#MAEVE IS SO DAMN LOUD

[spiderlilypetals]

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP BOOTHILL OMFG MAEVE IS BEING SO DAMN LOUD

[qlossytbh]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 in which you and spencer almost say i love you four times and one time where you actually do.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 16+ minors dni!, fem!reader, established relationship, spencer is down bad, so is reader tho, idiots in love, they’re both lowkey rlly hormonal bro, pet names (love, handsome), this one’s a rollercoaster, fluff, angst, lots of suggestiveness because reader likes to tease lol, allusions to smut (didn’t actually write it tho sorry!) fighting, spencer kinda acts like a bitch, makeoutshesh, mentions of reader being insecure of her physical appearance, mentions of typical cm content, mentions of blood, mentions of reader getting hurt, protective!spencer, derek and reader have a cute friendship, lots of mentions of maeve so spoilers on that end, pls let me know if i forgot anything!!!,

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 8.1k (damn)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i had many cute loose concepts and i kinda meshed it all into one fic. this is also loosely based on birds of a feather by billie eilish! im in love with this piece ugh

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time

“You look different,” Derek mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough to catch on. You turned towards his voice. The only thing different was that Hotch had let you come in later than your usual schedule since you had a random doctor's appointment— Oh, and the recently purchased light-blue button up you were wearing.

Your brows furrowed at Derek, one hand adjusting the strap of the purse that hung loosely on your shoulder as a light brown bag sat comfortably in the other. “Different..?”

Emily followed Derek, joining in as she glanced over at you from her own respective desk. “Actually he’s right,”

“I’m wearing a new shirt..?” You fiddled with the first button of your shirt, pursing your lips in bewilderment.

“No—“ Emily squinted at you. “It’s something else..”

Your mouth hung slightly open, not really sure how to respond to their prying eyes. They both were glancing at you, then at each other, then you again, but this time up and down—

“I hope it’s a good difference,” You commented as you waltzed past them and towards your boyfriend's desk. Spencer was hunched over at his desk, eyes practically burning holes into the files that sat in front of him.

His lips were pursed familiarly, just like he always did when he was so concentrated, along with the familiar furrow in his brow. His hair was tousled, a strand or two falling flat in front of his forehead. He looked so good it made you dizzy.

An instinctive smile had already reached your face once you made it to his desk. You leaned over him, slapping the brown bag on top of the files he was reading. He flinched slightly, but nevertheless, was finally pulled out of his deep concentration pool. You placed your palms on his shoulders, running them down his chest as you leaned over to hug him from behind.

You placed a kiss underneath his ear. “Hi handsome,”

He sank in his desk, realizing it was only just you and immediately easing. He hummed placidly, entranced by the sound of your sickeningly sweet voice. You pulled away to which he took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at you.

You gave him a soft smile, one you used that made his heart soar. How your eyes grew lenient and lips curved gently upwards as you scanned as much of his features as your brain could possibly take in.

You placed both hands on his shoulder and nudged your chin towards the bag. “Brought you your favorite,”

His hands were already on the bag before you could say anything else and when he looked inside he was in fact correct on his suspicions when he saw two chocolate sprinkled doughnuts.

They smelled heavenly and he knew they were enough to cure his very major and very much present sweet tooth he had woken up with this morning. A large uncontrollable smile slapped right onto his face as he opened his mouth. “I—“

He stopped, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Thank god. He swallowed those three words that had nearly left his mouth, pushing them right back into the back of his throat before the damage could be done.

It wouldn’t necessarily be the first time this week where he let the confession accidentally slip. He realized that as of recently, he would catch himself with more and more of a necessity to tell you how he felt.

The two of you started seeing each other romantically about six months back. It was completely out of nowhere when he asked you out for the first time. The second— and third, and fourth and continuing times after were more than expected.

It didn’t take much for the two of you to realize how much of an importance the other partook in your day to day basis, even despite being friends for so long prior to the dating.

And everyday he saw you he felt this big tightening in his chest that made it actually impossible for him to breathe. He felt all this pent up emotion that was getting harder for him to manage with every passing day.

It scared him, how much he cared about you. How much he wanted you to be a part of his everyday life and how much he wanted to tell you how it made him feel— how you made him feel.

But that fear was exactly the reason why he’d clamp his mouth shut every single time he felt like he wanted to tell you.

“I—uhm,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, really I—“

You watched him, titling your head to the side with a prying gaze. “Have I ever told you how amazingly perfect you are?”

You purse your lips, leaning over his shoulder and pretending to be deep in thought. “I’m not sure— I think you’re gonna need to jog up my memory.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh as you leaned down and pressing a long kiss onto his lips. You hummed in contentment, feeling the fuzziness in your chest reach every nerve in your body.

“Hey,” You pulled away, glaring over at Derek from Spencer’s desk. “Calm your hormones or I’m telling Hotch to hit HR up,”

“Actually hormones aren’t something you can consciously control, they’re a biological response to situations we find—“ Spencer quipped, earning a loud groan from Morgan.

You rolled your eyes, looking down at Spencer and reaching a hand up, running it ploddingly through his thick brown curls. “Are you coming over tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Looking forward to it,” You pecked his lips once more. Before rounding his desk and making a b-line for your own.

Spencer scanned you up and down as you waltzed away, not realizing you were wearing the shirt you bought last weekend. The one that enhanced the beauty of your hair and skin color, mapping a perfect picture he wanted to get lost looking at. He also couldn’t fail to avoid the way the shirt deliciously hugged every curve and bump your body had to offer. And those dress pants—

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He then thumped his forehead onto his desk, cheeks blazing with heat, knowing he was more screwed than anyone in this whole building, a lost cause if you will.

As you strutted past Derek and Emily’s desk towards your own, Emily gasped loudly. “I think I finally got it,”

“Yeah, I completely agree with you,” Derek followed. You looked at them both quizzically.

“Could it be?— No,” Emily gasped once again and you immediately noticed that it was fake, alarming you of whatever game they were getting at.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally happened.” Derek leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue and smirking over at you. “Pretty girl here is in love,”

Your cheeks turned hot, as your eyebrows shot up defensively. “What?”

Derek liked to say the two of you were still in your ‘honeymoon phase’ and you couldn’t disagree with him— it was the most accurate description of your relationship with Spencer.

But saying in love triggered something— physically and emotionally.

“No wonder she looks so different,” Emily tutted. “She’s got that ‘happy in love’ glow to her.”

“Shut up,” You have the strap of your purse on a death grip as you opened your mouth to protest but failed miserably as all the words died in the back of your throat. Thank god Spencer seemed preoccupied with the donut you had just given him.

“I’m—“ You shuffled, slapping yourself internally. Way to give it away. “You guys need to find a better hobby.”

