at you from your dresser, begging you to open them again as if the words wouldn’t blur together immediately. Beside them sat your radio, an old thing that you hadn’t touched in years before your sleepless nights came to plague you. Most of the time, static veiled the music that you expected to be playing, even though you could catch slivers of familiar lyrics between the fuzzy noises. The only station you could seem to get was a talk show.

Unlike other radio shows you had heard, this one was uninterrupted by music or, like the other stations, static. There were no guests either, as all you ever heard was one voice. It was a calm voice with a playful lilt, neither too deep nor too high. To you, it was the kind of voice that seemed to pull you in a trance, as if it knew exactly which senses to numb until you were pliable to the way the sound crashed into you. If you hadn’t been having these sleepless bouts, you could probably fall asleep to his voice.

The topic of the show was lost on you. Sometimes, if you listened real close, you could hear the man talk about old urban legends or strange, magical creatures. Other times, he was murmuring about spells and recommending potion recipes. More often than not, though, you spent your time in a stupor, not listening to the yarns he was spinning. Instead, it was as if his voice pulled your spirit out of your body and led you down a path of memories lost to time.

Such an idea seemed scary, but...it was comforting, honestly, and maybe the little bit of rest you needed to prevent your body from crashing throughout the day.

With the voice in the backdrop, you found yourself going on wild adventures you felt like you lived but could not actually remember. Sometimes, you found yourself on the edge of a rocky outcrop on the coast, stormy clouds above warning you to turn away from the ocean as the ebb of the tide beckoned you closer. You could feel the salt in the wind brushing against your mist-soaked cheeks, your hair limp and wet but still blowing wildly around you. Others, you could feel the thick moss sink under your weight as you traipsed through a nameless bog, searching for a vivid, unnaturally colored mushroom you knew you had seen before but could not name. You could even see, on occasion, a dark land lit by multi-colored lanterns, a decrepit manor filled with seven rambunctious figures you thought you remembered fondly.

Then, just before the sun started to peer above the horizon, you were brought back to your body and the voice signed off, almost affectionately. The room around you, bathed in the light purple of an early dawn, almost seemed to shimmer until the sun broke the spell.

It was baffling, but you couldn’t exactly share the experience with anyone without them thinking that you were crazy. Besides, it all seemed too intimate to share, and the selfish part of you thought it’d be best to keep these moments tucked away.

As you settled in the swivel chair with the radio static in the background, aimlessly fiddling with the threads on your old shirt, you began to feel nerves bundling in your stomach. Though you couldn’t quite explain why, it seemed as if something was about to change. You eyed the radio nervously, listening to the static that would soon give way to the voice.

After a few more nerve-wracking moments, the static subsided and the relaxing, smooth voice started to poke through. There was no introduction music and he was starting to come through mid-sentence, but you already leaned back, convinced that whatever he was saying was true. The two of you were on the same wavelength, after all.

He droned on for longer than you remembered him taking, and you remain - frustratingly enough - with your body and painfully aware of the world around you. You can actually hear what he’s talking about - something about coincidences, fate, reincarnation - the stuff of a pre-teen branching into philosophical thought. You can feel your interest waning, and you even debate turning the channel and slipping back into your old attempts at falling asleep when he says something of interest.

“...and if it’s alright with you, I’ll open the line for any callers. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

You froze. What? That wasn’t how this type of show was supposed to go. You had never heard him even speak about anybody else specifically, let along open up his world to anybody who was listening. The thought scared you in a weird way, the kind of fear that you were sure should only be felt in prehistoric times, an almost primal fear of invasion.

Reaching beside you, you grabbed your phone and dialed. You didn’t remember him saying the number to call, but you already knew it. You must have, because before you know it, you’re bringing the phone up to your ear.

For just a moment, as the phone in your ear rings but nothing changes on the radio.Like a child whose schoolyard crush just rejected them, you feel like a fool - until you hear a click, and the voice that greets you matches the one you’ve been listening to for endless nights.

Your voice doesn’t come through on the radio, a fact that both relieves and confuses you. Faintly, you can tell that your heart rate has picked up and your breathing has gotten shallower. The nerves from a few minutes ago pick up again. Gracelessly, you manage to stammer out a nervous, “H-hi…” while your brain catches up with the rest of your body.

“Hello, MC,” he responds, his smooth voice erasing all the bumps in your own introduction. You wonder how he knows your name, but decide to focus on how nice it sounds on his tongue. “What is it that you wish to learn tonight?”

That you’re talking to me. Me, and only me, is what your brain wants to say. Istead, your eyes dart around the room for a less...needy response. “I, uh- gosh, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

He hummed. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing his voice over the radio or the phone, but you could only hear him once - the rest of the world had been turned down to silence. “Perhaps you haven’t, in this life.”

In this life. For a moment, you swore you could see a familiar smirk in the darkest corner of your mind, one slim finger pressed against sly lips in a gesture to keep your secrets to yourself. Your face felt warmer than it had ever been, but your chest felt hollow, like you were grasping vaguely for something just out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to forget, Solomon.” The name felt right leaving your mouth, and now that you had said it, you wanted to repeat it over and over. On the other end of the line, Solomon seemed as pleased as you did.

“As long as you remember now.”

Honestly, what were you to say to that? Simply talking, really talking to Solomon had your breath robbed from your lungs. If you looked down, you could see your hands shaking, and you worried your voice might start trembling if you spoke too soon. The longer you let the silence linger, the colder you felt inside, an empty chill filling the space where something you briefly realized was torn from you should be. Whatever it was, talking to Solomon thawed you out, and you feared hanging up on him now would freeze you solid.

So you swallowed thickly and hesitantly spoke. “Do you ever dream about the ocean, Solomon?” You just wanted to say his name again.

“Who says those are dreams? Maybe they’re memories.” And surely he was right, because there was no way a simple dream could leave such a potent taste of salt in your mouth.

The way he spoke to you felt so familiar, almost safe and welcoming. Even if your conversation was only just beginning, you had the distinct sensation that you were picking up where you left off with an old companion, falling into an easy rhythm you used to find solace in. At the same time, you couldn’t shake the fact that you knew nothing about Solomon, and that this phone call was telling you that tonight was his last broadcast.

“Do you have memories of the ocean?” Your voice was breathy, and you had to catch yourself just before reciting his name a third time. What was your fascination with it? Perhaps you were trying to call out to him, to keep his attention on you. Maybe you were hoping to summon him back to you. You supposed it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

“Yes. Not all of them are fond, though. Some parts are.”

You could practically see the way his mouth turned down at the corners, a practiced display of displeasure. He always managed to express himself without giving away too much information - he was the type of person where you knew he was upset, but you could never begin to fathom why. That’s what everyone else thought, but you were the exception. You could watch his face fall and know what he was thinking. You would be the one to lift his spirits again, once upon a time. That, you remembered. Could you ever forget?

The silence that stretched between you didn’t feel like something that needed filled. It was a language all its own, a space where you could hear the other speak without anything being said. This, you realized, is what it felt like to be so perfectly in tune with someone, to understand them completely, better than you knew yourself.

But how could you know Solomon so intimately when this was your first time speaking to him?

No...no, it wasn’t. You’ve known Solomon for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Which memories are fond?”

He didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He was thinking of you in lifetimes you just learned had already come to pass.

“Are you still on air?” You asked, your voice soft and uneven. As if awaiting horrible, surprising news, you brought your free hand to your mouth and bated your breath. The world around you had come to a standstill as you awaited his answer - even turning yourself mindlessly in your chair seemed wrong, but you couldn’t force yourself to reach out with your foot and stop.

The chuckle you received was rich, velvety, and it sounded much closer and clearer than a man talking to you through a phone. “Who’s to say I was ever on air to begin with?”

Your face warmed, and you gasped. Despite the ominous words, something in your chest told you that you could trust him, that this was meant to be. All at once, the sounds of the world came back to you. The crickets were chirping, the katydids screaming, frogs calling out to one another in their summer song. From a distance away, a sudden low rumble sounded as something made impact with the ground, sending a light shockwave that shook the old branches above you and sent exhilarating chills down your spine. A shocking cloud of purple light, glimmering like all the stars in the galaxy came down to visit you, caught your attention through your window. You should be scared. You really should be, but you weren’t. You felt like the late-night bus just arrived to take you home.

Once you were out of your trance, you brought the phone back to your ear. The line had been quiet since you started asking your questions, but you could tell Solomon was still there. You didn’t need to tell him that you were back - he already knew.

“Why…?” You had no idea what you were asking about, but you did so with a hint of anticipation in your voice. This was the moment you had been waiting for all your life, but you only just realized you’d been waiting. His answer made your heart flip the way it used to.

“I was merely looking for you, my love.”

[sasarahsunshine]

for that love prompt list, number 47 with moreid? "you've finally rendered me speechless."

kay I freaking love Moreid but I haven’t written for them yet so forgive me pls. Prompt list for Valentine’s Day.

Today was going to be a long day. Morgan could tell the moment he walked into the bullpen, spotting the large Starbucks sugar bomb that was on Reid’s desk. He arched an eyebrow as he deposited his bag at his own desk, peering at the younger agent, “Long night, Pretty Boy?”

Reid glanced up from the book in his lap, the circles under his eyes not as pronounced as normal. He wrinkled his nose in confusion, “No? I actually slept for about seven hours last night. I even had a chance to shower this morning.”

He did look well-rested. Which was odd. Morgan eyed the frappuccino, “Then what’s with the caffeinated milkshake?”

“Oh,” Reid grabbed at it, taking a sip from the straw, a small smile curling his lips when he tasted the pure chocolate goodness, “I just wanted to treat myself today.”

“Oh no,” JJ stated as she walked past, smirking at Reid, “When you treat yourself you get all hyper.”

He frowned at her, “I do not-”

“You do too, Pretty Boy,” Morgan teased, sitting at his own desk, “You start talking a million miles a minute. If we don’t get a case today then you’re going to be bouncing off the walls in here.”

Reid tried to look offended, his brows knitted together, “I do not. Just for that, I won’t talk at all today.”

Morgan swiveled in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Oh really? Wanna bet?”

The moment he said it, Reid started to instantly regret this decision. But he wouldn’t back down now. He only nodded, taking his vow of silence to heart. Morgan chuckled, “Alright, game on Reid. If you don’t talk throughout the whole day then I’ll pay for drinks tonight. If you break under pressure then you buy. Deal?”

He watched as Reid opened his mouth to argue against the deal, but then closed it. Morgan knew he wouldn’t want to go out for drinks, but it was too late to back out now. The genius had a point to make, after all. And he looked frustrated already, giving a curt nod. Morgan chuckled again, “It hasn’t even been a minute and you almost broke. Good luck lasting all day.”

Reid angrily sucked at his frappuccino, looking back down to his book. He wouldn’t lose.

---

Around two hours later Reid was almost vibrating in his seat. Morgan watched as the younger man’s hands twitched as he bounced his pen against his desk, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He was trying oh so hard to concentrate on the files before him, but it was proving difficult.

It was probably worse since Morgan was talking so loudly about how whatever he could think of, dragging Emily into the bet. The two of them were discussing almost everything and anything, throwing out inaccurate facts and unbelievable opinions, trying to get a rise out of Reid.

But he held strong. Or, as far as Morgan could see, he was trying to. The twitch of his lip, the tensing of his jaw, the way his foot bounced under his desk; Morgan knew he would crack soon. 

“How are you holding up, Reid?” He taunted, looking the younger man up and down. Reid shot him a dirty look before going back to his work. Emily snickered, rolling her eyes, “This is kind of cheating, Morgan,” she pointed out, “Trying to push his buttons shouldn’t be allowed.”

“We didn’t agree to any rules,” Morgan shrugged, “So I can push his buttons as much as I want. Apparently talking about how Star Wars is far superior to Star Trek isn’t enough to make him angry though.”

“Oh he’s angry,” she countered, pointing towards Reid, “His face is all red.”

Morgan chuckled. Rossi walked past them, eyeing the two, “Leave the kid alone. Shouldn’t you be working on something?” Emily hopped off of Morgan's desk and hurried towards her own, “Maybe.” Rossi rolled his eyes, the smallest smile on his lips, as he went back towards his office. Reid shot him a grateful look. 

But Morgan wasn’t done. He needed to find the right something that would get under Reid’s skin, make him talk. 

He’d think about it while he tried to get some work done. 

---

It was nearing the end of the workday and Reid still hadn’t spoken! How? Morgan was getting frustrated. He was sure he’d have the little genius talking before noon at least. Reid was always talking, about everything, all the time! Especially when he had sugar and caffeine coursing through his veins. 

However, Morgan had probably talked more than Reid ever had at this point. Just trying to get a rise out of Reid caused him to yap all day long. It was tiring. How did the kid do it?

Emily and JJ had gone with Garcia for something to eat about 20 minutes ago, leaving Morgan and Reid alone in the bullpen. Morgan was spinning in his chair, a pen between his hands, constantly clicking it, talking about nothing in particular, “Been working on a new project. Bought a house close to the outside of town, so there’s a pretty view of the mountains that way. The whole thing is a disaster, so I’m expecting it to take a while to fix. Longer if we end up on a case sometime this week. I gotta buy some paint tomorrow for the kitchen.” He peered at Reid to see if he was paying attention. It didn’t look like it. 

He frowned, “Are you even listening to me?”

Reid peeked up at him, peering through his lashes and messy brown hair. He made a face but didn’t reply. Because, the vow of silence. Of course. 

Morgan huffed, standing and walking over to him. He sat on Reid’s desk, turning the kid’s chair so he was forced to look at him. Reid exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked irritated. 

