#Gideon probably isn’t as hard as he seemed though

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[spencer-reids-adventures]

for @justiceforralvez, for the 2022 @cmgiftexchange 💕

prompts: ralvez, hurt/comfort, fluff, autistic spencer reid

---

in this world it's just us

one

The first time Luke sees it happen, he’s only recently joined the team. He doesn’t know Spencer very well yet, doesn’t know about his quirks and oddities, aside from no handshakes. They aren’t close yet. They aren’t together yet. The first time it happens, Luke isn’t quite sure what to do.

They’re at an unfamiliar precinct and the local LEOs are being insufferable, the weather is hot and muggy, and they’ve been working hard for hours with absolutely no leads. Spencer has been switching his time between geographical profiles and ciphers, and neither are leading to any satisfying headway. He starts to become overwhelmed with the entire situation, and though he can feel his throat growing tight, he ignores the sensation until it’s too late. As if there were anything he could have done about it anyway.

“Hey, you okay?” Luke asks, entering the room where Spencer’s sitting cross-legged on the table staring at a whiteboard and taking in his distressed face. “You look upset.”

Spencer opens his mouth but no words come out. Frustrated, he shakes his head and looks away. Then he signs, “Can’t speak,” but Luke doesn’t understand right away.

“I, uh, don’t speak sign language,” he says apologetically. “Are you—can you not talk?”

Spencer nods and stares down at his lap.

“Okay, hey, it’s okay,” Luke says comfortingly. “What can I do to help?”

Spencer shrugs and grabs a piece of paper and a pen.

Leave me alone for now, he writes. Please I’m sorry. I’ll explain later.

“You want me to put a sign on the door so no one else comes in?” Luke asks, reaching for the pen and paper. Spencer nods gratefully. Luke writes, Please do not disturb and grabs a piece of tape, jumping up and sticking the paper to the door of the conference room. “I’ll come check on you later, okay?” he says, and Spencer just nods.

two

That evening Spencer continues to communicate by writing notes, but the rest of the team doesn’t seem fazed. Luke wonders if this happens often, if they’re just used to this. He wonders if Spencer is used to this, if he ever could get used to this. More than anything, he seems embarrassed, and Luke hates to see him that way. He wants to do something, anything, to make it better.

They don’t really discuss it until months later, when they’re just beginning their relationship. They’re over at Spencer’s, watching documentaries on the couch, and Spencer has seemed tense all evening. All of a sudden, Spencer mutes the show and turns to glance at Luke.

“There’s something I feel like I should tell you,” he says. “You probably already know, but I’d rather it just be out in the open.”

“Okay,” Luke says easily. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’m autistic,” Spencer says. “That’s why I struggle with some things more than most people, and why I sometimes disappear on cases, and why I occasionally can’t speak. It’s all connected. The rest of the team knows, I’m pretty sure, though we’ve never really talked about it. Gideon knew, and I think he told them. But I wanted you to know, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Luke is quiet for a moment. “Thank you for telling me,” he says before it becomes awkward. “Thank you for trusting me with that information. When did you learn sign language?”

“When I was a kid. My mom and I both learned once she realized I went through periods where I couldn’t speak. She wanted to be sure we could always communicate with each other. We took classes together starting when I was five.”

“That’s amazing. Your mom is amazing.” He pauses. “Are you feeling okay about having told me all of this?”

“I think so. Just, please don’t treat me differently,” Spencer begs in a small voice. “Somes people talk to me differently, or treat me like a baby, and I’m not, I’m not any different, I’m just—it just is what it is. That’s the real reason I’ve never outright told the team. I don’t want them to treat me differently.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Luke promises. “You’re still you. You’re still Spencer. I just have a little bit more information, that’s all. You don’t have to be, like, ashamed or anything.”

“I’m not ashamed of being autistic,” Spencer clarifies. “I just don’t like telling people.”

“That’s valid,” Luke says. “I promise this doesn’t change anything between us.”

Spencer looks relaxed for the first time all night. “Thank you,” he says. “That means a lot to me.”

Luke is telling the truth; nothing changes between them. He uses the information to understand why Spencer does some of the things he does, and it makes a lot of things make more sense to him. But he doesn’t act like Spencer is someone who needs special treatment, he doesn’t handle him with kid gloves. He’s just Spencer, Luke’s boyfriend, and that’s that. 

The next time Spencer loses his voice in public, Luke makes sure to have a pen and paper handy, and though Spencer’s handwriting is shaky and unsure, he manages to communicate what he needs to with Luke, occasionally supplementing with signs that Luke doesn’t really understand, though he tries to remember the basic ones. It breaks Luke’s heart to know there isn’t more he can do to help.

three

Luke and Spencer have been together for two years, and Luke is acting strange, and he has been for months now, a year even, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do. As far as he can tell, nothing has really changed between them—they haven’t been fighting, they haven’t had any sort of falling out or miscommunication. Everything seems perfectly normal except for one thing.

Every Thursday night when they’re not on a case, Luke disappears, and he won’t tell Spencer where he’s going.

He doesn’t straight up refuse to tell Spencer, but when he leaves and Spencer asks where he’s going, he can tell that Luke is lying.

“Oh, I have a meeting with someone,” he’ll say vaguely, or “Oh, I have to go work out,” but then he won’t bring his workout clothes with him. For a profiler, he’s a very bad liar, and it makes Spencer nervous. He doesn’t understand why Luke won’t just tell him the truth about where he’s going. He doesn’t think Luke would cheat on him, but this behavior has him on edge, and he really doesn’t know what to think.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He stops asking Luke where he’s headed, resigning himself to the fact that Luke is his own person and Spencer doesn’t need to keep tabs on him every second. He contemplates asking Garcia to ping his cell phone’s location, but he doesn’t want to be that kind of boyfriend. So instead, he keeps it bottled up, keeps it to himself, and waits to explode.

One Thursday, Luke gets home from wherever he’s been, and Spencer has locked himself in the bedroom and won’t come out. He knows he’s being petty and ridiculous, but he also doesn’t feel like he can trust Luke anymore, and he’s so agitated he’s lost the ability to speak completely.

Luke calls for him, banging on the door, begging for him to open it, but Spencer just can’t. He slides a note under the door that says, Not now, and Luke sighs and sits down on the other side of the door.

“Are you mad at me, Spence?” he asks, and Spencer wonders if he actually expects a reply.

Not now. He underlines where he wrote it the first time and pushes the paper back out.

“Please talk to me. Write to me. Whatever. Did I do something to upset you?”

I don’t want to talk about it.

“Please, cariño. Let me help you. Let me know what I did wrong.”

Spencer starts to write about how frustrated he is, about how Luke is lying to him, about how he doesn’t want to fight but he doesn’t understand why Luke doesn’t trust him anymore. Then he tears the paper up into pieces and begins to cry. When he can’t take it anymore, he opens up the door and looks at Luke.

“I hate this,” he signs. “You’re lying to me about where you go on Thursday nights. You don’t trust me, or you’re keeping something from me. I don’t understand what I did wrong. I don’t know what to do. I’m so mad at you and I don’t know what to do.”

Luke stares at him with wide eyes, a look of devastation crossing his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I trust you. You’re not doing anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”

Spencer gapes at him.

“I’m sorry,” Luke signs. “I’ve been taking classes. Learning ASL so I could understand you when you can’t speak. I should have told you.”

Spencer is overwhelmed with emotion and doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the tears falling down his cheeks, and they’re wet and slippery, and the sensation against his hot skin is awful. He wants to tell Luke, “I’m sorry, I forgive you, please help me,” but his brain won’t let him properly process those thoughts, so instead he just stands there and stares.

“Thank you,” he finally signs, and then drops to the floor and wraps his arms around his legs, resting his forehead on his knees. He rocks back and forth, trying to self-regulate, and Luke knows not to try to touch him, not right now. The doorway is silent as Spencer rocks and Luke watches helplessly.

Eventually, after what feels like hours but is probably more like 20 minutes, Spencer lifts his head and looks at Luke, his thoughts finally settling, though he still can’t speak. 

“You did that for me?” he signs.

“Of course I did,” Luke replies. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Luke stands up and helps Spencer up, and then Luke puts Spencer to bed, tucking him in carefully and placing a cup of water next to his side of the bed.

“Sweet dreams,” he says. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

four

When Luke wakes up, Spencer isn’t in bed next to him. He gets up and grabs his hoodie, zipping it up as he steps out into the kitchen, where Spencer has prepared a feast. The counter is piled high with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit.

“What’s this?” he asks, and Spencer, who is facing away from him, jumps in surprise and spins around.

“I made you breakfast,” he says. “I was going to bring it to you in bed.”

“Why did you make me breakfast?”

Spencer stares at him. “Because I love you? And because you learned sign language for me? And because I feel bad for assuming you were doing something nefarious behind my back?”

“Nefarious?” Luke raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what I thought,” Spencer sighs. “I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. I know you wouldn’t do anything terrible. But I just didn’t know where you were going, and you wouldn’t tell me, and it made me a little bit crazy. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Spencer,” Luke says. “I should have told you. I know you don’t really like surprises, I don’t know why I decided I needed to surprise you with this. I should have just been honest from the beginning. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“You have no reason to apologize. You did something so nice for me, and I need you to know how much it means to me. Thank you, Luke.”

“You’re welcome. But it’s no big deal. I just love you, you know? And I wanted to be able to communicate with you all the time. Just like your mom did.”

Spencer wipes his hand across his face, and Luke realizes that he’s crying.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he says with a sniff. “God, my mom is going to love you when she hears about this.”

“Your mom already loves me,” Luke points out.

“She’s going to love you even more.” 

Luke steps around the counter and wraps his arms around Spencer.

five

It’s a busy day in the office—the team is working out of Quantico on a local case, so though they’re at home, the stakes are high and everyone is exhausted and overworked. It’s been three days and Spencer hasn’t slept at all in that time. He knows everyone can tell he’s running on fumes, but at least they’re polite enough not to say anything about it.

There’s a fly in the room, and it’s buzzing around his head, occasionally getting close to his ear, and he can’t stand it. The sound makes him so uncomfortable, and he starts to feel itchy all over, almost as if he can feel the fly walking across his skin. 

The fluorescent light is flickering slightly and buzzing almost as loudly as the fly, and Spencer is completely overwhelmed by everything, he feels like he’s floating, he can feel his throat tightening…

JJ comes into the room with a stack of files and she starts talking loudly and quickly and Spencer can’t even process what she’s saying, can’t track the words or make any sort of sense out of them, and he’s frustrated and embarrassed, and he can’t say a word, and he doesn’t know what to do. JJ stares at him, clearly having asked him a question, and he can’t answer her, and he feels like he’s about two inches tall, and he’s contemplating crawling under the table when Luke walks into the room.

Hands flying, Spencer frantically explains that he’s overwhelmed and he doesn’t know what JJ wants and he’s about to lose it. Then he hunches over with his face in his hands, humiliated.

“Jayj,” he hears Luke say. “Spence is really struggling right now. I think it would be best if i take him home to get some rest. Can you let Emily know?”

“Yeah, of course,” JJ says. “Since when do you understand sign language?”

“It’s a long story,” Luke says, but Spencer can hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime, but not right now. We’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah, go, go, I’ll talk to Emily. Feel better, Spence. Luke, take care of him.”

“I will,” Luke promises, and he takes a step closer to Spencer, who’s finally looked up from his hands. He slides off the table and stands close to Luke. “You ready to go?” Luke asks. 

Spencer nods and follows him out of the room. 

six

When they get home, Spencer curls up on the couch and wraps a blanket around his shoulders.

“You wanna stay out here?” Luke asks. “Or I can tuck you into bed if you’d prefer. It’s darker in there.”

“The light in here is okay,” signs Spencer. “Rather be out here.”

Luke nods and brings Spencer a glass of water. 

“Is there anything else you need?” he asks.

“Not right now. Going to lay down for a little while, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll just be around, so let me know if something comes up.”

Spencer rests for a couple of hours, and Luke manages to get some cleaning done and then listens to music while he tries to decide what to make for dinner. 

“Are smells bothering you?” he asks Spencer, who isn’t asleep, just staring up at the ceiling. “I was thinking of starting dinner.”

“I think it’ll be okay,” Spencer signs. “Make whatever you want. I’ll probably just have noodles.”

Luke makes himself some food, confident he’s not bothering Spencer, and then makes Spencer a bowl of noodles, which he carries to the living room and sets on the coffee table.

“I thought we could eat together,” he says. “If you want.”

Spencer clears his throat. “I do,” he says hoarsely. “Thank you for making me dinner.”

“Of course,” Luke says. “Sounds like your voice is coming back?”

Spencer nods. “Luke, that was amazing.”

Luke is confused. “What was amazing? It seemed like you were having a pretty bad day, actually.”

“No, I was,” Spencer clarifies. “But the fact that I could be in that state and you could still understand me—we could communicate without having to write everything down—I could tell you what I needed and you could ask me questions—I haven’t had that since I was a little kid, with my mom. And it makes such a huge difference. Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” Luke says bashfully. “But you’re right, it was great to be able to understand you and communicate with you. Makes things so much simpler.”

“Do you think we should tell the team about us?”

Luke looks at him, eyes wide. “Where did that come from?”

“JJ asked when you learned ASL. What were you planning to tell her? That you learned because your random coworker occasionally can’t talk at work? Maybe it’s time we just tell them the truth about us. We practically live together at this point anyway. They’re going to figure it out sooner or later.”

“Maybe it is time to tell them,” Luke says. “I’ve been nervous, but I’m not really sure why.”

“I’m almost positive they’ll be supportive.”

“Almost?”

“You can never be 100% certain how someone is going to react to news like that,” Spencer explains. “My gut tells me it’ll be fine, but I don’t want to be caught completely off guard if something goes wrong.”

“That’s fair. Well, maybe we should tell Emily first, and see how she reacts. Since she’ll be doing the extra paperwork. And then if that goes well, we could tell the team?”

“Good plan.”

seven

Luke and Spencer meet outside Emily’s office a few days later, and Spencer knocks hesitantly.

“Come in,” calls Emily, and they step inside. “Hey guys,” she says. “How can I help you?”

Spencer looks at Luke, who clears his throat awkwardly. “We’ve come to disclose our relationship,” he says, reaching for Spencer’s hand. Spencer takes his and gives it a squeeze.

“Your relationship?” Emily’s mouth hangs open. “How did I not see this coming?”

“I have no idea,” Spencer says. “I didn’t think we were being that subtle, though we were trying to be.”

“You did a good job,” Emily says. “I had absolutely no idea. How long have you guys been together?

“Two years,” says Luke, and Emily gapes again.

“Well, belated congratulations,” she says. “I’ll have to fill out some forms, but you guys should be good to go. Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for not freaking out,” Spencer says. “Really, thank you.”

Now that they’ve told Emily, it’s time to tell the team, and it turns out to be much more nerve wracking than Spencer expected. He just doesn’t know how his friends are going to react.

