#( if i'm out here liking your posts imagine that's me waving & admiring your brain from afar DSKJSK i am testing the waters )

[erabundus]

if i answer ... ten asks today ... i will allow myself to buy another enamel pin.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter nineteen

genre: fluff!! some angst

warnings: mentions of prison, ptsd and its symptoms (flashbacks, kinda)

word count: 6.1k

summary: spencer gets home and amelia helps him keep his head on straight.

pairing: season twelve/thirteen spencer reid x oc

AMELIA

Stepping back into my apartment after being away for over twenty-four hours is such a relief. Spencer, for some reason, didn't want to go back to his own apartment, so I happily bring him right to mine.

He's half asleep in my passenger seat, his head resting against the window and his hand smushed against his cheek. Despite the challenging circumstances, at every red light, I gaze over to admire how adorable he looks with puffy cheeks and flushed skin. He's fighting sleep as we journey to my apartment, and even though I've told him that he doesn't have to, I still see him forcing his eyes open every few seconds.

When we're just a few minutes from my apartment, I finally speak up. "So," I murmur, and he lifts his head slightly, "do you wanna do anything when we get home, or do you wanna go right to sleep?"

Spencer shakes his head and adjusts his position so he's leaning more towards me, his head almost resting on my shoulder. "I'm really tired but I'm hungry. And I wanna shower too. Do you have my stuff at your apartment still?"

"Of course I do, doll," I smile, reaching my hand over to rest on his cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. "I have your go-bag too. So a shower, some food, and then sleep. We can do that," Spencer turns his head and kisses my palm, capturing my hand in his and bring them into his lap. I pull up in front of my apartment and park my car, smiling over at my hazy and sleepy boyfriend. "Here, Spence."

We climb out of my car and go trudging up to my apartment, and I push my keys into the lock. I twist it but it doesn't make the clicking sound to tell me it's unlocked, so I pull out the keys. I put them in again and twist one more time, and when the lock doesn't click, I pull the keys out for the second time. I figure that my friends might just be major idiots and have forgotten to lock the door after they left yesterday, so I tuck the keys in my pocket and twist the knob. It pops right open. Great. My door has been unlocked for over twenty-four hours.

Spencer isn't paying much mind to this though as we trudge in, kicking off our shoes. I hang up my jacket and turn to Spencer to ask for his jacket so I can put it in the washer, but his gaze is somewhere else. I follow where he's looking and find that the balcony doors are slightly open, and I roll my eyes. This keeps happening to me. These damn balcony doors. Between the balcony and front doors being open, I'm surprised that all of my belongings aren't completely gone.

"Don't worry about it, Spence," I tell him, dramatically flipping the lock on my front door so we can both hear the clicking noise and then padding across my apartment to flip the lock on the balcony door. Honestly though, my hands are trembling as I touch the knobs. Why are my door continuously unlocked? I try to brush it off for Spencer's sake. "My friends were here when I left to pick you up and I'm sure they forgot to close and lock everything. It's fine. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it."

Spencer nods and rubs his eyes, then begins to speak through a loud yawn. "You should yell at your friends."

It's just another moment of the old Spencer shining through the armor that the new Spencer is wearing. This exhausted and bleary and witty version of my boyfriend is who I have embedded in my brain, not the version who yells at me and throws books at walls and jumps away from my touch. I wish I could frame this moment and hang it on the wall.

"Come on," I wave him towards the kitchen and he follows me blindly, falling into a barstool at the island, leaning his elbows against the granite. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up and his forearms are far too distracting for anyone's good, and I have to tear my eyes away from him before I get carried away. I'm just too deprived of sex and satisfaction that maybe any intimate sight of Spencer will get me going. Even if it's his hands, or his forearms, or his fingers-- oh god, look away.

"Is there anything specific you want?" I take a glance through my fridge at the ingredients I have before turning back to him. His hands are on his cheeks now, distorting his face in that same adorable way it was in the car. "I'll make you whatever you're feeling."

"Just something, um," he speaks quietly, "easy. Pancakes, or something."

"Sure, I can do that," I reach into the cupboard and pull out the pancake mix, retrieving a bowl and a skillet.

"I'm gonna go put a record on," Spencer drags himself out of his chair and into the living room and I can hear him rummaging through the mess in there.

He's utterly exhausted. I've seen him tired after cases, but never liked this. He can barely even speak a full sentence or walk in a straight line. So I combine ingredients quickly, hoping that the stove warms up at lightning speed so I can cook these pancakes as fast as possible. I want to get Spencer food, and then into a shower, and then into bed. I couldn't care less about my needs. I just can't bear seeing him dragging himself around like this anymore.

My ears perk up when the record scratches and then the music starts, and State of Grace by Taylor Swift starts playing. I watch Spencer come back in and sit down again, his eyes closed as he absorbs the music. I expected him to put on one of the many classical records I have, like Mozart or Beethoven or Brahms. But no, he put on Taylor Swift. I choose not to comment on the music choice and instead, I pour the batter on the hot skillet.

It's only five minutes before I have a stack of pancakes and I've run out of batter. I turn off the burner and divide up the pancakes onto two plates, grabbing two forks and the maple syrup from the fridge. Spencer gives me a tiny smile as he reaches for his plate, digging in without even waiting for the syrup.

I drizzle a fair amount of syrup on my own pancakes and then pick up my fork, about to eat my first meal in twenty-four hours, but then I look at Spencer. He's scarfing down his food like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he's even chewing it at all. His head is bowed all the way down, nose almost touching the pancake stack as he snakes his fork under his chin, and his free hand is on the table with his fingers spread, and before I can blink again, he's halfway through his plate.