And with blazing cheeks, a dry throat and a concerning pattering heart blaring against your throat, you stalked your way back to your desk.

The second time

“But that isn’t fair Spencer!” You groaned, gripping your bag as if your life depended on it. “You can’t expect to save everyone and then blame yourself when it doesn’t go well,”

There had been a sensitive case today, clearly an unsuccessful one. Spencer, like usual, jumped at the first opportunity to start blaming himself— for not being quicker, for not being smarter.. Whatever reason he could nitpick at, he was currently doing so.

You tore your purse off your body and tossed it into a small basket by your front door. You roughly tore your heels off, slightly relieved at the feeling off the palms of your feet on the wooden floor.

“There were flaws in the profile— flaws in the geographical profile,” He huffed, frustrated, filling every fiber of his words. He tore his satchel off his body, grabbing his files from it prior and slapping them onto your coffee table. “We couldn’t even correctly pinpoint the Unsubs M.O before he started sadistically killing again, we couldn’t—“

You felt for him, you truly did. Spencer was one of the most kind hearted, considerate people you knew, but that came with a lot of self-demands. He had to be everything at once, and be there for everyone at once and if he didn’t reach the bar he’d set up for himself, this would happen.

He pushed past you and towards your kitchen. “Spence, we aren’t going to solve every case, no matter how good our work may be.”

“You think I don’t know that? The average percent of homicides cleared or "solved" is 60 to 65 but around 35 to 40 percent go unsolved.” You opened your fridge, grabbing a pitcher of water and grabbing a glass from your cabinet as you listened to Spencer.

“35 to 40 percent, do you know how high that is?!” He stressed. You realized his irritation was heavy because he was reaching his peak of rambling.

Spencer just couldn’t stand when things like this happened. When people did horrible things and got the luxury of roaming free— he couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault for that. If he was just quicker, or smarter maybe they would’ve caught whatever bastard was terrorizing people.

“I know you know that!” You huffed a breath of frustration. “But that’s the way this job works Spence!”

“What would you know about how this job works?” He turned, hot on his heels, facing you with an indescribable exasperation pooling around his eyes.

You stopped in your tracks, looking up at him sharply and setting the still empty glass of water and pitcher back onto the table “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were deeply upset— cold and hard and so much different from the soft and welcoming gaze of your partner. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler. You joined the team around three years after the rest of us.”

You stared at him with incredulity. When in a relationship with somebody, as well as learning all of their admirable virtues, you also learn their defects. And one of Spencer’s defects was that he had no filter whatsoever when he got angry. He just said the first thing that came to mind and spit it out and towards whichever person was unlucky enough to fall victim.

Not that the two of you fought often because you quite literally never did— but you’d see him pissed at people and his petty side sometimes felt the need to make an appearance.

You, however, had never had to experience this firsthand. You’d seen it happen at work, with JJ, with Derek, with the press. But two of you had never spoken to each other the way you were doing now. And if he thought you were gonna let him slide, he’s got another thing coming.

“What about Rossi?” You challenged as you crossed your arms across your chest. “I was accepted into the team just months after he was, you’re gonna tell him he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler?”

“That’s different—“

“How?” Your veins were pumping with adrenaline. Your fingers shook violently, and the back of your throat suddenly burned with the need to cry. “I had jobs before getting called into the BAU, and I busted my ass off in college—“

“It’s not the same!” He spat. “You had never worked with the team before, it took you months to learn how we processed things, how we handled them.”

You could visually see Spencer bite down on his tongue only now attempting to reel himself down back to earth. And if you didn’t know him better, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the identifiable regret that appeared in his eyes while you continued on.

“And who are you to hold that against me Spencer?”

He swallowed thickly and let out a heavy sigh. You ran a frustrated hand through your curled hair. “All i’m saying is that—“

“I know what this job is like, which is why I’m telling you to get out of your goddamn head.” You didn’t scream at him, but there was a firmness in your voice that could scare practically anyone off.

“The things that have happened, happened today or will happen are never going to be in our control,” You told him. “Never.”

“Just because you’re angry and pissed does not give you a free card to attack me,” You slammed the glass cup onto the counter and pushed past him, making your way out of the kitchen. Spencer didn’t follow you to your room, he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

So as your bedroom door slammed shut, he stalked over to your couch, opening up the paper files onto your coffee table, and rerunning them once again. He wasn’t able to concentrate at all though, knowing you were in the other room tossed in bed and probably crying because of him.

A few long hours later, Spencer closed his files and looked over towards your door. There had been no noise emitted whatsoever from your room, which he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He felt like an idiot. Presumably so, he was so stupid for just lashing out like that on you. Your intentions were never ill intended, yet he still pushed you away and he hated himself for that.

He stood up, making his way into your kitchen and grabbing the empty glass. He poured some water into it and went over to your door.

You were lying down, blankets wrapped around you protectively as your back faced him. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the endearment tighten in his chest.

You stirred in your sleep as the bed sunk beside you, groaning softly. Spencer hovered over you, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand beside your head.

“Hey,” His voice was very soft, maybe even enough to send you back into the nap you were in— until you remembered what had happened earlier and thought that maybe talking to him was a better idea.

Your eyes burned and your head hurt. You sniffed away the buildup that the crying had caused. You then blinked away the grogginess from your eyes, along with the slight burning sensation due to the tears you had shed earlier. “Hey,”

Your sleepy voice was enough to send Spencer into a whirlwind. It tugged at the strings of his heart and all he wanted to do right now was grab you in his arms and hold you there forever.

He laid on his side beside you, running a soft hand across your arm with the encouragement for you to turn around and face him.

A slight sense of anxiety was coursing through him. He was scared that a part of you was still mad at the way he spoke to you, and the worst part was that he couldn’t blame you, because he had in fact acted like an idiot.

You blinked up at him from over your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Around nine?” You hummed, flipping on your side and turning to face him. Spencer slapped at the nerves inside him and shifted slightly in his position.

“Hey,” He reached his hand over to yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” His tone hadn’t been patronizing or ridicule intended, it was more so concerned. You reached up to rub your eye.“You were pretty fucking mean.”

Spencer wanted to kick himself. Truly. There wasn’t anything else to say but how utterly stupid he had been for causing you any type of harm when his main promise was to prevent you from any of it.

“You should drink some water,” He lifted himself up by his elbow, hovering over you again and reaching for the glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” You mumbled, snuggling closer into your pillow.

“You should still drink love, you haven’t had a single drop of water since we got here and you’re probably dehydrated,” You didn’t look at him. “I added those watermelon electrolytes you like so much.”

You peered at the glass, suddenly feeling deathly thirsty. With a huff, you reached for the glass. “Fine,”

You downed the whole drink in a matter of seconds, melting at the taste of the sweet watermelon tartness on your tongue. Once you finished the glass, you handed it back to Spencer who set it on the opposite nightstand.