Luke gathers them into the conference room later that afternoon, so they can tell everyone at the same time, and Emily joins them even though she already knows. She gives Spencer an encouraging smile as he opens his mouth to speak.

“We have something we want to tell you,” he says. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before, it’s just—”

“Oh my god, are you guys together?” squeals Penelope, a huge smile on her face. “I knew it!”

“How did you know?” Luke asks.

“Wait, she’s right?” JJ asks. Everyone starts talking at the same time, and Emily is the one to quiet them down.

“Let the boys speak,” she says loudly, and the room goes silent.

“Luke and I are a couple,” Spencer says. “We’ve been together for two years. Sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

The whole group starts talking at the same time again, and Spencer just looks at Luke and shrugs.

“We did our part, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Luke replies. 

He takes Spencer by the hand and they walk out of the room.

[soapdish290]

On page 164, the 7th RB / Varun / Judith under the madness speaks to Nona alone and says:

 “Dust of my dust—such similar star salt—what they did to you and what they wrung from you and what shape they made you fill—we see you still—we seek you still—we murdered—we who murder—you inadvertent tool—you misused green thing—come back to us—take vengeance for us—we saw you—we see you—I see you.”

And if I wasn’t an idiot, this would have confirmed that Nona was Alecto/ AL / Annabelle Lee / the split and sundered soul of the entire fucking earth. I wasn’t even that far away. The note I put in on my initial read:

oh, FUCK.

Is this a revenant inside Judith? if so, is it recognising whatever is inside Nona? the "shape they made you fill"?

I mean this sure as shit isn't Judith speaking?

Seems to aid the theory that there's something revenenant-ish inside Nona.

“revenenant-ish”. I mean, I guess I tried? By the end of the book we know that John ate and then reshaped the soul of the earth, whilst simply killing the other planets (and pluto, yeah yeah fuck off it’s not a planet anymore idc).

This is also where we get told 100% for sure that this is the 7th RB, the same that caused havoc during the end of Harrow, because Judith asks after her cavalier and then says

“Because I saw her in the waves—she was there in the grey water—I saw them all—they hurt me—where is my hunger? I eat and eat and eat without surcease, my green thing, my green-and-breathing thing…”

which is obviously referring to the post canaan house spirit bubble assault on the RB in the river, which Marta’s soul took part in.

I’m open for any guesswork on “my green thing” though. It’s mentioned FAR too often to be throwaway. I literally did a keyword search for ‘green’ and made the following, probably incomplete, list, again notes from my initial read:

Green. Herald blood. Ortus' eyes. Pyrra's original eyes. The ‘eye’ of the 8th RB. ???

Alternatively, jealousy. Envy. Less literal, more metaphor?

Anyway, back to John and Alecto.

This is also kind of interesting in that it implies the eightfold way is eating the soul of a single human being in the same way John ate the soul of AN ENTIRE PLANET. Which, sure, does explain why he’s an order of magnitude above them, AND it implies there’s some way to create a body for the soul you’ve eaten, at least in John’s case - he CREATED A.L. She didn’t exist in that form until after. 

But there are, then, 3 or even 4 varities of ‘lyctorhood’ present?

1. John eats the soul of the Earth, or tries too. It’s too much for him, and he houses part of it in another vessel (he calls it a house, which is definitely a deliberate detail, houses are important. I’m not going to think about it too hard). This becomes Alecto.

2. Mercy and Augustine etc etc. An existing person is killed and their soul ‘eaten’ in full. The soul becomes a battery seemingly much more powerful than the sum of it’s parts, for reasons unknown (or missed). 3. Pyrrha and 1st ed Gideon. Not sure the how of it, but we ended with 2 souls timesharing a body imperfectly. Based on the Cam/Palamedes and Pyrrha/Gideon differences, whose body it is matters. I sincerely wish Nona gave more of a fuck about this so we in turn knew more about it all. Alas.

4. Paul. A true mixing, based on scraps Nona overhears but, again, gives no fucks about and doesn’t examine. a ‘new’ soul. No real idea what their power level etc actually is because, AGAIN, NONA.

5? Anastasia and Samael. Harrow, pg 482:

She’d learned the trick was to do the Eightfold slower—more methodically—and it was still more of an accident than design. But it’s not as simple as her getting it right, and me stopping her. She panicked midway through. She hadn’t got his soul inside her all the way—if she had, Samael dying would have killed her too … They were both in danger. I killed him for her benefit, and she knew that at the time.”

I reckon if I was to do a proper cross referencing through John’s consumption of the Earth I’d work out what ‘the trick’ was, but I haven’t done so and this is long enough. For now, just something to highlight. I’ve a LOT of ‘just something’s to highlight, but I think this has already crept a long way away from my original point

[tumbledfreckles]

Ooohh! What about Jily/Marauders drunken shenanigans? *wiggles eyebrows mischievously* 😏😏😏😝

Max I don't even know how long ago you sent me this, I know it's been too long. But I was waiting for inspiration, and this isn't quite drunken, but it is a party and they've had some drinks so I'm hoping it's close enough, because I love it and it rounds out my three drabbles this weekend and uses my trope of the moment - names. I hope you enjoy it.

“He’s just so oblivious.”

“I know.”

“He’s infuriating.”

“I know.”

“It’s like he doesn’t even have a fucking clue.”

“Lily, I know.”

Lily cast a sidelong glance at Sirius, who sat next to her on the windowsill, on the edge of one of the wildest parties that the Gryffindor Common Room had seen in her seven years there. To say they’d gone nuts after winning the House Cup was an understatement of epic proportions.

“Sorry,” she huffed with a sigh. “I know you’ve heard this before.”

“From both sides,” SIrius shook his head darkly. “You two are driving me crazy.”

“It’s him!” Lily protested. “You say he feels the same, but why won’t he do anything about it?”

“After you turned him down all those times?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

“After I turned him down all those times?” She met his pointed gaze with one of her own.

“Fair enough.” Sirius thought for a second. His face lit with a grin. “Wait, I know.”

Lily felt afraid.

Very, very afraid.

“I feel like I shouldn’t ask.”

Sirius tutted, “Now, now, don’t act like you're not desperate for my mate there.”

They both turned toward the bloke in question, clear across the common room, who was currently high fiving Remus as they won their third game of beer pong against the Prewett twins. His smile lit up his face, his eyes danced and there was just the slightest flash of toned abdominals as he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the silky locks out of his face. He caught Lily’s eye across the room and winked.

Her head ducked, cheeks flushing even as heat pooled in areas much lower down.

“Evans?” Sirius was watching her, daring her to contradict him. “Still waiting.”

Lily slumped gloomily back against the window. “Yeah, alright, fine, have at it.”

When Sirius was finished with his idea, Lily had an eyebrow of her own to raise.

“You think that will work?”

He shook his head at her uncertainty. “He’ll lose his shit.”

“He probably won’t even notice.”

“Oh, he’ll notice. I give him three minutes before he pounces.”

Lily was unconvinced. “It’ll take at least five.”

“Place a wager?”

“What are your terms?”

“You get Marlene to go on a date with me.”

Lily scoffed openly, “Why do you think I can get her to do that?”

“Because she’s your best friend.” Sirius said it like it was obvious.

“Ask her yourself.”

“Is that your terms?”

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Sure. Those are my terms. If it works, I’ll get her to go out with you. If it doesn’t, you have to ask Marlene out. Seriously.” She pointed a finger, stabbing his chest as his mouth opened. “Don’t say it.”

“Fine,” Sirius rubbed his sternum. “Ruin all my fun. Do we have an agreement?”

She took his outstretched hand, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise. Now, off you go.”

She was subtle about it. At least, she hoped she was. Lily moved slowly across the room towards the beer pong table. She took her time. Chatted to various fellow students and friends. Got herself a new drink, smirking to herself as she allowed Peter to spike her butterbeer. Liquid courage and all that.

“Who’s winning?” she asked as she sidled up to Mary, along the edge of the table.

“Our boys,” Mary inclined her head toward Remus and James.

Our boys. She liked the sound of that. Mary only meant it as in their fellow Gryffindors, compared to the Hufflepuffs of Gideon and Fabian, but Lily liked it all the same.

“Insulted you even have to ask, Evans,” James chidded her, as he watched Remus scull a full cup of butterbeer.

“Apologies, James, I should have known,” Lily felt her breath catch in her throat, making her words quiet.

He heard them anyway.

James barely seemed to register that the ball he’d just thrown had bounced off the rim of the cup he’d aimed for. He definitely didn’t notice the Prewetts crowing across the table as Gideon lined up his next shot. Nor did he spare Remus a glance as his friend sighed and shot him a pained look.

“What did you just say?” James spun to face Lily, heedless to the game, the people around them.

“I said I was sorry for doubting you,” Lily fought hard to keep the smile off her face.

“That wasn’t what you said.” He took the beer that Remus forced into his hand, Fabian’s turn having been a success. It stayed in his hand as he took several steps toward her.

“Well, no, not word for word,” Lily shifted her weight back, her heart rate increasing as she saw the flash in his eyes, the smirk on his face.

“James, it’s your -” Remus was cut off as James thrust the cup back at him.

“Get Peter.”

“We’ll lose, we’re on a streak, you can’t -”

“I don’t care. Get Peter,” James didn’t even look to see how his friend reacted, his eyes fixed on hers.

Lily swallowed, trying to force her heart back into her chest as she took more steps back, away from Mary, away from the table, away from the throng of beer pong enthusiasts.

“Not like you to give up a game so easily,” she tried to jest, but the words came out soft, too soft.

James’ lips twitched, just slightly, just enough to relax her shoulders. “Depends on the reason.”

“What was the reason?”

“Better game started.”

Lily stopped in her retreat, not moving even as his toes lined up with hers. Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him. “This a game, is it?”

James shook his head, “Not really. Not to me.”

“Neither,” she was reduced to a whisper as his hand curved around her jaw, fingers spanning her neck, thumb brushing across her cheek.

“Say it again,” he whispered, forehead almost on hers.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Not that,” he cut her off harshly, his other hand squeezing at her hip where she hadn’t even realised he held her. “The part where you said my name.”

Lily looked at him, at the hazel that danced with gold, at the earnestness, the longing in his expression, mixed with hope and light and lust. She looked at him and realised everything else had faded away.

“James.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, pushing straight up into his arms, threading her hands into the soft silky hair she’d admired to bring him down to her. He needed no such encouragement, meeting her exhale on his inhale, taking the breath from her lungs their mouths sealed, a perfect fit. It was hot and damp, and her skin tingled everywhere it met with his. James sighed into her mouth, his tongue tracing the edge of her inner lip before finding hers to play with.

“Shit,” she whispered, when they finally pulled apart, though neither moved very far.

“That bad, huh?” James leant back toward her. “I can try again.”

“No,” Lily shook her head, pressing another three kisses at least to his lips before she could pull away again. “No, not you.”

“Then what?” James’ hand had found it’s way under her top, and began traced to skin along the edge of her trousers, raising goosebumps along it’s path.

It made it difficult to focus, to say the least. She let her fingers trail down his neck to squeeze the defined muscles of his shoulder, was gratified by the groan that escaped him, that she wasn’t the only one feeling so much right then. It made it easier to think.

“I’ve got to figure out how to get Marlene to go on a date with Sirius, that’s all.” Lily looked up at James, smiling invitingly. “How do you feel about double dating?”

[inklingofadream]

Ink's 2022 Fic

It’s that time of year again! …. Almost a month late, because I was doing family stuff and also my brain and body strive every moment to defeat me. It’s time for a new pinned post listing out every single fic I published in 2022, for your reading (or rereading) enjoyment. To the followers who joined me in 2022, welcome!

According to my AO3 Stats, I posted 81,996 words of fic last year. That’s a 29% increase from last year. What the hell! It was spread over 22 distinct works. 

This post lists out everything I wrote, with descriptions that are somewhere between synopsis, liner notes, and sometimes an excerpt. Most of what I wrote was for TMA, but since that’s my most popular stuff I’m listing it last/under the cut. Wordcount and relationships (romantic or platonic, healthy or not) are listed, but check the AO3 tags, warnings, and notes, as I won’t be including the content warnings here. 

Star Trek: Lower Decks

Midnight Outing- 1.9k, complete, Boimler/Mariner/Jennifer; So this was one of my mutual gift fics last Christmas, and I actually ended up watching the entire series specifically to write it because it was what Ash was super into at the time lol. When ST:LD was announced I thought it was a lame idea (mostly because I’m immensely picky about animation art styles, I’ve dismissed… a lot… of shows because I didn’t love the art and ended up watching for one reason or another and been proven wrong). It was fun to watch, though! Though in a vacuum I would NOT have watched as fast as I did, the whole series in like a day and a half.

Malevolent

it seems a tiny miracle- 12.4k, WIP, Arthur & Faroe; finally, all my Shirley Temple knowledge comes in handy! Seriously, though, I’ve been so pleased with the reaction to this fic- I’ve been secretly observing every chance I get to see my baby cousins/run kids arts and crafts/etc to use for my characterization of Faroe and Little Archive!Jon.

The Locked Tomb

Ortus the Ninth- 1.3k, complete; Honestly I was SHOCKED that no one did this concept before. I know Ortus isn’t the most exciting character, but I feel like him being in the same position as the girls but even weirder, because he REMEMBERS what it was like to have peers and now he doesn’t even have one same-age archnemesis like Gideon and Harrow do has SO much weird depth to explore. Go read this, I had to hash out the meter in the Noniad to write it and it was a PAIN

The Magnus Archives

Jon and Gerry’s Fairy Tale- 7.3k, complete, Jon & Eric Delano, Gerry & Eric; This fic is an au of nature has taught her creatures to hate, but like… probably you could read it without if you’re just real hard up for dad!Eric fics. Or bb!Jon fics. This is probably my favorite of the fics I wrote various mutuals for Christmas last year, because I love bb!Jon and I especially love when he goes through a lot and comes out being brave and adorable.

your head caught flame (kissed your scalp, caressed your brain)- 2.3k, complete; Ah, the bad ending au to the cult au…. Had to have something to balance out the birdverse good(ish) ending au! Writing Desolation stuff isn’t my forte, but it was a fun experiment.

Dishonor- 4.3k, complete; Alternate POV for sutton’s lovely Stag Story. Writing Elias getting his karmic just deserts is always delicious.

Favor for a Friend- 1k, complete, Daisy & Jon; This was probably my fastest turnaround ever from “idea I had because I was half-conscious trying to fall asleep” to completed fic ever. Hopefully I captured the chills the idea gave me when I had it, idk.

A Different Archive- 1.4k, complete; I’m really proud of this one. It was for the TMA Minor Character Exchange and the prompts I got to fill were for characters I wasn’t really into, but the epistolary idea got me really excited for it when I came up with it. I do still have a half-finished Mike Crew character study I started first floating around my drafts, though.