"Hey, hey, Spence," I reach my hand out for him, but he doesn't react. This is what happened when he threw the book. He got in his head, then I touched him, and he freaked out. I can't let that happen again. So I sit up on my knees and lean toward him, placing my hands flat against the table so, again, he can see that I don't plan on touching him or using them against him. "Spencer, look at me," he digs his fork into the pancake but his hand falters, slowing down. "Eyes up here, dove."

Spencer's eyes slowly travel up until they lock with mine, and they hold the same panicked qualities that they did post-book-throwing. I offer him a smile, but he doesn't give one back, not that I expected him to.

"Spencer," I speak slowly and calmly, "nobody's here. It's just you and me. You can slow down. You have all the time in the world to eat," Spencer takes a labored breath through his nose and shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I promise, dove, and you know I don't break my promises. You can slow down, you can just be with me. You're with me, and that's it."

"It's just--" he hangs his head and then opens his eyes, staring at his half-empty plate, "sitting like this. It feels-- it feels like-- it just-- it's--"

For some reason, I understand what he can't say. From how he's sitting in such a defensive and protected position and now he's saying that there's a problem with how he's sitting, it makes sense to me. Somehow, sitting like his makes him think of sitting and eating in prison and having to, I don't know, protect his food, maybe. I don't know much of anything about prison but I didn't think that it would change the way he eats meals.

"Okay, okay," I cut off his stuttering, nodding softly so I can seem as understanding as possible. "Come on then," I pull back my hands and grab my plate, sliding off the barstool and pressing my back against the kitchen cabinets, slowly sliding down. "How about we sit on the floor? Would that be okay?"

Spencer stares at me sliding onto the floor and it takes him quite a while to grab onto his plate and join me. He slides down beside me and extends his legs in front of him, setting his plate on his lap. He takes a long, deep breath and starts slicing into his pancakes again, much slower this time.

"Is this better?" I ask softly. "You can tell me if it's not because we could move somewhere else," I start to cut into my own food again, keeping my eyes on him.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and then he slumps down a little bit more so he can rest his head on my shoulder. Spencer is eating like a snail now, moving his hand so slowly that I have to keep looking down to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep on my shoulder. We just eat in tense silence, and as badly as I want to touch him and comfort him and smother him in love like I imagined I would be by now, I get the feeling that he would hate that and it would overwhelm him.

Not surprisingly, Spencer finishes his pancakes before me and gently places his fork down on his plate, setting his trembling hands flat on his lap. I expect Spencer to get up and discard his plate in the sink or the dishwasher and then head upstairs and jump in a shower, but he doesn't move. He stays right beside me with his head on my shoulder so I start to pick up my eating pace so we can get going. If he's not going to move without me then I don't want to make him sit here forever.

"Can I take your plate for you?" I whisper once I've finally finished my pancakes. The sun has fully risen and is blaring through the windows, and it feels so twisted to be so exhausted, so early in the morning.

Spencer nods, but he doesn't offer the plate up to me. I pick it up off his lap gingerly and wait for Spencer to lift his head before standing, putting them in the sink to deal with later. I turn back to Spencer, who's still on the floor, and hold my hands out to him to help him up. He looks at my feet first, and then incredibly slowly drags his eyes up my body until his eyes lock with mine. He seems so distant. He seems so far away and so far gone. His eyes are glossed over and his movements are like that of a sloth, starkly contrasting his quick actions just a few minutes before.

I very gently thrust my hands forward again, wiggling my fingers in his direction to get his attention. "Let's go get you in a shower, okay? I bet it'll make you feel a lot better."

Spencer looks up at me with a heartbreaking gaze, as if he can't even see me. As if he's staring right through me. As if he can't even see me at all. But then he pushes himself up by his lonesome and runs his hands down his face.

"Um," he breathes, his voice so low that I barely hear it, "thank you for-- you know, for the food," He keeps his eyes down on the floor, his body turned slightly away from me as if he's cowering from my touch again.

"No need to thank me, love. But let's just head upstairs and get you into a shower, okay?" I wave him out of the kitchen and he slumps off towards the stairs.

I watch him go, and once he gets on the first step, I go into the living room to shut off the record that Spencer has put on. Taylor Swift, huh? I have to make a mental note to ask Spencer about that when we're better rested.

Once I've put the record away, I follow Spencer up the stairs and I find him rummaging through my closet, already having dumped out all the items from his go-bag on the bed. His back is turned to me, too focused on finding clothes in my closet. I go to the pile of clothes and separate the work clothes from his pajamas, making two separate sections for him and trying to smooth out wrinkles from the fabrics.

"Sweets," even when I speak, he doesn't acknowledge my presence, "what are you looking for in there? I know you've got some clothes in there but you've got two whole sets of pajamas right here. They're clean, I've cleaned these clothes."

"I need a white tee-shirt," Spencer tells me and his voice is sharper now. It's not quiet and timid like in the kitchen. It's the exact opposite of the man that was just in my apartment a moment ago.

"Why?" I look down at the pair of pajama pants and the crew neck on the bed in front of me, right next to a different pair of pajamas, a matching silk set that Spencer commonly wears to sleep. Why isn't this good enough for him? If anything, this will keep him more comfortable during bed than just a tee-shirt. "There's two pajama sets right here for you that--"

"I need a white tee shirt, okay?!" Spencer snaps, turning his head to me, but still never looking me in the eye. "I need to wear a white tee-shirt to bed!"

