#// slides over art while I finish up profiles

[rainbowofsinners]

HEAVEN'S ARCHITECT An alternate timeline in which Vox managed enough good deeds in life to offset his sins, earning himself a spot in Heaven (specifically @angelichooves' Demiyah's Heaven) as its media architect. He helps Heaven broadcast its propaganda all across Earth, provides it with the latest technology, as well as advanced, high-tech weapons for its exorcists.

[buggyandthebartoclub]

Your Secret Recipe for Sanji A La Mode PT. 1 A gender neutral reader x Sanji fic Rated E: contains sexual content, oral, Sanji in lingerie, mentions of bondage/bdsm (no actual bondage/bdsm in this fic, will be in part 2), coming untouched, implied that reader is a bit of pervert for Sanji NO food involved sexually the title was just funny to me ok Word count: 2208 Summary: Sanji is WEAK for you, and you wanna see him in something sexy in your bed, good thing you have JUST the recipe for such a delicacy!

A/N: HUGE thank you to the heart pirate homie hoppers for helping me workship this fic ive been struggling with for like 2-3 weeks lol! Thank you @mandiemegatron & @guilty-sugar (I literally wouldnt have gotten this far w/o Mandie TT_TT tysm ilysm)

For a man who exuded strength and pride, your amusement was palpable when you marveled at how effortlessly Sanji succumbed to the delectable flavors of your charm

Whether it unfolded through the savory banter that rolled off your tongue like a well-prepared dish, the subtle graze of your hands during the exchange of your favorite drink, or the delight of your eyes meeting across the deck with a hint of spice in a cheeky wink, every interaction with you seemed to season his demeanor.

Like ingredients harmonizing in a perfect dish, each aspect of your presence had a transformative effect, turning the strong and proud man into a concoction of flavors, a delicious blend responding to the culinary symphony of your allure.

And you yearned to have him in your hands, cradled delicately like the soft dough kneaded under Sanji’s beautiful hands, glazed over with his tears from the sweetness of a heartfelt confession. You wanted to tie him up delicately and hold him together when he inevitably crumbles apart for you.

Thankfully the recipe for this delightful surprise only required a few careful steps, thoughtful timing around your next couple destinations, acquiring suitable bindings for an artful presentation, and of course, selecting the perfect gift for your delicious chef that compliments his profile like a fine wine with a meal.

When the opportune moment arrives, all it takes is a moment to ensure you stay behind with Sanji while the rest of the crew is off exploring the new island allowing you to saunter into the kitchen with the confidence of a skilled chef, Sanji’s gift hidden behind your back as you express a sudden craving for something sweet.

Your eyes sparkle with delight when Sanji jumps at the chance to cook something delectable just for you, his praises already sweetening the air before you even find a seat, discreetly hiding his gift like a secret ingredient.

Alone with him, the kitchen became a culinary stage, and he was already overwhelmed, the heat of flustered emotions rising as you watched him cook with undivided attention, something he often begged for from you but instantly felt overwhelmed by when given it.

By the time he was finished his heart was racing as he presented your favorite treat in an elegant display, a blush growing on his cheeks as he spoke with a smile,

“Something sweet, for my sweet, I hope you enjoy”

Laughing softly, you’d place a hand delicately on his wrist, leaving him simmering in anticipation as you spoke sweetly,

“I’d enjoy anything from you, Sanji”

He’s a bubbling pot of emotions when you withdraw your hand to taste the delicacy he prepared, made only sweeter by his reaction. You grinned and laughed a little as Sanji wobbled away in a daze, letting your eyes trail after him as he fluttered weakly about the kitchen, unable to calm himself down under your weight of your gaze eyeing him up and down like he was what you wanted to eat as he continued to clean up the kitchen.

He’s already light headed before making his way back to you just as you finish up your treat to clear away your plate when he asks,

“How was it, my dove?”

“Oh, dessert was delicious, I was hoping I could have you for the main course though” you'd say with a wink and slide the gift you wrapped so carefully onto the counter, lifting the lid for him to see the contents as he wibbles and wobbles, nose bleeding and flush running up his face as he stutters out a weak

“O-Of course m-mon amour” and promptly faints at your feet

Amused, you’d help prop him up, whether it’s in the kitchen or his room, and tend to the aftermath. Placing his gift gently in his arms, and taking your leave for him to wake up in his own time.

Your anticipation simmered in the air, much like a slow cooked dish, as you savored the prospect of the impending moment. After all, the most exquisite dishes demand patience, and you have been exceptionally patient.

Weeks of careful preparation had transpired to gather the necessary ingredients for this night, treating it like Sanji would a complex recipe, each component thoughtfully chosen and measured.

Returning to your room, you prepared for the real delicacy of the night, dressing in your most seductive outfit and draping yourself loosely with a robe. The ropes, painstakingly dyed blue for this occasion, a gag you tied the week prior, and lovely little blindfold, all laid out like ingredients for a culinary masterpiece before settling in the comfort of your bed to wait out your growing excitement.

The wait would be brief before Sanji was at your door in a panic. His frantic knocks echoed across your room as he poured out one rushed apology after another

“Y/N, I am deeply apologetic for the embarrassing display you had to clean up, I was so overcome with my emotions for you at the sight of such a gift! Please give me a chance to make it up to you, I-I’ll do anything please! It won’t happen again mon amour!”

Smirking as you close your book and set it aside, going to the door, opening to Sanji's pitiful gaze as he falls on his knees, gift in hand as he wraps his arms around your waist and rubs his face into you while you card a hand through his hair and spoke in a deceptively sweet tone

“Oh it’s alright Sanji kun, I was just worried you didn’t like my gift, I spent so long picking it out just for you” trailing off and letting him jerk his head up to look at you and squeeze you tighter, his nose already bleeding a little bit again from just being against your skin

“I’d love anything from you Y/N, I was simply overwhelmed from imagining you wearing something like this for me!”

You grin as you look down at him, “Although I’d be happy to wear something like this for you sometime, I got this for you, Sanji kun” savoring the way his face turns a brilliant red. He pulls back and looks down at the box in his hands, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the box

“This, mon cheri? A-are you sure you want me to wear this?”

Your eyes gleam when you nod, excitement flushing your skin as he takes a deep breath before giving a desperate “Anything you want mon amour!”

You can barely contain your excitement as you guide Sanji up onto his feet and let him into your room, letting your robe fall off your shoulders as you sit back down on your bed, letting the view of your outfit send tremors down Sanji’s entire body, his pants already lightly tented as you eye him up and down, watching him intently as comes to a stop in front of you.

His breathing is ragged and his pupils are dilated and he’s clearly already dying to reach out and touch you, you can tell by the way his hands tremble and he bites his lip, eager to please and hesitant to disappoint he eyes you up and down, licking his lips and shuffling on his feet, looking down at the gift in his hands then back at you, his face still a smoldering red as he clears his throat.

“S-so mon bijou, how would you like me to..?” trailing off uncertainly, fidgeting under your gaze

“Why don’t you try it on for me right now?” you give a cheeky grin, “If you’re shy I can close my eyes for you, my dear”

Sanji’s knees buckled a little and he let out a stuttering breath as he nods shakily “A-ah yes, of course,” stumbling a little when he steps forward to place the gift box beside you on the bed and straightening back out to undress.

You manage to keep your breathing even when he slides off his shoes and even when his jacket comes off, licking your lips as he loosens his tie and begins to expose his sculpted chest one undone button at a time. Tilting your head back to take in the view when he starts to tug off his belt, you bite your lips as he pushes down his pants to reveal miles of deliciously thick thighs.

Your mouth is watering by the time he’s freeing his erection and reaching over to grab the silky blue outfit you spent so long picking out. Grabbing the brilliant blue material of the stockings first, slipping them on with trembling fingers when he reaches for the thong next when reach over and stop him with an airy laugh,

“Actually have to put the garter on first love, here, let me help you”

You pull the garter out of the box and traded him pieces of fabric as he stepped into the piece, his flush growing further down his body and erection straining as you kneel down to clasp the straps to the stockings, you stand back up, handing the thong back to him as you lean in close to press a kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear

“There you go handsome, you’re doing great”

Sanji’s breath is ragged as you step back, watching him slip on the underwear, barely able to contain his throbbing member like you can barely contain yourself as he pulls out the delicate bra top, slipping those sculpted arms through the straps. You can’t help yourself from putting your hands on them and turning him around to get a delicious view of his perfect ass as you hook the bra for him, turning him back around and stepping back to sit down and lean back on the bed to admire how perfectly the blue lingerie complimented his skin, contrasting brilliantly with the blush spread down his body, complimented further by the dribble of blood dripping down his face as he watches you with ragged breath, he tries to follow after you, going in for a kiss but you put a hand on his chest, leaving him leaning over you as you smirk, inches from his lips as you speak

“Ah- Ah, before you get to have anything from me, didn’t you say you’d make it up to me for having to clean up your mess earlier? Maybe you can start by tasting the treat I have for you, and you can use your tongue to clean up the mess you’ve made of me until I feel like you’ve made it up to me.”

Sanji groans and runs his hands down your sides as he shakes his head up and down like a bobble head “Anything for you mon cherie”

And he’s sliding down between your legs, his hands shaking as he grabs at your thighs, kissing and nipping up them till he reaches your underwear, moaning when he inhales your scent, unable to control himself as he licks you through your underwear, the sounds you make send him over the edge he was already straining at and he's coming untouched just from the faint taste of you.

He pants and groans through it, pulling your underwear down through the shudders and your hands are in his hair when starts eating you like a man starved. He’s all soft lips and warm tongue, you’re unable to stay quiet when you feel trembling fingers join his tongue, you’re pulling on his hair and you thrust your hips to ride his face, chasing your pleasure as Sanji drowns in it, completely overwhelmed by everything about you as he swirls his tongue and sucks gently on you.

You’re throwing your head back, eyes closed when you tell him in between gasps

“Yes, Sanji, just like that, good boy”

And he groans into your core, eyes rolling back as his hips stutter and he finds release untouched once again as he brings you to yours.

You let him rest his head on your thigh as you both catch your breath and your running a hand comforting through his hair, it takes you a minute before you’re sitting up, slipping a hand under Sanji’s chin tipping his head back to look at you as you lean forward to reward him with a deep, tender kiss, laughing at his dazed face when you pull back and say

“Did you enjoy your treat Sanji dear?”

He nods weakly in your hand and you make an obvious glance down at his mess and back to his eyes, smiling sweetly when you coo at him

“I’m so glad, but that wasn’t supposed to be about you getting off was it?” He gulps and shakes his head softly in your hand, “So how about you let me tie you up and we can focus on you for a bit, see how many times we need to make you come before you can focus on just me?”

His pupils are blown out and blood drips from his nose as he nods weakly in your hand again, whimpering when you put your lips to his and tell him to use his words, kissing him when he says “yes, please, anything you’ll give me mon amour.”

[sarasa-cat]

Hopeful without being too hopeful.

Maybe some good news for the computer desk area!

Found an "infinitely" positionable freestanding pneumatic arm vesa-mount thinger designed for SMALL light-weight touch screen monitors. This sounds perfect because the 16" cintiq is definitely small as monitors go, and obviously is a pen screen with touch capabilities and needs to be closer to one's body but also needs infinite positioning as a drawing surface.

What i really like about this one is that it is free standing -- no grommet mounting or clamp mounting to the desk. The base of the stand is very low profile and flat. One could probably slide their keyboard over it when stowing it away. (this is the manufacturer and while they are out of stock, I was -- annoying and disappointingly -- able to get it for the same price via, well, yeah, amazon).

I also have a replacement for that broken/stuck clamp-to-desk mounted infinitely positionable (but far more bulky -- booo! plus that ugly clamp will be on the front of my desk -- blerg) that will arrive on saturday. This new item I found looks better and like a more hopeful solution. It should be arriving on sunday.

May the better small-monitor vesa-mount pneumatic arm win! My RSI-crippled limbs need a solution that is perfect.

(and then all the losers go back into boxes and into the car and off to the return processing).

Meanwhile, a little while ago I ordered a splurge item that is actually CHEAPER than the "executive" equivalents that spam up the Nice Looking monitor riser desk shelf market.

The carpenter who is building my massive (very long, deeper than usual, custom sized) desk shelf is going to send me update pix over the weekend as he makes it from his personal woodshop. OMG! That will hide all of the clutter of 10,000 cables for 10,000 peripherals and will also look really beautiful. I hope.

It will be a little work of art that is honestly very reasonably priced given what is out there as more mass-marketed things.

Trying not to get too excited.

Have a few more small "clutter begone" items to finish selecting for the computer desk and then on to the task of decorating the patch of wall behind the computer desk (bookcase shelves are above it -- so the patch of wall is very cozy feeling and very "contained in a bookcase" feeling too!!).

I think I will hang a self-made collage lots of very little demo/exercise paintings or drawings of mine that are either botanical art or sort of classically inspired things. Plus meaningful quotes, although that requires me to improve my lettering skills. >_<

Although, rather than rummage through old demo art or small painting studies of mine from the past, I think I want to fill this space slowly with entirely new stuff. For reasons. ;)

(hm-- maybe the quotes will be done really nicely with digital tools and printed. My calligraphy skills are HORRRRRRIBLE despite my high levels of competence with dip-pen and a pot of ink for art. idk. lol. my handwriting is awful too. orz.)

Still to be decided is whether or not I replace the small desk lamp with something more Aesthetic(tm) and if I hang fairy lights or some other soft ambient lighting in this area. It needs some more cheer because a significant portion of the year is very dark. Hm.

This area should look a lot better and be far more functional (ergonomics) within two weeks or less. (decoration that involves me doing new small paintings will take time but that's part of the fun -- saving little studies and mini demos for my own decor ;)

OKAY.

Next four areas to think about (all immediately adjacent to this computing zone) are:

Bookshelves above the desk and on the side of the desk. OMFG THE MESS AND NONSENSICAL CHAOS! WHat goEs THeRe and WHY? WHAT THE HELL IS CURRENTLY THERE? Why is it such a mess? One of these shelves needs to become a display area that is full of epic good feels.

My little rolling file cabinet and crap holder is bursting with crap. Needs organization that makes sense for the computer desk area.

The L-bump out and the corner dead zone. So much possibility for the corner dead zone. Plants? A little cabinet of curiosities of some of my nature items? But it must be cat friendly. Hm. HM!

DEEEEP storage space under one portion of the desk needs my attention. It's a good place for storing certain art studio items. Might be punted for a few weeks as I clear through and (re)organize other areas.

[yazexplorativepractice]

Critical Appraisal

What is my final outcome? 

My final outcome is a 2D digital iteration, animation and 3D model of an imagined character I have made as part of a DLC for the 2000 Sega game, Jet Set Radio. My character is a young male, playable ally, who would be a part of the main existing group of friendly characters within the game, called the GGs. My character features the iconic roller skates worn by characters in the game, and has the same bold, pop-art quality used by Sega in this release.  I have created an array of concept artwork for the character, including expressions, different poses, as well as the frame-by-frame animation I have made using Photoshop. My reference model, made in Z-Brush helped facilitate my design process and gave 3-dimensional life to my idea, which helped me during creation.  