“Can we talk?” You nodded. “I’m sorry,”

You looked up at him, opting him to continue. “I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. You were trying to help me, and by attempting to push you away I said stuff I really, really shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry,”

With a few seconds of silence, you reached down, intertwining both of your hands. Your thumb glided over his knuckles as you listened to him.

You mumbled. “It’s okay Spence,”

He shook his head. “It’s not, honestly. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Yeah, good point.

“I know,” You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But you said that you're sorry and next time we’ll learn how to manage these things a little more efficiently.”

You quickly pulled his arm over your body and scooted forward, too tired to dwell in an emotionally exhausting conversation, nuzzling your face into his neck while his arms instinctively tightened around your frame. “We’ll get the hang of this, okay?”

There was silence after that. One that could’ve been filled by anything, honestly.

Those three words were all you wanted to say right then and there. It had been on your mind a lot recently, how Spencer was making you feel a ton of scary and big and complicated feelings— all amazing but terrifying. And those three words felt the most accurate when it came to telling him how you felt about him.

You really wanted to tell him at that moment. You don’t know where the necessity came from but it hit you like a tidal wave. Strong and capricious. Uncontrollable almost.

But then the fear settled in and you’d obstruct yourself from doing so.

So you didn’t say it, even though you may have wanted to.

Instead you just held him tighter and nuzzled into him as close as you physically could, hoping that somehow the message would get across. He placed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Okay.”

The third time

You smiled into the kiss, tugging at his hair as you leaned back, supporting yourself solely on his grip around your lower back. Your legs rested on either side of him, sitting in his lap while his hands raked across your back in a way that made you feverish.

His lips moved swiftly across yours. He squeezed your hips, fingertips slipping just slightly underneath your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his cold fingertips against your blazing skin. Spencer pulled away, voice breathy. “Is this okay..?”

“Yes,” You whispered back before pulling him onto your lips again.

Your relationship with Spencer was something that made your heart feel so light and airy— something so pure and easy. It made you grow dizzy just thinking about his hands on you and all the sweet things he’d whisper in your ear constantly. How he was always so considerate and sweet and perfect.

You were staying the night at Spencer’s apartment, too tired to drive back to your own apartment after work. But some things lead to others and well— yeah.

When having to restrain so much physical contact at work, strictly wanting to remain as professional as possible, you could merely blame yourself for needing him like this once back at eithers apartment.

You hummed against his lips, raking your hands slowly through his hair. The kissing hadn’t stopped for the past half hour or so— honestly you lost track of time.

Spencer pulled away breathlessly and placed a few messy but calculated kisses on your jaw and neck. You smiled almost stupidly. He pulled away, looking at your dozy face and feeling his chest tighten.

Your lips were slightly pinker than usual, and puffier. Your hair was just slightly tousled while your cheeks glowed a beautiful red hue. Your fingers remained tangled in the locks of his curls.

“You look pretty,” He was saying that as if it was another one of his scientifically proven facts, as if no one could say or believe otherwise. You tucked a small curl that had slipped onto the side of his face behind his ear, humming passingly. However, you never found his eyes, only focusing now on the curls that sat comfortably framing his face.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the hem of your loose shirt. “You do that often,”

You look down at him, questioning him with a hum. “Do what?”

“Overlook the things I say when I compliment you,” He remarked. “Like you don’t believe me.”

You still didn’t move your attention from his curls. You didn’t believe him most of the time.

You weren’t an insecure person, not entirely anyways. You put a lot of focus on your physical appearance, always maintaining your clean look intact to the public eye. To many, you were considered extremely attractive. But unlike popular belief, you had many insecurities that you always tried to overlook. Sometimes it was hard though.

It was just hard for you to understand how he saw you so perfectly, like you had not a single flaw. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘breathtaking’, just like he always says when he sees you at work or back at your apartments. How he’s able to litter you with a million compliments

“I don’t overlook your compliments,” You let out an airy laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him properly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t..!” You laughed, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a long kiss. He drew away, only by a few centimeters, desperately trying to get his point across because god forbid Spencer keep his thoughts to himself.

“You’re deflecting,” He whispered over your lips before you laid another feather-like kiss into his lips. You hummed dismissively, assuring him that you weren’t avoiding anything.

But god, if you didn’t stop kissing him so softly and so painfully slowly, if you didn’t stop shifting around on his lap the way you were and if you didn’t stop your hands from wandering their way across his shoulders and chest— he was going to have a hard time remaining composed.

“You’re—“ A kiss.

“trying to—“ Another kiss.

“distract me,” It was as if you were a magnet he was so desperately trying to detach himself from, but failing miserably. Gravity itself pulled him towards you, he couldn’t help nor control it. He couldn’t blame himself either.

“Is it working?” You whispered, voice dangerously close to a taunt. Your hands began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two undone.

Spencer found himself growing dizzy as his hands dug into your hips. “Unfortunately,”

You kissed his jaw, and Spencer let out a stifled groan. With the willpower of the gods themselves, he reached up and grabbed your hands into his own, stopping their mission at undoing his shirts buttons. You pouted with a glare, pulling away from him as his thumb gilded affectionately across your knuckles.

“So wait,” You pulled back. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to sleep with me.?”

Spencer choked. “What?— No!”

Spencer groaned as you stifled a giggle. Oh, how you loved teasing and getting him all flustered. “That’s not— No.”

You tilted your head. His hands rested on your hips, as he sighed looking up at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

You blushed. “You tell me often,”

“I know you’re beautiful,” He shook his head and sat up, trailing his hands across your back. “Do you?”

“People tell me often,” You smirked and when he glared at you all you could do was kiss it off him. “But I only like hearing it from you,”

“I asked you something,” He let out.

“Sort of,” You admitted meekly, finally responding to his question. His hands came back to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it as his lips found yours again.

“You’re probably the most beautiful person I know,” He whispered above your lips matter of factly.

“Probably..?”

“Definitely,” His hands gripped at the plush flesh of your hips in a way that was making you want to fall to the ground and melt into a puddle of goop. It was so gentle yet there was a specific urgency to it.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek immediately after. “You’re also so smart and kind,”

He kisses traveled across your cheek, to your temple, towards your jaw and that damn spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy. All while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your witt was slowly melting away with any trace of self control you had left in you as you closed your eyes, arching yourself into his addictive touch. ”And funny,”

“Spence..” You warned.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” He looked back at you, reaching up and cupping your cheek in his hand. “I—“

His words failed him as they whipped all the way back into his throat, daring not to leave his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to say it, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say to you, because no matter how much he’d wash you in compliments, those three words were the closest thing to allowing you to understand just how much you truly meant to him— hell, it didn’t even feel like enough sometimes.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Which is why he quickly thought of the closest thing to those three words and spat them out, avoiding any growing suspicions. “I love the way you make me feel.”