Morgan arched an eyebrow, smirking down at him, “I’m going to get you to talk before the end of the day, kid. I just don’t know how yet.” He had to lean closer to study Reid’s expression. When he did, he noticed the flush growing over the other man’s cheeks and nose. He looked so cute like that, all rosy and flustered at Morgan’s closeness. 

Morgan grinned, lowering his voice, “You like me being this close to you, Pretty Boy?” 

Reid looked away, huffing. He held himself tighter. 

Morgan put his finger under Reid's chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. He smiled softly, those big brown eyes shimmering with curiosity and embarrassment, “Would you like it if I kissed you right now?”

Reid gaped at him, yanking himself backward so suddenly that his chair tipped over and he ended up on the floor. Morgan jumped to his feet, “Oh shit, kid! I was kidding! I was kidding- Shit! Are you okay?” He reached down and grabbed Reid’s hand, pulling him standing. He didn’t get a chance to check him over, because Reid’s mouth was on his. 

Blinking in surprise, he froze. The kiss didn’t last long (though his mind suddenly wished it had), and soon he was standing there shell-shocked, staring at the bright red kid who stood before him. He swallowed after a moment, stammering for something to say. He couldn’t think of anything. His brain had short-circuited. 

A solid minute had to have passed before Reid glanced at his watch, then up at Morgan, “Time’s up. I can talk now. You’re buying drinks tonight.”

Morgan gaped at him, blinking again, “I-what?”

“You heard me,” Reid said as he started gathering his things, organizing his desk how he liked it. Morgan furrowed his brows, “You don’t want to talk about... what just happened?”

Reid smirked. Sassy little fucker. “We can talk over drinks?”

Morgan managed a smirk of his own, “Oh, I see how it is. If you wanted to take me on a date you could have asked.”

Reid shrugged, peering up at Morgan, “I couldn’t. You’ve finally rendered me speechless for an entire day. So, are you driving?”

Morgan laughed, his face still warm and flushed, his hands feeling tingly, and his stomach full of butterflies. Today was a long day, but it was all worth it. 

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Your mess is mine

Sue may only be a math major, but she knows this much about telling a story: it needs to have a beginning, middle, and an end.  

If she were to sit down and write one, here is where it would start — Emily laughs and she falls in love. It doesn’t matter the year, the month, or the minute; when Emily laughs, she falls in love. Sue’s a little slow when these things are concerned, love doesn’t come to her as quickly or as easily as it has historically come to Emily. I saw you in the coffee shop and I knew you were the one, she’s fond of telling Sue, usually during fights. It’s highly annoying that Emily thinks it’d work on her. Even more annoying is the fact that it does. 

Alright, does she have moments of intense déjà vu sometimes? Like when they’re lying in bed, after one of Austin’s house parties, and Sue curls up into Emily’s soft shoulders, plays with her pretty, pretty hands? Or when she catches Emily conked out in front of her laptop in a corner table at the café on her break and gently wakes her up? Sure. But isn’t that what love is? The same five gestures repeated in infinite ways, creating a well of infinite affection. So if walking the steps with Emily settles deep into her bones without flinching, as if they’ve done this before, she’s convinced that it’s because they’re well and truly perfect together. 

(Definitely not because — and this is something that has been occurring to her more and more lately — they were star-crossed lovers in a past life a century ago.) 

(That would be crazy.) 

(Right?) 

***** 

Falling in love aside, Emily can be really, infuriatingly, secretive about the worst of things. Sometimes it is charming, watching her having to pick her way through multiple explanations, create long-winded detours just to attempt to confuse Sue into getting exasperated enough to drop the subject altogether. But that’s at the very end, when it turns out that she was going to all this trouble to make sure Sue wasn’t going to find out she’d gotten her that one Hawaiian shirt Sue had off-handedly admired once, aeons ago. Or that she’s been holed up in their room all day because she’s been setting up lights in honor of it being exactly six months since they first hugged. Which is why she is more resigned that surprised when Lavinia sits down in front of her, leans in, and asks her what she’s doing for Emily’s birthday next week. 

Sue sneaks a look at Emily who is currently chatting with an old lady who usually comes in on the weekends. Her girlfriend happens to be one of those baristas who is beloved by the elderly, God only knows why. All the older ladies will hang back at the counter and tell her all about their grandkids’ schools and ballet recitals. In return, Emily will rant to them about college and apparently, Sue as well, which was something she discovered one day when she walked in and two old ladies gave her teasing yet approving smiles from their table. 

(And then took her aside to whisper — Showing a little skin wouldn’t do any harm and would keep your girl on her toes — which near about killed her)  

The entire situation is hilarious. Also the most adorable thing she has ever seen. 

“Why haven’t you guys discussed your birthdays yet?” 

“It’s just never,” Sue muses, “come up, I guess.” 

Austin rollerblades past, swivels to a stop and bends so he’s approximately level with their faces. “Are we talking about,” he says, lowering his voice to a comical whisper, “Emily’s birthday?” 

Lavinia pulls him down, so he’s sitting on the spare chair. “And Sue’s, apparently. Did you know her birthday falls, like, nine days after Emily’s?” 

Austin stares at her, wide-eyed. “That means it’s on the.... 19th? 

Sue nods. 

“The 19th of December? After Emily’s birthday, on the 10th of December?” 

“Y....es?” 

He swipes at his phone, taps a couple of buttons, and then looks up with a smug smile. “I knew I remembered something. Look.” 

Lavinia has to angle her whole body to see, but it registers for both of them at the same time. A certain poet and her muse, who also apparently shared the same birthday as her and Emily. 

“Huh,” Lavinia says. “Maybe there is something to Emily’s theory after all.” 

“You mean Emily’s theory that we’re the reincarnations of those two?” she asks, hearing her own voice get progressively more hysterical by the word. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath, adds it to the list of rapidly growing coincidences in her head that she’s never going to give a closer look to, because that would be crazy. 

“Really the only part of this I’m genuinely shocked by,” Lavinia says after a long pause, in which Sue is struggling to reason with the logical part of her brain, “is that Austin remembers Emily Dickinson’s birthday.” 

Austin smiles proudly, and the thought is so funny that it drives potential insanity out of her mind eventually. 

***** 

“Why didn’t you tell me your birthday’s tomorrow?” 

Emily startles from where she’s staring out the window of the car, and Sue has about a moment to regret blurting it out before they’re looking at each other. She’d spent the entire week setting up the entire thing for Emily and now it probably won’t even be a surprise, but she’s insanely curious. No better time for it, either way. She’d planned everything perfectly, from picking up Emily at the café in the classy car she’d borrowed from Austin, to making sure it wasn’t too late after dinner. And yet, here they were, surrounded by cars and honking people because traffic was a fickle bitch. 

“Is that why we’re taking this trip?” she asks, wide-eyed. 

Sue extends a hand towards her, ruffles up her hair, feeling fond. Trust her idiot girlfriend to not have figured it out yet. She moves her hand to Emily’s cheek, and feels Emily cover it with her own. Feels a soft kiss pressed against her palm. 

“What did you think it was, dumdum?” 

“Well, it is the three month anniversary of—” Sue’s alarm is probably showing on her face, so she backtracks quickly. “Kidding. Kidding. There’s nothing tomorrow.” 

Sue pinches at her cheek. “Except your birthday. Speaking of which—” 

“Eh,” Emily shakes her head, shuffles around on her seat awkwardly, “it’s.... uh, complicated.” 

“Is the complication that you happen to share a birthday with a poet from long ago?” she’s only half-joking.  

Emily laughs at that. “Caught on, did you? Did you also check—” 

“E-yup.” 

“That your birthday is also—” 

“E-yup,” she says. Then turns to look at Emily. “Wait. How do you know when my birthday is?” 

Emily opens her mouth, but before she can say anything Sue hurriedly cuts in. “And you’re not allowed to say you have your ways.” 

Years ago, when Sue was fourteen, one day her dad and her mom came home with the same vegetable. Same quantity. It was beans, and she could vividly remember all three of them staring down in mock dismay at the two separate huge bundles of beans that now took up most of the space on the table. Then they started comparing prices. Turns out her mother’s bundle had cost a couple cents lesser than her father’s. But it’s not the same , her mother had insisted, holding up both the bundles. See, yours weighs more. I think the grocer I bought it from took some off . 

To this day, she defines love as the way her mother’s hand fell over his, combined with the way her dad looked at her next — like a child who had just been told that the blanket fort he’d spent hours constructing, wasn’t going to be torn down. Like someone had just handed a piece of the world to him, and told him to make of it whatever he wanted.  

Sue recognizes it in the way Emily looks at her. Like she’s saying — Of course. Of course, you know me well enough to guess the next stupid thing that comes out of her mouth. 

(She’s not very good at love, but she hopes Emily can read the answer in her eyes just the same) 

“Birthdays are complicated,” Emily says, slowly. “I’ve had some very good ones and then some very bad ones.” First girlfriend who she asked out on her 20th birthday, and second girlfriend who she broke up with a week before her 23rd; Sue fills in the blanks as she talks. “So I guess I try not to tell people so I myself don’t expect anything out of it. Neutral birthdays are better than euphoric ones or sad ones, because at least they don’t haunt me forever.” 

“Baby,” she says, and then trails off. Sometimes she likes calling Emily endearments, or just say her name out loud, randomly, even if there’s no statement attached to it. The sentiment’s always the same, however. I’m glad you exist. I’m glad you found me. I like your name. I love you.  

(Emily’s fallen asleep by the time she’s driven to the top of the grassy knoll, by the time the clock hits midnight. Sue lets her sleep through it. There will be time to sit on top of the blanket and watch a sleepy Emily blow out the candles on a tiny cake that looks like a typewriter, to stare at the stars all night long while they listen to soft, slow songs on a pair of shared earphones. For now, Sue watches Emily sleep, head tilted against the glass and decides to hold off on telling her she loves her until the day after her birthday. It’s a perfectly neutral birthday. No use in spoiling it.) 

(Emily says it back though, in case anyone was wondering) 

***** 

Sometimes, when Sue sees Emily cooking for her, she loses her breath. 

(And sometimes, it’s not even due to the smoke from a burned dish) 

But there’s something peaceful about watching Emily cook, especially if she hasn’t yet cottoned onto the fact that Sue’s watching her. She’s one of those annoying people who always has their headphones on, so most of her cooking in the kitchen involves perfectly timing the beats with the swipes of her spatula. Sometimes she spins around in the middle of a pancake flip to see if she can catch it in midair. Juvenile shenanigans aside, what really gets Sue, even after almost a year of having watched Emily dance around in the kitchen is the care with which she handles food that they will eat. It’s so different to the kind of food she cooks when she’s just cooking for herself. Sue’s seen her slap on two days expired cheese on top of a tortilla and call it lunch. And yet. 

And yet. Sue will have the best of things. Lasagna that’s still steaming. A sandwich filled with the most delicious ingredients. Waffles topped with cream that Emily will get up early in the morning to get for her. Food enhanced with care, made better with love. 

Why don’t you make those nice things for yourself, she’s asked on multiple occasions, to which Emily’s always shrugged. It’s just me. I can have almost anything. 

(Emily deserves the best. Sue will make sure she has it) 

There are flowers on the table, an assortment of daffodils and lilies arranged on a vase. Right in between two shiny plates laid out with napkins folded carefully beside them. Sue slides into one of the chairs quietly, rests her elbows on the table and waits for Emily to finally turn around. 

There is a panicked scream when she does. Sue doesn’t want to be that girlfriend, but this is definitely going on the list of stories she’ll tell their future kids when they’ve grown. 

(Another day she would worry about how the term — Their kids — moves around in her chest comfortably like a sip of hot cocoa. Today, exactly one year to the day Emily told her she liked her, she shrugs it off) 

“You weren’t supposed to wake up for another half an hour at least.” 

Sue hums. “You did tire me out last night, that is true.” 

“Sue!” Emily says, scandalized, face rapidly turning red. “I — that’s highly — okay wait, first things first....” 

She walks over to the table, and bends to kiss Sue.  

“Happy anniversary.” 

Sue closes her eyes, kisses both her cheeks in response. “Happy anniversary, my love.” 

Emily grins back, then stands again. “Either way,” she says, as she ladles soup onto a bowl, and gathers multiple plates on a tray to subsequently bring to the table, “brunch! Courtesy of your beautiful girlfriend who finally managed to figure out how to make the perfect chicken pot pie without burning down the house, or worse, giving you salmonella.” 

Sue inspects what lies in front of her. “Babe, this looks amazing.” 

Emily looks proud, as she sits on the other chair. “And that’s not all, okay? This is just the start. Today evening I have gotten us both tickets to—” 

“Move in with me.” 

When Emily blinks, Sue startles. The words that had just come out of her mouth definitely weren’t well-thought-out, but now she was thinking about it and it seemed like all she ever wanted in life. To go to sleep with Emily, and wake her up in time for her morning classes, to be able to see her all the time, and not have to watch her go. 

“That wasn’t my gift, by the way,” she adds, speaking fast, thinking of the limited-edition original copies of a book she’d driven five hours to the next town to get. “But it’s what I want. Us. Living together. I love you. We should.... uh, live together so — uh, okay Emily make me stop talking please.” 

Emily shuts her up with a kiss. When they separate, she stays close to Sue, looking right into her eyes with that soft, soft expression.  

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

Sue takes in a deep breath. Nods. “Yeah.” 

Emily considers that for a moment. Then says with a teasing smile — “I thought this violated your relationship rules.” 