What went well? 

In this project, I feel that I excelled in the designing and concept art aspect of the process and was able to come up with a dynamic overall look for my character. I enjoyed coming up with ideas for what I was going to create and collaborating with my team at the beginning of the project – ideally I would like to go on to become a 2D artist who will collaborate with other artists to come up with initial character designs, so I was in my element with this part of the brief. As the project progressed, I ended up running into quite a few problems with my 3D asset(s) – I feel that I was eventually able to overcome this successfully, and push through some mental barriers to create a well-rounded outcome by the end of the allotted time.  

What did I struggle with? 

During the 3D creation that was essential to the progression of my outcome, I struggled greatly with topology issues, and being unable to export my model. While I was modelling my character in Z-Brush I felt that the appearance was successful, and I was making good progress – however it was clear that I had made some mistakes throughout the modelling, which by the end of the task, proved un-fixable. My initial plan was to base the paint-over frames on my (auto-)rigged model, to give me a good drawing base, which would provide crucial consistency to my animation. As I was unable to use this as a resource, I had to improvise and use the basic pre-set model in Mixamo as my model. This led to me feeling unsatisfied with my outcome as I continued to work on it and reduced my confidence.  

What would I do differently next time? 

If I were to complete this outcome again, I would take more care when creating my Z-Brush model. I would do this by first of all doing more research before starting to create in Z-Brush, as I was not hugely confident with using this software beforehand. I would have also continuously checked if I had topology errors and cover myself in terms of not running into issues with a corrupted model. This would have meant I could have correctly exported my model, textured it properly, and used it for my 2D animation, making for a significantly less painful process overall. In terms of the 2D side of my outcome, this was my first attempt at making a smooth frame-by-frame animation. I feel that if I were to do this again it would be a lot more visually successful, and I would have maybe made more frames to improve the quality of movement even further, as well as choosing a more dynamic action.  

What did I learn from this project? 

This project taught me a great deal about perseverance – I was able to overcome serious doubt about what I was creating and push to the finish line, at which I ended up creating a decent character profile and animation. I learnt more about what not to do when working in Z-Brush, and that I should always be checking my work rigorously to ensure that I don't run into trouble with my model. I learnt a whole new skill, that being how to create frame-by-frame animations in Photoshop, how to alter the position of a character gradually to simulate movement over a series of slides, and build on the movement using colourful effects. Finally, I have continued to learn more about how to design an impactful character and make creative choices that serve my final outcomes in the right way that is personal to myself as a developing artist. 

[sukunasbabymama]

Portrait.

⌗ Summary: when they bring their s/o to a meeting but the reader gets bored easily and starts sketching them in a notebook.

⌗ Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo, Kakucho Hitto, Ran Haitani.

⌗ Warnings: None, i guess.

⌗ A/N: I can’t draw to save my life so… yeah.

Request.

Sanzu Haruchiyo.

It was a late meeting and you were partying with him, so obviously he just threw you in the back of his car to accompany him to the meeting. Sadly, as soon as his boss starts talking about numbers and shipments you get bored so silently you take the notebook in your boyfriend’s hand and start sketching him, not wanting to disturb them.

As usual, he’s giving his undivided attention to his boss. He slides one hand over your thigh, kneading it softly, when you put your hand on top of his to caress it he looks at you and gasps softly.

“Who’s that?” He softly whispers.

“Haru.” You whisper back.

“He’s hot.” He says and you roll your eyes. “Just like you ba—,”

“Sanzu.” Mikey says in a cold tone, and Sanzu smiles unapologetically.

“Sorry boss, but the sketch is good.” Mikey frowns and walks to you, getting behind your chair and leaning a little to see, he raises his eyebrows with surprise.

You are gripping your man’s hand, nervous of the sudden attention.

“That’s good, mind to make another one of us? The meeting hasn’t finished.” The leader says, patting your head softly, you nod with a smile.

“Yes boss!”

“Call me Manjiro.” He smiles.

“UH? AND I CAN’T?” Sanzu’s loud ass says, you just laugh.

Kakucho Hitto.

It was uncommon for him to even have you in the same room with his members, but sadly Sanzu called him just when he was taking you to buy your art supplies so naturally you ended up on his seat. Since your boyfriend is the third in command, his boss is in the middle of you and Sanzu, you on the left and the other on his right. Not wanting to make Kakucho more stressed than what he already is by having you hear a lot of violent stuff, you take one of your notebooks and start sketching him, who was on the other side of the table explaining stuff that you don’t want to understand.

“Ohhh, that’s pretty.” Mikey says and you smile softly, embarrassed that the most powerful person in the scene is watching you drooling over your man.

“Thank you.”

“Can you draw the gang’s logo here?” Mikey asks, pointing at your notebook.

“Oi! Stop distracting him, babe!” Kakucho says, walking to you.

“Wha— I didn’t!” You say, frowning.

When he gets closer enough to see what got his boss distracted he smiles, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“You made me a lot shorter now, love.” You nod, forgetting about everybody in the room.

“Last night I made you so tall that I wanted to see how this would come out.” You smile sweetly at him and he nods.

“Perfect, like always.” You look down, trying to surpass a giggle from coming out of your mouth.

“Please let the lovebirds go to their house. I can’t stand this.” Kokonoi groans.

“I do.” Mikey says, chewing on his Dorayaki, he looks at you and gives you a close-eyes smile. “Keep going with your love scene.”

“Boss!!”

Ran Haitani.

Today you surprised him by coming to his office to have lunch with him but found him already running to a meeting. Ran, being chaotic as ever, just dragged you with him, saying that y’all would have that lunch together yes or yes.

That’s why now you’re sitting in the middle of him and his brother, all sleepy from the constant numbers that Kokonoi is exposing at the moment. Naturally, you start drawing your man’s side profile on Rindou’s notebook, while playing with Ran’s fingers with your free hand.

After a while, he looks over at you since you haven’t talked not once, and gasps.

“My, my, that’s amazing love,” He murmurs, bumping his elbow to your side softly. You smile.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, so, can you make me with more mu—,”

“Bye.”

“I love you~”

“I don’t.”

Rindou just laughs at y’all shenanigans.

🔖: @saturnmitsuya @milliumizoomi @dai-tsukki-desu @haitanigigi @yunho-leeknow @melaninnntae @keimisan @welkinmoongrab @plutosexc @ccxiia @manjiroarchiviste @aasouthteranoswife @wockeshaa

[diamond-coral]

The Heist- Part One

dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

You were just supposed to rob a government official’s apartment. Not Captain America’s. Right?

Series Warnings: Dark, Rape/Non-Con, kidnapping, strip club stuff, swearing

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a strip club, swearing, committing crime ig, nothing much really.

You sure as hell weren’t a criminal. Well- your record would say otherwise, but it’s not like this was your dream profession. You wouldn’t call yourself a criminal. More of a Walmart Robin Hood; stealing from the rich and giving too...well...yourself. Fine. You were a criminal. But a girl had to pay the bills. At least you got to stick it to the man, right?

You let out a sigh while evaluating your life choices. It wasn’t every little girl’s dream to be breaking into houses and apartments for some cash or valuable possessions. Technically, you were an artist by day, going to art school in New York, living the aesthetically pleasing dream of student loans and a sky-high rent that your shifts at the strip club were hardly making a dent in. But hey, at least one time you got to dance for Captain America, even if he was reluctant and a bit shy. You were certain very few women could say the same.

And that’s how you found yourself in the elevator of a cozy apartment complex, traveling upward toward your new objective. Bella, your roommate, literal partner in crime, and the only good thing that came out of socializing with your coworkers at the club, had given you a new lead of a man who was supposedly loaded and yet lived in an accessible and modest living space. He was single, and worked some sort of political job that left his apartment constantly vacant, specifically on the day you planned for your heist. A perfect target. Some corrupt government worker who wanted to live a ‘low profile life’ yet was dumb enough to settle down in a complex who’s only security was a couple cameras and guards. Bella would easily be able to freeze the frames on the cameras for an hour, giving security the false pretense that the hallways were empty and giving you the perfect window to snatch some fancy watches and some cash.

The elevator doors opened right as you received a text message from Bella.

Cameras taken care of. Now go pay our rent ;)

You exited the elevator only to collide with a blonde woman carrying a laundry basket.

“Oh god, I’m so clumsy I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed while bending down to pick up the clothes that had fallen out of the basket.

You bent down to help her collect her clothing. “No, I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!” You offered a smile as you stood back up, but was met with a calculating gaze as she studied you.

“I’m sorry, are you new around here?” She seemed to catch herself and her demeanor changed. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you around here before.” She gave  a small smile.

“Oh ,I’m just a girlfriend!” you replied. “Just stopping by.”

“Are you Steve’s girlfriend?” she asked while gesturing to the door at the end of the hallway with her head. It was your target’s door. So the political scumbag’s name was Steve. Lovely. “I don’t think he’s home right now.”

Your brain churned out a fast response. “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately for me, he’s always working. I just left my purse, and he gave me his keys to stop by and pick it up.”

“Well I’m just glad he’s found someone with all his work. I know it’s been hard for him.”

The two of you exchanged one last goodbye smile before she stepped into the elevator.

“I’m Sharon by the way. And you are...?”

“Olivia,” you replied, the fake name came out as a second nature as the elevator doors closed.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. 

“Well that could’ve gone worse,” you mutter to yourself as you approach the door at the end of the hallway.

You slipped the lock picker out of your sleeve before checking your surroundings cautiously. A minute after proceeding to insert the pick into the lock, a soft click resounded from the wooden door, and it easily swung open with a turn of the knob.

As you entered through the doorway, you took into account the little bits of vintage decoration that was dispersed amongst more modern furniture. A small Uncle Sam poster, a couple of war antiques, and some old photos with figures that remained unrecognizable in the distance. This government official seemed to have fought either in World War II or Vietnam, probably making him old. You shuddered at the fact you’d called yourself his girlfriend, but Sharon hadn’t seemed to bat an eye. Either way, you didn’t care for antiques, as much as they would have sold for a hefty price. They were probably personal to him and as you walked around, you realized there were quite a few personal items that were no use for you. As you walked into the bedroom a glint from the dresser caught your eyes, and your chest filled with giddiness and excitement as you neared. Three beautiful watches were on display under the mirror that sat atop the dresser. A Cartier that would probably sell for 8,000, a Rolex that would go for 10,000 easily, and then a beautiful older Rolex. With careful hands you snatched up the two newer watches and placed them into the small knapsack you’d been carrying. After consideration, you decided to leave the older one as it probably held a sentimental value and wouldn’t give you as much money as the other two.

You walked around some more, occasionally picking up valuables like solid gold tie clips and little pieces of Stark technology, which you were surprised he had. You had to be filthy rich to support, much less afford, anything made by that war profiteer. You picked up stashes of cash lying around, which seemed to be a lot. This man definitely seemed to use cash more than credit card which wasn’t as common around people your age. As you were rummaging around his study for any pieces of fine art (which you had already gotten two of) or government documents you could sell on the black market, you knocked over a picture frame which had landed on a file that read CLASSIFIED in red letters...right under the six letters that spelled S.H.I.E.L.D. This fucker was a S.H.I.E.L.D official. You were gonna kill Bella for the vague intel.

“Shit I need to get out of here,” you mumbled. Senators and representatives were fine targets, all usually too old and skeevy for you to care about, but a S.H.I.E.L.D. official was dangerous and could get you somewhere worse than jail. Hell, you could’ve accidentally broken into Nick Fury’s place. You were screwed. So screwed. And you needed to get the hell out of this apartment. As you went to put the picture back, you glanced at it, before doing a double take and squinting at it in the dark room. Oh. This was much worse than accidentally breaking into Nick Fury’s place.

The two men laughing with an arm around each other in war uniforms with an arm around one another was innocent enough until you could finally make out their faces. Steve Rogers an easy enough one to make out, especially considering you were on his lap a couple weeks ago, and James Buchanan Barnes looked practically unrecognizable without a murderous glare on his face.

“No,” you muttered before quickly placing the picture back down. 

You once again assessed your surroundings. It all made sense. The subtle 1940’s vibe, the war antiques. Bella had said he did work for the government and that wasn’t a lie. In the corner of the room you spotted a large circular leather case that was partially unzipped. Through the slight opening of the brown leather, the red, blue, and glinting bright silver was unmistakable.

“No, no, no, fuck,” you muttered frantically as you checked your watch. You still had 38 minutes before the security cameras in the hall unfroze. That was enough time to put everything you stole back. You’d much rather work open to close shifts at the club every day for three months straight than get fucked over by Captain Fucking America. 

You scrambled out of the study, moving to the living room first to put back the authentic paintings. You grabbed a stool from the high bar counter in the kitchen so you could rehang the medium sized work of art. Your mind was racing. This had to be karma for all the horrible shit you’d done in the past. God decided he had enough of your delinquent shenanigans and set you marching straight into the arms of America’s righteous hero. As you finished hanging the painting you spun around on your heel, completely forgetting you were on a wobbly wooden stool. Your heart stopped for a moment before you regained your footing. Carefully climbing down the stool, you almost missed the subtle turn of a lock coming from the door.

Oh you were so done for. Your limbs flew everywhere as you scrambled to the bedroom, sliding under the bed right as you heard the door open. The rumble of Steve Roger’s voice was clear as he talked on the phone and it cut through the walls from the living room.

“Well yea Buck, obviously Tony’s gonna be a little cold toward you. Not that I blame him. I’m just thankful he didn’t start an entire civil war over it. I guess it’s just a good thing we’re not war criminals.” He let out a chuckle before pausing. “Hey Buck? Yeah. I’m gonna have to call you back.” Another pause and you heard some rummaging around. “Why? I think my apartment was just broken into. I gotta go down to security. Yeah, thanks bud.” 

Steve hung up and you heard some angry muttering as he walked into his room. From under the bed you saw his tennis shoes and dark jeans as he paced at the foot of the bed. You covered your mouth to stop your anxious breathing, afraid he’d hear you from your hiding spot. 

The few minutes he spent in his room felt like eternity before he stomped out and you heard the opening and closing of another door as he exited the apartment. You crawl out from under the bed, your head spinning as you attempted to think of a way out of your predicament.

The window.

Quickly and quietly, you stood up and made your way to his bedroom window, looking out for a fire escape and letting out an annoyed huff when you saw none.

‘Maybe there’s one for the living room window,’ your brain chimed.

You rushed to the living room, scooping up the two watches and your empty knapsack on your way, and almost screamed with joy at the sight of the fire escape next to the window. Your fingers curled around the bottom of it and give it a sharp tug up, opening it just enough for you to squeeze through. 

Just as you were about to lift your leg over the ledge and climb down the stairs to sweet sweet freedom, being able to forget about everything that ever happened tonight, a large hand wrapped around the back of your neck and wrenched you back with such force that you tumbled backwards and landed on your butt.

He was massive. Six feet of pure muscle towered over you as you trembled from your position on the floor. He squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in, blue eyes practically cutting through the darkness, and you let out a small whimper.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?”