I let out a shaky breath at the venom dripping from his mouth, reaching for the clothes in front of me and just grasping them in my hand, grasping for something to ground me. Although, maybe I'm not the one who needs the grounding right now.

I hear Spencer sigh behind me as he finds a white tee-shirt, and when he comes to the bed beside me, he takes a pair of pajama pants and boxers out of my hands. I move around him to put the other clothes back into his go bag, setting it in the corner of the room and then sifting through my closet for a crew neck and a pair of shorts. I do everything in my power to forgive and forget the moment that is making my hands tremble and my head dizzy. Spencer never yells. And he definitely never yells at me.

I hear the bathroom door open as I put my clothes onto the bed and pull off my tank top, but when I don't hear the water turn on, I turn to check on Spencer. He's still standing in the doorway, clutching his clothes in his hands and staring at the shower door.

"Spence?" He jumps when I speak his name as if he momentarily forgot that I was in the same room as him. And when he turns to me, he's back to the man he was in the kitchen. Quiet, timid, desperate. His eyes are pleading for me, and I feel helpless knowing I don't know exactly how to help him. I disregard my clothes and walk toward him, but don't make an effort to touch him. "Love, you can shower, it's okay. You'll feel much better when you wash off all the sweat and grossness of the--" I pause, wanting to say one certain word but knowing I shouldn't. I settle with a safer word, "day."

Spencer pouts his pretty lips and his hands tighten around the pile of clothes in his hands. "Could you-- um-- could you come with me? I don't wanna be alone right now," and perhaps it seems like a rude comparison, but he looks like a small child. He looks like a child who's woken up from a nightmare, clutching his pillow to his chest, asking his mom to come to his room to scare away the monster under his bed. But I'll never be able to scare away the monster under Spencer's bed. We both know that and we both seem to be ignoring it. For now, we'll pretend that I can remedy every issue in the world and continue on with our day.

I toss my tank top into the hamper across the room and then walk over to Spencer, leaning against the doorframe across from him. "Are you gonna be comfortable with that, dove?"

Spencer nods quickly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "I'll be okay. I really don't wanna be alone. I want you."

I glance at the shower and then back at Spencer with his greasy hair and his half-lidded eyes and his hunched shoulders, and I nod. If he gets uncomfortable again, I'll just get out. He needs a shower more than me anyway, and if I need to get out of the shower because he doesn't want me touching him, then it's not the end of the world. Spencer breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the bathroom, setting his clothes on the sink counter. I grab two towels from the closet and start the shower, leaving the door open a crack so the steam can escape.

Spencer strips off his clothes before I do and, holy shit, I almost gasp. Now, for the millionth time, I have no idea what prison is like. I only know tiny bits of what Spencer went through, like getting beat up and eventually stabbing himself and getting thrown into solitary confinement. I don't know what he did during the time that he was stuck in his cell by himself, or what he did to pass the time when he wasn't in his cell. Honestly, I don't really know what he did at all in prison.

But holy shit. Spencer's arms are far more toned than I remember them to be and his stomach is too, and if Derek Morgan were here, I'd bet good money that he would be impressed. Even Spencer's calves and quads look more toned than before, and every time he moves, every one of his muscles flexes in the most delicious and sexy way. How much did he work out in prison? Did he work out every second of every day? I wasn't expecting this type of transformation from him, but he's been full of surprises. And after a moment of staring, I wonder if this is a good change or not.

"Why are you staring?" Spencer has just reached for the waistband of his boxers but paused when he saw me standing still and staring, then his hands stilled.

"Um," I have to physically jerk my head to the side to break my gaze and force my eye line up to his pupils, "sorry, I was just-- you--"

"I what?" Spencer retorts, and thankfully, he doesn't sound angry. He sounds genuinely curious.

"You just look different. More, you know, muscular," I try to choose my words carefully because I don't want to offend him. I don't want to make it seem like I hate his body now, or that I hated his body before prison because neither is the case. I could never hate his body. I'm not with him for his body. His body is beautiful regardless. This is just such a difference from what I'm used to seeing from my boyfriend. This is just another part of him that has been taken away from him. His soft body is gone as if he has morphed himself into an intimidating alpha male. I never wanted an alpha male. I've only ever wanted my Spencer.

"I worked out a lot," Spencer mumbles vaguely. He barely tells me any details about prison. The most he told me was while we were eating. And even still, he didn't give me specifics during dinner. He left me to guess exactly what was wrong. It's all been vague so far. I'm not sure if that's because he's protecting me or because he just can't bring himself to talk about it yet.

"Let's get in the shower so we can get some sleep," I want to nudge him towards the open shower curtain and the warm, streaming water. But Spencer moves on his own, shuffling towards the shower and quickly discarding his boxers.

He seems hesitant to get into the water at first, just standing at the edge of the tub and letting the water hit his toes first. Spencer stares at the stream of water, reaching his foot out a bit more to get his ankle and shin wet. I watch him carefully for a moment, just to make sure he doesn't freak out like he has a few times already today.

Spencer's head turns to me and he gives me a pleading look, his eyebrows scrunched up and his bottom lip between his teeth. He's clearly keeping tears at bay, trying to prevent his chin from quivering. "Lia," he stammers, but doesn't say anything else. A single tear falls down his cheek.

I quickly pull off my undergarments and move the shower door back a little bit more, stepping into the tub so I'm in the stream of water. I hold my hands out for him, and this time, he actually grabs onto them. I draw him closer to me. Not closer to the stream of water, but just closer to my body.

"It's just water, Spence," I tip my head back and wet my mane of curls, matting them down to my head. "It actually feels really good."