“What ae you—” 

“No kissing before the second date. No celebrating six-month anniversaries because that’s for dummies. No moving in before at least two years of dating—” 

“And if you remember correctly,” Sue cuts in, smoothly, “I kissed you two days before our first date. And serenaded you with a Taylor Swift song at the café on our six-month anniversary.” 

“You did do that,” Emily says, quietly. 

“And as long as we’re on the subject, I hate staying up past 11, or listening to sad girl music in the car, or watching that horrendous show about those two annoying men fake-dating,” Sue tells her, “but — it is my greatest honor that I get to do that for you. And with you. Emily, if you haven’t figured it out already, you’re kinda the exception to every single one of my rules.” 

Sue reads Emily’s answer in the kiss she receives next. 

***** 

The middle, the middle, everything boils down to the middle. It’s what Sue sometimes hears Emily muttering to herself in the middle of the night when she has an assignment due the next day. Sue will blink, look over to the desk where Emily is planted with her nightlight on, hands in her hair. Sometimes Sue will keep blinking slowly, taking in the sight of Emily typing until she falls asleep. Sometimes Emily will notice that she’s up, walk over to the bed, and hum snippets of songs until she’s drifting off again.  

And for all the beauty of the beginning, of first kisses and first dates and first times, there’s something to be said about the fifteenth time Emily plays her something on the ukulele, warning her beforehand that her voice might crack. Or the sixtieth burger she runs across the campus to hand over to Emily when she knows she’s got back-to-back classes scheduled. About the hundredth time she falls into bed, and scooches over, eyes closed, until Emily’s wriggling body is aligned against hers. There’s peace in knowing that a first time will inevitably lead to a second time, and then countless others.  

(There’s peace in knowing the middle lasts the longest)   

***** 

She knows she’s in trouble. Has known she’s in trouble the minute she came out of the store and discovered that there was a pileup on the highway. And then when Lavinia called her panicking because their house-warming slash house party was getting out of control because of a lack of beer and a general overabundance of Austin. And then when her phone died in the middle of her conversation with Emily.  

(So much trouble) 

She’s exhausted by the time she makes it back to her apartment (their apartment , she corrects herself, smiling at the thought) and makes her way up the stairs, hearing the volume of the music increase with every step. Opens the door and is assailed with extremes — the tiny sparkling mirror ball someone’s managed to hook up to the ceiling, the dancing crowd in their living room, and a very loud and weirdly on-point Austin making guitar noises on the karaoke microphone. 

“Lavinia!” Sue calls out in relief, when she catches sight of her. “Where’s Emily?” 

Lavinia excuses herself from a group of frat boys hanging onto her every word and walks over. “Sue! Emily!” 

“Yeah, I know! Tell me where she is!” 

Sue points towards the ceiling, and in the same smooth motion, grabs the crate of beer from her hands. 

Sue’s out of there before the first cry of “Beer” permeates the air. She climbs another two floors, and then the metallic ladder to find Emily sitting there, wrapped in her blanket, glaring up at her. 

“You promised,” she says, flatly. 

Sue drops onto her knees and takes Emily’s cold hands in hers. “I know.” 

“No, you,” Emily repeats, then pauses, looking like she’s struggling, “you promised you were gonna be here, okay? I agreed to the housewarming thing only because you told me there wouldn’t be many people and you’d stay with me the whole time—” 

“—baby....” 

“No, don’t baby me. Let me finish.” Emily waits until Sue nods. “And then you went off to the store.” 

“We ran out of beer,” Sue says, feeling sheepish. 

“I know — I know that, okay?” Emily says. “I know there’s a reason, and probably a valid one but I’m mad, okay? You promised me something and then bailed. That’s not cool.” 

Sue adjusts so she’s properly sitting down right in front of Emily. “I’m sorry,” she says, and means it. “It was inexcusable.” 

Emily sighs, and seems to relax a little. “Okay. Thank you for saying that.” 

Sue nods. “Some party, huh?” she says, after a while. 

Emily smiles a little, then. “Did you see Austin? He was performing the High School Musical songs when I left.” 

She laughs. “When I came in, I think he was doing the guitar riff to Bohemian Rhapsody.” 

“Hey,” Emily says, after they’re done giggling at that. “I never asked. What took you so long? I thought you just went to get beer.” 

“Uh,” Sue says, “I’d rather not tell you.” 

“What? Why not?” 

“Because I don’t wanna charm my way out of you being mad at me.” 

“Oh,” Emily draws the sound out, teasingly. “It can’t possibly be that charming.” 

If she wanted to play it this way, then okay. 

“I stopped at an animal shelter on the way home. There’s a young cat there I thought we could adopt. Consider her a housewarming present.” 

“Oh,” Emily says, then in an undertone. “Damn it.” 

“Charmed?” 

“Ugh, fuck, okay,” Emily admits, then pulls at their joined hands till Sue gets on top of her lap. “I hate you. I love you, but I hate you.” 

Sue kisses her in return, settles in more comfortably. 

“Tell me about her?” Emily asks, softly, in the quiet. 

“Well, she chased the light reflected off my watch round and round so it’s safe to say she’s not the brightest.” 

“I love her already,” Emily assures her. 

***** 

On her eve of her 25th birthday, Sue walks into her apartment and finds Emily, Lavinia and Austin panicking over how to fit the last half of her last name onto limited space on a handmade banner. She says hi to Juggers and Iguana, their two cats, then picks up their two-month-old puppy Rooney, all before one of the three already present humans in the room realizes she’s there. 

“Sue, I’m so sorry,” Emily says, walking over to her and looking at her with a slightly desperate look in her eyes. “We tried baking cake, but it’s half burnt, but we can’t decide what to get and all we have are balloons but then Austin’s going crazy trying to keep Juggers from bursting them, because guess what? The cat is the devil—” 

“—babe—” 

“—no, I tried to make it a good birthday, I really did!” 

She puts her hands on either side of Emily’s face, which forces her to quiet down. Then she looks over at the others.  

“Have you guys been here the entire time I was taking classes?” 

They nod. 

She feels a little overwhelmed. “Guys, I — thank you so much,” she says, then takes stock of the situation. “Can you order pizza? We’ll ring in my birthday with pizza tonight.” 

Lavinia side-hugs her on their way out to the couch, and then they’re alone in the kitchen. She kisses Emily on the forehead, then on both cheeks, trying to drive away the frown. 

“What?” 

“I just wanted you to have a good birthday,” Emily says, despondent. 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Sue says. “And so are our friends, who sat and worked this hard for hours trying to make me happy. And we’ll have pizza! We like pizza.” 

“You’re just saying that.” 

“No, you idiot” Sue explains, fondly. “I mean it. We’ll have burned cake, and we’ll fight over the pizza, and even if the animals are outnumbered, we’ll probably lose to them. And then we’ll probably watch a movie, and somehow all fall asleep on the carpet because Austin always claims the whole couch. Either way, it’ll be a good birthday, because I’m happy. And you know why I’m happy?” 

Emily’s still pouting. 

“Emily, why am I happy?” 

“Because we’re together,” Emily completes, in a small voice, and then finally, finally smiles. 

(It’s the messiest birthday Sue has ever had. Also the best) 

***** 

Here’s the thing about endings: everyone who writes stories knows they don’t really exist.  

A famous author once said that they weren’t really the end of the story, just where you chose to stop it. Well, Sue agrees. Which is why this story in her head never ends. The imaginary typewriter in her head will keep typing long after, filling pages with anniversaries and birthdays and emergency dog adoptions. Maybe the next page talks about the day Sue breaks her arm, and Emily proposes to her with an onion ring she gets out of the hospital vending machine. Or the day Lavinia loses Rooney, walks around the entire block with Austin to find him and finally discovers he’s hanging out at the old café they used to work at. 

So. Yes. This is where she decides to leave it. Finish it. There will be more stories to write later.

The end. 

(Wink wink. Nudge nudge.) 

[southerneldritch]

-A Year Later, Misha-

The smoke rose in a thick line from the burning embers of the tip of the cigarette, an off brand from the shop in town. Misha drew in a deep and long drag as he looked out across the night sky above the cold southern expanse of the Tronador valley. As he went further up the mountain, it was nice to look back towards the small lights of Puerto Varas, where he had received the intel that pointed him up this impressively cold mountain. Misha was no stranger to cold, but with how hot it was in the town this August he hadn’t expected the trek to plunge him into frigid temperatures. Nevertheless, with his collar lifted and another smoke lit, he marched forward.

The night was getting colder and the path, if you could call it one, was more than likely made entirely by wayward goats without intention or significance. Santino knew better than to give Misha bad intel, especially with something as important as this, but still there was a nagging at the back of Misha’s mind that this could be a trap. 

He’d had a few difficult tussles since he left the comfort of the states to pursue what truth he had seen, what memories had been returned to him. Briefly, he considered the nightmare of New Orleans and what he’d had to do with the good Doctor. The sight of what that man had become, what that man committed to before slipping under the floodwaters of the ill-gotten city was still clear in his mind. Misha liked that his mind felt less like a mystery than before, but he was torn when he thought of the life he had built in Avenyork, the friends….friend he had made. 

After another long drag of the cigarette, Misha found himself spotting the low light of a small cabin tucked into the mountainside. “Finally. I hope they have a fire going” he muttered to himself as he trudged on. Arriving at the small cabin, he could hear some music playing from inside. It sounded Russian. With a firm knock he stood out in the cold for a moment before the music fell silent and the door was cracked open. Dark brown eyes stared out from the warmth of the structure. “¿Sí, Qué quieres?”

“¿Oleg está aquí?” Misha responded. There was a slight look of confusion on the face of the man holding the door.

“Hablas español mejor que Oleg” He smiled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Misha to step inside. 

“lo hago pero no lo prefiero.” Misha smirked as he stepped through the doorway, adding “¿Habla usted Inglés?”

“Si, but is not as good. But Oleg prefer it too.” The man, short in stature, shut the door behind Misha and led him to a chair at a table in the middle of the room. Misha could smell some sort of soup or stew being made on the fireplace and there was a small phonograph player on a small table to the side. “Oleg tried to make me learn Russian, HA” he laughed “Not happen”

“Russian is not easy language to master. Don’t worry my english is very good.” Misha sat down roughly, tired as he was. “Where is Oleg?” His eyes drifted around the room and saw a small bed tucked in the corner and a single door into the back room.

“He went to gather last few ingredients for stew” The man sat down across from Misha “Mi nombre es Mateo, ehhh” A pause “My name, Mateo. You?” His clothes were a bit large for his build and he seemed calm, despite a stranger banging on his door at this late hour in the mountains. 

“Misha” Misha stated as he absorbed the room, gathering as much as he could. “And how did Oleg come to find you?”

“Oh as most. The people in town. They know my skills” He smiled and folded his fingers together. His nails were clean and bright yet something dark was under them. “And what is Oleg to you?”

Misha paused and considered the question. “Old friends,” adding, “How long do you think he’ll be?” He kept his eyes on swivel as he watched Mateo’s every move. 

“He not be much longer” Mateo smiled wide, teeth looking wet. “Last ingredients are most important.” He gestured towards the pot next to the fireplace. 

“Yes.” There was a pause in the room. The cold of the outdoors permeated everything despite the roaring fire. “The final touches are always important.” Before the pause could go on much longer, Misha asked, “So I heard music as I approached. Shall we put some on while we wait for Oleg?”

“YES!” Mateo exclaimed, his voice almost heavy with excitement. “Please go crank up the record” he half laughed “Oleg brought very good”. Misha stood and made his way towards the phonograph. It was an old thing that looked worse for the wear, and there on the pad was an old Russian record. The crank made an awful noise as he turned it. The creaking, clanking and the sound of the spring tightening was a mixture of bizzare and otherworldly sounds that caused the hairs on Misha’s neck to stand up on end. 

As Mateo reached the last click of the player, Misha noticed an imperial Russian coat on the floor by the fireplace. Heavy outerwear that would work well in the growing cold outside the house. A coat Oleg would not have left without care. Misha’s stomach turned to sand and there were alarm bells going off as he felt his muscles tightened without thinking to do so. 

“So Oleg?” Misha spoke as the record wurred to life with the sounds of a Russian folk tune, he turned back towards Mateo and regretted his decision immediately. Mateo with wide open eyes was looking directly at Misha, though he had not turned his body, only his head which was situated facing almost entirely the wrong direction. His mouth looked as if it had broken free and his head cocked backwards as a horrific guttural sound of nightmares filled the small cabin. Misha reached for his pistol as Mateo’s form folded and ripped and slid off of the large creature now flinging itself at him. His gun had only gotten out of the holster before the creature was on top of him. Slamming Misha down hard, the gun slipped from his hand. His head was spinning but his training kicked in harder than ever. The snarling maw of the grotesque thing was dripping down onto him as he kicked his heel back and slammed it hard into the beast. The creature folded back and shrieked. It grasped at its side that was bleeding a thick red ichor.

“Piece of Shit!” Misha exclaimed as he rolled over and tapped his heel again, the blood stained blade retracting into the side of his boot. Tumbling to his feet next to his revolver and snatching it up to look towards the creature writhing. Drawing a deep breath with a mixture of words under his breath Misha steadied his pistol on the shadowed and dripping beast. The upbeat tunes of the Russian folk music punctuated the snarl of the thing as it whipped around to face Misha.

“YOU ARE TOO LATE FOR FRIEND '' The voice spilled from various holes around the thing. With sounds of gravel being forced through flesh, the tone still somehow sounded like the small man of Mateo, even if the creature had very few traces of his flesh sticking to its dripping form. Within a second it lept towards Misha and without a second guess the gun belched fire. The small piece of metal tore through the creature, though it was not enough to stop its energy. Slamming down in front of him and bringing a thunderously hard slam into his side, the creature sent Misha hurling into the wall at the back of the shack. Wood splintered as the low light of the cabin was lost.  