[teacupcollector]

The Undead Kind of Love: Part 1

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Y/N’s art project lands her in Romania she is met with very peculiar circumstances. Such as a weird old man speaking mythical nonsense, murders of both people and animals, an oncoming threat to her life, as well as her mysterious yet very hot next door neighbor with a weird obsession with beetroot juice.

You came to the Romanian capital for your college class. Your major was in Art History and you found that throughout your class you enjoyed different types of Folk Art and you enjoyed Romanian Folk Art the most. So you decided to sign a slip to study abroad to a country of your choosing and so you chose Romania. You were tasked to study the art and make your own as well as write an essay on the culture you encountered on your trip. So here you are, in Bucharest sitting at a small park bench, food in hand which had a beautiful view of ‘The Arch of Triumph’ You had your small notepad that you use to take notes on what you see for your essay but as of right now you are doodling with the infamous arch way as the sole subject. As you finished your food you begin to pack up and put your pencil and notebook away then stand up. Your next stop was the “Dimitrie Gusti National Village Museum” It is about a seven minute walk from where you are now so you begin your journey.

With your backpack over your shoulder you begin your seven minute trek when something caught your ear. It was coming from ahead of you as you make your way to the entrance of the museum. “Pleacă de aici (Go away!)” A man cried. He seemed out of his mind! He was yelling and touching patrons in an effort to diverge them away from somewhere. “trebuie să pleci acum (You must leave now!)” You weren’t sure of what to do so you just stood there staring. That was your first mistake. He immediately made eye contact with you and charged in your direction. He was spitting nonsense and you couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Părăsi! Părăsi! (Leave! Leave!)” You understand that word so as you go through your imaginary index cards you have for the Romanian language you ask “De ce? (Why?)” The man seemed confused at what you were asking. “Mort! (Dead!)” You look at him even more confused and he sighs angrily “Vampire! Here Vampire!” You look shocked. You knew this man was crazy but not this crazy! He begins to grab on to your arm in a firm grip when he is suddenly ripped off of you. “Destul! (Enough!)” You see a pair of what looked like officers pulling the man away from you. “Atenție! ( Be careful!)” The man cries. “nu ieși noaptea! (Don’t go out at night!)” The police officers are taking him away in the direction of the main road. “Morții merg pe timp de noapte (The dead walk at night!) That was the last words you heard until he was out of ear shot. A wave of strangeness incased your entire body. You felt uncomfortable so you decided to leave. ‘I’ll come here some other time...’ You think to yourself as you find yourself walking back toward the main road and away from the museum and the woods that surrounded it.

Your walk home was unnerving. You wouldn’t say you were a paranoid person or even a believer in the paranormal but the man did strike a fear in you. You use to love vampires when you were a kid. You dressed up as one for three years straight for Halloween. You went through that weird Twilight phase of putting dots of sharpie on your neck and drinking red Kool-Aid in middle school. To say you weren’t a vampire fan would be a lie but that man seemed to know more. I mean you are in Romania so it is to be expected? You sigh as you get closer and closer to your apartment complex. Your backpack seems to be getting heavier with each step you took up the stairs. You enter an outdoor hallway that is connected to the stairs you just went up and look back to the world behind you. As the chill of the Autumn air sets in and you shiver. You turn to your door and take out your keys that were provided for you by the school. 

As you jiggle the lock you hear a door open next to you. You look to your left and see a man step out. He is wearing a brownish leather jacket and a red shirt underneath. He has a cap on top of his head as his umber brown hair surrounds his face. His side profile was a chefs kiss. He had a well defined jawline accompanied with just the right amount of facial hair from what you could see his face stood stern and unmoving until they landed on you. He had equally stern baby blue eyes as he stared into you (E/C) ones. His eyes seem to have a storm behind them. He had an intimidating look to him and the air around him was intense. You felt like you couldn’t breath. His eyes were like a black hole and they were sucking you in but you weren’t sure if you wanted to escape. That brief moment felt like a life time as you are swallowed by those broken eyes. He just looks at you and walks away.

When you got inside you decided to do a little research. Your roommate has yet to return so you decided to use their computer. You go to the local online news paper and begin to look at some articles. You go to the settings in the corner of the screen and hit the translate button. As the site reloads you begin to read. Multiple headlines flash across the screen as you scroll until a specific one catches your eye. “Local Farmer Finds Cattle Slaughtered” You scroll down to see pictures of said cattle. They are strangely skinny and their eyes are sunken in, there is a chunk of meat missing on a few parts of its body -mainly around the neck area- Scrolling down more you see the museum you were suppose to go to. There was a picture of the man you encountered holding onto somebody. Looking closely you can see that it is you! You didn’t realize that you were being photographed. Luckily it was of the back of your head so no one saw your face, but it would be a cool story to tell to your friend later. As you continue to stare at the man you decide to do even more digging. You decide to look up vampires and the influence they have in this culture. What you found was interesting but you weren’t sure if it was accurate. Then again how can something mythical be accurate? You decided to write down the name of a library that is close to your apartment complex and head there tomorrow. You decide to exit and shut off the computer putting it back on the coffee table where it belongs. You get up and decide to see what you have in the fridge. Turns out there was a whole lot of nothing. ‘I really need to go to the market tomorrow...’ You think to yourself as you reach for your phone looking at different take out places. You choose the type of food you wish to eat and made sure to write down the pronunciation of each items on the menu so you can be sure to say it correctly to the best of your abilities. By the time you are done ordering your roommate walks in and gives you a small wave. You wave back to them before continuing to wait for your food. You look out the sliding door of your balcony to see the sky is pitch black. You feel a shiver go up your spine and make your way to the sliding door and shutting the blinds. You take a few steps back and calm your breathing. You don’t know why you feel so worked up over nothing but you guess that your paranoia is getting the best of you. You walk to your roommates room and knock on the door. You hear a quiet ‘come in’ so you open the door. “Hey I just wanted to let you know that I got us some food and it will be here soon.” They smile and nod and you exit the room shutting it behind you. You don’t know how long it has been but you started dozing off on the couch when you heard a knock on the door. You quickly get your wallet and approach the door opening it. You expected your food to be here. What you didn’t expect is the person holding your food in their hands. “Oh it’s you!” You exclaim making the man you saw earlier today flinch. You blush red in embarrassment. “Sorry Uh-” You begin to try and speak some Romanian but the man cuts you off. “Your food got delivered to my place...” You look even more shocked. “Oh right. I’m so sorry!” You pop your head around the corner of the door way looking for the delivery person. “Where did they go?” You ask looking up at him. “They left...” He murmurs. “They wouldn’t have left without payment... Did you pay for my food?” You ask suddenly feeling guilty. He nods. “Why don’t you come i-” “No it’s fine.” He says holding out the bag of food to you. You look between him and the food. As you look closely you can see his hand. His hands look tough, fingernails are well kept with veins protruding and leading up his arm, but the thing that caught your eye the most was how his fingertips and some of his hand was stained red. “Is that your blood!? Are you okay? Did you hurt you hand?” You ask taking the food in which he takes his hand and wipes it on his jeans even though there is no liquid on it. What ever it was you hoped it wasn’t blood because it must have been there for a while to have stained it. “No I didn’t hurt my hand. I spilled some beet root juice.” He says quietly. “Oh... Okay...” You say slightly weirded out. “Well good night.” He says before walking away. You are stood there for a moment before you call out “Good night! How do I-” You hear the sound of his apartment door slamming shut. You were debating on going over there to say something but your thoughts were interrupted by your roommate calling out to you. “Hey what are you doing with the door wide open? Is the food here?” She asks and you sigh “Yeah I’m coming in.” You say as you step back into the apartment and shut the door. A/N: I used Google Translate for the Romanian So I’m sorry if it is off. A/N: This story is for a writing challenge hosted by @lokithealligator A/N: The bolded words is number 46 in a prompt list made by @pitaparka​         -Please check both of them out they are amazing!

[petri808]

Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

The tit for tat game was well known to both of their top confidants and lieutenants because it had been going on ever since Natsu and Lucy broke up. Plus, it was hard to get around such knowledge considering most of them came from the same neighborhoods. These intrigues ebbed and flowed like waves. Months could pass by without any interactions between the two, at other times they’d go back and forth continuously until one of them finally gave up, and on the odd occasion ended in a huge fight that led to another round of ignoring each other. Up until now, it had been kind of amusing to watch them torture each other because it was better than a drama shows on television. But that didn’t mean Natsu, and Lucy’s friends didn’t worry about one or both being truly hurt one day because of it.

“It’s fine,” Natsu rolled his eyes as Gray chastised him after the soapland incident. The two men were at Natsu’s home after work hours and supposed to be relaxing. But clearly his friend didn’t want to drop the subject. “What’s the big deal?”

“Dude, you let yourself be blindfolded in a public space! Have you forgotten what kind of business we’re in? What if it had been an assassin instead?”

“Oh, that’s just ridiculous. We’re talking about Lucy’s company, and I trust their security measures because she has just as much to lose if a hit took place there.”

“Still, you should be more careful, at least take a bodyguard with you…”

Natsu’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. “And what, so they can watch the show? We got any voyeurs on the payroll? Cause I can’t think of anyone here who’d wanna see another guy getting his balls fondled!”

Gray ran a hand down his face. “So not the mental image I wanted. You’re missing the point.” He sighed. “Natsu you are the head of this clan, and your safety is my top priority.”

“I get it, I get it,” Natsu drawled.

“And frankly,” Gray continued, “you’ve become distracted by her lately.”

“Tch! No, I haven’t!”

“Yeah, you are. You think I haven’t noticed? I know you drive by her place sometimes. I know you’ve followed her to that coffee shop she likes to frequent. But ever since her employee was robbed, things have escalated again.”

“You’re imagining things and apparently spying on me. I’m just keeping an eye on the competition.”

“Watching over you is my job! That’s not spying.” Gray crossed his arms. “And oh, it’s no doubt that you’re keeping an eye on her. That’s why you went to Katsunuma’s party and to soapland too. The problem is you’re getting sloppy and sloppy gets people killed.”

Natsu groaned. “Are you done yet? We’re supposed to be enjoying the baseball game, not psychoanalyzing my life.”

“Almost.” Gray placed a hand on his friends’ knee and leaned in. “Natsu, you’ve been chasing that tail since high school, just lock her down and convince her to work together already.”

Natsu snorted a laugh. “Gray we all grew up together, so what in all these years makes you think that’s a possibility? You know damn well Lucy’s not a woman you can control without her consent.” Natsu knew that, and frankly he loved that part of her. In fact, it made him even more fired up whenever he thought about it, just like a treasure you don’t just find but must win at the end of a game. “I’ll find a way, some day.”

“Well until that day arrives, could you promise me you’ll be more cautious?”

“Fine, fine,” Natsu waved his hand. “I’ll back off of Lucy for now.”

“Good.” Gray relaxed back onto his recliner thinking the drama was over.

“However, there is a new guy I want surveillance placed on.”

“Who?”

“The bartender from the party.”

Gray groaned. “Seriously? Why? He’s just a bartender!”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Was he spiking the drinks or something? Dealing drugs at the party?”

“Maybe.”

Gray huffed. “You really gonna try that? Do I look like an idiot? This is just straight jealousy talking.”

“I don’t care! I want someone to dig up what they can on the guy!”

“No, what you wanna know is if he fucked Lucy that night!”

Natsu jumped up with his fists clenched. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!” Gray stood up and matched his boss’s energy. “Unless you give me a damn good reason to check into him, I’m not wasting my guy’s time! You might be the boss, but don’t you fucking forget who you’re talking to! I’m not some punk off the streets!”

Realizing he was taking things too far, Natsu sat back down. “Sorry.”

Gray sighed and plopped back down too. “I only joined because you asked me to and you’re my best friend, then I helped you build this new empire, so I’m just as invested in protecting it as you are. But Natsu, personal emotions have led to the downfall of many in this business, and as a friend, I’ll check you any time I think you’re going to far.”

“You’re right…” Natsu sighed too. “She just gets me so worked up.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gray laughed, but stopped when Natsu glared at him. “Sorry, it slipped out.”

“But I swear, there’s something suspicious about him. When he saw me, I thought he just reacted because he thought I was Lucy’s boyfriend or something, but the more I think about it, he might have recognized me.”

“Well, that wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious either.”

“True. But the look in his eyes just made me wonder.”

“Alright…” Gray groaned, “if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll have someone do some digging. So, you said he has orange hair and glasses, and the name on his tag was Loke?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s an unusual name, shouldn’t be too hard to check on.”

Over the course of a couple of weeks, Gray sent out feelers for any information on this Loke guy. Katsunuma junior gave them their first small lead that the bartender had worked the party through a local food catering company. That catering company was a legitimate business who had both full-time staff as well as independent contractors brought in per event as needed. Loke had been one of the latter. From there Gray obtained a last name, de Lioncourt.

According to his sources at the local precinct, Loke de Lioncourt had no rap sheet, no prior dealings with police, and for all they knew was an average citizen. The man’s Line blog profile listed him as a 28-year-old, Japanese/French American, model and bartender, and it was filled with pictures from events, parties, as well as many gorgeous women— none of which contained Lucy. But as Gray trolled through the man’s feed, he did come across one person he recognized and passed the information along to Natsu.

“Wow, she’s in a bunch of photos,” Natsu mumbled as he scrolled through the blog.

“Well, considering Cana’s reputation are you surprised. Parties and alcohol are the two things that woman lives for.” Gray laughed. “Now see, this makes sense to me. Lucy and him, not so much.”

“Tch… still pisses me off he even tried.”

“Lucy’s a free woman, she can go out with whoever she wants to.”

“We’ll see about that,” Natsu mumbled low.

“What was that?” Gray asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing.”

“Better be nothing, cause this is a dead end. He’s just a flirty bartender. It’s how they make tips.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Natsu sat back in his chair. “So, back to business. What this I heard about some missing stock?”

“Oh, right. One of the warehouse clerks noticed a shortage, but when I checked with Yura, he said the books were fine. I had him show it to me, and it appears the numbers were just inverted by accident. So, instead of 185 kilos, it’s supposed to be 158 kilos.”

“Did you talk to the clerk again? Does he have any history of messing up like this?”

“Nah, he’s one of our better clerks.”

“Just keep an eye on it.”

“Sure thing, boss. By the way, have you seen Gajeel today?” Gray questioned. “I haven’t seen him.”

“He called me this morning said he wasn’t feeling well, thinks he ate something bad for dinner last night.”

“Tch, seriously? Thought he had an iron stomach?”

Natsu shrugged. “Must’a been some bad sushi or something. We ain’t got much happening today, so it’s fine. Anything else? I got some stuff I need to finish.”

Gray tapped his chin. “Just a reminder you have an appointment with our tech guy dropping by later this week to go over some upgrades on the system.”

“Like I’m supposed to know anything about that stuff, it’s what I pay him for.”

“You still gotta approve it,” Gray shrugged and took his leave.