"It's just," Spencer shuffles just a little bit closer to me. The tips of his toes touch mine, his whole body flinching when a droplet of water ricochets off of me and hits his chest, "the showers were always cold."

"Oh," I turn and look at the knobs behind me that control the water temperature, "I can make it cold if you want. It's not a big deal if--"

"No, no, I don't want that," he shakes his head, clutching my hands tightly in his. "I don't wanna take another cold shower. It just feels weird. I'm not used to it."

I scrunch up my nose, unlacing our hands and tracing my fingertips up his forearms. I wonder if I should even let myself touch his biceps because if I do, I might completely lose my cool and want to jump his bones. Clearly, he's not ready for sex or any kind of physical intimacy. I didn't even expect us to be showering together any time soon. "I don't like cold showers, either. You know that. Do you wanna get under the water?"

Spencer nods and grabs my hands again, switching our spots so he's directly under the stream. I don't let go of him as he sighs of relief, the water falling over his face and making his hair stick to his forehead. He closes his eyes, dropping his shoulders down. This is, by far, the most relaxed I've seen him all day. He seemed to be relaxed in the car, but now, he has completely let his guard down for the first time. It's a beautiful sight, truly. It's beautiful to see him running his hands through his hair and reaching for his shampoo and fluttering his eyelids. He's always been so beautiful.

I shave my legs while Spencer washes his body, and he spends quite a lot of time doing so. I'm not surprised that he wants to wash every germ off his body, I'd expected that much. And we keep in silence, just washing away the stress and drama and hardships of the last few months. I wish that a simple shower could wash away all the pain that we've been cursed with, but I know that this pain may never go away. The pain of this time will always linger, no matter how hard we try to eradicate it.

"Are you gonna shave?" I ask, switching places one more time with Spencer so I could wash my face.

"You said you liked it so--"

"Yeah, but it's your face. If you wanna shave, then shave. Don't let me stop you," I wipe away the soap from my eyes and smile at Spencer, gesturing to where his razor still sits along the wall.

Spencer runs his hands over his face, feeling his mustache and beard on his fingertips. "I'll keep it for now. Maybe tomorrow I'll clean it up a little but I don't wanna deal with it today."

"Well let's go get some sleep, okay?" I turn around and shut off the water, wringing out my hair so it doesn't drip onto the floor. Spencer gets out and quickly wraps himself in a towel, and when I step out a moment after him, he hands my towel to me. "Thanks."

I head out of the bathroom and reach for my clothes, pulling on a pair of underwear and one of Spencer's old tee-shirts. I dry off my hair a little bit and sit on the edge of the bed, putting lotion on my legs and keeping my eyes on the bathroom door for when Spencer eventually comes out.

He takes forever to get dressed, but when he does, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white tee-shirt, his hair soaked and hanging over his forehead. He drops his towel in the hamper and then he turns on his heel to join me in bed, but freezes in his spot when he sees my towel on the floor. He quickly picks it up off the floor and puts it into the hamper, then he scans the floor of the room for anything else that could be out of place.

"Babe?" I close off the lid on my bottle of lotion and put it away, watching him put a pair of my shoes into the closet and then jam the door closed. "Spencer, if you really wanna clean, do it when you can actually keep your eyes open. Come get some sleep, please."

Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands drop from the closet handle, and then they smooth through his hair. He nods silently, and his toes drag against the carpet as he brings himself towards the bed.

He falls onto his side, pulling back the duvet and slipping under, letting out a sound close to a moan as his body sinks into the bed. His head falls onto the pillow and he moans louder, his body wiggling under the covers. I smile at his pure and unfiltered ecstasy and pleasure, doing the same and slipping under the duvet with him.

I keep a bit of distance between us though. Usually, I'd slide my leg through his and wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest and get as close to him as I possibly can. But he's so caught up in the familiarity and comfortability of my bed that I don't want to overwhelm him by touching him. I want him to enjoy his first time in a proper bed in months and not worry about my hands on his skin.

I let out a roaring yawn, rolling onto my side to face Spencer. Now that I'm laying in bed, my exhaustion is setting in yet again. I pull the duvet up to my chin and close my eyes, trying to let myself drift off to sleep.

I'm just about to dip into dreamland when I feel Spencer shift beside me, facing me. I try to ignore it, try to bring myself closer to sleep, try to let us both get the rest that we so desperately need. But I can sense Spencer's gaze on me, and as hard as I try to, I can't ignore it. I just want him to go to sleep. I want him to sleep so he can regenerate and hopefully feel better whenever it is that we wake up. But my forehead is burning with his stare and I can't stop feeling it. Clearly, something is affecting him and that's why he hasn't tried to sleep yet.

To my surprise, Spencer's voice is the one to break through the silence. "Baby?" He's shaky. He's trembling. He's unsure.

I open my eyes, seeing tears pouring down his cheeks and his hand in midair, just a few inches in front of my face. "Spencer," I breathe, watching his hand drops onto the bed between us. "What's wrong?" Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and his hand clutches the bed sheet until his knuckles turn white. He breathes in harshly through his nose and he draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a tiny ball. "Dove, talk to me."

Spencer's other hand comes down to the bed to join his other, squeezing so tightly that I fear he might rip a hole in the fabric. I see his arms start to shake with the force he's using to hold the bedsheet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and staining the pillow. He hiccups, but not too loud. Barely loud enough for me to hear. "Lia," he sobs, completely breaking down right before my eyes, "please hold me."

I want to jump his bones. I want to get on top of him and smother him in love and affection and kisses. I want to give him everything I know we've both been craving for months. I want to give him exactly what he's asking for. But I've spent most of my day doing what I can to not overwhelm him and that's not going to change now.