You weren’t gonna lie, the first two words had gotten your hopes up in ways that were too pathetic to admit out loud. But his words had other intentions, so it seems, and you had to force yourself from slouching your shoulders foward in disappointment.

Beside, it’s not like the things he was saying weren’t causing a wonderful heat to pool in the pit of your stomach— and among other places.

You watched him, for a second or two, trying to maybe tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t tell him with your words. But it still wasn’t enough, and if you didn’t release the neediness that was starting to take shape within you, you'd quite literally explode.

You tangled your fingers within his hair and pulled his mouth onto yours in a steady but desperate kiss. He responded pretty well, given since his hands found your waist instantly and tugged them towards himself in a feverish manner.

He began pulling at the bottom of your shirt, signaling he needed it off of you and pulled away, whispering breathlessly. “Can I?—“

“Please.”

The fourth time

“Ouch,” You hissed as Morgan dabbed a piece of gauze onto the now stitched up cut on your head. “Are you trying to give me another concussion?”

Derek deadpanned at you, slightly relieved that you still found the energy to pick on him after being whacked in the back of the head with a pipe by the Unsub.

The team was searching for a local Serial Killer that targeted young women around the area, per usual. You and Morgan were put in charge of entering the Unsubs apartment since Garcia had been able to track it down while you and Morgan were on call.

It wasn’t anything past ordinary. This was your job, you had done this more than a thousand times before— much less carelessly and it wasn’t like you to be so careless. But sometimes you get so comfortable and cocky with your job that you forget about the actual risks of it.

Eventually that cockiness would have turned around and bit you in the ass.

When you and Morgan busted down the door, guns in hand, you split up, each directioning yourselves into different rooms of the apartment— in hindsight that was a horrible idea.

When you walked into what seemed to be an empty room, you stupidly failed to check the back of the door. Which was why a second later, when you opened your mouth to inform Morgan that the room was clear, something solid and cold wacked you across the back of the head, knocking you out unconscious.

You weren’t aware of what happened after that, given how the blunt force had knocked you out profusely and you really couldn't recall anything prior to the attack when you regained consciousness. All you knew is that you were alive and the Unsub had been caught, which was all that mattered honestly.

Derek was now wallowing in the self inflicted guilt of not knowing better. But to be completely fair, you didn’t know better either— you were as much to blame as he was.

But Derek was convincing himself that because of his lack of observation, you had ended up with a concussion, six stitches and a bruised cheekbone.

“Derek—” You pleaded, watching him dump the ice pack onto the counter of the back of the ambulance with an angry toss.

All he was doing right now was huffing in anger. “Come on,”

He turned to look down at you. Shot him a stiff thumbs up and a smile, signaling that you were more than okay. Sure, your head was throbbing, but you weren’t dying.

“Stop doing that,” You rolled your eyes and squashed your eyes shut, attempting to relieve your headache.

“Doing what?”

“The sulking,”

“I’m not sulking,” Derek scoffed. Now it was your turn to deadpan him. He opened his mouth, intending to jump instantly to his defense.

“Where is she?” A panicked voice from the depths of the crowd caused you to grimace, immediately recognizing it to be Spencer’s. Derek suddenly felt dread when realizing he now had to face him.

Spencer could be rather ardent when it came to you and your safety— you knew you were fine, but having to convince Spencer that you were fine as well was a tougher job.

Spencer pushed through the vast amounts of people, finally breaking through the last line of them and finding you sitting placidly in the back of the ambulance. The panic Spencer felt coursing within him was something he wished upon no one.

When Hotch told the team that you were down, Spencer couldn’t help but freak out. He hid it well, knowing he had to stay focused on the case, but god was he slowly crashing. His usual sharp intellect was fogged, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your wellbeing. His head was flooded with questions and worries and he needed to know that you were okay.

He strided over to you, quickly crouching and taking your cold hands into his own. His distressed eyes flew all over your face, scanning it as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb gilded gently over your bruise and the deep furrow in his brows was enough to tell you that his mind was going haywire.

“Hey you,” You said, humor glistening your tone while smiling sweetly and oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Spencer forced a weak smile to spread across his own face.

“Hey,” He cooed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,”

Spencer straightened himself out, turning to Derek. “What did the paramedics say?”

“They gave her six stitches for the superficial cut on the crown of her head and some ice for the bruised cheekbone,” He crossed his arms. “They say it’s probable she has a concussion.”

Spencer felt his blood run cold. “A concussion?!”

You could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to remain calm. It was evident in the deep breaths he was taking and the tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. He was doing a horrible job at it though, although you wouldn’t tell him that because he’d just freak out some more. His voice was getting all pitchy and his shoulders shook feebly. He sucked in a deeper breath, closing his eyes and attempting to regain his composure.

“Spencer,” You didn’t need him panicking more than he already was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, probably to scold you or maybe even defend himself, Hotch's stoic voice cut through.

“We need to deliver a statement. Morgan, Reid,”

Spencer looked down at you. But you pushed him to head over to wherever your chief needed him to be. “Go. You can—“

“Hotch, I’m going to stay,” He told the chief, almost finally.

“For the first 24 hours after the injury, it’s important for someone to stay with her to keep an eye out for any new symptoms that develop.”

You clamped your mouth shut and looked at Hotch, who remained neutral watching the two of you. You offered him a shrug, and the two of you knew there was no getting through to him. Hotch hesitated momentarily, but knew Spencer would be more of use if he wasn’t with him worrying about you.

Spencer was as smart as they came but god could he be stubborn.

With a final nod from Hotch, he and Morgan pushed through the group of press. You followed Spencer’s movements with a sweet smile glued onto your face. He sat next to you, close enough so that you could feel the side of his thigh warm against yours.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked again, voice small, worrying that if he spoke too harshly or too loudly it would hurt you further.

“Surprisingly good for someone who was smacked in the back of the head with a metal pole,” You shrugged indifferently. Spencer, however, did not find your humor amusing.

“How sleepy are you on a scale from one to ten?” He asked urgently. You pulled back, pursing your lips quizzically.

“Like three? I slept like shit last night—”

“How about your neck? Does it feel stiff?” His hands reached up, cupping the sides of your neck as his thumbs traced your jaw.

“No,”

“Are you unable to move any part of your body?” His questions were spewing out of him uncontrollably, and it was getting hard for you to keep up.

“I don’t—“

“What about your pupils? Did the paramedics check them?”

“Spence,” You whined, slumping your shoulders forward while your face still rested in his hands. “The bright lights and harsh noises are giving me slight headaches, but that’s it.”

He stared at you. Long and hard, he just looked at you and wondered what he wanted to say out of all the things swirling around in his head.