Once the man was completely out of the office, Natsu opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a nondescript box he’d hidden inside. He grinned to himself. It was time to make another special delivery. Even though he’d told Gray he was backing off the whole Lucy and Loke subject, there was no way he was gonna let it slide. Natsu didn’t care if the man seemed legit, and he wasn’t the first nor would probably be the last that he’d eventually scared away. And besides, being a Yakuza boss had a lot of down times too, easily filled with having a little fun.

Today’s little care package was being sent to Lucy by a courier service and Natsu just had to drop it off to the delivery company. Just a normal company like Kuroneko Yamato so it wouldn’t rouse too many suspicions. It was turning into a fun game for him just coming up with ideas of what he could do to rile Lucy up or irritate this Loke guy. Natsu chuckled to himself. So far, his favorite prank was a box of small sized condoms and a bottle of enhancement pills that he’d had delivered to Loke while on the job at another party. He’d even snuck in to watch it delivered, gaining a good laugh when the man took a peek in the box and frowned at its contents.

It was childish, but Natsu didn’t care. Every day for two weeks now, something new was sent to Loke. Random gifts like children’s candy to a toy gun, a big bottle of lubricant wrapped in a bow, a week’s worth of meals sent for lunch one day, even an empty box with rocks inside it just to drive the man crazy wondering who in the world was sending them. Lucy too wasn’t immune to his pranks, though hers had a different feel to them. Flowers with no note attached. Tickets to a canceled show he made up. A supposed dinner invite from Loke that wasn’t real— okay that was to test her, but she didn’t fall for it. And today’s little care package fit right into his prank scheme.

Natsu dropped off the package at a Kuroneko Yamato office with the address instructions already filled out and paid the company’s employee extra to keep their mouths shut. ‘She’s gonna kill me one day,’ he laughed to himself as he rode back to his office. ‘If it’s suffocation by her boobs it wouldn’t be a bad way to go!’

“Anymore stops sir?” The driver asked Natsu.

“Nope. Back to the office.”

He looked at his watch. The package should be arriving at Lucy’s office within the hour. Give or take another to open it, and by 4pm he would be receiving another phone call. Maybe he won’t answer it. Oh, that would piss her off even more! ‘Well, if she’d just take the hint...’

The afternoon was supposed to be mellow at headquarters that day. No shipments, and no appointments. But when Natsu got back, another general in the organization named Jellal Fernandez came to his office to inform him of a problem. One of the new local restaurants in their territory was refusing to cooperate and he wanted to know how Natsu wanted it handled. They were right in the middle of discussing it, when Natsu’s office door flew open with a loud bang!

In stomped Lucy who immediately threw a box at his head, causing Natsu to duck and Jellal to pull his gun.

“Don’t!” Natsu screamed at his general and motioned for him to stand down, to which the man complied. “Do you have a death wish Lucy!”

“Get. Out.” She snapped at the general. “Get out! This is between me and your boss!”

Jellal looked to Natsu, who nodded his head to scram. “I got this, don’t worry.” The man holstered his gun and left, but Natsu could see he’d stayed right outside of the now closed door.

“I take it you didn’t like the gift,” Natsu pretended to stay calm.

“Gee, me throwing it at you give you that impression? I know it’s you sending all these damn deliveries to me and Loke. That needs to stop now!”

He crossed his arms and scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Play dumb all you want. Just stop! Why are you even doing this?!”

“Take a guess,” he sneered back.

“I could’ve sworn we were adults now, but apparently I’m the only one who grew up. Stay out of my love life Natsu!”

“So, you admit you’re sleeping with the guy!”

“That’s none of your damn business! I can fuck whoever I want!”

“Not as long as I’m alive,” Natsu growled back.

Lucy crossed her arms. “That could be arranged.”

“Is that a threat?!”

“Yes! If you don’t stay out of my love life!”

“A woman shouldn’t be sleepi—”

“Don’t you finish that sentence!” Lucy grabbed a stapler that was within reach and chucked it at Natsu’s head. “Stop trying to control me!”

“Are you crazy?!”

At that moment, Gray barged into the room. He’d heard the screaming from the other side of the office, and when he got close enough to see Jellal standing outside the door, he became alarmed. Why would a general leave Natsu vulnerable! The man told him their boss told him to leave, but as the sounds inside escalated, Gray couldn’t wait anymore.

“Stop it!!” Gray got between them. “What are you two doing! Lucy you shouldn’t be here!”

“Then tell your damn boss to leave me the fuck alone!” Lucy spat back. “Ask him how he’s been harassing Loke and me!”

Gray turned to his boss with a groan. “Natsu, we talked about this!”

“Tell Gray what you been doing!” Lucy pressed. “Show him the stupid packages you send!”

“What packages?” Gray looked to Lucy, then repeated the question as he stared at his boss. “What packages?”

“Tch,” Natsu crossed his arms, “it’s not even that bad.”

Lucy stomped over to where the box fell and picked it up, pulling the contents out. “Bullshit!” She snapped as she held up a very racy, red nightie with flame prints, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, and a large dildo. “See this shit?!” Lucy shook the floppy latex toy at Gray before chucking it to the ground again. “He includes messages too,” then handed the man a folded piece of paper.

Gray read it aloud, “to make up for what playboy lacks. Had it custom made to my size wink wink. Ugh, seriously man,” he tossed the letter.

Natsu shrugged. “I was just having fun.”

“This is the yakuza, not a daycare!” Gray snaps. “I’m not here to babysit the boss so he stops harassing the competition! There’s more important business to worry about!”

“That’s right listen to Gray,” Lucy sneered.

Gray turned to her. “Oh, you ain’t innocent either, so don’t even try it. You both do things to purposely rile the other up and get mad when there’s consequences. Stop it!” He looked back and forth between the two. “Just stop it already!”

Natsu and Lucy looked away from the man with scowls on their faces. Neither wanted to admit he was right.

“Jellal,” Gray called out. When the man entered, he instructed him to escort Lucy out of there. “Next time, just call me instead. It’s best you two just stay away from each other. Got it?!”

“Yeah,” Lucy grumped.

“Got it?!” Gray questioned his boss.

“Yeah,” Natsu mumbled.

“Fucking like high school,” Gray ran a hand down his face in irritation. “You two need therapy.”

[annabethy]

grocery stores

in which annabeth is in a grocery store and accidentally leaves her phone with the most attractive boy she’s ever seen,, percabeth,, accidentally deleted the ask lol

Annabeth has never been someone to particularly enjoy shopping. It’s too boring in her opinion, just walking around a store with people that seem just as done with life as her, and she usually does whatever it takes to get out of it.

When she gets to the point that even she can’t scrap up something to eat out of her fridge, she decides it’s probably for the best that she goes shopping just this once. Annabeth doesn’t even bother changing out of her clothes, just throwing a sweater to protect against the biting wind and calling it a day.

The walk through the grocery store is exactly as she expects it to be. It’s entirely too cold in the produce section, and she doesn’t think that she’s ever been so bored in her entire life. She tries to hurry along as fast as she can, but there seems to be someone standing in front of every single item that she needs, so it takes a lot longer than it probably should.

It’s not until she’s dumping an armful of items onto a conveyor belt that she decides grocery shopping may not be as bad as she initially thought because the boy standing at the register is downright beautiful.

Annabeth’s fingers twitch as though compelled to pull her phone out of her pocket and take a picture to send to Piper – Piper would no doubt appreciate the art that is the boy’s face – but she restrains herself. There’s still two people in front of her so she settles for letting her eyes trace over his figure while he’s distracted.

His hair is black and looks incredibly soft, and she wants nothing more than to run her fingers through it. She can see his side profile, and his jawline is sharp enough to cut. Stubble lines his chin, and the muscles of his arms ripple with each movement to scan an item. Annabeth is by no means looking subtly, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Annabeth is so deep in thought, biting her lip, that she doesn’t even notice him looking up until his eyes lock on hers. She jumps at the shocking gaze he gives her; his eyes are a vibrant green, and even from where she stands, she can see the dark green outline of his irises. He appears a bit shocked, his movements helping his customer faltering slightly before he resumes and looks away from her with no reaction.

Her face flushes deeply, and she considers leaving her stuff and simply walking away before deciding that would be even more damaging to her ego. It’s not long at all before she’s at the register and the boy – Percy, she reads – starts grabbing her items.

“So,” Annabeth starts, biting her lip. She wants to say something to ease the tension she can feel quickly building. “I don’t know if you saw, but…”

He smiles tightly, interrupting her with the piercing beep of the scanner. “I saw.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking at you, though. I was just–” She cuts off, aware of how lame her excuse seems.

“Looking through me?” he suggests kindly.

She opens her mouth to respond but snaps it shut when she notices the gleam in his eyes. She brushes her hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of what she’s wearing, before she places her phone down on the counter just so she has something else to do than look at him.

“Sure,” she says. “Let’s go with that.”

“Was the image behind me fascinating?” he asks, lazy and amused.

“It was absolutely enthralling,” she says sarcastically.

“Yes, my… not-face tends to do that to people.”

Annabeth laughs lightly. “Your face is not that good,” she lies.

“That’s why you were staring at me the second you set your stuff down, right?”

“I was not.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not my fault,” she defends. “You have a nice jawline.” He pauses his movements to blink at her. “Jawline?”

“Uh.”

“It’s alright,” he tells her, resuming the scanning. She notices that he seems to be going slower than he was minutes ago, and she tries not to think much of it. “I don’t mind when cute people stare at me.”

“Oh? Do you get lots of cute people staring at you?”

“None as cute as you,” he says. His eyes burn into hers, and she’s confident that he’s just as captivated by her as she is by him. “You’re something else.”

“You can tell that from a minute of conversation?”

“I’m good with words,” he says.

That, you are, she thinks. He’s making her feel butterflies in her stomach with nothing more than the simplest of words. He’s finished scanning her things, and her smile drops when he tells her the total, disappointed that their fleeting interaction is almost over.

She grabs the bag from his hand once her card goes through, and her fingers tingle as they touch his slightly. Annabeth half expects him to say something more, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just smiles kindly, and she takes a step back.

“Have a good day,” he says.

“You too,” she says as she turns. Though she’s disappointed, she can’t help the excitement that’s coursing through her. Annabeth’s already thinking of if she should go back the next day under the guise of forgetting something, and again the day after. It’s silly but it was genuinely one of the best interactions she’s had in a while.

She’s halfway down the block when she decides to text Piper about the attractive boy she’s just met, so she moves the bags to one hand to grab the phone from her hoodie’s pocket with the other. She’s thinking of how to word it as she reaches into the pocket, and–

The phone isn’t there.

She stops dead in her tracks as panic begins to take over. She’d had it when she started talking to Percy. She set it down on the counter before paying and then… she had never picked it up.

“Great,” she hisses, turning to look over her shoulder. It only takes her two seconds to decide she has to go back. She’s already imagining how stupid she’s going to look for leaving her phone right in front of him, and she really didn’t feel like embarrassing herself any further in front of him.

When she talks back in the sliding doors of the small store, he’s no longer by the registers. Instead, he’s wandering the aisles, seemingly organizing some of the shelves. She desperately doesn’t want to, but he’s the easiest way to find her phone, so she accosts him slowly.

She’s about to tap him on the shoulder when he turns around, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “There you are! I was expecting you.”

She shifts her feet. “Yeah, I left my phone here on accident and just need it back.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what is identical to her phone, waving it in her face. “You mean this phone?”

“That’s the one,” she confirms. She reaches towards it but he pulls away before she can grab it.

“How do I know this is yours?” he asks teasingly.

“You watched me set it down earlier.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “A dear customer pointed it out several minutes after you left, actually. I have no way to know if it’s really yours.”

She scowls, trying to snatch it. He just moves further. “Give me my phone, Percy.”

He laughs at her attempt to say his name scathingly. “What’s your name?”

She crosses her arms. “Annabeth.”

“Well, Annabeth, I’m going to need you to prove that this is your phone.”

She sighs, exasperated, but he says it with a smile on his face so she knows he’ll give it back soon enough. She decides to play along with his game. “How do you expect me to do that?”

He hums, pretending to think. “Perhaps you can give me your number so I can call it from my phone. You know, to see if it’s really yours?”

“Subtle.”

“I wasn’t aware we were going with subtle today, Annabeth. I mean, the way you were staring at me earlier wasn’t very subtle.”

Her lips pull up in a smile. “I guess I have to give you my number then. So you can make sure it’s really my phone because you totally didn’t see me set it down earlier.” Percy chuckles, and she finds she really appreciates the way he makes the room seem brighter. “I guess so.”

And she does. He wastes no time in putting her number in his phone as she whispers the numbers into his ear, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when he saves her as a contact. He presses call, and, of course, her phone starts to ring in his hand.

She snatches it from him, and he lets her this time. She picks it up and slides the bar to answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Annabeth? From the grocery store?”

“It is,” she says, eyeing him with a grin that matches his. “Am I good to have my phone back now?”

“Not quite. I just need one more piece of information. To make sure this is really your phone and all.”

“Giving a ten digit phone number wasn’t enough?”

“Odds of guessing it are too high,” he says.

“You must not be good at permutations then.” “I don’t know what a permutation is.”

Annabeth bites her lip to stifle a giggle. “What did you have to ask?”

“Well, now that I have your phone number, I was wondering if you’d like to grab dinner sometime. My treat.”

“Dinner?”

“Or lunch, or breakfast. I’ll even do brunch.” With that, he hangs up the call so that he can step closer and talk to her directly. “It’s your choice, Annabeth. And you really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Who says I don’t want to?”

“I’m just giving you the option to say no.”

He’s looking at her with such hope, and she doesn’t think she has it in her to say no because he’s gorgeous and kind and has an amazing sense of humor. She thinks that it has the chance to turn into something so full of love if she gives it a chance.

“I’d love to,” she says.

“Breakfast, lunch, or brunch?”

“What happened to dinner?”

“We can do all four of them,” he says.

She grins, her chest blossoming with warmth at this perfect boy standing before her. “I’m holding you to that.”

Percy doesn’t disappoint.

[watchmegetobsessed]

The art and the artist - Harry Styles

the devil works hard, but im working harder lmao! this bts vid got me whipped and ended up writing this little something. enjoy! also, i did not proofread this so... mi scusi!

word count: ~1.5k

masterlist

gif by @stylesinthewild​ !

The warm Italian sun is beaming through the floor to ceiling windows, gently caressing Harry’s bare shoulders and his face that’s squished into the pillow. Gentle fingers are running up his spine, the feather-like touch slowly bringing him back into reality from his slumber, but he keeps his eyes shut, humming to himself at the sensation of those delicate fingertips running all the way up to his neck, they draw around the curl of his ear before moving over to his cheekbones, through his nose, down to his perfectly shaped, pink lips that slowly pull into a lazy smirk.

“Morning, Sunshine,” you whisper with a sweet smile tugging on your lips and when his eyes flutter open and his green irises meet yours, his heart skips a beat.

You’re lying next to him, on your side, still naked after the passionate love making from the previous night. The covers only run up to your navel, leaving your chest exposed to his greedy morning eyes.