I debate for a moment on how I should touch him first. Should I wipe his tears? Should I hold his hand? Should I wrap my arm around his waist? Should I drag my fingers along his arm? What could I do that won't freak him out?

But then I notice, again, that his eyes are closed. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's not looking at me. I remember how he reacted in the round table room when I touched him when he couldn't see it coming. He jumped and cowered away from me. He didn't take well to getting touched without seeing it.

"Spencer," I whisper, "open your eyes." His eyebrows scrunch up at my request but he doesn't follow it. "Come on, baby, I wanna see your pretty eyes. I haven't been able to see them in so long. Open your eyes for me," I watch Spencer carefully as he holds his breath, forcing his eyelids open, releasing more tears. "There you go, Spence. Thank you, lovey. So pretty. Your eyes are so pretty."

I raise my hand and let it linger in the air for a moment before reaching towards Spencer's face. I drag my fingers along his jawline then lay my hand flat against his cheek. Spencer's lips part when he lets out a shaky sigh, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of my hand. I give him a moment to revel in this type of contact, just staring into his eyes and gauging his reaction. He isn't cowering away and he hasn't screamed at me yet, so I take that as a good sign.

I bring my other hand forward and press my fingers against the back of his hand, feeling him already start to ease his grip. I can't attest for his other hand, but he flattens his hand against the bed, allowing me to lock our fingers together in an awkward, backwards handhold.

"I've got you," I whisper, swiping my thumb across his cheeks to rid his skin of stinging tears. His eyes are locked on mine and he doesn't dare to avert his gaze from my blue eyes that I know he loves so much.

Spencer sucks in a breath and tugs on my hand, wanting me even closer. So I wiggle my hips to diminish the gap between us, leaving some space still. I move my head so we're sharing a pillow, the same pillow that I used to clutch when I was missing Spencer so intensely that I needed to smell his cologne and remember that he would come home to me soon.

"It hurts," he slurs, and his eyelids are so heavy that he can barely keep them open. But he fights with all his strength against the sleep that wants to suck him in, sticking his eyes to me. His eyes plead for help, a type of help that I don't know if I can provide.

"Oh, my baby," I coo, bringing my face right in front of him, "you're safe. You're home. You don't have to go back to that horrible place again. You're right here and you can rest, okay? It's okay to rest now."

I feel him moving under the sheets and it takes everything in me to not look at what he's doing. But I feel his legs touching mine, and then one of his slips between mine a moment later. Even though he initiated this contact, I wait, yet again, for his reaction. His face doesn't change.

"Can I touch you some more?" Spencer nods quickly, his facial hair scratching my palm. "Can I hug you?" He nods again, and with this obvious consent, I almost sigh of relief.

I slide my hand down Spencer's neck, then down his arm, and to his stomach. I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling my body forward so I'm flush against him. With this, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, lips parted as he breathes heavily. His skin feels so warm against mine and I can already feel beads of sweat collecting at my hairline, but I ignore their presence.

"Go to sleep," I murmur, bringing our entwined hands up to the pillow between our faces. "I'm here right now, I'm gonna be here when you wake up, I'm gonna be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day, and every day after that. I'm not going anywhere. And if you need me then don't hesitate to wake me up. But I need you to get some sleep, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer nods yet again, and he flips his hand around so we can properly hold hands. I smile at his responsiveness. "Let me hear you say it, doll."

Spencer nuzzles his cheek against the pillow, scooting a bit closer to me. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Good," I slip my hand under his tee shirt and rest it flat against his hot skin, earning a small gasp from him, but I don't do any more than that. "I'm right here, baby boy. I'm not gonna let go of your hand and I'm not gonna get out of bed before you. I'll be right here the whole time. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I love you," Spencer whispers but his words are barely coherent as his exhaustion becomes too much to handle. His lips are barely moving and his grip on my hand, and on the sheets, are loosening.

"I love you too, dove."

I watch him closely until I know, for sure, that he's fallen asleep. I wouldn't want his eyes to pop open again and for him to panic. But I keep my promise and I don't let go of his hand, or move my hand from in his shirt, or get out of bed. I just close my eyes and drift off into the most restless sleep I've had yet.

TAGLIST

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[sometimesiwearpants]

I'm Leaving Tumblr Today 👋

Hey everybody, I just wanted to let you know that this is my last day on Tumblr. I’ve had a lot of fun blogging but I’ve started to neglect what’s really important.

Anyway, as a parting gift, I wanted to give away all the art, fanfiction, and songs that I started but never finished. You can feel free to use ANY of this content or the ideas as you please. For example, it’s fine with me if you want to record my songs, steal lines from my fics, or use my art ideas. I’m not actually deactivating my account, so you’ll still be able to see content in this post and all my other posts even after I log out indefinitely. 

Thank-you so much for your follows and your friendship! I hope my blog brought you some enjoyment while it lasted. Love you guys ❤

SONGS:

(Lyrics are in the Sound Cloud descriptions.)

Never Feed a Stray - Click Here to listen in Sound Cloud

A song about Marinette reluctantly falling for Chat Noir. 

I Will Stay - Click Here to listen in Sound Cloud

A duet between the oblivious love birds, Adrien and Marinette.

ART:

(If you have ArtRage and want the .ptg file let me know!)

Mattress Surfing Comic

Basically the mattress surfing scene from Princess Diaries 2 but with Miraculous Ladybug characters. Unfortunately I never got around to drawing the third panel - Gabriel majestically gliding down the stairs on a mattress in his PJs (I added versions of the panels without words under the cut.)