Your Heart into my Chest- 9k, complete, onesided Martin/Jon; My other fastest turnaround, I was so obsessed with Sutton’s vampire februwhump fic that I HAD to expound on it and give Jon a little rescue. My favorite bit of lore that hasn’t really been picked up much, either in comments or sutton’s later additions, is that I was careful to imply that Martin’s father and the vampire who sires him are the same person. I never decided whether he was a vampire when he met Martin’s mother, how consensual their relationship started out… but if he was a vampire when Martin was conceived then that DOES make Martin his universe’s Renesmee. You’re welcome, I guess!

The Archivist and the Adventurer- 9 works, 24k, complete, Jon/Martin; I FINISHED MY FAE AU THIS YEAR! It took AGES, but I finally brought the whole story to the end! This is the thing I’m proudest of finishing this year.

and now i am a cereal girl- 2.5k, complete, Jon & Martin; My favorite thing about this fic is that it gave me a chance to mine my favorite song from when I was 3 for fic titles :)

10 In the Bed- fanart, complete; This is on AO3 mainly because it’s the only birdverse thing I uploaded this year :( I have 2 different drafts! Hopefully at least one comes out this year!

sitting pretty on the throne, nothing more i want (except to be alone)- 113k, WIP, Beholding/Jon; the origin point for the aforementioned birdverse! Honestly, that’s probably my favorite thing to come out of the little ol’ cult au this year- most of my favorite scenes either happened in 2021 or are yet to come! Stealing Dracula’s cowboy was fun, but as a writer it just can’t compete to the whump I got to do before or the reunions yet to come! I was really happy with the little farewell to Tim and Danny, though 

Dreams and Recovery- 3.9k, complete; Sutton’s The Mage of the Castle and the Mage of the Cavern has been bouncing around the inside of my skull since it was published. I have wayyyy more that I’d like to potentially do in that verse, but I was happy to finish this. The little bits of worldbuilding are a ball to fiddle with Also has one of my favorite sentences I wrote this year

Good things do not happen to Jonathan Sims anymore, but for a frozen, quavering moment he's suspended in the hope that Jonah will be there to smooth the worried creases from his brow and kiss him the rest of the way to wakefulness.

Little Archive-45.9k, WIP, Jon & Beholding; Baby Jon!!! And his best friends gerry and the eye. This might be the year i make myself my own little little archive jon + eye plush doll. I think about him all the time

Beneath the Stains of Time- 41k, WIP, Jon & Daisy; Just edging Jon up through every conceivable age group. In the coming year, teen!Jon is going to get to Go To School! He’s gonna have… well, not friends. He’s not very good at socializing. But peers! And escape attempts! And if we’re very lucky, we’ll reach the point in the flashback where he resigns himself to living with Daisy and the point in the present day where Martin realizes something is Very Wrong

in his hand the fire of Jove- 15k, WIP, Jon/Martin; This fic is like… 80% inspired by that scene in Peter Pan where Captain Hook traps Tinkerbell in the empty lantern. Jon is tinkerbell in this analogy. It’s been on a longer-than-planned hiatus bc of life/brain things, but it’ll be back soon!

[alltooreid]

I Think He Knows

Y/N has a huge crush on Spencer Reid, so huge she embarrasses herself every time she tries to talk to him. She is convinced he is aware to all her pathetic attempts at flirting and just chooses to ignore it, but turns out Spencer may be a little more clueless than she thought.

A/N: Hope yall enjoy this cute fluffy fic! I’ve been having a rough couple of days so writing a fun fluff like this was really comforting :) yes it is inspired by the t swift song, but you don’t need to know the song to read and enjoy! also my requests are open so let me know what you want to see! (also sorry if this is kind of short, but i’ve been super busy and wanted to put something out :)))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: a cute pining fluff fic

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warnings: mentions of alcohol, otherwise none.

“He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands No one understands”

“He has to know Penelope, I’m not exactly subtle.”

You and Penelope spent the majority of your lunch breaks in her office, discussing anything and everything. Recently however, the point of contention had been a certain young genius. One who you had a huge crush on.

“Spencer Reid may be a genius, and one of the best profilers I have ever seen but he most certainly does not know,” she said, as she drizzled more dressing on her salad.

“He has to, it feels like everyone knows. . . Do you think everyone knows?”

She shrugged, “They might, I know my Chocolate Thunder hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

“You haven’t told him? It’s already been a week since I’ve told you! How did you keep it a secret for so long?”

“You asked me very nicely not to tell anyone! Plus this one seems really important to you. I don’t want to go around telling people and for Reid to hear it in office gossip.”

You smiled, “Well you Penelope Garcia are the best, best friend ever.”

“You know it, now I know you desperately want to repay me for my services, and you can by giving me those exact ranch packets you have in your bag,” she said.

“They’re all yours, now let’s discuss something other than my pathetic schoolgirl crush. Like how stupid Kevin’s sweater was today.”

“Kevin? The other internal affairs technical analyst? Yeah what the heck was he wearing?”

“You know, I’m tired of having to carry the weight of the brains, looks and fashion sense out of the two of us,” you said. “Though, that is a good way to gather attention . . . I wonder if Spencer would actually hold a conversation with me if I wore something as ugly as that.”

She laughed, “You know I think that might send you backwards.”

You stabbed your lettuce, “At this point I’ll try anything.”

Before Penelope could respond, someone interrupted your lunch, your only other friend on the BAU team, Emily Prentiss.

“Oh hi Y/N! How are you!”

“I’m good Emily, what kind of gross things are you here to deliver today?” you and Emily joined the FBI at around the same time, and found comfort in the fact that you were both total try-hards. Emily was going to eat lunch with you and your fast friend Penelope, at least on days when she was in the office for lunch, but you and her both agreed that she should eat lunch with the team so that they can get used to having her around.

“Just some paperwork, no cases yet, knock on wood. Also I just wanted to say hello! What are you guys eating?” she asked, pulling up a chair.

“Some salads from that takeout veggie place PG is always talking about. I told you I was going vegetarian right?” “You did not! That’s great Y/N! We need to talk more, like we used to when we first started here,” she sighed, then perked up, “We should have girls night! Remember how fun it was that night at the bar? With Brad the real FBI agent?”

“Yes! We should! You know, Gideon’s replacement comes tomorrow, we should celebrate!” Garcia said.

“You know, I don’t know if the best way to celebrate a new agent is by drinking without them, but I’m down. We’ll toast our girls night to agent Rossi. Someone ask JJ if she’s busy.”

JJ was not busy, but when you and Emily asked, Morgan overheard.

“So am I not invited to the party?”

“Well it was supposed to be girls night . . . but I think PG would throw a fit if I turned down her 2nd favorite person in this building, so I guess you can come,” you teased. “You should come too Spencer!”

“I don’t know, that’s not really my thing . . “

“Oh come on! I know I would love to see you there,” you then realized that you were embarrassing yourself being so forward. “And I’m sure everyone else would too!”

“Alright, I’ll come, but I’m not drinking.” he said firmly. 

Before you could respond, Penelope magically appeared. “Good, you can be completely sober when Y/N gets wasted and embarrasses herself,” she said.

“PENELOPE! I’m not the light weight here! you’ll see Spencer, she’s actually awful. Two shots in and she’ll be on the floor,” this was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Spencer grimaced. “But it’ll be so much fun! You have to be there! You already said yes!”

“I just don’t know if seeing all of my coworkers get drunk while I watch is my idea of a fun evening. . .”

“Trust me! I’ll even stay sober with you, so we can judge them together. It’ll be a blast.”

“Ok, I’ll be there . . . but for now I need more coffee,” he pulled his chair out and walked towards the office kitchen. You silently cheered, forgetting how people were still standing around you.

“Well,” you awkwardly laughed, “um, I guess I better be getting back to my neck of the woods. I’m not a hot shot profiler like the rest of you guys . . . so see you all later!” You tried to escape before anyone interrogated you about your conversation with Spencer. However, a certain profiler followed quickly behind you. 

“So. . . you and pretty boy huh?”

“Shut it Morgan.”

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You stayed true to your word that night, Spencer stuck to water and you enjoyed a diet soda. The bartender, who you had grown fairly used to seeing on your many nights out, was shocked to hear you didn’t want any alcohol in it. 

It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t drink, you already embarrassed yourself enough in front of Spencer fully sober.

“So Spencer, you know that new bookstore you said you were going to go to after work a couple weeks ago?”

“New bookstore . . .? Oh yeah! What about it?”

“Well after I heard you talking about it I decided to check it out . . . It’s really nice there! I go like every other night now! We should totally go together sometime.” Luckily, you were sober enough to keep a secret: the fact you were only going so much in the hopes of running into him.

“Oh really? If I’m being honest I wasn’t super impressed with their selection, it was mostly contemporary fiction. And all in English . . . Not really my thing,” when he saw the way your face dropped he quickly changed his tone, “but it’s great if that’s your thing!”

This. Is. Humiliating. The amount of times you had gone and bought books from the bookstore, you were there almost every night hoping to run into him after work and start a conversation. You felt stupid, of course he wouldn’t want to go on a book store date with you. If Spencer Reid didn’t like you so much that he wouldn’t even go to a bookstore with you, there’s no chance at a relationship.

“Oh haha, yeah you’re right it’s totally lame. . .”

“Didn’t you just say you went there all the time?”

“No! When did I say that? You must be drinking Dr. Reid,” you said, quickly hopping off your bar stool, and running towards Morgan and Garcia, not turning around to see how confused Spencer was, but only being able to imagine him as relieved. Relieved he didn’t have to make conversation with you anymore.

“I’m blowing this PG, he totally hates me.”

Morgan laughed, “Y/N, you’re acting silly, this isn’t high school, we aren’t seventeen, stop dancing around it and just go ask him out.”

“Morgan, he doesn’t want to go to a bookstore with me, no way he’s agreeing to a date.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, maybe he’s just not in the mood to go?”

“You go ask him then, 20 bucks he says yes.”

“You’re on Y/N/N.”

7 minutes later Morgan returned and without a word pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and deposited it into your hand. “Sorry, Y/N.”

Penelope then piped up, “I’m telling you Y/N, he just doesn’t know. That boy is clueless.”

You scoffed, “I think he knows Penelope. I’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Have you told him?”

You were thrown off, “Um, no but-”

“Well then you haven’t made it clear enough, have you sugar?”

You almost said something, but you couldn’t really think of a good rebuttal for the argument. So instead, you downed Penelope’s half dranken frozen margarita, and headed back over to Spencer.

“Hey!” he said as you made your way back over, “I was wondering where you went, after you left Derek came over and asked to go to that bookstore with me, isn’t that extraordinary. . .”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you blurted out.

“What?”

You sighed, “I’ve had a crush on you since like, forever, and I keep planning all these ways to ask you subtly but it’s just not working so I’m asking now. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“You like me? I didn’t know that . . .”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not, I thought you were just being nice. You’re nice to everyone and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You smirked, “Get your hopes up? Does that mean you’re obsessed with me too Dr. Reid?”

He laughed in response, “Yeah, you could definitely say that.”

You dug through your purse and pulled out your keys, “Ok, then let’s get out of here.”

He paled, “And do what?”

“We’re going on our first date.”

He smiled, and you both got up off your bar stools and headed out the door, ignoring Morgan’s snide remarks as you passed. 

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You couldn’t help but smile as you drove. Every couple of seconds you couldn’t help but look over at Spencer, getting lost in his brownish hazel eyes, which looked indigo in the night. He would smile, the kind of smile people write silly little romance songs about and spend verses to describe, and tell you to pay attention to the road before you run off of it. You would laugh, tell him to calm down. Although originally you had an idea of where you were going, now you just wanted to drive in circles, to bask in this memory. 

“So where are we going?” he asked.

“Think about it Doctor Reid . . .” you replied, teasing him in the way you’ve imagined since you met him. 

You pulled up to that little bookstore on 16th avenue, the one you couldn’t stop going to out of the sheer chance Spencer might be there, the one that was obviously closed this late at night, but was too perfect not to spend your first date at. 

“Although this is beautifully symbolic, it’s almost 2 in the morning, this place closes at 8. We’re 5 hours, 49 minutes and 17 seconds late.”

You smiled and pulled out your ring of keys, “You know, when I spent hours a night hanging around here after work, hoping that you would happen to come shop for books and see me here too, the woman who owns this store got pretty curious. So I told her why I was here, and after she got done laughing at me she offered me a key, so that if I ever had the guts to ask you out, I could take you here no matter what.” You turned the key and swung the door open, gesturing him inside and locking the door behind you, “but we have to keep the lights off, so no one comes by and tries to get in.”

You and Spencer sit in the non-fiction section, and enjoy the silence for a few seconds before you have an idea, “Read me something Reid.”

He reached up, pulling a book off of the shelf without looking, “Are you sure, A Brief History of 1491: Life in America Before Columbus, is first date material?”

“Although that book is anything but brief, anything you read to me will sound stunning coming from your pretty mouth.”

So he begins to read, attempting to slow down to a reasonable pace but still going abnormally fast. You didn’t care though, more than you listened to the history of the late fifteenth century you watched Spencer’s hands. They’re really nice hands.

His right followed the words as he read aloud and his left helped hold the book. He wiggled the fingers on his left hand unconsciously as he spoke, getting into the words of the book. 

After about 25 pages he glanced over at you, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head. After a second he went back to the page, and continued reading. You didn’t think anything of it until a couple minutes later, when his hand made its way to your left thigh.

He held it and you leaned into him, and you both stayed like that until you fell asleep hours later, with his head resting on top of yours. 

At 8:30 Mrs. Betts, the owner of the bookstore, found you and Spencer, arms around each other, the book thrown aside. She smiled, glad to know you had taken her up on her offer. She went to go wake you up but glanced at her watch. She didn’t have to officially open until 10. 

She could definitely spare a couple of minutes. 

“I want you, bless my soul I ain't gotta tell him I think he knows”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

ATR’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies​

[hercleverboy]

stars

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ spencer and the reader watch the stars and talk about their future.

category ↠ fluff

warnings/includes ↠ none

word count ↠ 1.7k

dedicating this fluff fest to my wifey, @alltooreid thank you for not only your creative input on this, but also for being there for me when i needed someone. much love <333

“And so I named the stars one by one, after every favourite memory of you.” — Stephen Stilwell

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She whispered, eyes staring up into the night, drawn to the little specks of light dotted in the clear sky. They were laid on the soft grass, blanket beneath them as they looked up together, beaming smiles on both their faces.

He grinned down at the woman who rested her head on his chest, his arms wound tightly around her. “It certainly is. I’m surprised the sky is so clear tonight, I really didn’t think we were going to be able to see much.” He admitted with a little laugh.

She chuckled at that. “You didn’t think we’d see much, and yet you still let me drag you out here at an ungodly hour so we could watch the stars?” She asked, shuffling slightly so she could look up at him.

“Of course. You’re cute when you’re excited, I didn’t have the heart to tell you that the probability of the sky being clear enough for us to see anything was only around 37%.” He explained, intertwining their hands together. “But there you go again, proving me wrong.”