It’s a view he can easily get used to wake up to every morning, your slightly puffy eyes from the sleep, the bright smile on your oh so kissable lips and your smooth skin, just screaming to be touched everywhere and he can’t wait to roam your body like it’s the first time he gets to feel you up. It’s not, he has explored your body over a million times, he knows every little freckle and wrinkle, probably more than you do, but he can never grow tired to love on you every given opportunity.

Pushing himself closer he steals a lingering kiss before letting his head fall back into the pillow, his green orbs staring into your eyes so intently, it feels like he is reading your soul.

“What do you feel like doing today?”

It’s the third day of your week-long vacation with him, your little getaway from everyone and everything, just the two of you in a magical Italian village in a hidden villa near the crystal clear ocean. You’ve been exploring the place since your arrival, wanting to see every tiny sight the village has to over you, but there’s only so much to see. Today brought the chance to slow down a little and take a breath, relax and unwind.

“We haven’t even used our pool yet,” he states matter-of-factly and you nod into the pillow, turning to your stomach and resting your head on your hands. Harry’s eyes wonder down your body, his gaze lingering over the curve of the side of your breasts as they are now pressed against the mattress, the lines of your ribs, the small daisy tattoo just under the line where your bra usually rests, the valley of your waist and then the delicious looking curve of your behind under the sheets. He drinks in every tiny detail of you, putting it away into the corner of his mind that’s entirely dedicated to his love for you.

“Pool day it is then,” you smile at him, having nothing against his suggestion.

Following a nice breakfast you put some sunscreen on Harry’s shoulders before he does the same for you, paying extra attention to the little freckles on your shoulders, even kissing them once he is done. You’re wearing a simple, baby blue bikini while Harry has his swimming trunks and an oversized, white shirt on. It swallows his frame, making him look a lot smaller than he is, his chest hair peeking out as he has only a few buttons done.

Both of you are feeling a little too full from breakfast to jump right into the water, so you opt to relax a little on the sunbeds besides the pool, you bring your book out with you in hopes to read a few chapters. Harry’s eyes are looking around the secluded backyard of the villa, eyeing all the different kinds of tropical plants in huge, ceramic pots sitting along the tall fence. Then his gaze stops on something and you see him moving from the corner of your eyes. You quickly finish the line you are reading and look up to see what your boyfriend is up to, finding him staring down at you with a hat on his head that’s filled with all kinds of flowers and dried plants and some glorious looking peacock feathers sticking out from the back. It’s more like an artistic peace rather than something you’d wear on the street, but Harry can surely pull it off, like anything else in fashion. You often think that he was born to own whatever fashion has to offer to one, there’s never been one think he couldn’t make look flawless and breathtaking.

His baggy shirt is hanging on his muscular frame, the sleeves covering his hands as he sits on the rocks around the plants at the end of the backyard, the endless, blue ocean running behind him along the horizon.

“Looking fabulous,” you smirk at him and he smiles back, tilting his head up a little so you can adore his perfect side profile as well.

“Try it on,” he tells you taking the hat off and holding out for you. Putting your book aside you stand from the sunbed and walk over to him, taking the hat and placing it on your head. It makes your hair stick to your head and you wonder how you look as Harry stares back at you with an amazed smile.

“You always tell me how good I make clothes look, but Love, you need to see yourself sometimes. You look absolutely stunning,” he praises, his bright eyes taking in the sight of you in front of him, in just your bikini and this fantastic hat. “I love this fit,” he adds smirking at you.

“Yeah? Is there anything that would make it even better?” you question with a raised eyebrow. You watch him look you up and down, taking his time to take in what he sees before he shakes his head no.

“No, it’s perfect.”

“I have a version I think you’d like,” you smirk at him playfully, his eyes meeting yours as he is trying to figure out what you have in mind.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, bringing your hands up to your neck and easily untying your bikini behind your neck then back, letting the top fall to the tiled ground in a heartbeat, Harry’s lips parting at the sight of your almost fully naked body. “What about now?” you tease, bringing your hands over your stomach, slowly making their way up over your breasts, cupping them slightly before they stop at the nape of your neck, your arms covering your hardening nipples from his greedy eyes.

“You’re right. It’s way better,” he breathes out, lust lacing through his raspy voice and you can tell he is getting excited as a bulge is starting to form in his swimming trunks.

“Yeah? And what about…” Your hands slide down to the sides of your bikini bottoms, hooking your thumbs into it and slowly pushing it down, the fabric gliding over your butt until you let go of it and let it fall to the ground, joining the top. “What about this?” you innocently ask, standing completely naked in front of him, his eyes devouring you, burning down on your body as he is thinking about how he should grab a canvas and paint your beauty right now, preserving this moment forever.

He is fascinated by how the Sun is gleaming on your skin, your hair carelessly falling to your shoulders and that confident, wicked smile on your lips is making him feel things only you can bring to him. Licking his lips he nods in approval before his eyes move up to meet yours again after the wonderful trip they did on your body.

“You are art, Love,” he tells you, making your heart flutter in your very naked chest. You breathe out biting into your bottom lip before you take the hat off and throw it in his way that he easily catches.

Turning around you step to the edge of the pool, but you look back at him over your shoulder.

“Come be an artist then, and claim your art,” you tell him with a challenging smile before you jump into the cool water, the glistening blues swallowing your naked form from Harry’s needy eyes.

When you come back up, you only see the hat sitting on the ground and his abandoned white shirt next to it, the water wavering not only around you, but at a spot near the edge where you jumped in.

A few seconds later Harry’s head emits from the water just inches away from you, his hands quickly finding their way around your waist as he pulls you against him, fingers digging into your soft skin.

He smirks down at you, blinking a few times to get the water out of his eyes before he speaks up.

“I fucking love Italy.”

[guqin-and-flute]

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

[supremeinlilac]

The Weeping Angel

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2007

Warnings: none???

Summary: An introduction story with Billie Dean, how you met on the Hotel Cortez's devils night

A/N: For @lilypadscoven !! Thank you for always pushing me and being so supportive, here's your little Billie fic :)) ps sorry for any mistakes, I have yet to go through it <3

Gif by: @illuminated-blue

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to spend a night in a sketchy motel in downtown LA, and although you’d hoped you’d gotten yourself to a place where you wouldn’t need to rely on them, you knew it wouldn’t be your last.

The wallpaper was dusty, peeling at the join of the ceiling to reveal the damp clinging to the walls. You tried to ignore the mildew that crept across from the corners, dark and whispering and eery against the dirty white paint.

There was a hole where a past resident had quite obviously punched through the wall and into the bathroom, showing the fragility of the plaster that separated you from the rooms next to you. The room was alive with past anger, souls in the walls with spindly arms that reached for the living.

It was cold, and you shivered beneath the itch of the hotel blanket, wrapped loosely around your shoulders. The motel windows did nothing to still the cool draft of the city night, allowing it to cut through ill-sealed panes.

You’d left your college accommodation earlier that evening, clothes thrown haphazardly into a rucksack as you’d hurried to leave. You hadn’t time to collect your personal belongings in the rush, so you knew you’d have to return there at some point.

There was no point worrying about the why’s now, you were locked in the room and you were safe. Safely unsafe in one of the roughest areas you could find, but you knew they wouldn’t think to look here. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the details of your leaving.

You could hear the almost constant wail of sirens as police cars zipped past the motel, piercing and fading as they neared and went.

You sat with your back against the wall, in the space beside the bed. Your laptop balanced on your crossed legs, you connected to the flaky hotel Wi-Fi to try and get some of your college work completed before your food arrived. You still needed to keep up with your work if you were to have any semblance of a future.

A muffled sniff broke your concentration, cutting through the thin wall to you. Trying not to pry, you refocused on the illuminated screen, words blurring as the sound didn’t cease behind you. Sighing, you tore your eyes away from your work and onto the floor.

You were meant to be keeping a low profile, goddamn it.

Listening, an ear to the rough wallpaper, you closed your eyes to better gage if the occupant next to you was simply unwell or was crying. You settled upon the latter when a clatter of what you assumed was the bedside lamp fell to the floor, and the sniffling intensified.

“Are you alright?” you spoke to the wall, wrapping your knuckles against the plaster to show that you were talking to her.

Another sniff, this one an obvious attempt to disguise it as a cough. Feminine, you concluded, closing your laptop and sliding it onto the bed so you could shuffle around.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Billie spoke, the pads of her fingers coming to wipe hesitantly under her eyes at the smear of mascara.

She stopped pacing at the sound of your voice, coming to kneel at the wall where she thought you’d come from. Unknowingly, you both reached up to the wall with searching fingers, resting on opposite sides in a fateful mirroring. Reaching out.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I-” she paused, voice cracking as she shook her head in surrender, “no.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I- I can’t,” Billie confessed, forehead falling to the wall with a thud that you felt from your side.

You could practically hear the pain in her voice, the fear. You nodded in understanding, despite her not being able to see you. Luckily for the mysterious woman in room 124, you were capable in the art of distraction and it was an apt skill for moments like these.

“Okay. Well, urm- I, what’s your favourite colour?”

“I don’t- wait what?”

Her confusion had you subconsciously repeating the question, fingers pressed to the wallpaper as if you’d slip right though and into the woman’s arms, able to hold her and chase the demons that plagued her.

“Pink,” she rasped, “like the faded kind.”

You hummed, your stranger in pink.

“What’s your name?”

“Billie Dean Howard,” she paused, a small smile flickering at the corner of her mouth, “medium to the stars.”

“I’m Y/n. Medium to urm, LA?” you laughed uncomfortably, unsure of why she’d spoken her name as if a catchphrase.

Billie’s eyes narrowed to the wall momentarily, were you mocking her? She felt the tugging need to feel offended by your taunt, the familiar jolt of anger under skin. It would be easier to be mad, to rage at the world for giving her this gift and putting her in danger; but the silk to your voice softened her.

“You don’t know me?” She assumed, an expecting tone in her voice that made you faulter. You’d never really been one for reality television, even for factual programs like Billie’s.

“I’m sorry, should I?”

“No, I suppose not,” she trailed off, happy that you were in the dark about her personality. Glad you

People who knew her were curious, always asking questions she would be too eager to answer with a bat of her lashes and a confident tone. But on this occasion, she was relief that no questions would be asked.

Questions about what happened would be dangerous if answered. She knew she could never speak of the happenings if she valued her life, or those around her.

Billie Dean wasn’t stupid. But she was scared.

Your phone buzzed beside you and Billie jumped, hand to her chest to still the frantic beating of a nervous heart. Your food had arrived, and you moved away from the wall with a whispered goodbye.

Your new absence was overwhelming for the medium, panic looming as eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Lights from passing cars cast menacing shadows across the walls, each resembling ghosts from the hotel.

Reaching claws to drag her back to the Cortez, a change of their mind. Why should they let her go, when they could have much more fun with her in that chair.

Tears fell freely again and she let out a strangled sob. The phantom touch of the knife against her throat had Billie reaching up to push it away, the whir of the hand drill behind her closed eyes. She’d been so close to death, practically tasting its breath against her tongue as it mocked her.

The crack of a knock against her door pulled her from herself, and had her hastily wiping her tears with the back of her palm, smoothing down the dress with trembling hands.

Was it her, at the door, ready to finish her off?

Treading lightly against the scraping of old carpet, Billie Dean made her way to the door, fingers ghosting over the handle as she willed herself to be braver.

Through the peep hole, with Billie holding a nervous breath, she saw your back, and how you kept glancing up and down the corridor as if someone were to jump out. So you were frightened of someone, something, too. Just as she was, running.

With a shaky exhale, Billie drew the door open. You turned at the familiar click of the mechanism, a shy grin ghosting on your face as you held the takeaway bags up in silent offering.

Hello.

She was so familiar, almost as if you could reach out and touch her and remember. As if your past self was emerging to greet you again. A phoenix in fire from the ashes, a weeping angel from the rubble of death.

It’s you. It’s going to be you.

You couldn’t help but rake your eyes over the mysterious women silhouetted in the doorway. She looked out of place here. Too perfect to be haunted.

Your stranger in pink wasn’t actually your stranger in pink.

She wore a cornflower blue dress that held delicate white flowers, too dainty and too perfect to be dampened by the tears that tracked through her natural make up. It was cinched at the waist and just served to make her look ever smaller, more frightened. Like a child awoke by a nightmare.

Her hair was dishevelled, and it haloed her face in rays of glowing honey.

A weeping angel.

She wore pearls around her neck. Expensive and slightly scratched, as they get when they are someone’s favourite accessory and must be worn.

You could see where her rosy acrylics had picked her skin raw, worrying it unforgivingly between the nails. See the pain and fear reflected in her eyes, could she see it in yours too?

“Hey,” she whispered, ushering you past her and peeking into the empty corridor as if staying out in the open for too long was dangerous for the both of you. Maybe it was.

In her room you saw no belongings, nothing personal that would serve to tie her to the space around her. It was as if she were an echo before you, neither here nor there. An angel sent and trapped as a mortal, an echo.

She patted the bed beside her, drawing the table closer for you to place the bag on. You hesitantly set it down, moving to perch next to her and shyly look down at hands clasped on your lap.

Uncomfortable silence filled the air, thick and suffocating and it made your joined hands clammy with sweat. You busied yourself by unwrapping the food on the table, there wasn’t much due to your need to save money and only buying for one, but it would go round. You didn’t suspect that she’d eaten that evening either.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and you offered her one of the boxes of food with a shy glance. You assumed she meant for more than just the food. Her eyes conveyed what her words could not.

There was only one pair of chopsticks so you passed it back and forth, wordlessly, gratefully. The hum of the TV balancing upon the wall giving a welcomed distraction from talking, although you talked anyway.

You’d described your degree, your hopes and plans while she listened, the hint of a smile again on the smudged lipstick. She still looked beautiful, you thought, even with her messed up makeup and leg that bounced unrelentingly against the floor.

She still looked like an angel to you, one carved from marble, imperfectly chipped by the sculptor. Too broken to be granted eternity but ethereal all the same. A mortal angel among the living.

The angel spoke with chords of light and you were caught, hanging onto every word that dripped effortlessly from her silver tongue. She spoke about nothing, about everything.

At one point, Billie Dean reached her hand tentatively towards your, searching for the comfort of a strangers touch. You didn’t shy away from that touch; because even though there was safety in loneliness, you couldn’t help but feel the shelter from her invisible wings.

Perhaps Billie Dean Howard could be your safety, and you hers.

You knew she was running, and maybe she could run faster if she had an encouraging hand held fast in her own. Your hand. You weren’t an angel but your hands were steady. They were strong and guiding and made of your own marble. Forged by your own touch instead of the delicate chisel of an artist.

Neither of you asked the other why salty tears dried against the curve of delicate cheek bones, knowing that knowledge would do nothing but bring more pain. More pain that neither needed.

After all, misery likes company, and both of you were content to give that, even just for the night.

You hoped for more, but could learn to settle for a single moment of her presence, if that was all the weeping angel could allow.