Seven Eleven

So what if Seven from Mystic Messenger and Eleven from Stranger Things went to 7-Eleven? I feel like they’d talk about their crappy childhoods and bond over Slurpees and Honey Buddha Chips. Clearly I didn’t get very far with this one but I still like the idea. (Version with just Eleven under the cut.)

(Other versions of my art and unfinished fanfiction under the cut)

FANFICTION

Pursuit -  In this Miraculous AU, Adrien is the sole miraculous holder and Marinette is a civilian who becomes a self-imposed vigilante. The love square and their personalities are sort of flipped so Adrien is a socially awkward mess around Marinette and Ladybug is flirty with Chat Noir. 

(I didn’t even finish writing the first chapter…)

She should have stayed inside. The rain was falling harder now, bringing with it a frigid sensation that washed over Marinette’s paralyzed body. The glowing pause symbol hovered before her, a taunting reminder of the menacing evil that had overcome her best friend. But that had been hours ago. 

“It’s been too long,” Marinette kept thinking. “Something’s wrong.”

She was beginning to fear the worst when suddenly a familiar wave of green light shot through the sky, one of its rays swimming through the air in her direction. As it surrounded her, the pause symbol disappeared, releasing its death grip on her muscles. Marinette fell to her hands and knees on the wet pavement, her body shaking violently as it fought to regain heat.

“He did it.” She realized in relief. “Chat Noir did it.”

She trudged through the storm, each unavoidable puddle soaking through her shoes and biting at her toes. The only warmth provided her was a burning envy for those who passed by with umbrellas. She waited at a street corner, trying to avoid the waves of water that shot towards her as cars sped by. When the crosswalk signal finally turned green, Marinette stepped onto the slick street, distracted by thoughts of home. 

What she would give right now to be inside and safe and warm and dry and wrapped in her parents’ arms. Unfortunately, the latter would not be possible until tomorrow, as they were both in Strasbourg for the annual Festival de la Boulangerie. Maybe she could spend the night with Alya. She would probably appreciate the company after what happened today… Through her thoughts and the tumult of rain around her, Marinette suddenly heard a desperate screech of tires and a blaring car horn. Still in the street, she froze as her eyes caught sight of a black vehicle hydroplaning in her direction. 

There’s no time.

A powerful force slammed into the Parisian girl’s body, catapulting her through the air and onto the pavement. But it wasn’t the car. 

“Are you okay?” 

Marinette could feel a pair of arms releasing her. She looked up, relatively unharmed, to see a pair of glowing green eyes staring at her from beneath a black mask. She was speechless. Chat Noir gently pulled her to her feet as a small crowd gathered round. The people applauded and cheered, some shielding their phones from the rain as they recorded the moment, but the hero paid them no mind. His gaze was transfixed on Marinette in concern. Her face was pale with shock, her skin freezing cold, and her unsteady legs looked like they might give out at any second.“We need to get you home.” He placed an arm around her back and scooped her up, vaulting effortlessly from the ground to the roof of a car. Marinette gasped as they rebounded off an awning and landed on the roof, where the wind was strong and numbing. The hero looked around, then set her down beneath an eave which blocked the rain. 

“Where do you live?”

 Poor Marinette’s brain still hadn’t quite registered that Chat Noir, savior of Paris, was kneeling right there in front of her. Surely, she was hallucinating from hypothermia. He tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder and immediately the electricity jump-started her senses. “Oh! Uh, t-t-twelve Rue G-gotlib!” Marinette practically winced at how screwed up her speech was. A raspy voice and chattering teeth were hardly attractive. But Chat just smiled. 

“So you do talk after all.” A soft laugh escaped her lips. For some reason she had imagined Chat Noir would be dark and brooding, not… charming. “What’s your name?” he asked curiously. A flicker of warmth ignited in her chest. “Marinette.”

…

Chat Noir already knew Marinette’s name. He even knew where she lived. He visited her family’s bakery practically every week just on the off chance that he might see her outside of school. But that was without the mask, when he was just… Adrien. Despite the way he was pictured in most magazines and ad campaigns, the model was far from suave in everyday life. A practically friendless childhood left him with crippling social anxiety around those his age. 

As a result, his first few days at Collège Françoise Dupont, a little over a month ago, were a nightmare. He accidentally introduced himself as “Adrigen Areste" in front of the whole class and found himself tripping over things on a frequent basis. The excitement of having a “famous model” for a classmate quickly dissipated. His deskmate, Nino Lahiffe, seemed sympathetic but struggled to maintain conversation with the new student. Adrien was accustomed to a professional and practical form of dialogue so when the Moroccan said, “Dude, have you heard the new Jagged Stone album? It’s totally lit!” …he was lost for words.  

Then there was Marinette. On his second day, Adrien caught her hanging flyers all over the school hallways. They featured one of his more recent model shots, defaced with a uni-brow and captioned “Adrigen Areste”. There were hundreds of them. It wasn’t until after school that he found out they were really Chloe’s doing. 

“I was only trying to take them down.” Adrien looked past his locker door to see Marinette standing a little ways off, her face a mixture of guilt and compassion. “I know what it feels like to be the new kid and… well, I’m sorry we haven’t been very welcoming.” She reached into her pocket. “Here.” Marinette held out a colorful beaded bracelet. “This is my lucky charm. My mother gave it to me when I first came here and I thought… it might help you.” Adrien was shocked and completely overcome with gratitude. He accepted the gift and admired the bracelet in his hands as if it were a priceless treasure. He looked back at her sheepishly.