“Hm. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” She joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I am! Unless you too can recite the Bible from memory? Or the manual for our microwave?” He joked, causing Y/N to give him a gentle shove.

“Can I ask you something?” She whispered, looking up at him.

He breathed out. “Anything.”

They were quiet for a little while before she spoke again. “Do you ever think about our future?”

Spencer’s breath hitched at the question.

Of course, he thought about their future. All the time. Marriage, kids, a big house with a white picket fence, perhaps even a dog. It was the ‘apple-pie’ life he’d dreamt of, more than he’d like to admit.

He gave her a squeeze, one of reassurance.

They’d been together for two years. Two years that had simultaneously been the best and worst of his life. In those years he’d nearly died after being shot in the neck, he’d lost Alex, Kate, Gideon, and the team was still under immense threat from Mr. Scratch. And somehow, admist all the chaos, he’d met this incredible woman who had helped him through it all. The last few months in particular had been rough for him. With Morgan leaving the team and his mother’s condition worsening, it had certainly made him reconsider everything he had in his life and also reminded him of not only what he’d lost, but what he’d gained. 

Y/N sighed, but still gave Spencer a smile. “It’s ok. We don’t have to talk about it, I was only wondering.”

“No, no. It’s ok. I’m just trying to gather my thoughts, is all.” He assured her, moving to sit up straight. Y/N sat up too, Spencer reaching out and grabbing one of her hands to hold tightly in his. “I think about it all the time, truthfully.” He mumbled.

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. You’re it for me, Y/N.” He gave a small smile, his gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

Y/N nodded, urging him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking about my position at the BAU.” He stated firmly. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in shock, surprised at the confession. The way he said it was so sure, so certain. He’d evidently been thinking about it for quite some time.

“Ever since Morgan left, I’ve been going over it again and again in my head. I understand why he left. His family needed him and it’s honestly the most admirable thing I’ve ever seen him do. I just wonder,” He paused, biting down on his lip in thought. “Would it be wise for me to make the same decision he did?” 

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean— Y/N I love you. I want us to get married, have children, I want us to have a life together. And after watching Morgan, seeing how he gave up the job for his family, don’t you think I should do that too? For you, for us?” He explained, eyes finally meeting her worried ones.

“Woah, woah Spence. Are you saying you’re thinking of leaving the BAU?” She clarified, moving a little closer to him.

Spencer nodded. “I know, it seems crazy right? At first I couldn’t believe that I was even considering it but I’ve thought about it a lot and it just, it seems like the right thing to do.” He gave a small shrug. “If we’re going to have a life together I want our family to be my priority, and I just don’t think I can do that while I’m still doing this job. I’ve seen it all first hand. I watched Hotch lose Haley, I watched Morgan nearly lose Savannah, all because of this job.” 

Y/N shook her head slowly, much to Spencer’s surprise. “Spencer... I won’t be the reason that you leave a job that you worked so hard for, a job that you love so much. What about the team? They’re your family- “

It was Spencer’s turn to shake his head, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You’re right. The team are my family, but so are you. And if they care about me like I know they do, they’ll support me with this. And as for jobs? There are plenty out there that I’ll enjoy. I’ve actually been thinking of getting in contact with Alex, maybe asking about teaching opportunities at Georgetown.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing as she studied his face intently. He avoided her eyes, small smile pulling at his lips.

She smiled back, a knowing look on her face. “You’ve already spoken to Alex about it, haven’t you?”

Spencer chuckled with a nod. “You know me too well. I spoke to her last week. She said there’s an open spot as the head of the Criminal Psychology department. The job is mine if I want it.”

Y/N gave him a grin, squeezing his hands. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He nodded, but that wasn’t enough for her. “No, I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you’re not going to resent me in a few years because of this.”

He was quick to shake his head, pulling her toward him as one of his hands came up to cup her face. “I would never resent you.”

“So, this is what you want?” She asked once more, just so she knew he was absolutely sure. 

He nodded adamantly. “I want you. I’m only ever going to want you.” He murmured the words so softly that it made Y/N’s heart ache. “Now, and for the rest of my days.”

With joyful tears building in her eyes she nodded, enveloping him in a hug as he kissed the side of her forehead.

Spencer let out a sigh accompanied by a teary smile. He gave her a squeeze, his hands soothing along her back as he looked up at the stars. “Did you know, there’s an old Buddhist saying that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making. We’re supposedly, quite literally, bound together through space and time. Isn’t that cool?” He rambled, earning a chuckle from Y/N.

“That is really cool.” She agreed. 

“You know I’m a man of science, but how else is it possible that you came into my life at a time where I needed you the most?” He whispered the last part, as though he was afraid to be so vulnerable as to let the words leave his lips. “Do you- do you think it’s possible that the stars brought us together?” 

She grinned, tilting back her head slightly to look up at the stars with him. “Yeah, I think so.” 

*

Spencer looked down in awe at the baby girl pressed against his bare chest. Josephine June Reid, barely three days old and already she had her father wrapped right around her tiny finger. Nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the feeling he had when he looked down at her, his little girl, his daughter. She slept peacefully against him, her little chest rising and falling rhythmically as his hands soothed over her back, gently rocking her. 

There was a soft knock on the nursery door, his tired-looking wife pushing it open. “Spence?”

He looked up, and offered her a warm smile. “Hey, you’re supposed to be resting.”

Y/N gave a sleepy grin, moving toward them. “You know that we’re supposed to sleep when she does, right?”

He snickered at that, raising an eyebrow at her. “You only gave birth three days ago. You know I’m going to tell you to get back into bed, right? Doctor’s orders.”

She held her hands up in a mock surrender, placing a kiss on the side of Spencer’s head. “I know.” 

It was silent for a moment, the new parents just staring down at the little life they’d created, filled with such a warmth, such a happiness that they’d never felt before. 

“I can’t put her down, not yet. I don’t want to let her go.” Spencer whispered, bringing up a finger to soothe over his daughter’s cheek. “I love her so much.”

“I know. She loves you too.” Y/N assured, watching with joy at how Spencer was with their daughter. He really was a natural with kids.

“You really should go back to bed, love. You need all the rest you can get.” He warned in a playful tone.

Y/N chuckled a little with a nod, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I’m not going to fight you on that one Doc, I’m exhausted.” She ruffled the curls on her husband’s head, offering him a warm smile. “Love you. Come back to bed soon, yeah?”

Spencer nodded, promising he would.  

Before Y/N left the nursery, she turned back to her husband, calling his name softly. “Spence?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you regret it now?” She whispered, her fingers fumbling together as though she was afraid she wouldn’t like his answer. “Do you regret leaving the BAU?”

The question made him frown, it made him think. Did he regret leaving? 

His eyes flickered between his wife and the beautiful little girl against his chest and he smiled slightly at the realisation. This was everything he’d ever wanted, here, right in front of him. Every decision he’d made, every moment of heartache, every person he’d lost, they had all lead him there. To that very moment. 

And for that, he was so incredibly grateful. 

“No.” He replied, his voice as sure as the day he first mentioned leaving. “Not even for a second.”

He supposed he had the stars to thank for that. 

[something-fanfiction-ie]

The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

___

“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

[spencers-renaissance]

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly

Summary: After Spencer fails his firearm recertification, the FBI believes some hand-to-hand combat and self-defence training is in order, and who better to administer it than the BAU's very own, Derek Morgan? Everything goes swimmingly until Derek decides to simulate an attack from above, and Spencer's thrust into the throes of a horrific flashback.

Tags: hurt/comfort, past abuse, platonic cuddling, angst with a happy ending, friendship or pre-slash, crying, panic attacks, flashbacks, episode: s01e06 LDSK, protectiveness TW: !!Discussions of Underage Rape/Non-Con including Molestation and Incestuous Sexual Abuse!!

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid (Platonic or Pre-Slash)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

It’s a dreary day in late October when he fails his recertification test. Later, he’ll look back on this moment with a strange mixture of thankfulness and stone-cold dread, but in the moment all he can feel is the burning of his cheeks and the festering humiliation sat heavy in his chest.

Hotch is kind about it, because Hotch is kind about everything.

“Do you know what happened, Reid?” he asks with a complete absence of judgement, and it’s clear from everything about his body language and tone that he isn’t angry and he isn’t being critical, but Spencer feels his defences rising regardless.

He shakes his head and shrinks back in his seat, avoiding Hotch’s eyes.

“Did anyone do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”

His eyes snap up to meet Hotch’s and he shifts to sit a bit more upright as he shakes his head with more vehemence this time. Sure, he didn’t particularly like the evaluator, but only because he seemed unimpressed with Spencer from the moment he laid eyes on him, acting as though evaluating someone who was doomed to fail was a waste of time.

Spencer can’t exactly blame him.

Hotch sighs. “Listen, Spencer,” he says gently, “I know you can handle yourself in the field and I know you can handle a gun just fine, but you know how many requirements were overlooked for you to join the unit in the first place, and you also know that your position in the BAU has been controversial with a few of the higher-ups. So, here’s the plan. I’m going to be your evaluator for your next recertification in two weeks, and in the meantime, I want you to do some hand-to-hand training with Derek to improve and consolidate your field and self-defence skills.”

Realistically, he knows that this is the best he could’ve hoped for, and he knows how hard Hotch and Gideon fight his corner when he’s questioned by everyone from witnesses to local PDs to the director of the bureau himself.

That does not mean he has to be happy about this.

He acquiesces because he has to. “Okay,” he says quietly, hoping he doesn’t sound as defeated as he feels.

“Reid,” Hotch says, redirecting his attention from the spot on the carpet he’s staring at. He waits for Spencer to look at him before smiling slightly and looking at him with a raw kind of earnest he knows is privileged to witness. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

It’s Spencer’s turn to smile, brightening up from his miserable disposition slightly. “I do.”

⭑⭑⭑

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says cheerfully, slamming his locker closed just as Spencer enters the FBI gym. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

Spencer sighs, opening the locker next to Derek’s and putting his messenger bag inside before opening the grocery bag he’d brought his gym clothes in. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says drily as he pulls out his clothes and heads towards one of the two private changing cubicles.

He hears Derek chuckle to himself before he calls back to him as he opens the door to the gym. “I’m gonna set up, you come through when you’re ready.”

Spencer procrastinates for as long as he can, making sure his shoes are tied perfectly and the bows are even sizes, folding all his work clothes as neatly as possible and placing them carefully back into the grocery bag, but before long, there’s nothing more he can do and he has to face the music. He inhales deeply, steeling himself for the next hour, before putting his bag in his locker (closing it with much less force than Derek did earlier) and walking into the gym.

It’s a fairly big hall that’s usually used for academy recruits, large scale demonstrations, and the various sports teams that have cropped up in different divisions of the FBI. Spencer knows that Derek currently plays basketball for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime team, the department that the BAU is part of.

Right now, though, Derek has them set up in a tucked-away corner, both hard and soft mats laid out on the ground surrounded by various equipment Spencer couldn’t hope to identify correctly.

“You took your time,” Derek says when Spencer approaches him, eyebrows raised and an obvious note of amusement in his voice. “But now you’re here, let’s get started.”

They begin with a short conditioning exercise that Derek says is supposed to ‘get the blood pumping’ but in actuality has Spencer panting like a dog and soaked with sweat within minutes. Maybe those higher-ups have something of a point. He knew he was unfit, but this is just embarrassing.

“Okay, now with the warm-up out of the way—”

“That was a warm-up?”

Derek doubles over with his laughter and Spencer can’t help but join in, despite how out of breath and red in the face he might be.

“It’s supposed to be, Spence, but maybe I over-estimated things a little,” he concedes once their giggles have died out. “Alright, alright, let’s move on to some basic self-defence moves. I know you probably already know most of these, but this is supposed to be a refresher, yeah? And to remind you that you can hold your own in the field, whether you pass your recertification or not.”

Spencer winces. “I don’t know, Derek, I mean I did fail every single physical aspect of the academy examination.”

“See, that’s what I mean, pretty boy,” Derek says, standing up from the mat and helping Spencer up, too. “You’re in your own head, and when you’re out in the field, you have enough enemies without making your own mind one as well. You know this stuff, Spence, I’m just here to remind you of that.”

“Alright,” he nods, holding in his sigh. He doesn’t mean to be negative, he just can’t help the way he’s feeling. The last week has been rough.

“Okay, so let’s go through front-facing attacks first,” Derek says. “What’s the first move you can do to protect yourself in that situation?”

“Elbow shield,” Spencer replies, holding out his arm and blocking Derek from coming any closer with his forearm acting as a barrier that Derek presses his chest against.

“Exactly, and what can you do to inflict damage in that position?”

Spencer responds by sliding his forearm up to Derek’s neck and applying light pressure, not wanting to actually hurt him.

“You got it. Okay, now what if I manage to grab you and pull you closer, what’s your move?”

He keeps his forearm locked to keep Derek from advancing too close, but this time he grabs his bicep with both hands and uses his core to bring him closer before he raises his shin and mimes kicking him in the groin.

“See, you know this stuff,” Derek says brightly. “The only note I have is to just remember to keep your thumbs in line with the rest of your fingers, not wrapping under my arm.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. The thumb is easily broken, although the most common injury associated with a broken thumb is actually damage to the larger bone of your hand, the metacarpal.”

Derek chuckles. “Exactly.”

Funnily enough, Spencer actually finds himself having fun as they walk through some other basic defensive movements as well as the best way to use tactical punches to overpower or debilitate an unsub or attacker. They frequently burst into peals of laughter, as can be expected when two close individuals find themselves having to do semi-serious work together, and before he knows it, forty-five minutes have flown by.

“Okay, I want to end with some more up close and personal attacks and the best way to stave them off, alright?” Derek says as he puts away the boxing gloves and pads.

Immediately, Spencer feels a small glimmer of nerves and anticipation for how this might make him feel, but he brushes it off. He knows he’s safe with Derek, and the whole point of the exercise is to defend himself. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Let’s start with an attacker coming at you from behind,” Derek decides, coming up behind him. “I’m going to cover your mouth, and you’re going to use your skills and knowledge to remove me, alright?”

Spencer nods, hoping Derek doesn’t read the hesitancy in it, and he supposes that he doesn’t because soon enough a large palm is tightly covering the lower half of his face.

For a brief moment, he isn’t a twenty-five-year-old agent training with one of his closest friends in the gym in the basement of the FBI Headquarters, but a scared and lonely ten-year-old in his childhood bedroom, trying to fight the persistent, evil man on top of him, wondering why his dad would do this to him—

He snaps himself out of it by opening his eyes and forcing himself to take in the surroundings, and before long instinct takes over and he’s gripping at Derek’s wrist and using his core and bodyweight to bend forward and free himself from the restrictive hold.

“Good job, Reid!” Derek says encouragingly, and there’s no evidence on his face when he turns around that he noticed any sort of hesitation or deliberation, so he suspects that his flashback really was only for a second, no matter how everlasting and all-consuming it felt in the moment.