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @notokpaulson @extraordinarilycelestrial @nothingbut-a-beautiful-monster @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft

[deans-baby-momma]

Forbidden

Chapter 12

Set in season 14 and follows Y/N, a young girl from the Apocalypse world as she tries to navigate this new place that she was thrust in after being rescued and the feelings she begins to have for someone she really shoudln’t be having them for.

Warnings: There’s a bit of angst, smut and fluff in each chapter. I will tag the smut chapters appropriately but if you’re following me and reading any of my stories, you know it’s gonna be there.  LOL

WC: 1317

Sitting in the backseat of the Impala, I listen as Dean and Sam argue about which route to take to get to Salem, Ohio; the location of the toys come to life and attack. 

“If we just stick to the interstate we could get there in about 14 hours,” Sam pleads his case but Dean shakes his head.

“Too many speed traps and cops on the freeway,” Dean counters. “Sticking to backroads and two-laners, we can keep a low profile and we’ll get there in about the same amount of time.”

I take it upon myself to put in my opinion, scooting forward and leaning on the back of the front seat. “I vote for a low profile. I want to see the countryside.”

Sam turns his head and stares at me and after a few seconds there is a look of understanding so he nods and relinquishes. I meet Dean’s eyes in the rearview as I settle back and he winks. 

After almost 15 excruciating hours in that same backseat I am relieved when we pull up to a motel just outside of town. Listening to the same album over and over with the wind whistling through the open windows had begun to grate on my last nerve.

Sam and I go into the motel office to procure a couple of rooms while Dean stays back to unload the car. 

We visit his place of employment and I get a peek at how big of a horror buff Dean is. It’s cute actually. He gets so excited and animated with the life size mannequin of David Yaeger, also known as Hatchet Man from the All Saints Day series. 

“Hi. I’m Samantha. Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for Stuart Blake,” Sam tells her. “We are with Campbell and Associates Insurance. We heard about Mr. Blake’s accident and were wishing to discuss it with him.”

“Oh, he’s at his parents’ house. You know, resting up.”

“Okay,” Sam says, giving her a smile. “Thank you.”

I have come to understand that this guy is an opinionated, hot-headed nerd. He has succumbed to living in his parents’ basement because he has angered, annoyed and alienated all his friends and acquaintances. Hell, he was kicked out of his last residence over a martial arts movie, of all things!

I sit at the table in the kitchen, alongside the Winchesters as we await Stuart. His mom tells us, “Stewie will be up in just a minute” as she sits down three mugs of the cider she offered. I hold back a giggle as I watch Dean quickly switch out the cat mug for the ‘Flash” mug and Sam gives him an exasperated look. 

I lift up the Wonder Mom mug and take a sip. I can’t seem to keep from peeking over the rim of my cup at Dean. He is dressed in a plain white short sleeve dress shirt, a pair of khaki slacks and a silver and charcoal striped tie. But the kicker is the black rimmed glasses he is sporting. He looks like a nerd; a really hot, sexy as fuck, nerd. 

‘Get it together Y/N! Don’t blow the case just because you can’t keep your eyes off Dean.’

A few minutes later we hear yelling coming from the basement then Stuart appears. I recognize him from the video that he had posted on the internet. His wounds look superficial to me. I  have seen worse wounds from my world. 

Stuart stops at the top of the stairs as soon as he spots us and slides the headphones off his head. 

“Who’re you?” he asks.

“We’re from Campbell and Sons Insurance and…” Sam begins.

“What are you doing down there?” Dean cuts his brother off before he can finish the fake spiel we had concocted in the car.

“Fortnite.”

At my complete look of confusion, Dean leans over and whispers, “It’s a video game.”

Stuart corrects him. “It’s the video game.”

“Yeah, well I’m a Zelda for life so….” Dean says with a chuckle and a shrug.  “What are you, burning sage down there?”

“So?” Stuart answers defensively, as he takes a bottle of soda from the fridge.. “I dated this Goth chick, like super-hot, met online and she was into Wicca. She said that burning sage was like good luck or some crap like that.”

“Hm, so you’re not together anymore?”

“Ha, no. I broke it off before we could MIRL. You know, I mean, who needs goth girl drama am I right?” Stuart nods toward Sam as he lifts the drink and guzzles half of it down.

I look to Dean for another explanation of what this dude is spewing. Is this guy even speaking English now? Unfortunately Dean looks as confused as I am.

“Mirl?”

Sam whispers. “MIRL – Meet in real life.”

“Why do you know what that means?” I ask at the same time Dean says, “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

Sam ignores us both and goes on with his pretend persona.

“Stuart, we’re here to ask about the attack you reported, with the toy?”

Stuart stuns us all when he nonchalantly says, “I made it up.”

“You what?” Dean asks and I can’t tell if he impressed or if he is disappointed.

“The whole thing, I lied.”

“But, the video…” Sam says and I nod. The video had seemed pretty credible.

“That was fake. I didn’t expect it to go viral, but it did,” Stuart explains. “Uh I just, I fell.”

Busted! Lie, right there. I could tell whatever had happened to Stuart he didn’t want anyone to know. I briefly wonder if maybe he and that goth chick had indeed MIRLed and it didn’t go well.

“Hm, because the hospital report said that you had marks on your face, your legs, your back and your genitals,” Dean replies and I can tell he has caught on to the lie too. “That’s not a slip and fall.”

“Well I don’t see why an insurance company would care, you know. And I think it’s time for you to leave.”

As we get into the Impala, I once again scoot forward and lean on the back of the seat. “So what now?”

“His girlfriend was into Wicca,” Dean offers.

“Wicca doesn’t always mean witch,” Sam says. I have no contribution to what is going on so I just listen.

“Except when it does,” Dean says, his hand up and his index pointing toward the top of the car.  

“You're both right," I say, annoyed with both of them. "Let’s wait until they leave and check the house for hex bags. For now, you two need to grow up. What is it with having to one-up the other? Why do you feel the need to prove you are better than your brother? Jesus, my dad was an arrogant, egotistical man but he and Uncle Sammy always worked together and never butted heads like you two." 

I swallow audibly as both the Winchesters had turned to stare at me. I paste on a grin and shrug.

It isn't even five minutes later that Dean starts provoking Sam.

"So seriously, what is your deal with Halloween?"

"I don’t like it," Sam answers as he watches kids dressed up in costumes walk past the car.

"Yeah, but why don’t you like it, hm?" Dean asks. "And don’t give me that like, ‘well every day is Halloween for us’ crap, okay? Because one: it ain’t, we don’t eat that much candy, two: you’ve had this hate on for years. So?"

Instead of answering, Sam straightens up in his seat. "Mom’s on the move."

We watch as Stuart's mother, Barbra, leaves the house dressed in costume. She gets into the car in the driveway and pulls away. As she passes, the three of us hunker down so she doesn't see us surveying her home.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @spnbaby-67​ @tftumblin​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @atc74​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @squirrelnotsam​  @sandlee44​ @blacktithe7​ @hoboal87​ @mogaruke​ @deanwanddamons​ @supraveng​ @deandreamernp​ @akshi8278​ @lyarr24​ @wintersoldierwinchester @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits​ @nancymcl​ @kazsrm67 @lostdarksoul6

[byakuyasdarling]

I posted 1,641 times in 2021

876 posts created (53%)

765 posts reblogged (47%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.9 posts.

I added 1,643 tags in 2021

#ship tag: book lovers ♡ - 318 posts

#freya talks | 💙 - 286 posts

#andreagami - 198 posts

#mutuals tag - 158 posts

#other’s art - 157 posts

#freya reblogs | 🖤 - 129 posts

#happy tag | ✨ - 108 posts

#other’s ships - 104 posts

#freya answers | 🎶 - 93 posts

#art with freya | ♠️ - 92 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#okay — like — there’s my main style that’s developed over time but it’s rather consistent — it’s ehat i normally use for finished pieces

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

When my mutuals open up asks about their ships I’m just like: “Yes!! I want to ask them about their self ship!! This is gonna be so fun!!”

And then when it comes to typing the ask my head is just like:

71 notes • Posted 2021-05-27 10:50:20 GMT

#4

It’s my Birthday!!

(And also a slightly early anniversary!)

This has taken me way too long, ahaha. Just a lot of hours I ended up not being able to track! I suppose I was just having that much fun then :) I just love drawing their softer moments together <3

Anyone can REBLOG!! Please reblog my art, I really appreciate it!

[Blacklist tags are PERMITTED for reblogs if needed as this is a finished work.]

I hope you all have a wonderful day 💙💙

74 notes • Posted 2021-11-10 16:12:24 GMT

#3

Screenshot Edit Time 💙

You should set us as your matching anime profile pics (/j). Here’s a new edit with the last one with correct colours :)

The new one is a merging of three images, so I had to edit a lot of the background and Byakuya himself (while drawing in S/I), I hope it turned out well!!

Anyone can reblog!! Please reblog my art. I really appreciate it :D

I hope you have a wonderful day 💙

75 notes • Posted 2021-08-28 12:49:06 GMT

#2

After way too many hours, I can finally call this artwork done. I’m really happy with it ^//v//^ I hope you all like it too! It was such a challenge for me!!

Anyone can reblog!! Please reblog my art. I really appreciate it :D

I hope you all have a wonderful day 💙💙

84 notes • Posted 2021-08-09 13:12:02 GMT

#1

When your F/O slides you one of these 😳😳

485 notes • Posted 2021-10-20 12:23:39 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[baubabble]

“Subtle Differences” Part II - Hotch x F!Reader

PART I  FINAL PART

Summary:  As you continue working the case in Seattle, you begin to notice more and more that Hotch is staying close to you. With the occasional glance, you start to think that maybe his feelings are real, but doubts start to creep up. When another woman goes missing, you and the team must connect the dots faster to save her and find the unsub before it’s too late. 

Word Count: 3743

Warning: Typical CM Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Honest Man” by Ben Platt

Note: Ooh, part 2! This one is the “filler” i guess. Part three is when we get the team in action and a little more hotch x reader moments that I love. That should be up later this week! Also, I have watched this show A LOT, but presenting profiles isnt easy so i did my best. Also, the painting i reference is not real.

-------

The two of you worked in silence for a while as you tried to wrap your heads around the beginnings of a workable profile. 

As you both sat alone in the conference room, you could occasionally feel Hotch glancing over at you, but you were determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. This wasn’t like him to keep somewhat distracted while at work. Then again, he was never one to really show any kind of interest outside of work either. Something had changed, but you weren’t what it was yet. 

Half an hour later and Spencer and Rossi arrived. “Well, doesn’t this look cozy,” Rossi said as he pushed into the conference room, the doctor following right after.

You didn’t bother in acknowledging his snide comment as you continued to focus on the photos spread out before you on the board. Perotta had brought the maps Hotch had requested and Spencer immediately grabbed his red marker and began his geographical profile.

“All three victims were taken outside of very public places,” Spencer said, gaining the attention of the team. “Mason from outside a church she visited weekly, Rayna from a parking lot across from a major shopping center, and Lisa from outside the public library. Whoever the unsub is, he’s not afraid to take risks in the abduction.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked, glancing around at your colleagues. 

“It can be either,” said Reid, tucking his hands into his pockets. “However, considering that no witnesses have come forward, he must be using a rather convincing ruse.” 

“Or he’s threatening them with a weapon,” Hotch added. Spencer nodded in agreement.

“Something else isn’t sitting well with me,” you revealed. “This method of killing...it seems like you would need to practice it before, right? Maybe not the wax on the body, but at least using it as a method of asphyxiation.”

“You think he’s done it before?” Rossi inquired. 

“It’s a possibility,” you said. Hotch nodded and hit the call button on the phone. 

“Speak and be heard!” Garcia said.

“Garcia, I need to know if there have been any other murders in the past that resemble the unsub’s method,” Hotch said. 

“As in just the wax in the throat or the whole enchilada?” she asked, causing Rossi to smile. 

“I think we would have noticed the rest of the ritual, so focus on just the method of killing,” you added. 

“I will dig and dig until I can dig no longer. Hit you back!” Garcia said as she hung up. 

As everyone got back to work, you got up to get yourself some much-needed caffeine. As you waited for it to brew, you tapped the pen in your hand against the countertop, trying to organize your thoughts. There had to be more to the killings instead of just replicating a piece of art. The woman in the painting had no discernible features so he wasn’t trying to get her exactly right. There had to be another reason for picking three different women from three different places. The mystery was gnawing at the back of your brain. 

“You look like you’re overthinking.” You turned to see Perotta leaning in the doorway of the break room.

“Just thinking, actually,” you said, grabbing a cup and pouring your coffee. “There are just a lot of things that are bothering me about this one.”

“Don’t all of them bother you?” he asked with a slight chuckle. You shrugged. 

“Unfortunately, you get used to it,” you said, moving past him. Perotta kept close to you.

“Have you always been in the BAU, Agent (Y/L/N)?” he asked, halting you in your step with a hand on your arm. You took a step back, letting his arm slide off of yours. 

“No, I used to be a part of an anti-terrorism task force for a while before I transferred,” you explained. Perotta nodded thoughtfully. 

“Wanted to get less action?” he asked, with a half-smile. 

“More, actually,” Hotch said as he interrupted the two of you. Perotta turned to your boss and you saw him swallow thickly as Aaron Hotchner stared him down.

“Huh, who would’ve thought,” Perotta said, glancing back at you, but you kept your arms close to you and didn’t bother smiling back. 

“The others are back,” Hotch said, pulling your attention. You nodded and turned away from Perotta. Hotch followed you back to the crowded conference room. He walked behind you, keeping a hand on the small of your back. 

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, acknowledging his perfect timing. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmured to you as he held open the door and waited for you to walk through before following afterward, letting his hand fall away. As you joined the rest of the team, you instantly knew something was up. Based on JJ’s concerned face, it wasn’t good. 

“What happened?” you asked, taking your seat between Morgan and Hotch. 

“The unsub has taken another woman,” Spencer revealed.

“Already?” you asked, surprised. “Lisa wasn’t even missing two days. The others were taken a week apart.” 

“He’s increasing his abduction time,” Rossi said, flicking through the file.

“Most likely because he thinks he’s running out of time to perfect his replication of the original painting,” Reid said, twirling a pen around in his slender hands. “Though, I am still not sure what connects all the victims together.”

“I may have an answer for you, Doctor,” Garcia’s voice lit up the room from the phone in the center of the round table. 

“What did you find out, Mama?” Derek asked. 

“Well, honey, I have unearthed something rather interesting. All three of the victims were what you would call art connoisseurs. They all belonged to the same club that focused on fundraising for the arts and preserving historical pieces.”

“Garcia, is the membership for this club exclusive?” Spencer asked. 

“Not at all. In fact, the list of members and donators are both available on the club’s website.”

“Considering he didn’t abduct them from their homes, he has to be getting their routines elsewhere,” you said. 

“Do we have any information on the newest victim?” Prentiss asked. 

“Her name is Allison Wilson, she’s twenty-four-years old from Port Angeles, and she was taken outside of her gym,” said Garcia. 

“Another public place,” Rossi realized. “In the middle of the day too while cops are out in higher numbers. And we thought he was being bold before.” 