“What were you thinking?” He asked finally. You stared at him and his eyes hard with annoyance, but still shining an amount of concern. His voice was barely above a whisper. You let your shoulders fall, licking your bottom lip.

You reached up, grabbing his hands steadily from your face and lacing your fingers with his. “We weren’t,”

“We jumped in head first and didn’t think coherently,” His frustration was rational, but to a certain extent. You really wanted to validate his concern, but he was not allowed to get mad at you. “Spencer.”

As you called his name firmly, he only looked away, jaw and shoulders tense and constricted. You sat there, silently waiting for him to react however it is he needed to in order to process.

“I should’ve gone with you, I should’ve—” His head ducked low. His voice was full of frustration, at himself mostly. It didn’t have to be because this was not something he could have prevented.

“Spencer,“ You gave his hands a firm squeeze and tugged on them slightly. “What did we talk about when it came to personal prevention?“

He remained silent. “I’m serious, there isn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent this.”

Spencer couldn't call to mind the last time he had felt this strongly about someone. Maybe Maeve, but he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. He was almost positive he really hadn’t ever felt this way about someone— he’d been in love, but never like this.

Your entire existence ameriolated his entire being. There wasn’t a moment in the day where he didn’t think of you, where he didn’t wonder what you would think of things, where he wasn’t excited to see you every morning for work. A life without you didn’t exist to him anymore— he didn’t want it too.

That could be the main basis as to why Spencer felt so implausibly terrified at the idea of losing you.

His hand left yours, replacing it with a cold emptiness. His free hand flew up to his eyes urgently, pinching them simultaneously to get rid of the minor tears that had welled upon them. He ducked his head low, not wanting you to notice that he had started tearing up.

Immediately, your whole face softened at the realization that he was crying. It tugged on the strings that held your heart up and made your stomach churn in the worst way possible. “Spence…”

Seeing him cry, possibly because of the fear of losing you, made you feel— funny. It gave you this airy feeling in your head that caused you to feel lightheaded and filled your chest with blithe. You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or the affection you felt towards Spencer that made you feel this way.

You smiled meekly, fondness across every one of your features. Spencer cleared his throat and spoke, voice wobbly and unsteady. He sat up, trying to recollect himself. “Sorry, I— I don’t know what i’m crying for—”

You looked into his eyes, eyebrows swooped downwards. At that second a million thoughts ran through your head, but only those three freaking worlds were the only ones that felt adequate enough to say in that moment.

“I—“ You started.

It was right there. It sat in the back of your throat irksomely. You were ready to jump off the edge, to slip into the abyss— to say those words that you’ve been holding off for the past weeks, months even. Spencer watched you, simultaneously growing nervous because he could tell by the way you swallowed thickly that you were about to say something.

“I think I’m seeing double,” You opted. Just the way his eyes blew wide was enough to make you giggle.

Next time.

“What do you mean?! Like actually double or are you—“ His voice died down at the sound of your snort and soon enough you began laughing. He blinked a few times before he glared at you.

“That is not funny.” It irked him massively how you had the capacity to always joke when he wasn’t at all in the mood to. But it also unraveled the itching anxiety that had grown in his chest and replaced it with a deep affection that surged throughout him entirely as he watched you laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Did you know that you look so cute when you’re mad?” Your hands reached up, cradling his face in your palms. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away his frown was still present. The pads of your thumbs rested on both corners of his lips, pushing them upwards and creating a makeshift smile.

“I’ll let you baby me these next few days all you want,” Your voice was soft and sweet, making his head spin as you hovered your lips over his, placing another slow kiss there. “But right now, I’m promising you that I am fine, okay?”

His jaw clenched, eyes flying down to avoid your prying one’s. “Spence.”

You were saying his name one too many times that he was finding it increasingly hard to compose himself. He glanced up at you, nodding weakly. “Okay.”

The fifth time

You leaned forward in the mirror of Spencer bathroom, poking at the scarring on the crown of your head. “It feels weird,”

“It’s scarring tissue, it’ll feel weird for a bit, love” He watched you silently from his seat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think it’ll leave a scar?” You mumbled, voice tight with concern. “The bruising on my cheek is fading but god help me, if this leaves a weird bump on my head I’ll physically seek this psycho out in jail and give him his own bump to worry about,”

Spencer stopped himself from laughing, finding your pouting adorable.

“After an injury, the inflammatory process signals fibroblasts to lay down new, protective tissue in the form of scars,” Spencer quipped. “But it won’t be noticeable since it’s hidden underneath the rest of your hair.”

You huffed, poking at the bruise on your cheekbone and admitting. “It’s hard to feel pretty when I’m all busted up.”

“You always look pretty,” You continued to poke at your cheekbone to which Spencer stood up, walking into the bathroom and planting himself behind you.

“Stop poking at it like that,” He scolded, reaching behind you and grabbing your wrist. You focused on your face, huffing a breath of frustration.

This past week has been utter hell for Spencer. A newfound persistent anxiety managed to find him after your injury and sink its teeth into him, claiming him victim. You've been staying with him since your concussion, ensuring him that you were safe, but he noticed he’d grown more vigilant to his surroundings when he was at work, more possessive when it came to you and your wellbeing and more conscientious.

You didn’t obtrude, since you understood it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to have.

But he hated it. He hated this clawing anxiety he was having. He hated having the persistent fear of losing you. He tried to decipher whether it truly was all related to the recent events or if there was something deeper. But he knew for sure that the thought of you getting hurt was making him sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You grabbed his arms, rubbing soft circles onto it with the soft pads of your thumb.

“Bruises make me feel ugly,” You miffed. “Except the ones you give me, I love those,”

Spencer looked up from your neck, catching your gaze and watching your mischievous smile lighten up through the mirror as he cocked a brow at you. You giggled out a laugh.

Spencer zoned out. He just looked at you, watching your pretty eyes latch onto his through the mirror, seeing your body safe and warm and alive in his arms. His throat tightened and as much as he hated it, his mind immediately thought of Maeve.

Not because he was comparing, of course not. He could never— the two of you meant very different things to him and they were very different relationships.

But he could remember how he wasn’t able to tell Maeve that he loved her— he wasn’t given the chance.

And it made him think about your recent accident, and all the times he'd been stopping himself from telling you. Fear, worry— whatever it was, he had been stopping himself time after time from telling you how he felt.

The thought of him losing you before he could ever tell you how he truly feels is something that made him want to throw up.

“Hotch said I could go back to work on Monday,”

“I love you.”

He said it because he could, he said it because he meant it, and he said it because he didn’t want to live a second longer without you knowing how he felt despite its reciprocity.

He won’t ever forget the way your face just fell. Just stopped moving, mouth hanging open and eyebrows shooting upwards. How your mind just went blank. God, his heart was in his throat and your silence wasn’t helping.