He manages a shaky smile, and invites his next method of torture. “What’s next?”

“Okay, what if I was to grab your t-shirt and immediately start punching you?” Derek asks, immediately miming doing exactly like that.

Fighting the instinct to go into protective mode, he instead turns around elbow first and uses his other hand to mime punching Derek while his knee goes up to attack his groin.

“Perfect! That’s the spirit, kid. No unsub’s ever gonna get the best of you.”

Spencer blushes a little at the praise, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet his eye, but inside he’s beyond pleased, both with the encouragement from Derek and his own self-confidence he can feel flooding back. Maybe he really does have a handle on the more physical side of things. Maybe he isn’t just good for his brain.

“Alright, let’s finish off with some on the ground stuff, okay?” Derek says, sitting down on the mat and inviting Spencer to join him with a pat on the space beside him.

He hesitates a little, and this time Derek notices, his face softening.

“Listen, I know this one is a bit more uncomfortable than the others, but we’re almost done, right? Let’s just get a few moves consolidated and then you can go and have a shower and head home to relax.”

Spencer nods finally and joins him, laying on his back as Derek instructs. The vulnerability of the position has him feeling deeply uncomfortable, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s safe with Derek, but he forces himself to lie still. If nothing else, he doesn’t want to reveal this very personal and private detail of his childhood to his best friend. He just needs to keep reminding himself that he’s safe.

“Right, let’s practice the pinned wrist escape, okay?”

Before he knows what’s happening, before he can process the words and prepare him for what’s about to happen, Derek’s straddling him and resting his full weight over his hips and his wrists are wrapped in a tight grip, pinned to the mat above his head.

It’s so sudden and the sensations so overwhelming that he can’t help the immediate fear response that’s triggered, because he’s not in the FBI gym with Derek anymore, he’s somewhere else entirely.

“No, please,” he begs, voice strangled by a sudden, all-consuming dry sob that heaves his chest, “please don’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please, dad, don’t—”

His sobs suddenly overtake his words and he’s left crying pathetically on the floor, too trapped in the memory to notice that the pressure’s been removed from his hips and he’s free to move his arms, too consumed by the physical and emotional anguish that came with the abuse to hear Derek’s desperate, heart-broken pleas from beside him, begging him to come back to himself.

“Spencer!”

A voice finally manages to break through the fog of panic, and he slowly regains consciousness, the white hot glaze of fear and crippling memory fading incrementally until he can see the high beams of the gym ceiling, until he can hear Derek’s gentle, soothing words beside him.

“It’s alright, pretty boy, I’m here, you’re safe,” Derek tells him gently, although Spencer can hear the urgency in his voice, even in his scared and overwhelmed state.

He covers his face with his hands as his desperate, heaving sobs transform into wet, humiliated cries.

“Hey, hey, Spence,” Derek murmurs beside him, “is it alright if I touch you?”

He considers shaking his head, but really, he wants some comfort right now, no matter how much he’ll hate himself for embarrassing himself further later. He’s glad he does though because Derek very carefully and very slowly lifts him up until he’s wrapped up in a comforting hug, his face buried in a strong chest. He’s not sure he’s ever felt safer than in this exact moment.

“You’re alright, pretty boy, I got you.”

Spencer continues to cry, the overwhelm of having a flashback that intense still wracking his body, but eventually, he starts to calm down, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles as he collapses, boneless against Derek’s body.

“Here, why don’t you have this granola bar and some water,” Derek suggests gently when his tears have dried up, reaching over to the edge of the mat where he was clearly hiding some post-exercise rewards.

Spencer accepts them tiredly, not moving from his position slumped against Derek’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks him once he’s sipped his way through half the bottle and the granola bar is gone.

As much as he’d like to get things off his chest, as much as he trusts Derek, he just— can’t. So he shakes his head and pulls himself into a sitting upright position, although he still doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Okay,” Derek says softly. “I’m gonna drive you home. Come on.”

Spencer numbly walks through the locker room and the halls of the FBI with Derek guiding him until they reach his car, and the motion of climbing in brings a little bit more awareness back to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers as Derek starts the engine and drives them out of the parking garage.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy. No thanks needed.”

They don’t speak on the journey home, and Spencer contents himself with looking out the window at the passing scenery until they enter the city and trees transform into tower blocks. His mind drifts, but he’s just grateful that it doesn’t keep circling back to the flashback, having somewhat successfully resealed those memories like he always does, pushing them down and smothering them with as much good as he can collect in people and memories and things.

The silence between them prevails until Derek steps into his apartment behind him, closing the front door and helping Spencer out of his jacket before hanging his own coat up on a hook and steering Spencer towards the sofa. “You are going to sit here,” he orders, picking up one of Penelope’s hand-knitted blankets from its position neatly folded over the arm of the sofa, “while I get some tea and something to eat. Fancy anything in particular?”

Spencer remembers the satsumas and macaroons Penelope brought over the other day and tells Derek as such, following the other man with his eyes until he disappears into the kitchen and he’s left alone with his hazy thoughts for a couple of minutes.

They pass in a blur, though, and before he can blink, Derek is pressing a mug of warm chamomile tea into his hands and placing a small plate of a satsuma and a couple of macaroons on the coffee table.

The weight of Derek sitting down on the sofa next to him, and the grounding feeling of his palm wrapped around his ankle, has his hazy mind clearing until he’s in a much more present and aware headspace, enough so that Derek clearly notices it.

“You feeling a bit more like yourself?”

Spencer nods, and offers a small smile, trying to ignore the curls of humiliation and self-loathing working their way up his throat. Thoughts he hasn’t had in years are bursting at the seams Spencer had sewn tightly around them, brought up by physical memory alone, and he’s trying to hold them back, but somewhere in the back of his head, there’s his dad again, whispering dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, di—

“Hey, Spence,” he hears, and he snaps his head up, his dad’s voice shutting up and making room for Derek’s — Derek’s soft and gentle reassurances, his promises that he’s here and he’s safe and everything will be okay. “You got a bit lost in your head again there, kid. You alright?”

Spencer sighs tiredly, and a tear runs down his face unbidden. He’s not crying exactly, just— leaking. Leaking in the way a tap that hasn’t been turned on for years does when it finally experiences a much overdue release of pressure. Leaking in the way Spencer Reid does when he has a flashback to the sexual abuse he experienced as a child for the first time in two and a half years.

“Spencer,” Derek says, and something in his voice catches his attention, something serious, something earnest. He looks over at him. “Spencer, I know what you’re going through.”

His cheeks pale and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears because those words, that means— surely not, right? How could Derek— how could he—

“It happened to me, too.”

And there’s the confirmation. There are the five words that have him breaking down again, tears splashing into hot chamomile tea and onto cold, cold hands, sobs wracking his sore and tired shoulders. No one should have to go through what he did, no one. Especially not— God, especially not—

“Hey, Spencer, listen to me,” Derek says urgently scooting closer on the sofa until he can lift Spencer’s chin up with his hands and raise his head until their eyes are locked on one another and he can bear witness to the pain and the openness and the concern swimming in his dark brown irises. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re safe. Don’t cry, pretty boy, everything’s gonna be just fine, I promise.”

He pauses to give Spencer a little time to catch his breath, but after a couple of minutes he speaks up again. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Spencer knows it will break his heart to hear. He doesn’t want to listen to a story in which Derek Morgan was the victim and not the hero, not his hero, but part of him knows that he needs to hear it; needs to know that he wasn’t and isn’t alone. And he can’t help but wonder whether maybe Derek needs to say it. Whether he also needs to tell someone what happened and have them empathise completely, have them say “I understand, I know what you’re going through” and have them mean it.

So he nods.

“His name was Carl Buford,” Derek says, resting the hand not clutching Spencer’s ankle on his knee, “and he was my football coach. A hero of the community. After my dad died, I got in a little trouble on the streets, right, and as a result, I got a record. Eventually, that record was expunged, and I learned that Buford had done it. I was confused, obviously, but he told me I had potential, that I was special, that I was going places and he was gonna help me get there.

“And so we started spending more time together. At first, it was just one-on-one football training and some run of the mill mentoring, and I finally felt like I had a real father figure again, someone who I could look up to and talk to and trust. Until one day when he took me up to his cabin. He gave me Helgeson wine to intoxicate me, and then convinced me to go skinny-dipping in a lake with him but when we came back to the cabin, he started— he started rubbing up against me. It eventually spiralled into… molestation and rape. He used to say "You better man up, boy, look up to the sky" when I would cry out for him to stop, or later — when some shameful part of me had accepted it — when I would wince in pain or he could sense I didn’t want to be there.

“And that went on for years until I guess I outgrew his preference and he— I mean— I guess, I guess he must have moved on.”

Spencer wants to be sick, and he’s pretty sure Derek feels the same, so all he can do is lean forward and wrap Derek in the tightest hug he can manage while they cry together.

“Did you ever tell anyone?” Spencer asks after a little time has passed.

Derek nods. “When it started affecting my football career in college, I started seeing a therapist, and I’ve really gotten to a place now where I’ve come to terms with it. As much as I’m ever going to be able to anyway. Half of that therapy was me grieving for the childhood I lost, expressing the anger I felt towards Buford in a healthy way, and then accepting that there isn’t anything I can do to undo the pain except work my ass off at the BAU putting guys like him behind bars since I lost my chance with him.”

Spencer nods. “I’m sorry he isn’t in prison.”

Derek shrugs his shoulders a little, pulling out of the hug. “I keep tabs on him. If I ever so much as catch a whiff of him hurting one of the boys at the centre I’ll be on him in no time. Just… waiting for the evidence, I guess.”

Spencer takes the hand resting on top of his knee and squeezes it, a show of solidarity his tongue can’t manage.

They sit in silence for long, comfortable minutes before Spencer finally feels like sharing. He knows that Derek isn’t expecting anything: if he never wanted to explain, he knows Derek would understand completely, but something about knowing he’ll understand like no one else can, that he can share and feel safe in doing so has his own story rolling off his tongue like it never has before.

“It was my dad,” Spencer says quietly, a confession he’s always been too ashamed to make. “The first time it happened was the night of my sixth birthday. He said that the day was his own celebration, because he’d waited so long and he was finally going to get his prize. He raped me. It wasn’t like that every time, sometimes he’d stop at… touching or— or fellatio, sometimes he’d come into my room and stand over me, getting off on how scared I was anticipating the act that never came.

“He left when I was ten, not far away from my eleventh birthday, and a big part of me always wondered whether the main reason he left was that I wasn’t in his preferential age group anymore. But when I was thirteen, I bumped into him in a hotel in California of all places, and even though I was bigger and stronger and nowhere near as vulnerable, he still got the best of me, he still weaseled his way into my room and took advantage of me again. After that time I carried pepper spray everywhere I went until the FBI issued me a gun. I swore I’d never let it happen again.”

Derek looks desperately sad when he finally meets his eyes again, and before he knows it he’s being wrapped in another hug, and they’re both in pieces again. However painful these memories are, though, the release of them is more cathartic than anything Spencer’s ever experienced; crying together with another survivor over everything they lost, the people that stole their childhoods and abused them for years on end, their younger, scared selves, desperate for someone to save them.

It hurts Spencer’s heart, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer than right in this moment.

“Is this the first time you’ve talked about this, Spence?” Derek asks eventually, with his cheek resting on the top of Spencer’s head.

“Yes,” he admits, another tear dripping onto the hands curled anxiously in his lap.

Derek pulls away and looks him in the eye, cupping his face gently and brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m proud of you.”

As broken and unseemly and ripped open and torn apart as he feels right now, as exposed as this entire ordeal has made him feel, for the first time, he thinks he agrees with Derek.

His trust was destroyed by the person supposed to protect him, and he’s carried the trauma of being sexually abused as a young child around with him for the last two decades, and still, he’s here. He’s brave enough to share himself with Derek, and he’s strong enough to cry and grieve and ache for the scared six-year-old boy he wishes he could go back in time and save.

Right now, in the early evening light of the flat and the safe and supportive arms of his best friend, he’s proud of himself, too. And that feels really damn good to finally say.

Please practice self-care after reading this, especially if you are also a survivor. RAINN Rape Crisis UK International Help for Survivors

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (taglist form)

[spacedikut]

the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah! 

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you’ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you’ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @averyhotchner

[kalinara]

I know it’s fun to joke about space himbo Din Djarin who doesn’t know he’s in a Star Wars.  But it really is fascinating to think about everything he does not know, and the implications behind these gaps in his knowledge.

Because Din isn’t an idiot.  He’s not intentionally oblivious.  He speaks multiple language (though not frog).  He has contacts in a few places.  He’s worked with non-Mandalorians before.  He’s able to track down both Luke’s Jedi training ground and what’s left of the covert.

He knows lots of things!  Just not necessarily the IMPORTANT things!

Like the Jedi! 

Now Din isn’t the only person who at least appears to be pretty clueless about the Jedi.  Kuiil seems pretty bewildered.  So does Greef Karga.  And that makes some sense, I suppose.  Both are old enough to predate the Empire, but we know that Kuiil was enslaved.  And if Karga stayed in the Outer Rim, then he may not have had much by way of direct interaction.

Now Cara Dune’s interesting, because as a rebel, she’s probably at least heard the name, Luke Skywalker.  But as an ordinary jump trooper, she’s probably never actually met the guy or heard more than stories.  

But when you think about it, Din really should know SOMETHING about these ancestral enemies of his people, right?  Even if it’s just scary stories told to the foundlings.

It’s interesting, because when you think about it, the gaps in Din’s knowledge are all specifically about Mandalorian history and culture.

He doesn’t know what the darksaber is.  That seems absurd.  Especially since the “Children of the Watch” are almost definitely an offshoot of the Death Watch, and the darksaber was their whole fucking thing. 

And it seems to be JUST Din.  Paz Viszla knows what the darksaber is!  (Also, it’s very interesting that Din Djarin hadn’t heard his own name since childhood, but Paz gets to go around with a very recognizable one.)

He doesn’t know who Bo-Katan Kryze is, and to steal someone else’s great line, that’s like a thirty something American not knowing who Barack Obama is.

It’s little things too.  Like the fact that he’s taken aback when the Armorer hates his Beskar spear.  The logic makes sense: a Beskar spear can pierce Beskar armor, but Din’s clearly never heard of that taboo before.

He knows that his name was in a registry on Mandalore.  He knows about the Imperial invasion(s).  He knows who Moff Gideon is.  But he doesn’t know that there are Mandalorians who go around, willingly, without their helmets.  I think it’s probably fair to say that he’s got no knowledge of any of the Mandalorian civil wars.  

And the one that really doesn’t make sense to me: he didn’t know who Boba Fett was!  Not EVEN as a bounty hunter!  He’s clearly up to date on things.  He knows who Fennec Shand is.  He’s been to Tatooine enough to learn Tuskan and develop a rapport with them.  We know Boba wasn’t some shadowy unknown figure, because Fennec recognized him straight out.  So why doesn’t Din recognize the name or armor?