“Was Allison a part of this art club, too?” Hotch asked. 

“Yes,” Garcia confirmed. “A newer member from the looks of it as she just moved to the area.” 

“Okay, well if they’re not getting their addresses from the site, then the unsub knows when and where they’ll be,” Prentiss said with a sigh. “Garcia do we have any idea how he’s getting their information?” 

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Penelope said. “I will hit you back once I figure it out,” Garcia said in goodbye and there was a collective sigh within the group. 

“Okay,” Hotch said, “I think we have enough to deliver the profile.” 

------

Once Perotta had wrangled his officers, your team presented the profile. 

“We’re looking for a white male in his early thirties,” Hotch began, pulling the whole room’s attention.

“We believe he has created a scenario in his mind based on a single work of art in which he sees himself as a sort of reaper type character,” Emily added.

“He is posing his victims in the same way as the woman depicted in the Italian painting. “Manto di cera” or “Shroud of Wax”,” Spence continued. 

“The painting is set to be on full display at the Seattle Art Museum later this week,” you said, stepping forward. “We believe that the final victim he abducted, Allison Wilson, is going to be his final piece of art.”

“So, what was the point of the other three women?” An officer asked. 

“Mason, Rayna, and Lisa can be considered his trial runs. All of it in order to perfect his masterpiece,” Rossi said.

“He is an unhinged individual and will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets what he wants,” Derek said. “You should consider him armed, dangerous, and not afraid to die by suicide or suicide by cop.” 

“This unsub thinks of these women as less than human so there is a good chance that he has a negative history with one,” JJ added, “maybe a girlfriend or even his mother.”

“Whoever this man is, he is connected to the art community here in Seattle,” Hotch said, finishing up. “We’ve set up a tip line, but we are going to have to rely on his previous victims to locate him and Allison Wilson. Thank you.” Perotta then dispersed his officers and everyone got to work on trying to track down the unsub.

“(Y/N) was right, this guy has to have priors,” Morgan said once you and the rest of the team returned to the conference room. “There is no way that he just woke up one day and decided to kill. Not like this.” 

“We should look for any non-lethal incidents,” Reid said, “he may have tried to strangle someone first.” 

“I’ll get Garcia on it,” Hotch said as he hit the call button. 

“Ready when you are,” Garcia answered. 

“Garcia, I need you to look for any past police reports where female victims were strangled or suffocated. Not just crimes that seem similar to the wax," Hotch said, reading through the file again. 

You watched as his brows pulled together and all you wanted to do was to reach out and smooth down the crease that had formed. You knew stress was all a part of the job, especially when it came to Aaron. He never got a break and when cases arose like this one where there were more questions than answers, it took its toll.

At that moment, you wished for a Hail Mary. You wanted to save Allison, of course, but a simple answer or even just a bit of good news would lessen the weight on Aaron's shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Hotch looked up. Your (Y/E/C) eyes met his dark ones and for a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. His eyes glanced down your face for a fraction of a second before he looked away. You didn't even realize Penelope was speaking again.

"Okay, I've been running searches for both kinds of crimes that correlate with the profile, but so far, I got zilch," Garcia said.

"Great," JJ groaned, "another dead end."

“However, fear not, my friends, as I do have something else," added Garcia.

“You figured out where the wax came from?” Reid asked. You looked at him, unaware he had even asked her to look into that in the first place. You also realized that it was something you should have thought of yourself. Your frown didn’t go unnoticed by Morgan who lightly kicked your foot under the table. You nodded to him, assuring him you were alright. 

“Not exactly,” Garcia said. “The wax itself is pretty generic. You can get it from multiple different suppliers, but the pigment used in it to make that blood-red color is not sold by the companies. It is an oxidized clay that is regulated and sold from a local artist and I have just sent his name and address to you...now!”

“Morgan, Prentiss,” Hotch addressed, “go pick up the owner and bring him back. JJ, Dave, get in touch with Allison Wilson’s family. Reid, (Y/L/N), keep working on trying to figure out how the unsub is finding his victims from the club.”

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asked. 

“I’m going to call and get a warrant for the owners of the charity club,” Hotch said as he stood and exited the room, followed closely by the others.

You and Spencer sat in silence for a few minutes before he swiveled his chair in your direction. "Is there something going on with you?" Reid asked, peering at you over the knee he had propped up on his chair.

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

“I don’t know, something just seems...different about you,” said Reid as he stared at you with that signature confused look of his. 

“Don’t profile me, Spencer,” you said, leaning back in your chair. 

“I’m not!” he said, “but I am your friend and I can tell there is something up.” You turned back towards, sighing. Spencer never missed anything. 

“Hotch is keeping me under evaluation this case,” you said and he immediately understood. 

“I know,” said Reid, “I had to do the same after getting shot. Emily had to do it too.” 

“I feel like every move I make… I feel as if I am under a microscope.” 

“It’s procedure, (Y/N). Look on the bright side, at least Strauss isn’t doing the evaluation,” Spencer said, trying to lighten the mood. That got you to smile and Reid brightened. “See, I knew I could make you do that,” he said, twirling his finger in front of your face. You playfully swatted his hand away. 

“Thanks, Reid.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink and got up to go stare at the board once again. 

Looking out at the precinct through the glass walls, you could see Hotch in the Captain’s office. He paced while speaking on the phone. Spencer’s words resonated in your mind as you watched your boss. At first, you thought that maybe he had chosen to take on the responsibility of your evaluation to be closer to you, but now you weren’t so sure. What if it was just procedure after all and you were only reading into it? It wouldn’t be the first time that you read signals wrong. For being a profiler, when it came to your own love life, you could be pretty clueless. 

Eventually, Hotch rejoined you and Reid. “Did you get the warrant?” Reid asked, looking over his shoulder as Hotch took a seat. 

“Judge wouldn’t approve it,” Hotch sighed, “said because the website is public domain, anyone could have access and that it wasn’t enough probable cause to warrant a search and seizure.” 

“Great,” you said, “so now we just have to hope the clay guy gives us something.” 

“Do you think he’s a part of this?” Spencer asked. You shook your head. 

“No, but he has to know something. Considering how much wax has been used, and not to mention Rossi believes the unsub had trial runs… He must have bought more pigment than the shop’s usual customers.” 

“But why would he even leave a paper trail for something as easy as a red dye? You can practically make it out of anything?” Reid asked. 

“Because not everyone is as smart as you, Reid,” you said and he smiled shyly, turning back to the board to start laying out the hunting grounds. You looked at Hotch and he was smiling at you, thankful for you praising the doctor. You quirked a brow in question but he just shook his head, returning to his work. You turned away before the blush that welled in your cheeks became more apparent. 

“You guys need anything?” Perotta said as he pushed open the door and leaned in, 

“We’re fine for now,” Hotch said, his tone filled with dismissal. Perotta pursed his lips, but nodded and left, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

“I don’t like him,” Spencer said quietly, his back still turned to you and Hotch.

“I second that,” you muttered. 

“You are both correct,” finished Hotch and Spencer slightly turned to look at you with amusement in your eyes. You couldn’t help the laugh that flew from your throat. Spencer chuckled quietly next to you as you tried to get yourself under control. Hotch watched you, completely enamored by the way your face lit up with a smile as you found him humorous. It was better than any drug he could think of, seeing that smile of yours. 

------

It was a little less than an hour later that the others came back with the shop owner.

The man, Terry Owens, looked nervous as Morgan took him into the interrogation room. His demeanor alone as he walked into the station was enough for you to know immediately that this was not your unsub.

As JJ continued speaking with the Wilson family, you went to observe the interrogation. Spencer and Emily were going over new evidence while you stood next to Hotch on the other side of the two-way mirror. Morgan and Rossi entered the room, taking a seat across from Owens. 

You watched closely as they asked their questions. You could tell that both Morgan and Rossi made the man nervous. He would flinch slightly any time Morgan raised his voice or Rossi shifted in his seat. You and Hotch didn’t say anything as you observed, but the closeness to him was tugging at your mind as you tried to stay focused.

You weren’t focusing on what your team members were asking the man, but rather how he responded to each question. Owens was sweating even though they chilled the room for him. He began slurring his words as he struggled to find answers for each inquiry thrown at him. When Rossi presented Owens with the crime scene photos, the shop owner nearly turned green. Pushing up his sleeves, he took slow breaths, trying to calm down. That is when you noticed the burn marks on his skin. 

They were slight and faded, but from your time with anti-terrorism, you knew the signs of torture immediately. You turned to your boss. “Hotch, I think I know what’s going on,” you said.

“You saw something?” he asked softly. 

“I think he’s been tortured by the unsub,” you explained. Hotch turned his attention back to the interrogation room for a moment before nodding at you. Sweeping past him, you entered the room. Morgan and Rossi looked at you and then got up and stood back, giving you room to work. “Hi, Terry,” you greeted with a warm smile. “I’m SSA (Y/L/N) and I think I know what happened to you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked nervously. 

“The marks on your arms,” you said, gesturing to the exposed skin. He looked down and his eyes closed as his jaw went rigid. “Terry, look at me.” He did. “Those burns are from hot wax, right?” Owens nodded. “He hurt you to get you to not talk to anyone. He poured the wax on you to make sure you knew that if you talked, you would end up like the women he was killing.”

“I didn’t know he was going to kill them,” Owens said. “Please, I just thought he was into something weird, you know? Like a fetish or some kind of performance art. I’ve seen things like that before. I never imagined…” he trailed off, his hands shaking. You reached out and placed your hands over his. 

“You’re okay,” you promised him. “Terry, nobody is going to hurt you again. He is not going to be able to get to you anymore, but I need his name. He has another woman with him now. Her name is Allison and she’s only twenty-four-years old. She has a little sister named Cailey and a mom and dad who are worried sick about her. If we don’t find her, she’s going to end up like these women too.” You placed the other three photos before him again. “They didn’t deserve to die like this and neither does Allison Wilson.” 

Owens met your eyes, nearly pleading. “I don’t know his name,” he said. “He always paid in cash and he threatened me anytime I asked any personal questions.” 

“Is there anything you can tell me about him? The smallest thing can make a difference.” Owens thought for a moment before he straightened up. 

“I once heard him on the phone,” he said. “I was preparing his new order and someone called him. He was talking to them on speaker and they didn’t say a name, but they called him by a nickname.” 

“What was it?” you asked. 

“Galahad,” Owens said. 

“Like the Knights of the Roundtable?” you asked, turning over your shoulder to look at Morgan and Rossi, confused. Morgan, however, was shaking his head. 

“That’s what Lisa Bracken’s neighbor called the delivery guy that delivered Lisa’s artwork,” Morgan said before he and Rossi were moving out the door. You turned back to Owens. 

“You did great, Terry,” you said. “We’re gonna get him.” You didn’t wait for his response as you followed Morgan and Rossi back into the conference room. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Morgan was already saying as you pushed through the door. 

“Got something for me?” Garcia asked on the other line. 

“The unsub is a delivery guy that delivers specialty art pieces. He works for Ground Express,” Morgan said. 

“Okay that is a pretty big company, honey, you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more than that,” Penelope said. 

“Garcia, look for drivers that are specifically assigned to the dumping zones. He may be dumping their bodies during a route,” Spencer said. 

“Okay, one second…” she said as her hands flew over her keyboard. “Okay, I have four men that work that specific route. Two of them are way too young, the third is African American…” she paused for a second. “And the fourth fits our profile perfectly.”

“Garcia, I need a name,” you said. 

“Alan Rhett,” Garcia announced. “He owned an apartment downtown but was evicted two months ago and now he rents a loft space in Belltown. Oh,” she said. 

“What is it?” asked Rossi.

“He uses his own truck for deliveries and he hasn’t been to work in a few days.” 

“Garcia, send us the address,” Hotch ordered. 

“Already did,” she said. “Be safe, my friends, and go get him.” 

“Will do, Mama,” Morgan said as he ended the call. 

“Gear up,” Hotch said, “We’ll leave in five.” The team dispersed immediately. As you headed for the lockers to grab your vest, a phantom pain echoed through your injury site, but you took a deep breath and tried to center yourself. You were ready for the field, you had to be. Shutting out the echos of gunfire in your mind, you secured your sidearm and went to gear up. You weren’t going to let him kill another woman, not if you could help it.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 3

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 4k

content warnings: mention of rape and victim-blaming (talking about Clea's previous job in sex crimes— not her personal experience).

masterlist

this chapter is drawn from the season 1 episode 17 episode "A Real Rain," which is supposed to be in New York, but I didn't wanna write about New York so I changed it to Boston.

I drop a second sugar packet into my coffee before taking a tentative sip. my face twists in discomfort. previous to working here, I would bring my own thermos from home and it would last me all day, but I've had to up my caffeine intake to two or three cups.

"you get used to it." JJ walks over to me, steeping her tea. despite the fact that it's early, she's perfectly put together. her hair is tied up and her eyes are sparkling.

"how?" I laugh. she points to the coffee pot, which is fresh and yet somehow tastes slightly stale.

"when you've been up for twenty four hours, you won't care how it tastes."

I avert my widened eyes at this.

"you could do what Spence does and just add a bunch of sugars." she tilts her head towards Reid, who is rocking back in forth in his spinny chair with a huge volume open in front of him. he doesn't even notice us staring at him.

"ew, what?" I giggle. JJ nods.

"hey, Spence!" she calls across the office. his head pops up to frown at us.

"yes?"

"how many sugars do you use?"

"five. occasionally six." he says this without a hint of the shame it deserves. my eyebrows shoot up and I take another sip of the bitter drink, trying to ignore the taste. it coats my tongue.

"see?" she smirks. "just so you know, we have another case. meeting in five." she sashays away to the conference room, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to sweeten my drink. I keep it at three and add a splash of creamer to drown out the bitterness, then walk briskly to my desk to grab a few of my things.

"we have a meeting, Reid." I say across the divider between our spaces. he holds up an index finger, slams the book shut, and grabs his things. I wait for him to get collected before we head up.

"what were you reading?" I ask, peeking at his workspace. books are lined up against the divider, loose papers scatter the surface, and there are three uncapped pens littered about. his disorganization surprises me.

"War and Peace." he replies, checking his watch.

it's not even nine am.

...

I'm staring out the window of the jet while Morgan and Prentiss battle out yet another card game with Reid. there's not much to see until we slice through clouds and fly over Boston, which is glittering in the early light. I sigh and turn back to my book, tucking my legs up beneath me.

"this is not how I planned to visit." Morgan notes, looks through his cards.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Boston." Spencer smiles softly. at this, all of us look up.

"you've never been?" Morgan asks doubtfully. Emily snorts.

"we've never had an unsub there." Reid doesn't seem to think this strange at all. Morgan and I share a glance before he speaks.

"Reid, it's an hour-and-a-half flight."

"I'll show you around if we have some time." Emily smiles reassuringly at the boy genius.

"it's an easy trip, man." Derek chuckles. Spencer isn't bothered by our teasing. instead, he draws another card from the deck and focuses on his game.

"I've never been either." I state. the team turns to me with surprised expressions, causing my cheeks to flush.