“What did you just say?” You asked, mostly in disbelief— entirely in disbelief.

“I love you.” He’d repeat it for you as many times as you wanted him too. He’d do anything for you.

You turned and his grip around you loosened. Now facing him, your eyes shot around every fraction of his face to determine that this wasn’t a lie or a joke or something cruel he was planning.

“Say that again,”

“I love you.”

And it definitely wasn’t.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a suffocating kiss. One that was desperate, and urgent and full of passion and all over the place.

He pushed you against the marble counter, quickly hoisting you up onto the cold tile as your mouth moved along his perfectly. Your hands dug themselves into his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, tugged at his body, pulling him impossibly closer to your own.

He pulled away breathing over your lips. “I love you,”

He kissed you again before pulling away and whispering once again. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead onto you, reaching up and tangling his hands in your hair. The two of you heaved. Your chest was hammering against your rib cages, the oxygen wasn’t fully reaching your head or lungs and you were pretty sure you were going to faint. It was too much. “You are?”

You both peered your eyes open, looking at each other deeply. He whispered, voice crackling slightly. “How could I not?”

You kissed him, this time slowly and softly, wanting to show him how much you loved him back— needing to tell him how much you loved him back.

“I love you,” You said, wavering an unsteady laugh. He opened his eyes and pulled away, looking at you and infatuated with every part of your existence.

“Really?”

“Spencer..!” Your voice cracked in a protest, ludicrously referring to such a stupid assumption— you’d love him till the day you died. You pulled him closer. “It is physically impossible for me not to love you. Don’t act so surprised.”

He smiled. A big, wide and stupid smile that probably made him look like a kid on christmas morning. He kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to say it.”

You perched up, hands falling onto his chest. “How long have you wanted to say it?”

He cringed bashfully, letting his hands fall to your waist as he shook his head shamefully. “Too long,”

“Well that makes two of us then,” You leaned forward, placing a relaxed kiss on his jaw. “Was there a point you realized?”

He shook his head. He’s pretty sure that after a month of going out on dates and seeing you consecutively outside and inside of work, he knew he’d fall in love with you. How could he not? “My breaking point, however, was the day you were wearing your new shirt,”

He kissed your neck, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “Which by the way, looked absolutely incredible on you,”

“Is that so?” You mumbled, lips curving up in a smirk.

“I love how it looked on you,” He admitted. “I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that,”

“I’m never going to get tired of saying it,” He responded. “When did you realize?”

“It was either that time after our first big fight or on that night on the couch when we,” You shot him a sneaky look, to which his cheeks turned pink, recalling the events of that night. You shrugged. “You know.”

You were going to be the literal death of him.

He kissed your jaw twice more. He loved you and you loved him. It seemed like something too good to be true. “I think I’m going to need you to jog up my memory,”

You giggled at the reference, heart doubling in size at the amount of affection you were feeling towards him at that moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, emitting a loud shriek followed by a string of laughter as he hoisted you up and carried you over to his bed.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Crossword Masters

Summary: On their way back from closing a case, Spencer realises he had finished his crossword book. Only to look over the shoulder of BAU member Y/N, and see her playing a crossword game.

809 words

After finally closing a case that took a week in Washington, the BAU were finally on the jet and were making their way back to Quantico.

Hotch was looking over his paperwork, Rossi was reading a book, Morgan had challenged Alex to a game of Poker (with gummy worms being their currency) the pair had encouraged JJ to join. Spencer was finishing his crossword, as Y/N fiddled with her phone.

Y/N had joined the team three months after the sudden death of Spencer's girlfriend Maeve, she was used to Spencer being a little bit standoffish (Alex mentioned it was something to do with her hair or some kind of facial feature she inherited from her parents).

Spencer flipped the page after he finished yet another crossword (it was something he had picked up in the past month in order to quieten his mind).

Instead of being greeted by another crossword, he met the end page and back cover of his book. Damn, it had taken him just under a week to finish this book.

He put the book down on the table and looked over at what the rest of the team was doing. Which is when he noticed the game Y/N was playing.

A crossword game.

He kept watching her as she set letters on a board, Spencer couldn't help but watch her game as points were added and deducted from her final score. How her 'opponent' must be some kind of artificial intelligence, as she completed her game with a score of 120 points to the 'opponent's 66. Spencer watched as she moved onto the next crossword she had to complete in order to unveil some kind of picture that was locked away.

Spencer looked at the crossword over her shoulder, seeing words form in front of him. Much like everything, he couldn't keep a hold of his tongue. "Sues."

Alex glanced over her shoulder at Spencer. She was getting used to Spencer. Y/N looked over at him, raising a single eyebrow and taking an earbud out of her ear. The sound of a pop hit could faintly be heard. "I'm sorry?"

That was one thing about Y/N. She was unbelievably polite. In some aspects, she could put both the British and the Canadians to shame!

Spencer points at her screen. "Indicts. Four letters, it's sues."

Y/N looked down at her phone, which showed she currently has two As, a D, a S, and a C. "Thank you, Reid."

As Y/N progressed through the game, Spencer would sometimes blurt out words for her crossword. "Netting," was one, and "amass," was another.

The two letter word in the bottom corner was bugging him. Good night. How could there be a two letter word for good night.

There is one if you were a late teenager in the early 2000s. "GN, what does that mean?"

"It's text speak. Every teenager and young adult was texting like that in the 90s and early 2000s. You're looking at one of them," Y/N held her hands up in defence.

"I wasn't."

"That's because you're an old grandpa."

Spencer was only three years older than Y/N, but she would always call him a grandpa, especially when he had a full-fledged job and his second PhD underway when she was halfway through college.

Spencer rolls his eyes at Y/N. "There is no way anyone texted like that 10 years ago."

Y/N took that as a challenge, opening her text messages and starting an empty thread (so she doesn't send a random text to someone in her contacts).

Lol, omg wuz gr8 2 c u but gtg ttyl!!!

She turned her screen to face Spencer, and it looked like his brain just broke, simply looking at it. "What is that? Is that even English?"

Y/N burst out laughing. "JJ, can you explain this to Reid?"

JJ took Y/N's phone. Not even a second later. "Laugh out loud, oh my God, great to see you, but go to go, talk to you later," she quickly receited and passed the phone back to Y/N.

"What did he mean by that?"

"Texting was in its early stages in the 90s and early 2000s, so we found a way to adapt. You could only have 160 characters, so you got creative," Y/N tells Spencer. "I once had an ex-boyfriend when I was on Spring Break from College text me J4F and a question mark," Spencer's face was still confused. "Just for fun."

"Essentially, he was asking if I was up..." Y/N trailed off. Spencer blinked. "Sex, he asked if I was awake for sex."