It’s fascinating, because in every other way, Din is not an ignorant man.  He is clearly capable and knowledgeable about the Empire.  He hilariously can’t talk his way out of a speeding ticket, but he’s not clueless about the New Republic either.  He navigates all sorts of environments, including criminal underground type places, with complete ease.

It’s just really noticeable because every time Din shows his surprisingly lack of knowledge, it’s got to do with Mandalore.  His own culture, society and history.

There’s no way this isn’t intentional.

I wish we’d gotten to see more of Din’s covert, because, right now, it’s hard to tell how much of this is the whole underground cult upbringing and how much is specific to Din Djarin.  Because, as mentioned, Paz Viszla seems to know a hell of a lot more than Din does.  Is that because he has some kind of special rank or status within the covert?  (He definitely seems closer to the Armorer than the others.)  Or do all the members of the covert know these things EXCEPT Din?

The Armorer clearly knows everything, or damn near, so why hasn’t she bothered to tell the one dude whose job it is to go out and interact with the galaxy?  (It definitely makes this theory seem really possible.  She never seems surprised by the gaps in his knowledge!)

It really does seem like he’s been deliberately kept ignorant of basically everything.  (...okay I admit, I have no idea how they’d be able to keep him from learning about Boba Fett.  That one might just be a coincidence.)  So HOW?  WHY?

All I know is that I’m thrilled that season 3 looks like it’s going to be dealing with Mandlore proper, so maybe we’ll even get some answers!

[comfortwriting]

A Summer Secret Part 1 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Part 1 of my mini-series 'A Summer Secret' want to be tagged? Let me know!

Part 2

Requested/About: After bursting a water pipe and flooding his house, Fred needs a place to stay - whilst the family is on a vacation he temporarily stays at  George's house. Y/N tries to get out of an arranged marriage her parents have planned with the Malfoy Family. Failing to do so, she flees to George's house - the father of her best friends who promised she could stay there to escape. Fred and Y/N meet unexpectedly, and something sparks between them - something that Fred vows to be nothing more than a summer fling, a summer secret... but is it?

Warnings: Age gap relationship (y/n is 18), swearing, mention of arranged marriage, mention of food and eating.

Staring out of the train window, bidding farewell to the mountains, the river, and to Hogwarts, you felt tears prick at your eyes. You weren't ready to go home for summer, you never did - you were always at the Twin's house, living under George and Angelina's roof to escape the arguments your parents caused when you said no to them controlling every aspect of your life.

Unfortunately, Gideon and Fabian were going away for the summer with their parents to visit Charlie and you were unable to join them, you understood and was fine with it, but you were absolutely terrified to step foot into your home, with your parents trying to force you into a marriage you didn't want.

"Cheer up, Y/N." Fabian frowned "I hate seeing you upset."

You broke your stare from the scenery and looked over at your best friends, taking some puking pastilles from their bags.

"Just in case" you muttered, "If they're sick they'll leave me alone."

Fabian smirked and shook his head, tutting "Did they say anything else in the letter?"

You shook your head back "No, they just told me I didn't have a choice.  I've graduated, I'm eighteen yet I can't decide what I want for myself."

"I can't imagine getting married at this age to someone I've probably never met."

You stared at Fabian, a little sore and taken aback by his sudden burn.

"Thanks, Fabian, I can't either." You squirmed in your seat and pulled out some jelly snakes from the bag of sweets you were sharing, biting and pulling at the tail, stretching the snake, bursts of green apple and lime flooded your mouth.

"I'm sorry Y/N," he apologised starting to panic.

You shrugged it off and tried to stay calm, throwing him a jelly snake"It's okay."

Gideon rummaged through his large bag and pulled out a large bronze key, handing it to you. "If things get really bad, stay at our house anyway."

You smiled slightly and took the key from him, examining it before stuffing it in your pocket "Thanks, lads."

Fabian nodded his head, flicking through job applications he had filled out before sighing and plonking them back in his bag. "Thank Merlin we've got dads shop"

"Tell me about it" Gideon replied "Uncle Fred will be chuffed when we roll up begging for a job."

The two of them laughed, waiting for you to join in, but you were too busy staring out of the window getting lost in what could unfold in a few hours time.

Dear Y/N,

We are so proud of you for working so hard, we are very eager to find out your N.E.W.T results in the next few months to come.

Your mother and I have been looking for jobs you can apply to once you're home, if you've got the grades, working for The Ministry seems rather promising. Your friend's uncle worked as an Auror for a little while, the one who now picks up spare shifts at that joke shop every now and then.

Anyway, we have got some news we need to share it with, unfortunately, we are unable to tell you in person as the wait is too long, but I don't doubt our owl is rather fast at delivering letters; a lot faster than yours it seems.

We have decided that you will be getting an arranged marriage, your status needs to be high if you want to go for and do well in life, you will marry into a very successful family, one that will open doors for you which your N.E.W.Ts cannot.

If you have anything going on with anyone right now, you need to end it before you arrive home. This matter is not up for discussion, neither is the family we have chosen for you.

Arrive home on time, well dressed, and we will go through the meeting. Don't you dare show us up in front of them, you will regret it.

Please write back, I'm not sending another owl to check on you and you are old enough to realise that Howlers are for kids.

Grow up and act like an adult.

See you soon.

Safe Travels,

-  Y/D/N

Grumbling down the path to your house, your stomach started to do flips as you inched closer and closer to the front door. Seeing yourself in the reflection of the glass diamond shape in the middle of the door, you quickly fixed your hair that got ruffled in the wind, unrolling your skirt and straightening out the creases in your blouse.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and pushed the front door open, carrying your trunk inside, your owl flying inside eagerly for scraps of food. Your heart thumped in your chest and you could hear each thump in your ears.

"Mum!" you called out "Dad!"

"We're in the living room, Y/N," Y/D/N replied.

Setting down your trunk beside the stairs in case you needed to make a quick escape, you walked into the living room, staring at your shoes, afraid your parents had already pulled out a wedding dress and pamphlets of various venues waiting to be hired.

"How lovely to see you," your mother smiled, getting out of her seat to pull you into a hug before your dad cleared his throat.

Yeah, go on, scare her away from me like you always do.

Your mum quickly sat back down beside your father who didn't hug you or welcome you home. Instead, he pulled two moving photographs from the pocket in his waistcoat, setting them face down on the table in front of you.

This must be the family he's chosen for me.

"Well dressed like I asked, thank you." He smiled "You'll be happy to know that the family we have picked out for you are rather eager to... get the ball rolling. They've been kind enough to offer to cover the costs of the wedding, and helping you move into their home once you have married their son."

A wedding... I won't get to choose...

Moving into their home... where I cannot escape...

Fred cursed under his breath standing in his kitchen, the bottom of his trousers heavy and drenched because of the water rising up to his ankles. He dragged himself around the kitchen, searching for some parchment and a quill, but with no luck, he grabbed the muggle telephone, trying to remember how to ring his brother.

"Hello, George Weasley speaking-"

"Alright, Mr Fancy arse" Fred replied, swearing as his shoes started to squelch with each step "Look, I need some help."

Angelina could be heard in the background, telling George to meet her at the airport after she lands with the boys.

"What's up, Freddie?"

Fred sighed "I'm up to my ankles in water, a bloody pipe burst and these muggles take ages to get here. The whole house will be flooded by the time you get here, can I crash at your place? I don't want to bother mum, she's got enough going on with Ron and Hermione's newborn."

George smirked through the phone, amused at his brother's bad luck with something as simple as a water pipe, magic not being able to fix it after a prank going wrong with Fred's wand.

"Of course, me, Angelina, and the boys will be gone for a few weeks though, there's enough food and that - all I ask is that you look after the owls for us."

Fred walked up the steps, his lower legs now getting wet "Thank you, George, I owe you one!"

"It's okay Freddie, just don't get up to any trouble."

"I won't. Say hi to Charlie for me!"

If Gideon and Fabian knew Uncle Fred was staying at the house too, they would have texted you, sent an owl if they didn't have any signal, but they didn't know - and their father didn't think to tell them.

If Fred knew a younger girl would be staying in the house, he would have rented a room somewhere else, hell, he would've stayed in the office above the shop, but he didn't know.

And you of all people would've forced yourself to stay under your parent's roof for a little longer, or jump on a plane and bump into Gideon and Fabian just by chance, but they didn't tell you.

Fred always felt amazed when he was in George's house - it was large and cosy, a proper family home, a master bedroom with an ensuite, two guestrooms where you had slept during previous summer - where the twins often slept instead of their own room from time to time, and a large bathroom that could fit in the whole Weasley family.

You swallowed hard, shifting in the stiff chair, you shook your head, your voice wobbly as you tried to speak.

"Dad, I appreciate all of this, I really do - but I'm an adult, it isn't your choice or right to make decisions for me, I don't want to get married, I don't want to live with another-"

You wanted to continue, but Y/D/N glared at you, he spoke through gritted teeth, flipping over the photographs of the family trying to buy you for their son.

"How dare you disrespect me. After everything I have done for you, for this family, you are not an adult, you still act like a child!"

"I'm eighteen!" you snapped, feeling brave, finding your voice.

"You are still living under my roof! You will do as I say!"

Your mother did nothing but stare into the fireplace, perhaps deep in thought or imagining you in a white lace dress, walking down the aisle with a face smile plastered on your face.

"No, I will not!"

"You will!" your dad bellowed, rising out of his chair "because they are coming to meet you in an hour and you better comply, girl!"

Tears pricked at your eyes, your chest tightened and the familiar lump formed in your throat. Staring down at the picture made you sick to your stomach, you recognised the young lad in the photograph, for he was no other than Scorpius Malfoy.

"The Malfoys!" you also stood up "I will never, ever marry into that family! Not after what they did!"

Y/D/N grunted "What are you going to do? Marry a Weasley? Work in a joke shop and be a laughing stock for a living?"

You stormed out of the living room, grabbing your trunk, your mother continued to stare into the flames, blocking out everything around her, smiling about what could have been.

Your dad followed you, grabbing the other handle on your trunk, pulling you to him.

"You aren't going anywhere!"

"I'm going anywhere but here!" you snarled back, your trunk opened and your clothes dropped onto the floor, letting go, you stormed up the stairs and sprinted to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Frantically, you pulled out your phone, messaging the twins.

Y/N: They want me to marry into the Malfoy family! I can't fucking do it.

Fabian: Wait. Scorpius?

Gideon: You've got to be joking.

Y/N: No! I'm not! His family are coming to meet me in the next hour, what the fuck am I going to do?

Gideon: Puking Pastilles?

Y/N: No, I'm not risking leaving this bedroom if I'm not going outside.

Fabian: You've got our house key, use it genius.

Y/N: I will tonight, I just need to fake this shit, hopefully, I won't be married by morning, I'll run away to yours in the night.

Gideon: Be careful.

Fabian: Don't do anything we wouldn't do.

Y/N: Why do you think I'm running away? The Malfoys are the worst match!

Fred got used to being alone in the house after a week, blasting loud music, dancing like no one was watching, walking around in nothing but his boxers as the summer heat became unbearable. He felt on top of the world, he was alone, enjoying himself, in a huge house all to himself.

Managing to escape through the night as you had planned, you were taken by surprise when you arrived at George's manor to find the lights on and music blaring through the walls.

Maybe the twins came home early to surprise me.

Knocking on the door was pointless, even if you yelled the music was too loud to compete with. Pulling out your key, you unlocked the door and walked inside, setting your bags down on the table on the porch, hanging your coat up on the peg. Following the music you stopped in your tracks, in front of you was Fred, dancing in his boxers, sliding across the wooden floor in his socks, playing the air guitar. Your cheeks started to go red. If this was a prank, it was definitely well thought out - but deep down, you knew that Fabian and Gideon hadn't come home.

You had met Fred before, you always visited the joke shop with your friends and he had been at George's many times over Christmas, and Summer when he wasn't working. Each time you had seen him, he had always been on his own, no girlfriend, no ring on his finger.

Fred spins around with his eyes closed and opens them as he faces you, he jumps out of his skin and instantly covers his private parts with his hands as his eyes met yours, you grabbed the remote and rapidly paused the blaring music.

"W-What are you doing here?!" he asked, breathless and red.

You picked up one of his T-Shirts and threw it at him, leaning against the table, staring at your shoes as he got dressed "I could ask you the same thing." you replied shyly.

taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @inglourious-imagines @reeophidian @sebby-staan @xmalfoyweasleyx @onlyfreds @lucymfer @livvysnaps @supermassiveblackhope @youralternantpersonality @xgoodbyexinnocencex @gustepasilyte 

[superhusbands4ever]

DinLuke (Skydalorian) Fic Rec List

Hello all! Like many of us, I have fallen into Dinluke hell since the season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, so I have compiled a list of Dinluke fics that I love for you all to read. I’ve sorted them by series, and long fics, and one-shots. Incomplete/in-progress fics are marked with **. If you are like me and you absolutely LOVE force-sensitive Din Djarin, those fics will be bolded. If you want a rec list of just force-sensitive Din fics, let me know!

Enjoy!

Series

**Seperate Ways by PepperPrints - Explicit - iconic, exquisite, 1000/10, peak art, would recommend

With Moff Gideon defeated and the Darksaber reclaimed, the rumours of newly named Mand'alor Din Djarin spread through the galaxy... along with the stories of the Child he carries with him. Determined to meet him, Luke Skywalker arrives on Mandalore -- but before he can get any closer, he has to prove himself worthy of Mandalorian standards. 

**Skydalorian by Celestial_Alignment - Explicit

What if Din and Luke met pre-episode 4 and continued to run into each other through the years.

The Mandalorian ends up at Tosche Station and meets a desert youth who is apparently named "Wormie."

**The Vanishing Breed Series by @dosmit-raeh - Mature

The first thing Din noticed was the fire in the hearth. Near the hearth was a small, handmade crib, and from the crib came an excited cry. It spread through Din's chest like a bloodstain, perhaps it had in fact pierced his heart. He knew that little voice.

“Hey, you,” said Din softly. He dropped to his knees as the Kid scrambled out of the crib and scampered to him, crawling into his lap and burbling happily.

“That’s the most excited I’ve seen him in months,” said Skywalker. Din hadn’t even noticed him sitting across the room at a rough-hewn wooden table, nursing a cup of something. He wore the same carefully neutral expression he'd had on Gideon's ship, but his clothes were now desert-colored and hung loose around Skywalker's wiry frame. His hair was in disarray and it made him look much younger than he'd seemed on the ship; there, he'd seemed world-weary and ancient. Now, Din felt an insane need to protect.

Skywalker raised his cup at Din in greeting, a lopsided smile on his face. “He’s missed you," he said.

“Feeling’s mutual,” said Din gruffly.

___

The Mandalorian becomes Din Djarin. Din Djarin becomes.