Misha woke, lying inside the small back room, “Uhhhghhh.” He let  a moan escape before sitting up. The bodies of curious travellers and seekers of information alike were strung up and stored around the room. Likely as some sort of food source. “Oh Oleg,” he muttered as he eyed the opening now splintered through the wall into the main room of the cabin. “I guess you didn’t come as prepared as you should have.” Misha began to unload the revolver and slips his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a few special looking cartridges with emblazoned symbols upon the shells. Before he was able to load them, the mass of the creature barges through, up, over and towards him.

“YOU SOON DEAD NEW RUSSIAN!” The creature gurgled forward with a sense of pained anger. While the previous strikes may not have been lethal, they certainly hurt. It clearly was angry now. Seeing it close the distance with its previous speed, Misha abandoned loading the gun and braced himself instead. No amount of training can steel one against the purely physical blows of a wretched beast. Misha found himself tumbling back out of the hole his body had just made in the wall. He managed to land on his feet and was able to load the special rounds.

“Not quite yet you piece of SHIT!” He called out mocking the creature as the last round click into the cylinder and he snapped the gun shut. The hammer set, he began to speak softly as the chamber emitted a soft glow, faint but there. “I’m not done with you!” He exclaimed as he saw the twisted gleam of the eyes of the creature peer over the hole in the wall.

Releasing a growling shriek the creature retorted, “YOU DIE NOW OTHERS ARE FOOD ENOUGH!!!” as it launched over the broken timbers and slammed foot after foot, hand after hand towards Misha. Its jaws unhinged as it lept but before it bit down into the flesh of this painful nuisance, Misha dropped down, dodging the thing and letting loose two shots directly point blank into its belly. Hellish green and blue fire erupted from the wounds as large bulbs exploded around the impact zones. The creature cried out and slammed into, then through, the outer wall out into the cold snow of the mountainside. It let out a weak chitter of pain and confusion.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here Oleg.” Misha slowly stepped over the rubble of the wall and towards the thing. It’s body convulsing and folding, bones twisting inside its loose skin. “But this thing won't hurt anyone else.” Misha stood over it and let loose a loud single shot through what could best be described as its ‘head’. A few moments of the bright burn of green and blue light and the echo of the shot through the mountains, and Misha was alone. 

New snow began to fall silently. He flipped open his notebook to a page full of names. He crossed out the last name on the page, ‘Oleg Fedorov.’ The steam of his breath was thick as he let out a long long sigh. With a fresh cigarette in his lips, he glanced at the Verum Private Detective badge paper clipped into his notebook. He looked into the cold night. 

Softly, to the silence, he says, “I think I miss home.” 

(by J. Daily)

[getdownkyh]

Extra Credit (m) | Young K

01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . 05 . 06 . 07 . Epilogue

The two seconds pause between the rhythmic knock let him know that it was you. And judging by the time of the day, it was safe for you to assume he was alone, working past the office hour as usual as the end of the semester approached. 

His face lit up seeing you walking in, closing the door securely before walking up towards him, “What you up to?” 

A tired smile graced his face, glasses pushed up as he turned to face his screen, “Work. Same old, same old.” 

Standing behind him, you gave his shoulders a soft squeeze before taking a few steps to his right and pushing yourself up on his desk, swinging your legs as you looked around his room. Swiveling his chair to face you, he took your hand in his, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Kiss me?” 

Giggling, you leaned down and gave him a quick peck. He grunted in response, words laced with complaint, “A proper one. Not like that.” 

Raising a brow, you leaned closer to his face again, eyes studying his features. Your fingers roamed over his shoulders, before moving upwards, ghosting his neck and cradling his face in your palms. 

His fingers found purchase in the ruffle of your blouse, tugging you to close the distance between your lips, as he moved his hungrily over yours, nibbling on your bottom lip. 

You chuckled again as you broke the kiss, putting your hand flat on his sturdy chest, “Okay, that’s enough, go finish your work.” 

When he pulled himself away from you, there was a short moment where you thought, to your own surprise as well, that he was going to resume working. But when he tilted his head to the side slightly, contemplating, you can almost pinpoint the exact moment he decided fuck it, and pushed his chair closer to you, pushing your legs apart and positioning himself between your legs.

Pushing your skirt upwards, letting his fingers stroke the skin of your thighs in the process, he relished in the way your breath hitched slightly. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his nose tickling the sensitive skin as he snuggled and rested his head, his cheek pressed into your right thigh.

Instinctively, you let your fingers card through his hair, scratching his scalp gently and feeling him pushing his head deeper into your hand, "No more work?"

He sighed, looking up at you while his finger traced circles into your unoccupied leg, "Too distracted now. I can see up your skirt."

You would hate to admit it, but you felt a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs at his words.

He chuckled, words slightly muffled from his cheek being squished by your thigh, "And I can see your arousal soaking through your poor panties."

Pushing his head off of you, you placed your heel on his thigh to push your butt slightly off the table, earning a hiss from him. Your eyes never left his, gaze confident as you dragged the soiled piece of underwear down your legs, before kicking it off onto the floor.

The moment your pussy was bare, he was pushing himself between your legs again, only for you to grab him by his hair, tugging slightly to make him face you, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you in surprise.

Using your other hand, you started gathering the wetness between your bottom lips and using it to lube your clit as you rubbed circles into it.

His breath was hot on your thigh, as he looked up at you pleadingly, "Let me,"

Ignoring him, you plunged two fingers inside your hole, letting out a whimper at the feeling of the sudden intrusion, face squirming as you pumped your fingers in and out slowly.

The tighter you felt you own walls clamping on your fingers, the tighter your grab on his hair became, pulling out more sighs from him, with him now pressing open mouthed kisses all over your inner thigh, grunting Whys as he watched you.

Pulling your fingers out, you wiped the juices coating them on his cheek, "Just showing you how much better I've gotten since our first time here, Professor."

Hooking his arms under your thighs, he tugged you forward, his face now barely inches from your dripping hole, your fingers letting go of his hair as the tug caused you to place your hands flat on the table to stabilise yourself.

"You had your fun," he nuzzled his nose closer towards you, "Now it's my turn."

The moment his tongue breached your folds, swirling between the wet lips as he collected your arousal, you clamped your hand over your mouth to contain your moans. No matter how much better you claimed you had gotten, nothing beat how good he made you feel.

Just one swipe of his tongue, and you were a trembling mess in his hands.

One arm let go of your thigh as he moved his lips to suck on your reddened bud, fingers moving to spread your folds, allowing the arousal to leak out and onto his desk.

Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you felt your head spin at the sight of him, pupils blown out as he stared at you, his tongue flicking over your clit repetitively. There was a dull ache throbbing in your walls, as your body craved for the pleasure it was used to, the prolonged foreplay making you desperate over the second.

As soon as he saw you open your mouth to speak, he pushed two fingers inside you, causing incoherent sentences to leave your mouth. He chuckled, sending vibrations straight to your bundle of nerves, "Use your words. Be a good student and ask me properly for what you want."

Swallowing thickly, chest heaving, your voice came out in a squeak, "God. Younghyun, stop,"

His reply was an unamused, "Hm? Younghyun?"

Pressing his fingers deeper into you, he wiggled them at a certain angle, rubbing onto that delicious spot inside you, "Address me properly."

Sighing, you bit your lip before blurting out a broken, high pitched, "Professor,"

And in an instance, all forms of pleasure were ripped away from you, with him pulling his fingers out and his lips away from you.

You opened your eyes, staring at him, "W-why did you stop?"

"You told me to." He chuckled.

"No I didn't mean it that way." You flushed, feeling hot and bothered by his teasing.

He shrugged, acting nonchalant.

Furrowing your brows, you sat up, pushing yourself off his desk, stumbling as you tried to stand up, leaning towards him as your fingers made quick work of unbuckling his belt, freeing his erection, drawing out a contented sigh from him in the process.

Moving to straddle him, you grit your teeth as you spoke, "I meant, stop using your fingers, and put your dick in me."

Right when the head of his member met your core, you felt him grip your waist tightly, stopping you from moving. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he chuckled again, "You're so cute when you're desperate."

Before you could muster a reply, he stood up, kicking his chair backwards and pushing you towards his desk again, the edge digging into the small of your back.

But you could barely focus on the sting as you wrapped your leg around his waist, him chuckling gratefully as he snaked his arm around your middle, before finally pushing his erection into your cunt, both of you moaning at the same time as he bottomed out in one shove.

One hand on his desk, another around his neck, you threw your head back as you basked in the delicious stretch and the drag of his thick girth inside you. Younghyun swore he could count the number of pistoning his hips did on one hand, and your walls were already fluttering close around him.

Teeth grazing your pulse point with your neck bared for him, he chuckled, "Already?"

Incoherent garbles were all he got in response, causing him to pull his head off of your neck to look at your face, which was contorting in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut with tears brimming the corner of your eyes.

"Fuck, you're actually so fucking close."

Kissing your swollen lips, he whispered into your skin, "So good, baby, you're so fucking good, let go for me."

The orgasm hit you hard, as it always did. The jolt of pleasure sending numbness straight down your legs, your body shivering in gratification, held in place by his strong hands as he drink in your blissed out expression.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Broken words were spoken as he reached his own high, tucking his chin into your shoulder as he released with heavy, rhythmic grunts. You rubbed your hands up and down his chest, soothing him down although you yourself could barely feel your legs.

"You okay?" you whispered into his ear.

"Yeah, just give me a second." He laughed.

You stayed in comforting silence for a moment, running your hand up and down his chest and back as your ragged breathings slowed down, feeling his member softening inside you.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" you asked as he pulled out, gently lifting you onto his desk as he wiped the mess between your legs.

"Hm, yea sure?"

"Do you get turned on when you people call you Professor?"

His hand paused their movement as he contemplated his answer, standing up and caging you between his arms, face hovering over yours, "I don't know...try calling me Younghyun?"

Biting your lip as you suppress a giggle, you half whispered, "Younghyun?"

He smiled stupidly seeing the way your lips curved as you said his name, leaning closer until your lips met, "Nah, its just you."

-end

[fanfictionlover333]

Sea Of Stars

This the story of the second greatest pirate to have ever been born. Surely, you do not believe Jack Sparrow could be outdone.

Jason Baker is his name, and this tale is one of his countless adventures. It begins on the ship known as The Phoenix. Calling it a ship could be considered an insult. If one wanted a more accurate description, one might say it was a magnificent vessel of monumental proportions. What would he do if someone damaged The Phoenix? Nothing compared to what he would do to someone who hurt his love.

Captain Baker was watching stars rush by him as he stood on the deck. With the universe at the tip of his fingers, he was completely free. Yet, that belief in total freedom was marred when a burning cannonball crashed through the shield into the yardarm. Baker's head swiveled around to the aft where the flaming projectile was shot from. In the distance, Baker spotted a ship. Its hull was bright emerald green. Baker smiled inwardly amused by the prospect of a showdown with the target who stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Listen up crew!" Captain Baker bellowed strolling calmly to the helm. He took the wheel from his first mate with a devious smirk. "Time to make the fuckers pay Clayton." He whispered leaning in toward his beloved. He could drown in his sapphire blue eyes and lose himself in Clayton's broad shoulders. Then he redirected his attention to the rest of his crew, Baker cleared his throat before continuing to speak. "If they want a battle, we will give the bastards a war, Ready the cannons arm the laser guns."

The captain's commands were met with an eruption of cheers from the men and women on the deck below. Meanwhile, Clayton’s eyes remained fixed on the captain watching his long shaggy black hair lay against his old leather coat moving up and down with his shoulders. The twinkle in Baker's sea-blue eyes told Clayton things were going to spin out of control. This realization should have scared him and perhaps it would have been if he were not with Baker. They were a team, and nothing could tear them apart. After the second shot barely missed them thanks to Baker's superb steering Clayton bolted down to the engine room.

"It's about bloody time! Where have you been you nitwit?!" Paulette Little snapped bursting with outrage. "Does everyone expect me to wave a blasted wand to repair a cannon ball-sized hole? The mechanic's words came out blistering with indignation.

Clayton let out a chuckle, "well Paulette no one can say you lack in passion." Clayton's playful verbal jab was met with a string of what he could only assume were colorful insults. Then she got down to business. The redhead started barking out commands with no time to waste.

Paulette would have appeared fragile to anyone who saw her outside the ship. Her thin frame permitted her to move freely within the cramped space. As she wiggled in-between and crawled underneath the damaged pieces in the shield generator. All the while, Paulette gave Clayton instructions on how to reboot the computer and what tools to hand her. Moments later they both breathed a sigh of relief when the shield came back online. However, it was short-lived because the ship slammed into something. "That mad man is going to kill us all!" Paulette bellowed.

"Probably sooner than later," Clayton rumbled with laughter yelling over the emergency alarms that were loudly proclaiming they were flying into a meteor storm.

That left Paulette speechless and unsure whether to cackle along with him. The ship shook as if it was trapped in trembling hands. Then everything was as still and quiet as a corpse. Paulette and Clayton shared a look of dread. As seconds went by, they waited for a sign as to what was going on. The lights were on, and all systems seemed to be operating. They should have been able to hear the crew’s footsteps on the deck above them but there was not a sound.