Spencer's eyebrows raised. "That was dating?"

"That was just for hooking up. Dating was a disaster in the 2000s. And it still is now when I think about it..."

[bullet-prooflove]

The Ice Queen: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader (NCIS: Origins)

Tagging: @kmc1989

The first time Gibbs lays eyes on you, you’re standing there at the edge of the crime scene on the beach, staring into the sea. Despite the fact he’d lost Shannon and Kelly only months before he can still appreciate your beauty, even through the scope of the sniper rifle he’s using to emulate the shooter’s position.

“Whose she?” He asks Randy, who uses his hand to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun coming in through the open window.

“Medical Examiner.” Randy responds, his gaze falling back to the information he’s scribbling down on the notepad.  

“Her attention’s in the wrong direction.” Gibbs remarks, his finger tensing on the trigger out of habit.

Your hair blows in the wind, before you turn your attention back towards the tent that’s been set up to conceal the bodies out of view of the reporters. He tracks you with the rifle until you disappear inside before exhaling and releasing the trigger.

When he gets back down onto the sand, he’s almost forgotten about you. He’s too busy playing the angles, calculating the order of the victims when he steps into the tent and there you are arguing with task force agent Jacob Landsford. He wants you to release the bodies over to them instead of taking it back to NIS and you’re refusing until you hear from the director.

He hates the way that Landsford towers over you, how he uses his height to loom, to bully. His voice is loud and it echoes through the tent like an airhorn as he jabs his finger into your face.

“Sweetheart, you better sign that damn paperwork or so help me god-”

“Oh honey…” You drawl, spitting the word like it’s acid. Your eyes burn with a ferocity that is age old, one that every single woman who has been spoken down to by a man feels. “God ain’t gonna help you, not with this.”

He watches as the others man’s fist clenches, the skin turning white as it stretches across the knuckles.  

“You can’t speak to me that way…”

“When you start playing nice, I’ll start playing nice.” You tell Landsford, checking the watch on your wrist. “Now if you excuse me, I have to take these guys-” You gesture at the bagged bodies.  “-back to my morgue, where I can do my autopsies.”

The fist grows tighter and for a second Gibbs thinks Landsford is actually going to strike you. He wants to, he can feel it in the fibre of his being. His own body tenses, his muscles coiling but you tilt your head to one side, your gaze lowering to his fist.

“You wanna hit me, hit me.” You say jutting your chin up to meet his gaze. “I can guarantee I’ll punch back harder.”

He isn’t sure whether you mean physically or professionally but either way it makes Landsford pause. There’s silence for a moment, his gaze penetrating into yours and you don’t flinch, not for a single second.

“Everything they say about you is true.” Landsford snarls, jabbing his finger at you. “You’re a frigid fucking bitch.”

“I prefer the term ice queen.” You remark dryly. “Isn’t that what they call me up there in that office of yours while you’re measuring dicks?”

Landsford doesn’t speak, instead he turns his back on you, his eyes meeting Gibbs’s on the way out.

“Watch out for her.” He says, jerking his thumb at you. “She’ll tear your fucking cock off.”

“I’d be have to go looking for it first.” You snort, placing your hand on your hip. “Now fuck off so I can get some work done.”

Landsford does but not before giving you the middle finger.

“He always like that with you?” Gibbs asks, watching the other man disappear through the flap.

“Comes with the territory.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. “He’s not the first he won’t be the last.”

He wants to ask if you find it exhausting but he’s new here, barely finding his feet. He doesn’t feel competent enough to discuss the gender politics of NIS with you just yet.

“Sorry. I should have introduced myself.” He says holding out his hand to shake yours. “I’m Gibbs, Agent Gibbs.”

“Maeve.” You say, taking his hand. Your grasp is firm, stronger than most of the men whose hands he’s shaken recently.  “But like you heard, they call me the Ice Queen.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[starvu]

My Heart Won't Start Anymore || s. reid

where you were always, always there for spencer, but after what happened with maeve you couldn't handle it anymore, you felt betrayed

pairing: spencer reid x bau member!gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst/hurt

content warnings: mention of spencer's addiction, mention of his being shot in the knee, reader was once shot in the stomach, mentions of blood, fairly graphic description of maeve's death, maeve wasn't spencer's girlfriend, but they had feelings, that's for sure, bitter ending (inspired by "you're losing me" ts)

word count: 9,1k

a/n: i described the whole line from s2 to s8 here, i didn't even know i could write that much lol. and i haven't written that much yet, it was a bit of a weird concept and i couldn't put everything into words, but I wanted to write it so much (i suck at dialogue, sorry). i spent like nine hours today only in notes app and writing this, im kinda insane. i won't be posting any more work this year, so i hope your new year will be happy 😽

~

You would never have thought it would end like this. No, no... no. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

No.

You were always each other's support, comfort, comfort. When you joined the BAU, you were just a young girl, full of ambition and hope, joyful and smiling with sprinkles in your eyes, but also a lost girl. Lost in a new environment and new circumstances.

No need to mention that you were a people pleaser who only wanted to be noticed... right?

Of course, you were prepared for such a job, but damn, you didn't expect this. What they learned in training and at the academy was nothing compared to what you had been working on since day one. Theory was just a sliver of practice, yes, it was brutal, but in real work, the same theory seemed like a sugar-coated story with sprinkles. It didn't connect in any way.

But Spencer wanted to help you. He really, genuinely wanted to help you. He wasn't that much older, well, no, you were the same age, actually. He wasn't overly effusive or outgoing, but he wanted you to settle in, and you appreciated that. He was awkward, very awkward, more interested in facts than people, and not really good at social interactions, and your good attitude made him a little intimidated when he first saw you and you eagerly greeted him, introducing yourself.

He wasn't sure what you would find nice and was afraid of imposing, so he did little things like bring you fresh coffee from that not-so-great coffee machine, sometimes gave you little tips about team members, sometimes helped you when your casework was limited to sifting through tedious piles of files tied with string, the letters already shimmering before your eyes and blurring into black spots.

That's why when he went through his own hell, held captive by Tobias Hankel and drugged, you felt the need to help him. You couldn't explain it, but... no, you could actually explain it. You always wanted to help everyone and spread your smile. A smile that didn't fit the job, a smile that was the opposite of the brutality you saw in the job, and only that smile allowed you to keep your sanity.

Hey, do you know that you'll even lose your spark and the twinkle in your eyes?

You felt plain, simple, and human sympathy for him. His addiction problem was one of those ignored ones. You all swept it under the rug, almost like the whole team suddenly had blinkers on and lived in a conspiracy of silence, even if you didn't state it out loud. That just hadn't happened in the history of this team, even if you had noticed Spencer's daily highs. There was nothing wrong with the young genius's mind, after all. More or less.