"you, too?" Morgan makes a face like I've disappointed him.

"I've been meaning to go." I shrug. "there's an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts that I wanna see."

"what exhibition?" Spencer doesn't look up from his hand.

"uh, Titus Kaphar." I haven't had the opportunity to travel much, so a lot of the art I've seen has been from a computer screen or in class in college. it would be nice to actually get some experience seeing things face-to-face.

"Shifting the Gaze!" Spencer's face snaps up to beam at me, referencing the piece so vehemently that it makes me laugh.

"yeah, exactly."

"I went to his talk a couple years back."

"no way. really?" I shut my book and lean forward while he nods. Prentiss and Morgan are watching our conversation like a tennis match. while Reid rambles about all the things he heard at the lecture, I listen intently. it's good, because I don't really feel like talking right now; my head is pounding all over again, and this is distracting.

"do you ever go to the art museums in DC, then?" I ask once he's finished. Reid gets this crooked smile on his face like he wants to say a bunch of things, but is holding his tongue. his face is animated when he tells me about the other exhibits he's seen at the Smithsonian and apparently abandons his cards. Prentiss and Morgan have lost interest in our conversation; they start their own game and let us talk for the rest of the flight.

when we touch down, I immediately feel overwhelmed by the crush of people around us. our first crime scene is a taxi cab in Hyde Park, where the driver has been blindfolded, shot in the chest, and stabbed right through his ear. the blade, broken off from the handle, is lodged in his brain.

despite the fact that his kills are violent and seemingly random, the unsub definitely isn't disorganized. he carries his MO out the same way each time, which makes all of us question if we've missed a connection between victims.

"it's possible he's a sort of serial killer groupie." Spencer notes as he examines the inside of the cab, which is splattered with a mix of rainwater from the night before and blood. I shift where I'm standing to try to follow his line of sight.

"what do you mean?"

"Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris drove ice picks into their victims' heads and broke off the handle." he explains.

"well, if he's doing that, then he's presenting a mixed profile." I frown.

"exactly."

"mixed profile?" the police officer next to me asks.

"yeah. the fact that this guy is shooting his victims first suggests that he needs a quick and effective means of controlling the situation, which means that he probably doesn't think he can overpower them." I say.

"he could have a physical problem-- or maybe he's just not confident because he's small." Reid is still examining the taxi for any further evidence, but it seems sort of pointless.

"plus, he's organized and hunts at night. that tells us he most likely has a steady job."

"so," the cop stares between us with a perplexed expression. "we're looking for a small, angry white guy with a day job?"

the sarcasm in his voice makes me smile a little.

"I know it doesn't narrow down a lot right now, but we know that this guy isn't blitz attacking his victims. it's more of an execution."

the officer nods at this and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn to Reid.

"we gotta go."

Spencer nods curtly, straightens, and starts to immediately walk back to the car. I shake my head at his behavior, then follow after.

...

we get called to visit a new crime scene in the morning, this time in a church. Hotch holds the door open for me and I walk in to see a body laid out in front of the pews. an older woman sits towards the back, comforted by a nun.

"how'd they find him?" Prentiss asks the police chief as she leads us to the victim.

"night janitor." she nods to a man being questioned by cops in the corner.

"did he see anything?" I ask her.

"no, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier," we walk past the older woman. she stares at us expectantly as the chief talks. "so there could be a potential witness."

we stop at the body of a priest, his eyes covered and a blade lodged in his skull, unsurprisingly. Emily and I stare down at him, realizing the same thing.

"first public killing." she notes as she bends down to examine his wounds. "he's getting bolder."

"the presentation is just as important as the kill." I join her on the ground, snapping my gloves tighter on my hands and turning his head to the side to get a better look at the blade. semi-dried blood coats the tied fabric around his eyes.

"I'm gonna go talk to that woman." Emily leaves. the crime scene agent crouches down on the ground across from me, and I bite my lip before making a strange request.

"would you mind... sliding that thing out of his ear?"

the agent blinks at me in disbelief, probably not wanting to pry a knife out of someone's head, but nods and does so carefully. I squint down at the wound. then I realize something.

"Reid?" my voice carries across the room. Spencer is talking to an officer when he hears me and walks over.

"this doesn't look like a normal blade, but I don't know what it is." I point at the now half-buried weapon. it sits unpleasantly out, the blood catching warm light. Spencer gets down next to the crime scene agent and examines it more closely.

"this is flint." he says slowly, turning to me with a concerned expression.

"like the stone?"

"flint is the symbol for protection and retribution in Egyptian mythology. with hieroglyphics, they used to display dangerous animals like scorpions and snakes being cut with flint knives in order to render them powerless."

"oh." is all I can manage while I process what he's saying. Spencer waits for me to say something else, but instead I bend my head down to pull back the silk tie.

"there's no way that using flint is a coincidence." I reason. the blood is all on the inside of the tie as well, which gives me pause. Reid recognizes this a second later, his eyes lifting to mine. they look almost brown in the candlelight, flecks of gold sparkling in them while his mind whirs endlessly.

"I'm gonna call Garcia to see if any of the victims have been charged with a crime." he tells me.

"good idea." we both stand, the crime scene agent scurrying off to do something else. I head back over to Emily and hope that we're right about this. flint is too specific of a weapon for it not to be intentional, right?

...

we deliver the profile by the end of the work day, our unsub a serial vigilante with a personal edge to all of his killings. my body is slightly shaky from downing cups of coffee without any actual food, so the promise of eating out after we finish makes my stomach eager.

we go to a Chinese restaurant by the station and keep talking about the case, despite having promised ourselves not to do so. I sit between Prentiss and Reid while I dig into my dumplings. I like listening to them swap theories and past cases, how they weave together all their stories.

"you forgot to add something to the profile earlier today, Aaron." Rossi says as he piles more noodles onto his plate. our attention immediately focuses on the Italian.

"what did he forget?" Prentiss has a ghost of a smile on her face. I've noticed that she tends to speak like she's on the inside of a joke that other people don't understand. the intonation of her words feels like a secret.

"I didn't mention the possibility of our unsub being a cop." Hotch takes a sip of his ice water. there's a moment where we all reflect on this information before Morgan breaks the silence.

"I mean, they do know the system."

"they could easily take matters into their own hands, given what they see every day." Prentiss adds. I nod.

"when someone like our victim is killed, police refer to it as a public-service murder." Reid struggles to get the noodles onto his chopsticks, which I notice but don't say anything about. he tries again, the food slipping back onto his plate. Morgan notices this shortcoming of Spencer's and I see that he's about to start teasing him, so I change the subject.

"I saw a lot of rapists walk when I was in sex crimes," I put down my dumpling while I talk. Hotch watches me intently. I haven't spoken much about my previous job with anyone on the team, especially not him. in fact, he barely knows anything about me. "a lot of the victims didn't feel safe pressing charges, or the juries said they were asking for it. it's enough to make you wanna explode."

"it's a long way from feeling like that and actually committing a murder, though, don't you think?" Emily asks.

"not really." I turn my gaze back to my plate and start to feel nauseous. there's a clinking of plates and silverware as we continue in silence. Emily nudges my arm gently with hers and offers me a supportive smile.

I hear Spencer next to me, getting the attention of a passing waiter.

"excuse me," he says in a low tone. "can I get a fork, perhaps?"

Morgan snickers as the waiter takes off to get the utensil. at this point, there's a palpable tension as we wait to see who makes fun of Reid first. he drops his chopsticks into his bowl with a defeated clatter and Derek gently pushes his knuckles against Spencer's cheekbone.

"having some trouble, kid?" he asks. Spencer smacks his hand away.

"don't be mean." I giggle, reaching onto my wrist to grab a hair tie. "here, try this." I wrap the thing around the end of Spencer's chopsticks so that they're easier to use, handing them back to him.

Spencer tries again and it works-- if not somewhat clumsily. he gives me a little appreciative smile and I smile back before returning to my food, listening to the stories that Rossi doles out. he even pays for dinner despite our half-hearted protests.

the entertainment for the evening is pretty nice, but when I've stuffed myself with Chinese food, Emily leans over to me.

"do you wanna go to that museum you were talking about earlier?" she whispers. I peek at my phone to check the time.

"I doubt we'd have much time before they close, but yeah, definitely." excitement bubbles up in my stomach as I realize I might actually get to poke around for a while. Prentiss throws her napkin on the table abruptly.

"Clea and I are going to the Museum of Fine Arts. anyone wanna join?"

I look around to gauge some reactions.

"I'm interested." Morgan nods.

"I've already been several times." Rossi takes a sip of his drink as he politely declines. Hotch shakes his head.

"I have some paperwork I need to finish."

"again?" Prentiss complains.

"I'll go." Spencer sits up straighter as he looks at his brunette friend, folding his napkin neatly on his plate. my eyebrows raise a little, although I'm not surprised that he'd be interested in visiting any museum. we stand and get ready to go; Hotch warns us to be ready to go at seven in the morning tomorrow. a little weight is lifted off my chest as I realize that there will be some reprieve during this case, and then we're wandering out into the evening air.

we ate dinner sort of early, so the sky is still slightly aglow with a bruised shade, preparing to sink into its favorite darkness. after finding the route to the museum, we hop on the train.

Boston is lovely in the kind of way that aches of neat corners and airy lights. stores crammed with antiques and novelty products line the sidewalks, people wander about as they take in a pleasant night. somehow disjointed and cohesive all at once.

whatever bit of conversation we had on the way dissipates into breathlessness once we get inside the enormous entryway. it's cavernous, extravagant, gorgeous. we flip through brochures advertising different exhibits. Emily raves about Impressionism and decides that that must be our first stop, so we head off with the rest of the museum stragglers who have decided to feed themselves with art until they're forced to leave.

my head is constantly spinning to admire something else in the enormous white rooms. it's a bit overwhelming at some points, what with the gargantuan canvases that greet me at every turn. but it's impressive, too, and I find myself hungrily reading all the small plaques. I venture out of the Impressionism vein and into Korean art, my feet carrying me away from Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer broke off a while ago; to where, I have no idea.

I check out vases and pottery, sculptures, renderings of historical events. images from the crime scenes fill my head intrusively. there's no use in trying to shut them out; they've been in my dreams for a while now, the kind that wake me up in a cold sweat. I haven't told anyone about them— I'm sure others get them, too— and I don't want to seem like I can't handle it. every time I close my eyes, I begin to feel the pressure of a knife against my temple.

"a lot of these are from private collections."

the voice causes me to jump, my skin erupting in goosebumps as Spencer stands beside me. he holds his bag against his side and follows my line of sight to the 18th-century bookshelf screen.

"that's interesting." I reply. what else is there to say to that?

"really makes you think about what other art pieces won't ever be seen by the public." he turns and starts walking onto the next work, seemingly done with this conversation. my brow furrows while I watch him go, his posture miserable as a result of his skinny build. he's quite tall.

"what do you mean?" my voice comes out quiet, but it carries in the otherwise empty exhibit. Reid turns around and stops in his place, allows me to catch up briefly. we start to read another plaque by a silver basin.

"you could have a Cézanne just rotting in your attic and it would never be examined by the right scholars." he shrugs.

"I really doubt there's anything nearing that value in my attic." I laugh.

"you ever seen 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks non-sarcastically. I balk.

"sure."

"you never know." he's not a man of many words, apparently. I get his message regardless and we continue to walk, him setting out facts for me in neat rows, simple and easily taken in. he's definitely a know-it-all, but not in the way that makes me want to escape his presence. it's sort of comforting, having someone around who just understands everything. his absolute lack of social graces makes him easy to be around, too; I don't need to force conversation because he doesn't care.

we wind up in the mummy section, where the walls tingle with an energy that could only be described as magical.

"spooky." I nod to the domineering sarcophagus lid of Kheperra. a spotlight illuminates all of its intricacies and I make a beeline for it. Spencer trails behind me and we fall into silence as we peer at the exquisite details. it's intimidating, for sure, hulking and made of carved black stone. "you feel that?" I whisper to Spencer, who is enthralled in the image.

the way the spotlight spills over onto him is interesting; it emphasizes the shadow below his jaw and the delicate quality of his bone structure, his cheekbone prominent at the place where his ear meets his face. his lashes are long and lovely, his Adam's apple poking out of a slender throat. he turns to me with a curious expression.

"feel what?"

"the energy change," I smile. "from the ancient dead bodies."

"it's probably just the dark lighting and the media associations you have with mummies." but his eyes begin flitting about the room in a slightly panicked manner. I feel a smirk tug at my lips as I step closer to him.

"are you scared?"

"no," he scoffs and makes a face like I've made the world's most absurd accusation. "why would I be scared?"

"because we're all alone in here..." I use a lower tone to freak him out a little. "who's to stop them from coming out and... snatching us?" when my hand snakes around behind him to pinch his arm, he jumps.

"what the--" he catches sight of the devilish grin on my face. "don't do that!"

"sorry, Einstein." I laugh and turn in the other direction, him following me to the next piece. Spencer doesn't seem to have more thoughts to give on the exhibition, probably still a little creeped out. part of me begins to feel guilty for startling him, even though he constantly does that to me. his footfalls are weirdly soft.

I wonder what Spencer is like outside of work. what he does when he gets back to his apartment. how could someone like him entertain themselves? maybe he just reads books until his eyes glaze over. he definitely doesn't go out often, but maybe he has other nerdy friends. I hope he does. there's something in his eyes that's too viscous for me to grasp, something swimming and pocketed. I'd like to understand it, although that doesn't seem like a great idea to pursue. he barely gives his closest friends information about his life.

we end up at opposite ends of the room, him still examining an entombed husband and wife couple while I check out a canonic jar. the silence in this room is tangible. I wasn't lying when I felt an energy shift— it's like gold and clay and it smells like cracked cinnamon.

I'm trying to get a better look at the detailing when I feel a cold hand wrap around my forearm, easily encircling it. I jolt.

Spencer stands behind me with a playful smile, like he's quite pleased with himself.

"Reid!" I yank my arm away from his long fingers and see him let out that rare laugh. it's pleasant and fills the room with a warmer light as I rub my arm where his fingers held me. I'm surprised he was willing to touch me at all; it's pretty obvious that he's got a problem with germs, which is understandable.

"who's scared now?" he tries to defend himself with his palms when I reach out to gently smack his shoulder.

"you know, I was starting to feel bad for you." I laugh. he smiles brightly and keeps walking into the next room. I realize that the way we move is like two weighted ends of a string. he drifts out on his own, I follow, and vice versa.

I appreciate that he's beginning to loosen up around me, so much so that he smiles at a joke I make in the English Regency section. we walk quickly to absorb as much as we can before the museum closes, but we still don't get through all of it. Spencer isn't much of a conversationalist, and he doesn't really need to be. he listens to me talk, I listen to his erudite observations, smiling when he uses certain terms that sound like they're from someone much older.

by the time a curator tells us we have to go, we've completely lost Prentiss and Morgan and end up meeting back at the entrance. it's pitch black outside; Boston is still bustling, except my legs are tired and I'm ready to crash in bed. we have another packed day tomorrow.