After what felt like hours, they could hear someone coming down the stairs. The computer gave no warning about intruders but under the circumstances, they could assume nothing. The duo clutched their semi-automatic laser shooters. As the footsteps grew closer Clayton's heartbeat raced at warp speed. By the time, the door leading to the engine room creaked open the two of them had already drawn their weapons.

A half-second before they could fire upon the unsuspecting prey, they put the laser guns down. The only thing saving the person from being turned into Swiss cheese was the sound of jingling bells " Silver I have half a mind to put a hole in you. What is the bloody matter with you? Are you trying to scare me to death?!" Paulette fumed a squeak of fear hidden in her voice and a slight quiver in her hand as she returned her shooter to her holster.

Silver tilted his head in their direction. For a tense moment, Silver's pale blue eyes seemed to pierce through her. When he, at last, regained the ability to speak he spoke in the raspy whisper of a man who had been to hell and back. "The captain... has been wounded."

In that instant, the world froze around Clayton. Baker was wounded. When? How? Who was responsible for it? Was Baker going to live? All these questions and many more overtook his panicked mind like an army trampling the ground as they marched to battle. He scoured Silver's face for any sign that he was joking. However, much to his horror there had been no devilish gleam in the seasoned navigator’s eyes or a repressed devious smirk. There was none to be found... His stare was vacant, even his rich brown skin seemed to pale as a result of his destress.

The next thing Clayton knew, he was standing in the middle of the deck pushing his way through a crowd as he fought his way to the nursing office. The head doctor Helena was not thrilled about his intrusion but she had anticipated it. Whenever the captain was hurt Clayton was close behind. She met him in front of the patients’ quarters and led him to the private room set aside for Baker. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he will make full recovery. At the moment he needs to rest."

Clayton tried desperately to listen to what Helena was telling him, but his frenzied mind could just hear Baker lost blood. Baker had lost so much he was willingly laying in a hospital bed. If Baker was an average human such an event would not have been notable, but he wasn't regular. "Have you been listening to me?" Helena reprimanded.

Clayton snapped out of his daze. "Sorry doc," Clayton murmured remorsefully. A light blush turned his cheeks pink.

"Oh, just get in there already." Helena encouraged with an eye roll. She moved to the side just before Clayton barreled into the room. Helena smiled inwardly, Baker had nearly bled to death, and he was still the luckiest bastard alive.

Clayton closed the door as Helena went down a corridor. He allowed his heart to steady as Baker's eyes fluttered open. His knees went weak with relief, and he sunk into the chair by Baker's bed. "Are you going to tell me what happened to you?" Clayton asked his captain his voice quiet as a mouse.

Baker's eyes dimmed as if he was staring into an abyss. Baker shook his head like he was shaking off chains. "We don't have to talk about that..." Baker croaked struggling to compel the answer through his dry throat. "Right now, I just want to hold you," Baker begged reaching out for Clayton's hand.

Clayton opened his mouth to argue but he decided to drop the subject for the time being. "Alright," he whispered with a small sigh as he crawled into bed. Both of them fell to sleep in moments.

The solitary reprieve ended abruptly when they awoke to a knock on the door. Baker tried to sit up, but Clayton shot him a glare that communicated, you are not going anywhere. Baker obeyed the unspoken order.

Clayton watched him out of the corner of his eye. Baker started to laugh but it was stifled by the protests of his broken ribs. Clayton rolled his eyes opening the door. "Good morning," Dr. Helena greeted. "I was going to ask if our charming captain was conscious. However, if he has enough zeal to test your patience, I've been worried about nothing."

Her playful jab was met with a twinkle of approval from Clayton's drowsy eyes. "Yes, Clayton nodded solemnly. "The old man will be around for many years to drive us all up the wall."

"Damn right!" Baker howled with pride and the spark that comes from a need for justice. Both crewmembers snickered like children in response. "I can hear you two," the captain drawled.

"Oh good," Helena chirped with delight. "My favorite patient is awake," Helena noted. "At the risk of asking a stupid question, do you need anything for the pain?" The doctor asked the inquiry slipping with the ease of predictability. She peeked around the corner twirling her long black hair in her fingertips with a glint in her grey eyes.

"The only thing I need is a bottle of rum and my ship in working order," Baker growled with vigor.

"As your doctor, I cannot in good conscience recommend you consume alcohol in this condition. Then again who am to get in the way of your fun." She finished a huff like a parent exhausted after a long day of trying to wrangle their hyper toddler. Helena didn't have time to waste debating with him. So, she refocused her attention on Clayton. "Paulette told me to tell you that we will be docking at a repair station any minute. She’s going to need an extra pair of hands when we get there. "

Clayton nodded sharply, "I'll be down to help her once we arrive," Clayton assured. With her job done Helena left the men to their own devices.

She was correct the journey was brief. Yet, time seemed to all but cease to move. Baker stared blankly at the ceiling. The events of the day had inflicted as much if not more agony on his mind than his body. He felt like his psyche had been ravaged then discarded. The single solitary that thing tethered him to the world was Clayton's hand in his.

When they reached the destination, Baker was snoozing unaware that Clayton had gone down to the engine room. "Paulette?" Clayton called walking down the stairs.

"Here," Paulette answered as Clayton came around the corner. She was welding wires back together. She never took her eyes away from the assignment at hand. "Toss this in the trash shoot," Paulette stated passing him a chunk of burned and melted wiring.

"I'm more than a little caught off guard." Clayton snorted relieved she was not hurling broken pieces at him. "Last time I spoke to you I got the impression you were on the verge of scrapping this ship."

"You were absolutely right but the damage wasn't as extensive as I thought." Paulette hummed as if she was thinking out loud, "we will be ace in a week."

Clayton furrowed his brow, "Paulette, you have things under control. So, why did you ask for me to come here?"

"I am allowed to worry about my little odd group of misfits," Paulette remarked flashing a grin. "So, how are you love?" It was a loaded question. Yet, her soft and disinterested tone lessened the impact.

Clayton sat on the floor with his back against the wall. "Baker is shutting me out... He won't tell me what happened..." Clayton paused throwing his hands up in the air. "He's hardly speaking at all..."

"The bloke has had a bewildering day. Perhaps, let him take a moment to collect his thoughts." Paulette commented with all the sarcasm she could muster.

"What if he doesn't come around?" He persisted

"He will," she exhaled. "Now, scamper off, you are distracting me." Paulette scowled waving her hand as if to brush him away.

"You told me you needed my help," he argued. If looks could kill Clayton would have dropped dead faster than rocks plummeting to the ocean floor. Needless to say, he made himself scarce.

He returned to Baker's room and climbed into bed. Baker purred snuggling up to him and embracing him. "Easy..." Clayton cautioned as Baker's hand slipped underneath his shirt. "You have to rest."

"Don't want rest...Want you..." Baker slurred through the shroud of sleep. " I Was gone... for so long." He whimpered incoherently.

"Gone?" Clayton echoed in disbelief. "What are you talking about? We have been together on the ship for months.

Baker shook his head. "That doesn't matter anymore. The only thing I care about is marrying you after I even the score with the assholes who landed me in this bed.

"Marry me?" Clayton gasped as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "Are you messing with me?"

"Will you marry me?" Baker asked as if he didn't hear him. Clayton nodded unable to speak while his heart raised.

@bauliya Thnx

@theworldofprompts

The pirate asks their lover for their hand in marriage

[bauslut]

as you are | v.

word count: 4.390k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos, angst, some arguing, references to murder, discussion of serial killers, references to violences, nc-17

a/n: hello! this is the fifth chapter of my hotch fic ! i’ve been putting a lot of work into this, so all feedback is appreciated !!! <33 let me know if you owuld like to be tagged :)) chapters three and four are linked below ! i hope you guys enjoy !!! 

| iii. | iv. |

(i don’t own this gif)

ding. 

the quiet chime of the elevator echoed through the compact space as the doors slid open. a brunette stood, her thumbs gliding across a dimly lit screen, her brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek, 

aaron hotchner stepped forward, nudging the brunette as he swiveled on his heel, “good morning.”

today, she was clad in a pair of black skinny jeans, the denim hugging the fullness of her thighs. on her top half, she bore a simple black sweater, the texture a cable-knit stitch. the neckline was a v-neck, cutting down only inches above her breasts. she wore her hair down, the locks falling lazily, sweeping along her shoulders. 

“morning,” aaron’s lips parted as his gaze wandered, admiring her for just a moment, “i like your sweater.” 

“i bet you like the hickeys too.”

aaron’s gaze traveled to her collarbone, the deep burgundy marks painting her pale complexion, scattered in a line, starting from her collarbone and flowing well into the hem of her sweater. a thin layer of powder concealed the severity of the plum and crimson tones, but they weren’t concealed. a blush spread, cheeks a slight tinge pink. yet, his lips curved into a smug smirk, satisfaction coursing through his veins.

he left those marks on her. 

and he more than pleased that it was his doing. 

“i sure do,” his voice was light, laced with a tease, “you look beautiful today, rowan.”

her head tilted up, a broad grin enveloping her features, “thank you. you look quite--”

the elevator whirred to a halt, the doors opening once more. aaron cleared his throat, dipping his head, “after you.”

dozens of eyes fixated on the pair as they strode from the elevator. morgan and garcia were gathered around the printer, their conversation ceasing as rowan and hotch strolled over to their respective desks, the door of hotch’s office nearly slamming shut. jj was perched at her own desk, springing to her feet the moment hotch’s blind’s were drawn. reid, nose deep in a novel, set the book down, spinning around in his chair to face rowan. prentiss and rossi sauntered over to the young agent’s desk, eyes blazing with curiosity, eager to bombard with a flurry of questions.

“so,” rossi took a sip of his coffee, “how was babysitting little hotch?”

“it was fine,” rowan shrugged, “i mean, hotch’s apartment is pretty cold and bare, a little like him. but jack was so sweet. maybe he takes after his mother. by the way, was hotch a little distressed yesterday? he seemed really tense when i spoke with him on the phone.”

“hotch was thinking about you all day!” garcia chirped, her head bobbing with every word, “god, he was so fucking distraught because you weren’t there. and the amount of times he called you just to check in? ugh he was so--”

“he was really worked up,” prentiss exhaled, “and part of that was our fault. we were tormenting him and we’re sorry.”

“why were you guys teasing--”

“he even lied about you babysitting jack,” morgan remarked, butting in, “when we met in the conference room to discuss the case, he kept saying your name while he was on the phone. we all heard but he was playing it off like you were some ‘shannon’ or something.”

“oh?” rowan arched a brow, “why would he lie--”

“wait,” jj stuck out a hand, her eyes flickering towards rowan’s neck, “is that what i think that is?”

as the pairs of eyes followed jj’s line of sight, rowan shifted uncomfortably, swallowing a lump in her throat, “it’s not what--”

“is that a hickey?” rossi licked his lips, “how in the world did you receive a hickey whilst babysitting? does jack have a biting problem or something?” 

“maybe it was big hotch,” garcia stated, prodding morgan, “not the little one, of course. that would’ve been weird if jack bit her.”

morgan glanced over to hotch’s office, folding his arms across his chest, then returned his focus to rowan, “don’t tell me that he paid you by--”

“i-it was nothing like that,” rowan stammered, tripping over her words, “i stayed at the hotchner residence until aa-hotch returned home from the case. then i promptly went home.”

“so why was your car parked at an open area?” garcia pressed, “when you didn’t come in yesterday morning, i pulled up your location on the gps of your car. it said you were at the park off north and second.”

“that was a halfway point for hotch and i to meet,” rowan bit her tongue, cheeks flushed, “i live forty minutes from here. he didn’t want me to drive.”

“that’s pretty generous for a man like hotch,” morgan mused, “i don’t believe a single word coming from your mouth rivers, i hope you know that.”

“if you guys want the truth,” rowan huffed, “i blacked out the other night, was so hungover i could barely move, and hotch told me he needed a babysitter. i took up the offer because i felt horrible that i couldn’t come in. now, are you guys satisfied or are you going to keep pestering me about a hickey like some stupid high schoolers?”

prentiss inhaled a sharp breath, poised for a retort when a door swinging open startled the mass huddled around the desk, “what is going on here?”

“we were just asking rivers if she was okay sir,” prentiss responded, her tone cool, voice smooth. 

“i’m afraid that we don’t have the time or resources for gossip,” hotch snorted, hands grasping the railing, “everyone, back to your desks this instant. rivers, i need to speak with you in my office.”

“now sir?” 

“now,” his voice rang through the office, eyes hardened into a fiery glare. 

a shudder coursed through rowan as she rose to her feet, shuffling towards his office. the team giggled as they retreated to their desks, unfazed by hotch’s statement. every step was agonizing under his intense stare, the agent nearly cowering in her boots.

yet, the second she was in the office with the door shut, his hands were on hers, intertwining their fingers together. his touch tender, voice lowered to a quiet whisper, “are you okay?”

“besides the relentless teasing i’m fine,” rowan muttered, careful to avoid eye contact.

“welcome to my world for the past twenty four hours,” fingertips brushed her forehead, “i was more concerned if you had a headache or not. i’ve noticed they flare up when you’re anxious or under stress.”

“if this is what’s going to happen every time i watch jack then i’m not doing it anymore.” she mumbled, breaking away from his touch. 

muttering a strand of words, hotch crossed over to his desk, “i mean, you’re not his designated babysitter anyway. you were drunk and i came and got you the night before. nothing more to it. it’s not happening again, anyway.”

rowan flinched, shocked at the venomous barb laced in his words, “but i would miss my new friend, he’s a really good kid, aaron. he’s so sweet. he reminds me of you.”

aaron hotchner nearly cracked, demeanor nearly crumbling down in that moment. 

but he couldn’t. not here. not now. 

clearing his throat, his voice hardened, edged with authority, “it would be best for the both of us if it never happened again.”