(Luke helps.)

**Beskar and Kyber by Insomniac_with_dreams - Not Rated

“This is going to be awkward,” Luke sighs down at the baby in his arms. R2 beeps besides him and Luke nods in agreement. “Nothing to do but go back.”

His X-Wing is almost completely dismantled, sparking where wires hang limply. There is no way he’s getting off of this cruiser until it’s repaired. There aren't even any escape pods on board all of the docking bays empty. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he was going to have to walk back to the bridge with the baby and explain himself to a heartbroken Mandalorian.

**you and i have memories by itBlackLeader - General

“What are you doing ?” A quiet voice asks behind his back.

Luke only responds with hums of contentment and a gentle tap on the grassy ground next to him.

(Luke and Din enjoy a quiet evening.)

Long Fic (Multi-chapter & 10K+)

Smoke Signals by Thestorans - Explicit - 23.5K

"Din Djarin"

He hears his name and it scares him enough to throw up his blaster, finger hovering over the trigger that is pointed right at Luke Skywalker's heart.

(or the one where a Jedi meets a Mandalorian and things get complicated.)

More Than His Armor by twoseas - Teen - 12.6K

Din visits Grogu at Luke’s academy more than any other parent. Luke isn’t complaining.

**Fates of the Force by starkjoy - Explicit

Six months after Grogu's rescue, an unexpected encounter launches Din on a quest throughout the galaxy alongside Jedi Master Luke Skywalker—a journey that may alter their fates forever.

the warmest bed i’ve ever known by ceedawkes - Explicit - 11.5K

pre-original series, din djarin is injured on a remote planet and found by an incessantly chatty farm boy named luke skywalker || i won't ask you to wait, if you don't ask me to stay || aka "making out with hot farm boys doesn't count as breaking the creed if he's blindfolded during it". edit 12/29: now with a post-series chapter 2.

**Worlds Apart by PepperPrints - Teen - honestly an absolute favorite, it only has 3 chapters so far but I’ve already re-read each one a million times

Having safely delivered the Child, Mand'alor Din Djarin inherits the Darksaber, a ruined planet, and the burden of Moff Gideon's fate. That burden brings Din to the New Republic on Coruscant, where he's thrown into a shimmering world of galactic politics even less familiar to him than the planet meant to be his home.

Din isn't the only one on Coruscant with his hands full of a once forgotten order - the Jedi is here too, and as their paths cross, Din will be forced to navigate both what's expected of him, and what he wants.

**we could be enough by @snap-dragon-pop - Teen

Din Djarin fights a war he never wanted to be a part of, and Luke Skywalker slowly makes a place for himself in a family he never knew he needed.

**he feels like home by bilgegungorenoo - Teen

Luke is in love.

And Leia doesn’t even need her strong Force bond with her twin to know that.

Or, 5 times people try to convince Luke to ask Din out, and 1 time Din takes it upon himself to do it.

**Family is a Funny Thing by SkylaDoragono - Mature

He promised the child he would see him again; he just didn't realize how hard it would be for him to stay away, even with the responsibility that came with the Darksaber breathing down his neck.

**Kir’manir by @iamonewithyouandyouarewithme - Teen - this one is one of my top 5 favorites already and it only has 2 chapters so far lol

He lets go of everything.

He reunites with his son, sees with his own eyes that he is safe, and just as quickly loses him again.

He gives the child to the Jedi, watches them prepare to leave. He sins, removes his helmet; feels the faintest touch of his son's tiny hand against his tired skin.

And then Bo-Katan shoots the Jedi in the back.

**For All The Things My Eyes Have Seen by Strawbebbi_Daiuiri - Teen

“He missed you.” The Jedi laughed. For a moment, Din didn’t respond, too wrapped up in the moment. Not that he probably would’ve responded anyways, but his focus was on the child in his arms. The feel of the other man’s stare, however, brought him back to where he was. ---- Or, the one where Luke and Din don't realize they're in love with each other for way too long and raise children together.

**no path runs smooth series by @andillwriteyouatragedy - General

"I don't know what game you're playing, here, but you know you have to go with the Jedi. This is your destiny."

"Luke." Din looks up to the Jedi, scanning him through his visor. As if he can see his face — and Din hopes even the most powerful Jedis can't see through beskar — the Jedi smiles at him again. He clarifies, "The Jedi? Has a name. I'm Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin."

One Shots

HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP by coldishcase - Teen - crackfest but honestly relatable and funny as hell

A bright red box appears in Luke's vision, declaring in big, bold basic lettering: "HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP." He's seen several just like it by this point, each more insistent than the last.

Someone needs his help, apparently. They sure have an interesting way of asking him for it, though.

How (Not) to Meet Your Son’s Boyfriend by fifteenminutesoffame - Not Rated

“You’re blocking the sunlight,” Obi-Wan chides, cast in shadow from Anakin’s hovering, his eyes still closed.

“Will you pay attention?” Anakin snaps. “Luke has made me a grandfather.”

i think i’m gonna marry you by snapdragonpop007 - General

It is an ancient tradition on Mandalore, that before you can ask for someone’s hand in marriage, you first have to defeat them in battle to prove your abilities to care for and provide for the family you’ll have. If you are not a capable warrior, you are not a capable spouse.

Luke didn't realize he had already skipped that step.

Got Me Hypnotized (So Mesmerized) by wasted_wallflower - Teen

“Thanks. For what you’re doing, I mean.” The words come out stilted and slow, and not for the first time, Din curses his inability to talk to people like a normal person. Luke Skywalker smiles at him, ducking his head with an undoubtedly bashful expression on his face, while the kid (Grogu, he reminds himself) chatters between them. “You’re welcome.” He says, that smile still on his face, and oh.

Oh no.

Din Djarin does not have a crush, despite what everyone else thinks. Enter Luke Skywalker.

[walviemort]

Fairy Godfather, part 2

Summary: The fairies have asked a monumental favor of Killian: be the surrogate for their babies—all nine of them. He’s been pregnant before, but this? This is a whole other level. What has he gotten himself into? And just how big will he get?

A/N: Another update! This is kind of consuming me so you’ll be getting these pretty often, I hope! thanks to @sancocnutclub for all her encouragement ;)

rated T / 2.2k words / part 1 / AO3

He didn’t wake until mid morning the next day, and was still fairly fatigued, but otherwise felt alright—just a bit tender about the middle. 

A shower helped dissolve most of the lingering soreness, and he took some time in front of the mirror to look for any changes. 

Given that his stomach had never returned to its previous hardened state, it was hard to notice any discernible change in shape, but when he poked around, there was definitely a rounded area that hadn’t been there before. 

He also took a moment to memorize his body as it was; it wouldn’t be long before the babes made their presence visibly known, and the changes that happened while pregnant with Hope were still fresh in his mind. He was both glad that Belle was keeping track of his stats, and already dreading it. 

But she was probably waiting for him, so he needed to get a move on—and something to eat; he was starting to feel peckish, but couldn’t tell whether or not it was more than usual. 

His normal jeans still fit comfortably, albeit a hair snug. It wouldn’t last long, but he’d relish it while it did. At least his shirts would last longer; he’d found a new appreciation for the forgiving cotton knits of this realm in his second trimester. 

Emma was already at the station when he got downstairs, but she’d left behind plenty of pancakes, and he ate a few more than normal; he wasn’t sure how to interpret that. 

Before heading to the library, he went to pick up Hope from her sleepover with her grandparents. David greeted him at the door, with tiny Ruth asleep on his chest.

“So, how’d it go?” he asked, hardly able to keep his eyes away from Killian’s midsection.

“Fine, as far as I could tell. Weird, but fine.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No, thankfully, but I’m sure there will be plenty of aches and pains later.”

David winced. “Man, am I glad they asked you and not me. This one was enough,” he said, patting Ruth’s back gently.

“I don’t disagree, but…”

“But you feel like you owe them,” David finished. 

“Aye.”

“Well, I think it’ll be the other way around by the end of this, but we’ll help you out as much as we can.”

“I appreciate it—and I’m sure we’ll need it with this one,” he replied, nodding at Hope, who was attempting to escape out a window.

She was easily wrangled, though, and happy to see him. He had no idea what fairy infants were like, but if they were half as charming as his daughter (who definitely took after her grandfather), this whole town would revolve around them.

As he thought, Belle was waiting for him, tape measure in hand. “Seriously?” he griped as he set Hope down next to Gideon in the playpen behind the circulation desk.

“You can’t possibly be surprised,” she threw back. “But if it’s any consolation, I won’t do it again until next week.”

“You only did it monthly last time around.”

“You were only carrying one babe.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

Though his waist measurement remained unchanged, his weight was slightly higher (more than could be expected by a few extra pancakes). “I can feel it,” he confirmed when she asked. “There’s definitely something in there, though I only notice it if I go looking for it.”

Belle made a note and then flipped back and forth between some pages. “That matches up with when you found out you were expecting Hope; so do your measurements, and that was, what 8 weeks?”

“Yeah, thereabouts.”

“Second pregnancies do show sooner, too.”

“Especially this one,” he grumbled. 

“Oh yeah,” she agreed.

The day continued normally, although his hand did gravitate to his stomach pretty often, without thinking about it. Even if it wasn’t noticeable, he still knew what was there, and his subconscious seemed to have already set out to protect it—that, or his hormones were already starting to affect him. 

Based on his reaction when Emma arrived that afternoon—particularly to his train of thought when she bent down to pick up a napping Hope—it was definitely hormones. His jeans felt a very different kind of tight then; something he acted on later that night, after a slightly larger than usual dinner. 

“Those hormones kicked in fast,” a sated Emma breathed as they came down from their shared high. “You haven’t been that voracious since we found out we were having a girl.”

“Are you complaining?” he panted. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.” And they went for another round. 

In fact, he was so insatiable the next couple of weeks that, despite his elevated appetite, no other discernible change in his weight was noticed; his waist actually went down a bit.

“Are you feeling alright? Keeping food down and everything?” Belle asked, worried, as she recorded his 2-week measurements, comparing them to his 10-week from his first pregnancy. “Last time, you couldn’t eat more than chicken rice about now.”

“Trust me—I feel more than fine,” he assured her. “Were it not for Emma’s implanted contraception, we’d likely need to be planning for a more traditional pregnancy.”

“That’s a very eloquent way of saying you can’t keep your hands off your wife.”

“I could have phrased it crudely—how many synonyms for ‘sex’ did you want Gideon to learn today?”

“None!” she exclaimed, covering her son’s impressionable ears. He was at the age when he repeated anything said around him—a fact they noticed when Gideon’s favorite phrase became “bloody hell.”

“What are uncles for, though?” he teased with a wink. 

Belle just groaned and threatened to teach Hope how to read with romance novels. Killian, however, was just glad she slept through the night so she didn’t interrupt the real thing. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Where there had been some hubbub about town during Killian’s first pregnancy—and quite a lot of gawking—no one seemed as shocked this time around. They’d made no effort to keep it a secret, letting the Storybrooke rumor mill do its job, but either the town was more aware than Killian had been about fairy reproduction, or they had become jaded to such magical oddities (he assumed the latter).

That said—he had to assume the gawking would eventually return. 

Especially with the way Granny was feeding him. To be fair, she wasn’t letting him overindulge, but he’d noticed his portions were larger, and the amount of vegetables increased. He wondered if Blue had given her some nutritional instruction, or if it was just her innate grandmotherly instincts. 

The first time she slid an extra helping of broccoli over, he tried to protest, delicious as it looked. 

“Oh no—eat up, young man,” she commanded. “If my math is right, you’re eating for 10. I should probably be feeding you more, actually.”

Emma snickered next to him—they were on lunch break from the station—but he wasn’t sure if it was at Granny’s tutting or the fact that Killian had just realized the magnitude of…well, all of it. 

So when Granny slid some extra onion rings across the counter, he didn’t complain (but obviously shared them with his wife).

He wanted to blame it on those extra treats—onion rings, fries, pie, muffins—when they noticed an expansion in his waist measurement at 3 weeks, but it was definitely the babes; he could still wear his normal jeans, but was seeing some rounding behind his navel. 

And at 4 weeks—a month since the babes were transferred—it could finally be deemed a bump: there was a gentle curve to his whole stomach, from just under his pecs to his hips (which had been aching a bit as they widened some, likely in anticipation of the heavy load to come). Given the way he and Emma’s evening activities hadn’t slowed, he knew it was all the babies. 

Belle hummed as she compared the notes she’d just taken with those from last time. “Well, that’s interesting,” she commented.

“What is?” Emma asked; she’d joined them for that week’s check in, curious to see where things were.

“This week’s measurements match up with those from the end of the first trimester last time, which I suppose isn’t a huge surprise, but…”

“But I have a lot more to go than two trimesters,” he finished.

All eyes were on his stomach for a long while after that, likely all wondering the same thing: just how large would he get?

The only thing that took their attention away was the ringing of the bell over the door as someone arrived—Blue, it turned out. “Hi,” she greeted, clearly trying to be casual. “Just wanted to stop by and see how things were going.”

He wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d stay away from him for the duration of the pregnancy, although he had expected more subtle surveillance.

They chatted briefly about how he was feeling, and she studied his stomach with an outstretched hand, he assumed to do her own magical assessment. “Yes, they seem to be doing quite well; that’s good.”

“Did you think they weren’t?” Emma quipped.

“No, of course not,” Blue assured her. “Would it be odd to express my excitement?”

Well, they all understood that. “How long has it been since your last brood?” Belle had to ask.

“Over fifty years,” Blue answered. “They’re usually every five to ten, depending on the solstice.”

“And when you don’t have a series of curses in the way,” Emma added.

Blue glanced over Belle’s notes with interest. “That does seem to match up with past broods, though I don’t think anyone ever thought to take such detailed notes.”

“Are there any?” Belle asked. “I don’t have anything here, but if you had some back at the convent, it’d be great for comparison.”

“I’d have to check our library,” Blue answered. “There might be a few scrolls, but we’re not much for recorded history.”

“I can tell,” Belle complained.

After some more chatting, Blue excused herself, but did ask if it was alright if she checked in periodically.

“Of course,” Killian said. “It’s your brood. Plus, I’m certain we’ll need to take you up on the offer of help sooner rather than later, if this is where I’m already at after only 4 weeks,” he added, gesturing to his still-small bump.

“Absolutely,” Blue said. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She pulled her wand out of nowhere and twirled it at Killian’s midsection. His skin grew warm for a moment, but then returned to normal. “I’m not sure if the original spell will account for the size, as far as how it treats your skin; that should eliminate any damage.”

“No stretch marks?” he wondered.

“No—not any new ones, at least.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

She then left as quickly as she appeared.

“Guess that’s something we’ll have to get used to,” he sighed, and then they went about their day. But he was starting to grow very concerned about what lay ahead for him; he knew this wouldn’t be a small feat, but was worried it would be more than he could handle.