“Thank-you…uh-” he faltered.

“Marinette.” It was such a beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as Marinette, herself. Of course, Adrien didn’t have the courage to tell her that at the time. But now… on the roof and under the mask, he had a second chance. When she introduced herself to Chat Noir, he smiled affectionately. 

“That’s a pretty name.”

Cataclysm - Chat ends up confessing his feelings to Ladybug in this unfinished first chapter. I imagined him getting akumatized (into “Cataclysm”, not Chat Blanc lol) after being rejected by her and vowing to destroy the one who stole her heart. When he finds out it was actually his civilian self… well, I don’t know. I didn’t really plan out this plot, but I hope you enjoy!

It was a quiet night. Ladybug and Chat Noir strolled along the rooftops of Paris, planning in tandem as they patrolled the city.

“All the akumas have been striking within the same 5 kilometer radius,” Ladybug said. “If we can just figure out where they’re coming from, we can find Hawk Moth and stop him.”

“You know,” Chat added, “we might not be able to survey the whole city on our own, but-” he tossed his baton up between two adjacent chimneys. “-we do have quite the fan following. Maybe they could help?” He sprang up on the stick and began walking it back and forth like a tight rope. Ladybug paced beneath him.

“That’s not a bad idea. We should talk to Aly- uh that Ladyblog girl. If we can rally enough Parisians to report butterfly sightings on her website, we might be able to narrow down our search area.”

As Ladybug strategized, her nose scrunched up in a way Chat Noir couldn’t help but find adorable. He crouched down, smiling at his smart little bug as he gripped the pole with his claws. “Hawk Moth will be de-miracularized and behind bars in no time.”

Ladybug smiled back at Chat, but a thought caught at her mind. She swung her yoyo around the pole, fashioning it into a swing, and sat with her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Chat swung forward so that he hung upside down beside her and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?” He elbowed her playfully, hoping a joke might bring back that elusive smile. “Cat got your tongue?” But there was no smile, no laugh… not even an eye roll.

“No, I was just thinking…” Ladybug looked down at her yoyo. ”What will we do after he’s defeated?”

Chat dropped to the ground and stood up. “What do you mean?”

“When Hawk Moth is gone, there’ll be no more akumas to capture.” Her foot brushed back and forth against the ground anxiously. “Paris won’t really need us anymore.”

Chat had never considered this.

The thought of losing his newfound freedom was unnerving. The thought of losing Ladybug was even worse. Even if Paris didn’t need her, he did.

“Hey-” Chat lifted her chin gently, “Forget Paris. I happen to remember a certain set of hieroglyphics that prove the world has needed Ladybug for thousands of years.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow curiously. “The world?”

“Yeah, doesn’t that sound great?” Chat squeezed himself next to Ladybug on the yoyo swing and wrapped an arm around her, much to her chagrin. “You and me: travelling the globe, defeating evil-” the corners of his mouth crept upward as if to warn Ladybug that he was about to say something cheeky, so she interrupted.

“You and me, huh?” She stood up and released her yoyo so that Chat fell on his tail. “And what if I decide to go solo, hmm?” She said with a hint of sass.

Chat was undeterred. “Then I’ll become a villain just so I can see you again.”

“Gag,” thought Ladybug, rolling her eyes. She could understand playful flirting, but Chat’s incessant romantic flattery was starting to bother her. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it as much if she thought it were genuine, but his coquettish behavior towards her civilian alter ego had proven otherwise. She took the banter a bit farther with a flair of dramatic indifference. “Eh, I think I’ll save my energy for bigger threats…”

Chat hopped up feistily and crossed his arms. “Okay, Spots, let’s go then! Right here, right now.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking right?”

“Not at all.” He held up his fists. “I’m one hundred purrr-cent serious.”

She considered the opportunity. “Alright then, but if I win, no more puns for the rest of the month.”

He pouted. “Harsh, but I’ll accept it. If I win, though, you have to laugh at my puns for the rest of the month.”

“Good thing I know I how to act,” Ladybug said. “Not that I’ll need to.”

“Because I’m hilarious?” Chat smiled.

She took her fighting stance, “Because I’m going to win!”

Ladybug charged forward, swinging her yoyo in Chat Noir’s direction. He dodged it by ducking swiftly, but then again, Ladybug hadn’t been aiming for him. As the yoyo wrapped around his silver baton, she tugged it forcefully, bringing both back in her direction. Chat swiped towards the gadget as it flew over his head but missed by a few inches. His partner waved it teasingly in the air. “You want the stick?” She tossed it off the roof behind her. “Go fetch!”

Chat squinted at her. “Uh…yeah, cat’s don’t do that.”

She shrugged “Suit yourself.”

“Just to be fair though-” Chat pounced towards her, a clawed hand reaching out to bat away the yoyo. Ladybug jolted backwards, leaving her leather-clad opponent once again swiping at nothing but air - and also falling into her. With a tumble she was down, the clumsy cat draped over her. Shoving against the ground, she flipped the two over and pinned Chat by his shoulders. “Give up yet, Kitty?” she smiled.

“Not a cha- ah- ah-”  Circumstantially, one of Ladybug’s pigtails had brushed his nose in the tumbling. “CHOO!” Ladybug reeled back to avoid the sneeze, and Chat - rebounding from the reaction - pulled his legs in and kicked her off. “Pardonne-moi, mademoiselle!“

Ladybug leapt to her feet, calculating her next move.

“You’re going to pay for that!”  

Chat Noir smirked, calculating his next pun.

“Oh darn, I don’t have any euros on me.”