“but--” she pleaded, desperate to break him down. to reason with him. 

yet, the damage was already done. 

the unit chief slumped in his chair, not budging one bit, “no. we can’t do that again, okay? it wouldn’t end well.”

tears sprang into rowan’s eyes, her lower lip trembling, “i-i was thinking that i would stay behind with garcia today. after all, i don’t deserve to travel anyways. i lied about a sick day.”

hotch’s head snapped up, pure shock plastered across his features, “rowan it was okay that you--”

“i’m staying behind.”

david rossi sat on the edge of spencer reid’s desk, toying with a pencil, focused on the scene unfolding in aaron hotchner’s office. emily prentiss lurked nearby, pacing back and forth. 

“what could they possibly be talking about?”

“from the look of it, it’s not pretty,” rossi remarked, letting out a sigh, “i think they’re arguing. she’s standing a few feet away from his desk. he seems agitated. his jaw is clenched and he has that little glare when he’s upset.”

morgan took a swig of coffee, “maybe he didn’t use a condom,” 

“oh stop,” penelope swatted him with a stack of papers. 

“no,” rossi shook his head, “trust me, if aaron hotchner got laid, he would look a lot happier than he is right now.”

“do you really think that they hate another?” garcia whined, lips curving into a pout as she nuzzled her head against morgan’s shoulder, earning a peck on the forehead. 

“no. there’s this fondness in his eyes when he looks at her. it tells me everything that i need to know.”

“but rowan is far too intelligent for him,” reid butt in, his book thudding against the wood.

“i don’t think so,” rossi countered, “because i’m pretty sure if she was as smart as you say she is, she wouldn’t fall for a man twice her age. a man who’s going through a messy divorce, at th--”

the door of the office opened, rowan’s lower lip trembling, eyes tinged red with tears. garcia perked up, rossi remaining on the edge of desk, folding a piece of paper. the team was silent as rowan approached them, the brunette sniffling.

“garcia,” the technical anaylst’s name was a broken whimper, “uh, hotch wants me to stay behind with you today.”

“don’t tell me he’s punishing you--” rossi began, swiftly interrupted by garcia.

“okay honey bunny,” garcia chirped, shooting rossi a glare, “i’ll even let you borrow my chair. it’s a little bit more comfy than the others.”

“hey guys,” jj greeted, arms loaded with a stack of manila folders, “i just received the call minutes ago. a department in washington invited us onto a case. we’re about to meet in the conference room.”

garcia wrapped a comforting arm around rowan’s shoulder, “come on love, let’s go meet with the others.”

letting out a shaky breath, rowan followed the rest of the team, mustering every last bit of strength to not crack. to not shed another tear. yet, as she entered the conference room, she could practically feel the heat embedded within his burning stare.

“god,” his breath was hot against her neck, teeth grazing the flesh, “you’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“a-aaron,” his name dripped from her lips as her fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the roots, “aaron, please, god. don’t stop.”

her back was to the couch, his body hovering over hers, one hand underneath her shirt, resting on her hip, the pad of his thumb brushing the hem of her jeans. every single part of her was hot to the touch, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, jaw slack as his mouth roamed, savoring every inch of her with his tongue. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he smirked against her skin, “you like when i leave my mark, don’t you baby?”

“god yes,” her nod was meek as he sucked harshly, “p-please don’t stop, aaron.”

“i won’t,” he was panting now, riled up from the heat of the moment, adrenaline pumping through his veins, “i won’t fucking stop.”

“rivers,” her name was spat out, cruel and unforgiving, “do i need to send you home? pay attention.”

blinking, rowan swallowed thickly, cheeks flushing as she noticed the pairs of orbs trained on her, “sorry.”

“jerk,” garcia rolled her eyes, the mutter barely audible. 

aaron continued speaking, discussing the parameters of travel, along with some brief victimology of the murderers. propping her head up with her hand, rowan doodled a few scribbles on the file, completely oblivious to any word flooding her ears, her mind wandering to the memory. 

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, flicking his wrist to check the time, “and rivers, i would like to speak with you.”

“i’m all ears,” the agent exhaled, not breaking away from the doodles as the team filed out from the space, a vicious banter rising among them. 

the unit chief slid into the seat beside her, his hand inching closer and closer to her forearm, “are you okay?”

the brunette recoiled away from his touch, her tone icy cold, “i’m fine.”

“you’re more than welcome to join us,” his voice was gentle, “you don’t have to punish yourself for what happened yesterday. really, it’s fine that you babysat jack. i was more than happy you accepted the offer, actually.”

the brunette didn’t utter a single word, only leaping to her feet. pushing the chair in, she avoided any eye contact, gaze focused on the floor, boots thudding against the surface with every step. 

“well, i already promised garcia that i would be front and center for today. sorry, but i’m going to decline the offer, hotch. thanks though.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what’s up with you?” 

aaron hotchner drew in a deep breath, throwing his head against the leather, “morgan, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“all right mr. dark and brooding over there,” prentiss’ voice was light with a mocking tone as she flipped through a page in a magazine, “you look like you saw someone step on a puppy.” 

hotch’s left eye twitched, “i’m upset because we’re missing a member of the team.”

“i don’t think you normally act this way when i’m sick.” a smug smirk painted morgan’s lips as he wrapped headphone cords around his phone, “but perhaps i’m not as important as rivers.”

“yeah, what about the time spencer was shot?” rossi interjected, drumming his fingers along the armrest, “you didn’t seem nearly as distraught then. the poor kid was shot in the damn leg.”

“i was distraught--” 

morgan snickered, taking a bite of a granola bar, “it’s okay to admit you miss rowan, loverboy. we can all tell.”

“we know you like her, hotch,” jj cut in, her voice smooth with satisfaction. 

“she’s annoying.”

aaron almost couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before him. 

his team, people he’s worked with for years, people he’s grown to love and care for, were teasing him over a coworker. people who loved to dish out snide and crude remarks constantly to one another but rarely to him, were beginning to catch on. they were nagging him over a coworker. 

a cute coworker, at that. 

a cute coworker who he was beginning to fall for, at that. 

“annoyingly cute,” rossi clasped his hands together, eyes alight with laughter.

“david rossi, so help me god, i will land this jet myself,” he growled, clutching the armrest with an iron grip, “and when i land this jet, i’ll write all of you up for insubordination.” 

“oh? he’s getting defensive now guys, so i must be pushing all the right buttons,” rossi called to the others, earning an eruption of laughter. 

the agent clambered out of his seat, crossing the aisle to hotch. mocha-colored orbs bore into his suit, rossi plucking a strand of hair off the shoulder, inspecting it in the light, “i didn’t know you were a brunette.”

aaron flinched, his heart lurching in his chest, “t-that belongs to jack.”

“the kid is fucking blonde!” prentiss retorted, setting the magazine down on her lap. 

“why don’t you just admit to us that you like her?” morgan pressed, eagerly anticipating hotch’s response.

“i don’t know what you guys are talking about. i can’t stand her,” hotch stumbled over the words, a crimson hue tainting his cheeks. 

“i’m sure that’s why you bring her coffee in the morning,” reid remarked, toying with a game of chess. 

“i’m sure that’s why you always assign her with you,” prentiss chimed in. 

“i’m sure that’s why you started bringing ibuprofen to work,” jj retaliated. 

morgan lifted a leg, crossing them together, “and i’m sure that’s why we have a photo of her sleeping on your lap.”

“w-wait, there’s a photo of that?”

“so he admits it happened,” morgan winked to prentiss, who stifled a giggle. 

“okay that’s it,” hotch tsked, thrusting an index finger at every single member of his team, “none of you are working on the case. you’re all going to wait in the hotel while i handle it all myself.”

“oh, come on hotch!” prentiss gasped, her magazine falling to the floor. 

“i hate to remind you all,” hotch cleared his throat, his tone firm as he spoke, “but we are on a case here. we’re not here to mess around and tease one another. i would appreciate it if you guys weren’t so nosy about my personal life. if i was involved with agent rivers in any way, i would let you guys know. but for now, let’s focus on the case.”

the team fell silent, returning to whatever it is that they were all doing. yet, rossi remained unfazed by hotch’s stern words, mouth curved into a mischievous smile, before dealing out one final blow. 

“i am well aware of the case we’re on. it’s the investigation of whether or not aaron hotchner harbors romantic feelings for rowan rivers.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

rain pattered against the roof of the police station, a huddle of individuals gathered around a singular white board, aaron hotchner watching intently as dr. reid spoke with the cops, providing a clear and concise profile of the unsub, pointing and referring to crime scene photos and the police sketch of the unsub. hotch was vigilant, composed and cool-headed, ready to speak when necessary. 

forks, washington was a quaint town, located off the olympic peninsula. it was a quiet, friendly, place, most commonly known for its deep roots with the logging industry. nothing but endless woods sprawled around the community, making it a perfect location for a serial killer.

there was plenty of space to dump bodies, lots of shrubbery for cover, and little to no interaction with locals. many of them were reserved, not willing to comply with the local police. however, hotch didn’t blame them. 

the bau was on hunt to apprehend a serial killer who happened to post his grisly murders online, for thousands upon thousands of viewers to watch. there were even points in time where there was a live feed, the killer masked, clothed in dark fabric. his motive was unclear, as he had no specific type of victim, and his reasoning for posting the killings online was a mystery. 

which, made it nearly impossible to even make any progress in the case. 

that was until rossi suggested that they fly penelope garcia out to forks. after all, the killer managed to flee his residence after leaking the address. computers was garcia’s niche, where she was most comfortable and knowledgeable. 

and that’s why they needed her. 

yet, hotch’s mind drifted, wandering to another matter. 

it seemed no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he resisted, rowan rivers was on his mind, filling his thoughts. 

the memory of their interaction merely hours ago left an awful taste in the unit chief’s mouth. aaron needed rowan in washington, more than she knew. her cool-head, along with quick-wit was a valuable asset to the flow of the team.

god, did he absolutely loathe the image that was permanently burned in his lids. rowan standing in his office, trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks, pleading for him to reason with her, begging for him to stop while he was ahead. the aspect that haunted him the most was the hurt in her eyes, her voice cracking with every word.  

god, did he feel so fucking stupid. 

“do you think that they’re on their way yet?” rossi leaned over, the question flooding hotch’s left ear. 

“i’m not sure when they’ll arrive,” the unit chief’s attention traveled to the watch on his wrist, “we only called them a couple of hours ago. it’s a long flight from virginia.” 

“you’re not wrong about that. i miss the kid, really. do you miss her?” 

“is now really the time?” hotch choked back an exasperated sigh, careful not to raise his voice, not to disturb the briefing. 

“you miss her,” rossi affirmed, careful not to crack too broad of a smile, “i know you do.”

“you’re just gloating because we needed garcia,” hotch muttered, “and that meant rowan was going to tag along too.”

“you’re just lucky that we happen to have such an amazing technical analyst,” rossi elbowed hotch playfully, “they should be here any minute now. maybe you should greet her first, hmm? do a little bit of kiss and make up?” 

“rossi--”

“oh look,” rossi nodded his head towards the entrance of the station, “there they are now.”

the second his eyes fell on her, his heart skipped a beat, breath hitching in his throat. 

“excuse me,” hotch stuck out a hand, signaling to the officers and bau members that he was going to step away, “our technical analyst and another agent just arrived. please, continue dr. reid.”

“this place is so dreary,” garcia wrinkled her nose to rowan, whispering. 

the comment earned a quiet chuckle from the agent, “it’s washington penelope, what did you expect?”

“well even the inside of the station is just so--”

“good evening,” the unit chief couldn’t help but crack a smile, placing a tender hand on garcia’s shoulder, “how was the flight?”

“boring,” garcia huffed, whirling around, “and this place? absolutely horrid, hotch. there’s not a single splash of color anywhere! it’s just all depressing and dreadful!”

“well you’ll be happy to know that a lot of your work won’t be at the station. already, we have the unsub’s personal laptop. it’s currently at his residence, but we’ll get it to you in the morning.” 

“oh thank god,” garcia clutched her chest, “how are things going?”

“babygirl!” a gush sounded from a few feet away. 

“excuse me,” garcia beamed, brightening as morgan whistled, “there is a very handsome man waiting for me over there and i feel oh so compelled to greet him.”

rowan’s hands were behind her back, the toe of her right boot drawing lazy circles into the carpet, “hey.”

“hey,” aaron murmured, his hand gravitating towards her shoulder. his thumb flicked back and forth, tracing soothing circles into her shoulder, “are you all right?”

“i wasn’t expecting a trip to washington,” she shrugged slightly, “but i’m here now.”

“we’re finished for the night. reid just delivered the profile to the local p.d.”

“so what now?” rowan inquired, readjusting the strap of her bag. 

“dinner and then some sleep,” he replied, noticing the team trickling away from the conference room, heading towards the exit, “we should catch up. they’re about to leave us.”

“oh shit.”

aaron’s brow furrowed as he noticed the strands of hair clinging to her forehead, soaked and dampened, clothes darkened a shade, “did you forget a coat?”

“we were in a rush,” rowan protested, bringing her arms close to her body as a shudder ran through her body, “is it cold to you in here?”

aaron extended an arm, offering her a beige trenchcoat, “here.”

“what?” rowan’s lips parted with shock, “aaron, please. i-i don’t need a--”

“you’re going to catch a cold,” he took a step behind her, draping the coat around her shoulders, “you’re soaking wet and need to warm up.”