As time progressed, his bump steadily grew, though not unnaturally so. At 5 weeks, it was yet more noticeable; at 6, he finally had to concede defeat and dig out his maternity jeans, though they were still plenty roomy. By the end of the second month, he wasn’t quite where he’d been at the end of his second trimester, but it was definitely a baby bump—roughly where he’d been around 24 weeks with Hope, even though he was only at 8 with this one.

It was around then, though, that he noticed the first flutterings inside. He thought he’d noticed it the week before, but chalked it up to gas or something like that; Granny had been feeding him a lot of black beans lately. But late one night, after yet another glorious session of lovemaking, Emma’s hand had drifted to his belly and even she took notice.

“Wow, they’re actually starting to move in there, huh?”

“Seems like it. You don’t suppose they actually have wings already, do they?”

“Normal babies hardly have limbs at this stage, so probably not.”

They lay peacefully in the afterglow for a bit, before he asked quietly, “You are okay with this, right?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d ask, nor was it likely to be the last. But it was a large undertaking and though she hadn’t exactly protested, he knew it wasn’t something she’d have volunteered for.

“For the hundredth time, yes. Even if this was partly fueled by guilt, I know you probably would have agreed anyway, and that big heart is why I love you so much. And can I say something else?”

“What’s that, love?”

“I was so attracted to you with that baby bump last time, even when you thought you were massive. So as long as your libido holds out, I think we’re both going to be very happy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, I think I might need some convincing.”

“Then let me show you.” And oh, she did.

Gods, he prayed he’d be able to do that for a while. The next several months were going to be very interesting.

------------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @88infinity88​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 12 Reactions: Mando goes on a self care sidequest with friends and now the Razor Crest can fly again

- before we talk about ANYTHING else I have to mention once again: 

shut UP they have a statue for IG-11 in the town square!!!!! right outside the school like he’s guarding it!!! I am  c r y i n g

- that opening scene was Everything; I have had exactly this type of conversation with my dad so many times when I was a kid and he was fixing up our about-to-fall-apart house (though he’s an electrician so he wouldn’t have let me within fifteen kilometers of anything electrical that was still powered lol. it’s okay tho let’s just assume that star wars tech has extra fail safes for these things that we don’t, the baby is clearly fine)  

callout post for Din Djarin: does not own furniture, literally sits on a crate in the middle of the cargo hold to eat dinner, has presumably been living like this for decades, help him 

them sipping soup perfectly in sync 😭😭😭 (for some reason I find it so funny that din lifts up and then lowers the helmet for every mouthful fsaldkfhjsadfh it’s such a... I almost want to say dainty? way of doing it and my heart is full of so much affection)   

I wonder if they’ve been eating together like this for a while or if it’s din doing just a tiny bit of testing his boundaries now that he knows there are different schools of thought on the helmet thing to see how he feels about it? the baby is extremely curious, but that could also be because he’s seen people take the  helmet off completely now and made the connection that presumably his dad has a face above the chin under there too lol 

-

grandpa greef... things I didn’t know I needed but am delighted to get

the way the mando music goes soft and relaxed and almost playful when din spots greef and cara? fcking kills me ludwig göranson going for my throat once again

 - 

“hmmm why isn’t this working... the puppy eyes usually work on dad eventually this is unprecedented & concerning” 

a baby committing baby crimes through the force and getting away with it mostly scot-free... delightful, wonderful in every way    

‘batuu!’ ;_________; baby has a word for food?

- 

din’s Dad Instincts kicking in... I’m emotional over how casually protective he is with things like this, and that he showed signs of it even before meeting the baby (he’s also the last one to stay behind on the platform to make sure the rest of them make it out safely before they start running.... your honor im love this man more than anything he is Dad)

that soft steady protective-but-not-possessive masculinity baBEY 

- I am entranced by the difference between din’s fighting style in the last episode -- when he was continually on the back foot and out of sync with the people he fought with -- and in this episode, where he’s back in one man army mode. (he does take on sort of a protective role when he fights with friends -- he’s not quite fighting with them all the time he’s more like a shepherding dog circling them and making sure they’re okay lol) turns out he fights much better with -- for! -- people he actually trusts and knows and likes and who aren’t manipulating him huh :)   

- the mythrol dude says in the first episode that he’s a ‘fledgling’, and it makes everything about him so much funnier when you assume he’s his species equivalent of a teenager/twentysomething fsdfsdjkfhsd (he oh so 100% sold din out at the beginning there tho :( the most charitable interpretation is that he didn’t quite know the scope of it -- he did seem just as surprised as the rest of them that gideon isn’t dead, so maybe he thought that weird alien mechanic dude wanted to know about the crest for more mundanely nefarious reasons?)

they are kind of shitty towards him tho I feel a bit bad for him haha 

- at least din knows moff gideon is still alive now and can take appropriate precautions as far as possible? on the other hand he doesn’t know about the tracker and I am so scared help  

- man I wish gina carano wasn’t such a godawful person so I could appreciate cara dune’s overarms and interesting character development in peace but as it stands... yeah 

- @ all the people whining about when we get to ahsoka... meet me in the ring for dishonorable combat I am smol and sort of skinny these days but I have decades of pent up rage and no compunctions about fighting dirty on my side lol 

listen... I love ahsoka as much as the next person, but we already have two shows’ worth of content for her. just let me have my thirty minutes a week of slice of life dad and baby nonsense without it being overshadowed by Plot and more established characters okay (and also if the rumours are right about who is going to play her... double  y e a h  that’s going to be fun to navigate emotionally :/)    

- I actually really liked that they went back to nevarro to answer some old questions (where did those empire dudes even come from?? what’s going on with pershing and why am I so weirdly happy to see him again when clearly he is bad news??? what do they need the baby for exactly? how are cara and greef but mostly greef now sadly doing?) and update that whole storyline a bit, while opening even more questions. also stop midichlorian-counting yodito’s blood you fucking creeps

the (likely) midichlorian mention didn’t bother me that much because this show already thrives on the tension between the mythic and mystical and the weirdly mundane and realistic, it’s the one star wars thing I trust to handle the Force the same way without losing the magic of it

- seeing the armorer’s forge like that was honestly upsetting to me haha, I know the forge isn’t what makes her what she is but still 

-

greef karga is a huge bitch and I like him so much

I do like greef’s character growth, though -- it feels a bit like some older and more idealistic (well comparatively) part of him has finally gotten out from under the empire’s boot and restored itself, it’s sweet. he’s doing administrative things that have the whole town blooming! there are plants and living things thriving there now! he wants to establish a safe trading hub!

- f for this poor harried new republic officer, captain carson teva, who along with trapper wolf is apparently responsible for policing the entire outer rim haha

I like the complicated tension between him and the other characters here -- both sides have very good reasons to hold the points of view they do and it’s easy to see why it’s so hard for them to work together but at least this guy is trying to be fair about it     

- the way they all immediately agreed when din went straight into ‘get. baby. NOW everything else is secondary’ dad mode and let him go off on his own even tho he would probably have been real useful to have around T______T friendshipppp 

baby FINALLY strapped in securely I gave a little shout of triumph haha

the way he was like ‘free cookies! (everything’s free if you steal it #baby yoda life hacks) helping dad with stuff! high speed dog fights! BEST! DAY! EVER!’ through the whole scene right up until he was finally sick but it’s okay because dad is here and will fix it even while he’s driving... don’t even look at me I can’t 

- din being in a much more stable and happy place after going to friends for help (and the way it’s reflected in his ship! my theory still stands strong haha)....... mngh im not crying give this man some community he so clearly needs it 

[spencers-renaissance]

Shovel Talk

Summary: Hotch and Emily find out about Derek's relationship with Spencer and decide it's time for a chat.

Tags: fluff, humour, est. rel., protective!derek, emily, and hotch, relationship reveal, mentions of past hurt spencer

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Inspired by this post by @penemily that I couldn't stop thinking about. Honestly I love this fic so much lol.

Derek isn’t quite sure how he’s found himself in a vacant office after hours, crowded into an office chair with broken wheels as the two most intimidating FBI agents he knows stand over him.

“Either of you want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Derek asks, bewildered by how quickly his evening had changed. One minute he’s sneaking looks at Spencer over his computer screen, and the next he’s hauled off to a private room like some sort of hostage.

He’s not scared, but he’s definitely a little pissed off. It’s nearing 10pm and all he wants to do is go home with Spencer, curl up on the sofa and eat take-out in front of the TV as they celebrate closing a case in their own way. He used to celebrate by going out for a drink, falling into bed with a stranger if the opportunity arose, but a quiet evening on the sofa with his boy in his arms is surprisingly satisfying these days.

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “We know,” he says simply, something fierce behind his words.

Derek’s heart skips a beat. It’s not hard to figure out what it is he’s talking about. He and Spencer had started dating a couple of months ago but had decided to keep it under wraps for now; something so young and beautiful was too precious to expose to all the inevitable eventual complications just yet. They’re so ridiculously smitten, though, that he’s not exactly surprised two profilers paying close attention had figured it out.

Ignoring the quietly humming nerves starting up in his stomach, he mirrors Hotch’s raised eyebrow, trying not to look as affected as he feels. “So… what? You wait for Spencer to go to the bathroom to lure me to an empty office to beat me up?”

“Maybe,” Emily replies, voice dry.

Behind the nerves and the posturing, Derek can’t feel a small twinge of hurt. “Look, guys, we expected it to be a bit of a shock, but we thought you’d at least be happy for us—”

“It’s not a shock,” Hotch interrupts.

“What?”

“It’s not a shock,” Emily repeats. “Everyone saw this coming a mile off. We’re not surprised.”

Now, he’s even more lost. “Look, can you guys just sit down? You towering over me is creeping me out, man.”

“Good,” Hotch says easily.

Irritation takes over, and he stands up. “You know what, if you’re gonna be funny about it, I don’t actually have to be here.”

Before he can actually make to leave, though, Hotch is shoving him back down into the chair, old metal and plastic creaking under the force of his caught-off-guard body hitting it again. “Stay.”

“What is going on?” Derek explodes. Maybe under different circumstances he’d be able to profile the situation but as it stands, he’s stressed and confused, desperate only to be allowed to leave this dark, cramped room and take Spencer back to his place. It almost surprises him that all he craves in such a weird and unfamiliar situation is cuddles and a nature documentary, but he’s been with Spencer long enough for it to be approaching normal. The younger man’s probably back at his desk by now, wondering where he is, and Derek would hate for him to be worried. He just wants to go home.

“Derek, we are happy for you and Spencer,” Emily finally explains. “But we couldn’t in good conscience let this go on without having a… chat.” Her face twists into the faux charming expression he’s watched her use to disarm unsubs countless times. It stings a little that she’s using it on him.

He splutters a little as a realisation dawns on him, equal parts bemused and offended. “This is… this is a shovel talk!”

“Yes,” Hotch says with a straight face, his expression tight and intimidating as he tilts his head to the side slightly, clearly entirely unaffected by Derek’s emotions. “This is a shovel talk.”

Derek feels himself relax, tension easing slightly. “Guys, I appreciate the sentiment, but Spencer’s my boyfriend; nobody wants to protect him more than I do. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m pretty sure we could give you a run for your money,” Emily says, her expression quickly transforming into something far more dangerous and challenging than only moments previously. “Spencer has something every single member of this team would die to protect. And if you get in our way, then we’re going to have a problem.”

“Emily, what, we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, shrugging easily, “and I love you. But Spencer is my little brother, and I would do anything to stop him from getting hurt. As long as you don’t interfere with my primary mission, we’ll be fine.”

Hotch speaks before Derek can get a word in. “Derek, I knew Spencer long before you did. I remember the first time Gideon brought him to one of our lunches, and I saw something in him that made my heart ache. It didn’t take me long to realise that what I saw were the scars left by incredible deep-seated pain. Spencer has been through hell and back throughout his life, and he’s been hurt repeatedly by people who were supposed to protect him, including Gideon. I would do anything to prevent him from getting hurt by someone like that again, you hear me? Anything.”

As confusing as this all is, Derek can’t help but feel touched by Hotch’s earnest, emotional speech. Most of his nightmares these days revolve around Spencer getting hurt, and it’s kind of reassuring to know that he has so many people in the world who will stop at nothing to prevent those horrible dreams from spiralling into reality.

He can’t help but smile a little. “I’m glad he has you two,” Derek says honestly, looking between them, “but I can assure you that if I ever hurt Spencer for some unfathomable reason, your services wouldn’t be needed. I would hate myself enough for all three of us.” Even just considering the hypothetical possibility of hurting Spencer makes his stomach turn: it’s enough for him to know that he wouldn’t need Hotch and Emily to hold him accountable to that, his own self-loathing would be punishment enough.

It seems to appease Hotch and Emily, who Derek realises look sort of like intimidating twin mafia bosses standing over him like this, and they finally step back a little, posture relaxing.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” Emily says, smiling for real this time. “Get your boy and get home. It’s getting late, you know.”

He rolls his eyes at her as he makes his way to the door.

“Oh, and Derek,” Hotch says, laying a hand on his shoulder, turning him before he can leave, a genuine smile on his face too, “I am actually happy for you and Spencer.”

Derek grins at that. He really is a lucky, lucky man. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“What was that about?” Spencer asks, his features twisting in curiosity as Derek makes his way across the bullpen to his boyfriend, Hotch and Emily emerging from the same room moments later.

Derek doesn’t answer properly, laughing instead. “You got some good friends, you know that?”

Spencer nods, still looking a little confused, but clearly deciding to let it go as he slings his messenger bag across his body, standing up from his desk. Derek slings an arm around Spencer’s shoulders, leading him towards the exit as his insides twist at the adorable blush that colours Spencer’s cheeks so prettily.

“Derek,” he hisses, “shouldn’t we be leaving separately?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he chuckles, looking over his shoulder. Spencer does the same, blushing even fiercer as he spots Hotch and Emily leaning against the railing, overlooking the bullpen with all-knowing looks on their faces.

“Oh my god,” Spencer mumbles, clearly embarrassed, but Derek just laughs again as they leave the bullpen and approach the elevators.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he sighs happily, sliding the arm around his shoulders to rest at his waist, fingertips pressing into the small frame of the boy he’s already falling in love with. “Let’s get you home. That penguin documentary awaits.”

“You’re gonna watch Emperors and Kings with me?” Spencer’s happy exclamation and the delighted expression on his face only warms his heart further, and in that moment he decides that he wants a happy Spencer and another nature documentary within his reach for the rest of his life.

Surprisingly, it’s not as terrifying a thought as it might once have been.

(If Derek thinks the shovel talk from Hotch and Emily is bad, though, it’s nothing compared to the one he gets from Penelope. By the end of the next day, he’s somehow reduced to tears that are both happy and the product of extreme terror, on the receiving end of a ‘baby girl’ ban for keeping it from her for so long. In the end, he decides that it’s probably an alright price to pay for everything beautiful that his life has blossomed into over the last few months.)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @queerminalminds (taglist form)