For another half hour, they chased each other around the city, competitiveness ever growing as they tried to force one another to surrender without causing any significant pain. It was good training, they realized, considering the duo had to do the same with akumatized villains. But this battle seemed like it would never end. The two were so equally matched, so well-balanced, and so familiar that neither seemed able to hold the upper hand for long. That is, until Ladybug bent the rules a little.

“LUCKY CHARM!”

As Ladybug activated her power with a swing of her glowing yoyo, Chat Noir groaned and shouted, “Hey, c’mon! No powers!”

“Sorry, chaton!” she returned as a red and black fabric fell into her hands. “A sheet?” she muttered. “What can I do to him with this?”

Chat’s cheeks burned at the cheeky response that popped into his head. Behave yourself, Agreste! She is a lady!

Ladybug settled for waving the red sheet in a matador fashion “Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! Come and get me!”

“You sure are terri-bull at understanding cats, milady.”

“And you’re terrible at understanding girls, Chat” she thought in response.

She disappeared down the side of the Eiffel Tower. Chat Noir paused before pursuing her, punching a fist into the air as he shouted,

“CATACLYSM!”

(I didn’t write this transition. Oops!)

He fell right into her cat-trap, the corners of the sheet wrapping around him and closing at the top as ladybug’s yoyo tightened around it. Chat kicked and clawed about inside but the material didn’t tear. “Game over, Chat!” Even from within the dark confines of the trap, Chat Noir could guarantee that Ladybug was just below him, hands on her hips and smiling smugly.  

“Be careful milady. You just might let the cat out of the bag.”

“Huh?”

(He extends his baton, breaking open the trap, and falls on top of Ladybug. He somehow manages to roll her up in the sheet and is kneeling over her)

“Well, aren’t you snug as a bug in a rug?”

“Fine, you won. Good for you.”

“With that charm, my lady, one day you just might get lucky.”

Ladybug blushed uncomfortably. “Ugh, Chat stop.”

“Why?” He grinned and leaned closer to her face. “Am I bugging you, beautiful?” Something snapped in Ladybug then. By then she had freed one hand and used it to push Chat out of her face. “Seriously, can you quit it?” She squirmed out of the sheet and brushed herself off. “The puns are one thing, but do you have to be so obnoxiously flirty?”

“Woah, woah!” Chat held up his hands defensively, trying to reassure her. “Calm down. I was only-”

“Only what, alley cat?” Once she got started, it was hard for her to stop.

“I…uh…” Chat’s face burned with embarrassment, beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Look, Chat. If you want to be an egotistical flirt with other girls, that’s fine by me, but I’m your partner. I’m not some mouse for you to chase, so just stop!”

A wave of dejection fell over his face, and Ladybug realized she’d gone too far.

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry, my la- uh Ladybug.” He rubbed at his arm. “I’ll leave you alone.” He took a few steps back before turning and running off.

Ladybug reached out her arm. “Chat, wait!”

He bounded way without so much as a glance back at her. Ladybug bit her lip anxiously. She had only been trying to stand up for herself - just like Alya taught her - but maybe in the heat of the moment… she had misjudged him. Ladybug pulled out the tracker on her yoyo.

She found Chat sitting on a bench beneath the Eiffel Tower. He was arched forward with his elbows on his knees and head resting on the heel of one hand. When she landed a few yards away from him, his black ears twitched and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Ladybug crept forward, wringing her hands nervously. “Chat? I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.” He didn’t respond. Ladybug sat down beside him. “Really, uh- Eiffel Tower-bly about it.”

Chat opened his eyes in surprise and he finally looked over at Ladybug. She smiled apologetically at him and he gave in.

“I’m sorry too. I thought maybe…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Chat, please…” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I misjudged you because… I don’t really know you. I need you to talk to me.”

Chat took a quick glance up at her eyes and seemed to find the reassurance he needed. He took a deep breath.

“Well, growing up, I was… pretty isolated. I was home-schooled for most of my life and I always felt this pressure to act and talk a certain way. I had no freedom… and no friends… until the day my miraculous showed up. All of a sudden, I had this freedom to be whoever I wanted to be, but I didn’t really know what to do with it. Like I said… I haven’t had much experience socializing – especially not with… girls – so I’ve been basing a lot of my behavior on… um, anime.”

“That actually explains a lot…”

“It seemed to work for Tamaki-

“Yeah, but Haruhi fell in love with Tamaki despite his flirty and over dramatic nature, not because of it! Was he even paying attention?”

“-so I thought I’d uh… try it on you.”

“Haha, well you clearly chose the wrong guinea pig!”

“What? No, Ladybug, you’re not a guinea pig. I… I love you.”

“Really?” “Chat, I had no idea you felt that way…”

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag… you don’t happen to have feelings for me too, do you?

“I uh-”

“And once again, curiosity killed the cat…”

“Chat, I just don’t think it would be a good idea to date when so much is on the line.” She pulled at one her pigtails nervously. “We have responsibilities and-”

“Ladybug, you don’t have to lie on my behalf.”

“I do like you, Chat. Really. I mean, maybe not when you’re imitating cartoon characters, but… beyond that, you’re smart, brave, selfless… you’ve sacrificed your safety for mine on more than one occasion! You’re the best partner I could ask for… but the thing is, I… I’m already in love with somebody else. And who knows if anything will come of it, but-” she bit her lip. “I can’t change the way I feel. I’m sorry, Chat.”

That’s it! Again, feel free to use ANY of this! And if you do, send me a message so I can check it out if I ever come back by Tumblr in the future :) BYE!!!