“no i won’t,” her mouth fell into a pout, the lower lip jutting out, “aaron please--”

“take it,” his hands grasped her shoulders, his head hovering just beside her ear, “you need it.”

“thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” his mouth drifted upwards, lips merely inches away from her temple, “let’s meet up with the rest of the team.”

the pair made their way out of the station, the hem of aaron’s coat sweeping against the ground as rowan walked, the arms draping against her sides. his hand lingered on her lower back, guiding her towards the chatter of the team as they loaded up the suburbans, discussing god knows what. 

“the turtle doves have reunited,” morgan taunted, throwing his bag in the trunk, “a lot of us were talking about the plans for dinner, hotch. we’re thinking about just ordering room service or ordering some pizza.”

“have you seen this place?” rowan piped up, “i don’t think the inn has room service dumbass.”

“my favorite agent has arrived,” rossi strutted up to rowan, holding out his fist, “how was the flight kiddo?” 

“i slept the entire time so i feel pretty good,” rowan answered, initiating an intricate handshake with the agent, “really though, what is there to eat around here?”

“i bet hotch has some ideas for dess--” morgan’s voice crescendoed into a grunt as garcia elbowed his side.

“there’s a local diner not too far from here,” reid chimed in, invested in his phone, “i don’t know about you guys, but i’m really craving some key lime pie.”

“i’m with you there!” rowan gushed, “come on guys, let’s go get something to eat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what are we doing for rooms?” rowan turned to rossi, hotch’s coat still draped across her shoulders, “i was hoping that they could squeeze us in for an extra room but it appears that it was too late.” 

“well the plan was for reid and i to share a room, then morgan and hotch. the ladies were just going to be with one another. but it seems now that since you and garcia have arrived, there may be a change of plans.”

“are you serious?” the brunette rolled her eyes as garcia slipped into morgan’s room, “don’t fraternization rules exist in the bureau?”

“sometimes,” rossi’s eyes twinkled with amusement, “but not always in the bau.”

“so what now?” 

“well,” rossi gestured down the hall, “you have a couple of choices. you can room with the ladies, but you’d have to either sleep on the floor or cram into a bed with one of them. or, you have one other option.”

rowan’s focus shifted as she noticed hotch huddled with morgan and reid, his voice a low murmur, “rossi, please don’t tell me--”

“there is one person you could room with.”

“and who would that be?” the brunette deadpanned, her foot tapping against the carpet, arms folded across her chest.  

“the owner of that coat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @sapphicstars​​ @littlevodika​ @colorlessfl0wers​

[sugaabooga]

Chance | 5

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader | Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, rich!Seokjin, rich!Jimin

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: PG-13, alcohol consumption, alcohol intoxication, societal classes

Synopsis: Seokjin had no problem of getting girls and also had no problem of getting rid of them. One girl after the next. So why was it that you - a middle-class citizen - was an exception? You - a middle-class citizen - made Seokjin question if he really did have it all. But one thing’s for sure. He didn’t have any of your chances.

Clank.

The glass in Seokjin’s hand nearly shatters at the sheer force he slams it down on the bar counter.

Seokjin grunts, sloppily gesturing towards the wide-eyed bartender who stares at him with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry sir,” he says with a gentle voice. “I’m afraid you’ve had too much to drink. Do you have anyone to pick you up or should I call a cab?”

Seokjin whines, laying his head against the counter and wriggling his body as if there was a rat crawling up and down his body.

“Mur,” Seokjin pouts.

“Excuse me?” the bartender leans forward in hopes of hearing some kind of name of number he could call.

Seokjin lifts up his body feeling heavier than usual and props his hand under his chin to look straight at the young man in front of him.

“Jungcoook?” Seokjin squints at the bartender’s name tag, arm sliding from underneath him.

Jungkook smiles good-naturedly, quite nice for a mere bartender who deals with countless drunkards each night.

“That’s me,” he answers. “It’s getting close to the end of my shift and I would like to send you home before I go.”

Seokjin nods heartily at him. “Yur a nice kid.”

Jungkook shrugs, setting aside a glass he just finished wiping dry. “Just doing my job I guess.”

“You see,” Seokjin sighs, eyeing the bottle of whiskey a few inches away from where Jungkook stands. “I can’t call anyone.”

Jungkook nods. “I’ll hail a cab.”

Seokjin merely hums as Jungkook turns around to place the glasses on the shelf behind him. Taking this as a chance, Seokjin uses all the soberness left in him to reach over the counter and grab the whiskey bottle by the neck, hurriedly and sloppily pouring out the alcohol into his empty glass.

“Which area do you- SIR!” Jungkook shrieks mid-question, turning around to see Seokjin hastily gulp down the remains of the drink. Jungkook snatches the glass from his hand in exasperation before Seokjin can tilt his glass again for the last few drops left underneath the ice cubes.

“No cab,” Seokjin mutters as Jungkook merely sighs. Why was this wealthy man, probably mid to late twenties, drowning himself in drinks tonight?

Jungkook bets this guy wouldn’t even have to work part-time jobs like he had to in order to make ends meet. So why was he so miserable?

Seokjin huffs, yanking out his phone and fingers automatically finding a specific name in his contacts.

He rests his head on the counter once again as he strategically places his phone on top of his ear, letting the rings lull him in and out of consciousness.

__

“How’d you even know I was working overtime?” you ask Jimin who lazily spins around in his chair.

“I called Hoseok for a drink but he said he was too tired and mentioned how you were working past working hours,” Jimin recalls. “Again.”

“And you just. . . decided to come?”

Jimin nods. “Of course. Can’t have you suffering alone.”

You blink a few times at the man who appears quite nonchalant about this whole ordeal while you were purely confused at how you were supposed to feel. This wouldn’t be weird if that intimate moment a few days back hadn’t happened.

You were sure his hand lingered longer than usual after he had gently tucked your hair behind your ear and his eyes gazed with a look you’ve never seen before.

You quickly shake the thought out of your head, refusing to mull over that moment more than you needed to. He was merely comforting you as a friend. There was no need to overthink anything. Those things can happen from time to time.

Then the rest of his sentence registers in your head. Once again, the fact that Jimin even calls Hoseok regularly surprises you despite it being widely known in your department how Jimin was probably the only one who free-spiritedly joked around with Hoseok. “You. . . You’re close with Hoseok, right?”

Jimin immediately hums in response, as if he didn’t know how intimidated everyone was of the marketing manager and actively avoided any sort of contact with him.

“I mean. . . he’s only a year older than us,” Jimin states, making you turn to him in shock.

“WHAT!?” you gasp. You had assumed Hoseok was at least four years older than you. Now you realize, he did look quite young, but his workplace habits were of an accomplished forty year old who was ready to retire early.

Jimin giggles at your shock. “Yeah. It’s pretty obvious though. That hyung really is youthful. He’s actually fairly optimistic and a great listener. Which makes him the perfect drinking buddy.”

You roll your eyes at Jimin’s alcohol fanaticism making an appearance. “Well, you do know about his reputation in the office right?”

Jimin stops his swiveling, turning to look at you properly. His gaze switches to a more serious gaze as he lowers his voice. “Cold caller baller?”

You break out into a smile, scrunching your nose in the process at Jimin’s genuine inquiry. “What the hell is that?” you laugh. “I meant how everyone treats him like ‘he who shall not be named’. Everytime someone mentions,” pause “Hoseok,” you whisper, making Jimin scoff. “He randomly appears and scolds the whole team.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Now that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard about.”

You open your mouth to protest but freeze as Jimin shifts closer, his head just a few inches away from yours.

“It’s probably because Hoseok’s the only one in our department who gives a shit about his job,” Jimin smirks, playfully dropping to a low whisper at Hoseok’s name. “That’s why everyone’s scared. They can’t handle his professionalism.”

You gulp, barely noticing the hidden indirect insult Jimin purposely shot at you with the purpose of agitating you, and instead being able to only focus on why he was so close to you and why you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Jimin’s smirk slightly drops into a concerned frown when he realizes you aren’t reacting the way he had expected you to react.

“Y/N?”

Bang.

Both of you look up in alarm towards the entrance of the office that leads out to the elevators at the echo of something crashing into the wall.

Jimin stands up from his chair, leaning his body back to look as far as he can out the glass doors.

“Was someone else working overtime?” he asks, earning a shake of your head. Jimin starts heading towards the doors to check out the sound as you click out of your tabs for the night. Everything else that was left on your slides, you could finish up tomorrow morning. Right now, you were quite convinced that you were very exhausted, especially judging from the way you suddenly froze up in close proximity with your long-time best friend whom you had only platonic feelings for.

You let out a long exhale, forcing the thought out of your brain and logging out of your computer then carefully placing the flash drive with all the project details into your bag’s inner pocket. After half-heartedly organizing your desk area and cubicle, you walk towards the exit, heels softly clacking against the tiles as Jimin comes in through the doors peering into a black bag.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously. Jimin looks up and turns back around to head towards the elevators after noticing that you were done for the night.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “It was dropped against the wall which was probably the sound we heard.”

“Is there anything in it?”

Jimin nods, pulling out a bag of chips. “Snacks.”

You can’t help but let your jaw slightly drop at the sight of food after working for hours straight without a proper meal since 2pm.

It was your favorite brand of chips too.

“Gimme,” you pout, making Jimin chuckle.

“I don’t think we should just take it though,” he hesitates. “Isn’t it kind of bad to take something someone else bought? Without permission?”

“But it was literally on the floor,” you reason, not as morally righteous as your friend beside you.

Jimin still debates, fiddling with the handle of the bag. “Hey there’s a lunchbox in here.”

He fishes out the bulgogi meal pack with rice and a few other pre-packaged side dishes. Your eyes widen at the humble meal as if it were a five-star lobster.

“Okay, forget the chips,” you gasp. “We have to eat the lunchbox. If it’s left here uneaten, it’s going to spoil! What a waste that would be!”

Jimin laughs at your logic but still shakes his head. “Let’s just drop this off at the front desk.”

You purse your lips in distaste as the elevator finally dings, indicating its arrival.

Jimin grins, internally cooing at how cute you were.

“Dinner’s on me,” he adds as you begrudgingly press the lobby button.

You whip around to him, instantly perking up with newfound energy. “For real!?”

Jimin is nearly floored by your glistening eyes that were sparkling just because he offered to buy you dinner. He can’t help but match your wide grin as he nods. “Yup. Just name it! Actually, besides the five-star restaurants downtown.”

You snicker as Jimin quickly draws the boundaries to your food choices.

The one time you went out for dinner with him after college graduation, your food suggestion resulted in a $285 check for two steaks and a teeny tiny salad.

Your jaw had dropped all the way down to the floor at the sight of the bill. You tried to split the bill but Jimin had physically pushed you out of the restaurant, insisting to pay for the meal.

Even to this day, you have no idea how Jimin managed to pay the bill as a fellow broke college student who had yet to land a stable income.

“Hm. . . I’m craving donkatsu,” you say, indirectly asking Jimin if he was okay with pork cutlet for dinner.

“Donkatsu!” Jimin exclaims with a wide grin. 

“I take it that you agree?” you say with a scoff at his child-like excitement at the mention of his favorite food and playfully nudge his shoulder when the elevator doors open.

Jimin gulps at your playful grin and your bright eyes peering up at him, making his heart stutter and mind going blank.

Geez. What was wrong with him today? Either you were extra attractive or he was just more whipped than usual.

“Jimin?” you ask confusedly when he remains standing still in the elevator with an indecipherable look.

Jimin’s head jerks up at the sound of his name and he glances around, confused at when the elevator doors had opened and when you had already left his side.

“Park!” you yell, catching Jimin’s attention from his distracted glances around the elevator.

“Yes?” he immediately responds, making you look at him with pure bewilderment.

“You good?”

Jimin breathily laughs making you crack a hesitant smile.

“Yeah I’m-”

“Oh Y/N!” the front desk receptionist on night duty calls. You turn around at the sound of her voice and give her a polite smile, walking towards her desk.

Meanwhile, Jimin hurriedly presses the open door button as the elevator doors start to close and quickly follows after you.

“Hey. . .” you trail off, unable to remember her name.

“Soo-ah,” Jimin smiles at her with a slight jog, catching up to you and saving you from embarrassment.

Soo-ah grins back at the charming man in front of her, not even noticing that you had forgotten her name despite the years both of you worked here.

“Soo-ah,” you repeat with a smile.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” Soo-ah says right off the bat.

Your brows slightly raise in question, exchanging a confused glance with Jimin.

“For… what?” you ask.

Did I get a raise I don’t know about?

Soo-ah slightly tilts her head. “I heard you got scouted by JJ Corps.”

“JJ Corps?” you and Jimin ask simultaneously, eyes widening.

Seokjin’s company?

Our company?

“Yeah. The director himself came and asked which floor you were on,” Soo-ah pauses. “Wait. . . I just realized that it’s past the normal office hours. How did he know you were working overtime?”

Jimin frowns. If it was the director, that would be Seokjin. 

Seokjin came?

“Did you get his name?” Jimin asks the befuddled receptionist before you can open your mouth.

You shoot Jimin a slight glance, noting how Jimin almost seemed agitated. Last time, Jimin had known Seokjin’s name even though you made sure not to tell anyone since Seokjin was such a known public figure. And now, it almost seemed as if Jimin was on the same page as you, suspecting that it was Seokjin who had come over.

“Um. . .” Soo-ah tries to recall, attracting your attention once again and keep in mind to mention it to Jimin later. Her eyes lighting up in remembrance. “Ah! I think it was Kim. . . Seojik? Seonjin?”

“Seok...jin?” you hesitantly suggest. Soo-ah lets out a sound of recognition and nods.

“Ah. Yes, yes. It said Kim Seokjin, Director of JJ Corps on his business card.”

Jimin holds in his questions and scans your reaction. For the first time in your years of friendship, Jimin couldn’t read your face. Your lips were turned into a grim line and your eyes seemed blank, void of any emotion.

You nod with a wry smile, mumbling a thank you and greeting goodnight to Soo-ah and turn around, walking towards the lobby doors.

Jimin stands watching your retreating figure with slight worry and hurriedly snatches out the bag of your favorite chips and hands the rest of the black bag to Soo-ah.

“Oh?” Soo-ah lets out a noise of surprise at the familiar bag. “This was what Mr. Kim was hold-”

Soo-ah stops mid-sentence at the realization that she was alone. A small smile appears as she scoffs in amusement watching Jimin trail after you like a lost puppy with the chips in hand. Jimin playfully, but hesitantly pokes the side of your face with a tiny, shy smile, forcing you to give him your attention. Soo-ah sighs, plopping back down onto her swivel chair once you take the chips with a roll of your eyes. Jimin’s arm hovers over your shoulder as he debates whether to put his arm around you. His fist clenches as he decides against it and Jimin continues walking with his hands behind his back.

Soo-ah sighs with pity at his internal debate that she just witnessed.

“Will she ever notice?” Soo-ah mutters to herself at the unfortunate sight of Jimin quite obviously whipped for a girl who has no idea of his feelings.

__

“Bus is here,” Jimin announces nudging you up off the bus stop bench.

You climb up the steps and fiddle around your bag for your pre-paid bus pass. The bus driver softly sighs as you continue rummaging with a apologetic smile.

“Two please,” Jimin intercepts with his own card from behind you.

Beep.

His chest gently presses against your back, his warmth wrapping around your cold frame draped around with a thin cardigan.

Before you can think anything more of how comforting his warmth felt, your feet jut out, walking towards the two seats on the left side of the bus as the driver continues to drive his nightly route.

“Thanks,” you say as you sit down.

Jimin shakes his head as a sign of no problem. He follows after you, plopping down on the cushiony seat next to you and setting his bag onto his lap.

You try to ignore Jimin’s burning stare at the side of your face by mindlessly scrolling on your phone then give up with a huff once Jimin doesn’t look away for a few good seconds.

“What?” you sigh, turning your head to look at your friend. You instinctively shift backwards once you notice the close proximity.

Jimin silently studies your face for a quick second before offering you a small smile. “Finish the chips already?”

You roll your eyes with a light-hearted scoff. “Yes. I told you. I was hungry. I threw them away while you were looking down the street for the bus.”

Jimin laughs with a nod. “Good job. That was the appetizer.”

You smile to yourself, savoring these small moments with Jimin in your life.

“Are you uh. . . Are you okay?”

You stay silent for a moment before letting out a breathy laughing with a smile, looking up at the back of another passenger’s head. “What do you mean? Of course I’m okay.”

“I’m talking about Seokjin,” Jimin specifies bluntly.

You weren’t quite sure if you were okay. All you could think of were endless questions. Why had he come to your office? Why didn’t he call or text instead? It’s been a full two weeks since you last met up with him about the money envelope.

You look back down at your bag perched on your lap and unknowingly fiddle with the end of your gudetama keychain, a nervous habit of yours.

Jimin feels his own fingers twitch, reaching out towards your fidgety ones before he stops himself.

You had made yourself somewhat clear last time. Jimin felt you draw a certain line. Whether it was fear or genuine dislike, he wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that the two of you had boundaries that he had to keep in order to keep your friendship out of jeopardy.

Jimin sighs, reminding himself that your friendship is more important than his confusing feelings and pulls away his hand.

RRing.

At the sound of the obnoxious rings, you dig into your bag, looking for your phone.

The rings continue, attracting attention from the other passengers on the bus, and it’s only when Jimin feels the glares and hears harsh whispers directed in his direction that he fully turns to you, wondering why you weren’t picking up the call.

You stay still as a statue looking down at your phone. Jimin side-eyes your phone, lips slightly parting in realization once he reads the caller id.

Kim Seokjin.

You stare at your screen, reading the name over and over again, tuning out the rest of the bus who were now thoroughly annoyed.

It is only when the call ends and your family picture pops back up that you let out a shaky breath.

You start to put your phone back in your bag when the rings start again. A series of groans and sighs fill the bus.

Kim Seokjin.

Why was he calling? What else does he have to say?

“Aren’t you going to pick up?”

Your head sharply turns at Jimin’s question.

“What?”

Jimin shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “If you’re debating that much about answering his call, just answer it. If you’re over him, tell him clearly so he knows your definite stance in your relationship.”

You stay silent, pondering for a brief moment and finally get enough courage to swipe your finger across the call button.

“H-Hello?” you answer.

“Good evening,” an unfamiliar voice greets back, making your brows furrow and double-check if this was really Seokjin.

“Uh. . . who is this?” you ask as you see Jimin turning to you from the corner of your eye.

“Ah. Sorry about the inconvenience. This is Jeon Jungkook from Sky Lounge and I am calling from customer Kim Seokjin’s cell phone. Mr. Kim seems severely drunk at the moment and I saw that he called you just a few seconds ago so I figured you were somewhat closely affiliated with him?”

“Oh. . .No. . . Well, used to be, I guess,” you answer with uncertainty at the relation you have with Seokjin.

Have a definite stance in your relationship.

“Ah, well we need-”

“I would like to think I have very little relation to Mr. Kim,” you state. “I hope you can get him home safe. My apologies.”

“Wait Ma’am-”

You quickly tap the red button to end the call and toss your phone into your bag.

“Was that not Seokjin?” Jimin asks confusedly as you let out a long exhale.

You shake your head. “It was. . . but. . .”

He’ll get home safe, right? The Jungkook guy sounded nice over the phone. He’ll hail a cab or something right? But Seokjin seems dead drunk. What if he accidentally sleeps with a girl or gets taken advantage of? He’s currently in a vulnerable state. The bartender also mentioned that Seokjin called himself before he gave a second call. Why would Seokjin call me if he’s drunk? Maybe he wants me specifically to pick him up? Does he have no one else to call? Is that why he had no choice but to call me?

“Was it some manager or something? That rude rich people stu-”

“Sorry Jimin,” you hastily apologize, slamming the red button on the side of the bus, indicating for the bus driver to pull over on the curb. “Let’s get dinner tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

Jimin sputters as you climb over his legs and speedily shuffle towards the open sliding doors.

“W-Wait. I’ll go with you.”

You hop off the bus, Jimin closely behind you as the bus takes off to leave the both of you in the middle of a random sidewalk near downtown.

“Y/N,” Jimin calls, grabbing hold of your wrist to turn you around and forcing you to stop in the midst of your hurried steps.

You’re slightly out of breath when you respond with a quiet ‘yea?’

“Can you please explain what’s going on?” he asks.

You sigh, tugging Jimin’s arm to walk while you explain. “It was a bartender at Sky Lounge. Apparently, Seokjin’s drunk right now.”

You cared. You still cared about Seokjin. Jimin’s lips turn into a straight line as he tries to ignore the bitter feeling entering him.

“I’m sure he’ll get home safe. The bartender will hail a cab for him or call someone else in his contact list.”

That’s rational. That’s the logical facts.

“I. . . I know,” you reply as Jimin catches up the few steps to walk beside you. “But I have to see for myself to get rid of this worrying feeling. What if something happens to him?”

Jimin suppresses the urge to tell you that there’s little to none possibility that someone as tall and intimidating as Seokjin, under the supervision of bartenders at a top-class bar, falls in danger. 

“Yeah. I get it,” Jimin lies.

He doesn’t get it.

You look at google maps pulled up on your phone that directs you to Sky Lounge, around a two-minute walk from where you currently are. You turn your head to your surroundings, finding something quite familiar about the buildings and restaurants in this specific part of downtown.

“There?” Jimin points towards the fancy looking bar near the end of the street.

The banner read in cursive, dark maroon red and white light, Sky Lounge.

“Yeah. Seems to be the place,” you pause, looking around once more. You recognize this street. “Hey isn’t that the five-star restaurant we ate in last time?”

Jimin follows your gaze to the said restaurant that he had paid for a while back. Jimin grimaces at the memory of his father pestering him if he had a girlfriend after that big gap in his credit card at a hot romantic dating spot.

“Yeah,” Jimin answers. “Sky Lounge is a luxury bar which is why all the five-star restaurants and stores are gathered here.”

“The elite town,” you smack your lips, adjusting your bag and walking down the sidewalk, past the flashy lamps and designer brand stores.

Soon enough, you arrive in front of the bar and with no hesitation, you pull open the glass doors only to get pulled by the doors yourself.

These were a lot heavier than you thought.

Jimin snickers next to you, nudging you aside and pulling the doors open with ease.

“I told you, you need to hit the gym,” Jimin mutters from behind you while you hurry into the bar with a half-hearted thanks, eyes scanning the tables and counters with all types of couples, businessmen, and businesswoman mingling and getting drunk.

You squint under the dim lights and spot a lone, slumped over figure at the counter. A tuft of dark brown hair poked out between the figure’s arms as their legs haphazardly dangled from underneath them. You glance at the coat draped over the man’s chair and you immediately recognize it as one of Seokjin’s designer brand coats that he wore the most often.

By often, you meant once every three months.

You quickly make your way over to Seokjin and try to shake him awake.

“Seokjin?” you clarify, grasping his arm and simultaneously shaking his shoulder.

You hear a series of incoherent grumbles and with a sudden jerk of his head, Seokjin’s eyes meet yours and they seem to bore into your soul.

Seokjin laughs in surprise, a whiff of strong liquor drifting into your nostrils and making you scrunch up your nose.

“Y/N,” Seokjin giggles.

Oh, he was extremelyyy drunk.

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “Why’d you drink so much? No, actually tell me later. Let’s get you home first, alright?”

Seokjin’s bottom lip juts out as he wiggles out of your grasp. “I aM a big kid. NO. Man. I’m a big, caaaaaapable man. You see thiS fACe? Wuuurldwide hannsum.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Are you now?”

Seokjin nods with a slight laugh.

You slightly pause in your tugging to properly take a look at him.

Despite the fact that he was drinking right now, it seemed that Seokjin still looked as healthy and unaffected as ever. Quite contrary to you whose hair was tied into a messy bun and eyes were slightly swollen every single morning from tearing up or straight up sobbing yourself to sleep.

How was it possible that a dead drunk man could still be so handsome? His reddened cheeks only made his face glow with a child-like innocence and put an odd emphasis to his lack of pores. The dim lighting of the bar only seemed to make his eyes brighter as he sat near the lights on the shelves. His tousled, messy hair only added to his attractiveness as he grumbled under his breath with those pouty pink lips.

“Are you Miss Y/N?”

You’re pulled out of your daze by a familiar voice. Over the counter stood Jungkook, the employee who had called you.

You immediately nod. “Yes. that’s me.”

Jungkook represses the urge to point out how you made it seem like you weren’t ever going to show up in Seokjin’s life again over the phone and instead shoots you a grateful smile. 

“Thank goodness. I’m Jungkook. The employee who called you earlier. My shift is almost over so I was just about to call a cab. Having someone Mr. Kim knows to pick him up is a lot more assuring.”

“Yeah. I got a little worried, so I just decided to come myself,” you say with a small laugh.

A movement from the corner of your eye makes you turn your attention to Seokjin who was attempting to stand up from his stool. As if in slow motion, Seokjin’s foot gets caught on the stool’s footrest, his eyes still closed from intoxication. His heavy form starts to lean towards you and before you know it, he’s full on falling towards your small frame, your helpless arms reaching out in a pointless attempt to brace yourself against a full grown man’s deadweight.

But, the impact of his body never comes.

Jungkook curiously eyes the other man in the picture who holds Seokjin in an awkward hug, shielding him from your body.

You peer up at Jimin who huffs as he waddles Seokjin back down onto the stool. Keeping his arm supporting Seokjin’s back, Jimin turns to Jungkook.

“Did this guy pay?” he asks.

Jungkook nods with widened eyes at what he just witnessed. “Yes. I charged everything to his card just a few minutes ago.”

Jimin nods and grabs Seokjin’s coat, poorly attempting to shove the drunken man’s limp arms through the holes with one arm while holding him up with the other arm.

You quickly intercept and help hold up the coat for Jimin who gives you a brief smile before successfully draping the coat around Seokjin and buttoning it up.

“Hey, can you help him get on my back?” Jimin asks with a non arguable tone.

You push away the habitual need to protest whenever Jimin gets too caring and instead nod with a slight sigh.

Seokjin whines as Jimin adjusts him on his back with a grunt.

“Have a good evening,” Jimin greets Jungkook, you doing the same as you swing Jimin’s bag over your own shoulder and trail after him.

Jungkook gives you a slight bow and quickly wipes down the counter where Seokjin was slobbering over before leaving. He tilts his head as he takes off his apron with genuine amusement at the relationship dynamic between the three of you.

It was quite obvious you had some kind of history with Seokjin judging from the tone of your voice over the call and after, your reaction. Perhaps an ex? Then, Jimin. Where did he fit in the picture?

Jungkook hums with a shake of his head, checking out with a beep of his employee card. If Jimin wasn’t romantically interested in you yet, he sure will be soon as seen from the way he was constantly putting himself between you and Seokjin.

How interesting, Jungkook muses. There would definitely be heartbreak between that trio.