You hadn't known him very long, but you knew it had little to do with his everyday behavior. Even if you only knew him for a few months before, he couldn't act like this and you noticed that everyone outside the team noticed his behavior as well, which Hotch could always justify because 'Dr. Reid isn't at his best right now'.

Funny how reputation and lack of complications from the people above were more important than Reid's well-being.

Funny how Reid's well-being has become more important to you than your own.

You acted somewhat on your own, you tried to help Spencer, even if he rejected help, he was elusive. He closed himself off, he practically dismissed his problem on his own. And maybe you were a little intrusive, yes, you were aware of it, but how else were you supposed to act in such a situation?

And surprisingly, you succeeded. He didn't look kindly on your actions, but he stopped dismissing you coldly. Your actions were happening behind the team's back, you didn't want to expose yourself as a newbie to something that wouldn't be approved of. If this whole situation is going on behind the backs of the people at the top, why couldn't you go behind the backs of the team?

You took care of him, at least as much as he allowed you. You didn't want to overdo it, but you tried. You didn't force him to do anything, but you still tried everything that could replace the dilaudid, you spent more time with him than was appropriate just to distract him from needing another dose. and when he stopped taking the drug, you were there to help him through the withdrawal symptoms, although withdrawal was the hardest. You were understanding and respected him despite everything, even if it was a difficult and overwhelming experience. You could say that it left a mark on you, however you wouldn't admit it. You just piled on the stress and nerves. It wasn't easy by any means, but you didn't have the heart to leave him.

You never had the heart to leave him.

Or at least that's what you thought.

Anyway, you were there for him.

~

He also felt a spark of sympathy for you when you cared so much for him, because you didn't let up or ignore the problem. He finally felt a little different, other than a drugged-up piece of trash. Someone really wanted to be with him, to suffer especially for him and at some point with him.

You knew that a spark of understanding was being born between you over the years. A spark of something warm, like friendship. Your friendship was close, there was something special and magical about it. He trusted you. He trusted you and opened up to you, he felt exposed to his emotions but he didn't feel bad about it. It wasn't often that he felt this way about anyone, you were important to him.

Sometimes Penelope joked that you were glued together, because wherever Spencer was, you were too, within a radius of a few meters and no further. If you think about it, the sweet, sweet technical analyst wasn't wrong at all, in fact, she was right. Likewise, Derek, who would laugh and sometimes tease you about your glued hips, you dismissed it as bullshit.

You were sitting in her darkened computer lab, your seat was a little lower, so you rested your head on the desk. The quiet hum of computers came from the computer lab. You didn't have much work, so you sat together and talked about things that helped you forget about the hardships and darkness of work for a while. You matched each other with your rather cheerful personalities. You were sipping from plastic cups through colorful straws some overly sweet tea that Penelope had brought earlier. You weren't even sure what kind of tea it was, some brewed herbs with a lavender aftertaste. In any case, it was tasty.

You laughed. "Pen no. There's no match here..."

She stared at you with clear disappointment and determination, she interrupted you suddenly. "Listen, it's in the stars. I beg you, can't you feel it?"

You shook your head slightly. "Penelope. I really love you and appreciate you, but this is a bunch of bullshit. What kind of match in the stars? Just because you, as a fetus, decided to be born on this day and not another, doesn't mean you have a fantastic love match with anyone." You took a sip of tea, but you were still staring at the blonde analyst.

"I'm not just talking about the stars here. It's the whole match, similar vibes, agreement and..." She continued to justify herself when Spencer suddenly entered the computer room with two warm coffees.

"Garcia, there's extra foam and vanilla syrup for you." He put the coffee on the desk. "Here." He looked at you. "They didn't have any almond milk, so I got lactose-free." He put down the second coffee and looked at you apologetically. "Is it okay?"

You just nodded slightly with a warm smile. "Yes, thank you."

Garcia watched your interaction, then took a sip of coffee, she finished her tea earlier. "It's still warm!" She interrupted enthusiastically, and Spencer nodded with her lips pressed into a line, a sign of confirmation.

After a moment he was gone from the computer room, leaving he made his awkward gesture waving at you with his hand, or rather sticking it out motionlessly, and you followed him with your eyes to the door.

On Penelope's face there was an incomprehensible, slightly too wide smile, she looked at you with excitement. "Oh God, it's look of love! Real look of love!"

You sighed. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." She continued to chatter happily, not straying from this topic even for a moment.

Penelope believed in the emotional tension between you, personality matching, and other such endearing things that you didn't quite believe in. You hated breaking the worldview of your favorite glitter and pink analyst.

~

When Spencer was shot in the knee and temporarily annihilated, you also tried to help him, although you were more likely to scold him then. What kind of brainless person wanted to ignore all doctor's orders just to fly with the rest of the team to the crime scenes. Second opinion? More like mindless, idiotic and stupid chatter. You wanted to hit him in the back of the head every time he tried to figure out how to avoid being grounded any longer, and even his doctorate couldn’t convince you to implement gentler measures. You didn't have the strength to fight him and you wanted to shoot him in the knee again, but it was out of concern, as strange as it might sound.

But despite his thoughtlessness, you were there for him then too.

~

You could say that you spent a lot of time together, often aimlessly, you could sit up all night and talk nonsense and in the end Spencer would let you drink coffee from his mug, and after difficult cases he was the one who tried to comfort you, your radiance and optimism could not be eternal and unwavering, and you baked his favorite cookies with brown sugar and sea salt. It was as if his worries suddenly disappeared, he spoke freely about whatever interested him without being suddenly silenced or dismissed, and strangest of all, even his aversion to germs was then a secondary matter.

You didn't see anything special about it, unlike anyone else around you. Yeah, you were a bit blinded by each other and sometimes the rest of the team felt like they were just getting in the way when they were around you. They felt like they were intruding on your little moments, your exchanges of glances and incomprehensible gestures.

They all felt that something happening, except you two.

And did it bother anyone? It was fine as it was.

Four years just flew by and you changed, not for the worse, change doesn't have to be bad... or something. You couldn't have peace. Day by day you felt more and more strange, not like usual, definitely not like usual, something was wrong, why were you suddenly stressed by his presence, and why did your nerves almost always get the better of you? You didn't show it, but this feeling started to annoy you. And you were a bit excluded, because there was one thought you didn't even consider, it didn't get into your tangle of thoughts, it just didn't. Or maybe it got into the center of your thoughts, and you cleverly avoided it with full awareness? Either way, when one day at work you were staring at him with your chin resting on your hand, probably looking at him from every possible and potential angle, a sudden realization finally hit you.

Oh.

oh.

It was a little different from friendship. Okay, maybe it was very different from friendship. You missed him faster than you thought, you almost felt anxious when he wasn't around and and you felt those nerves when he appeared next to you and you wanted his unwavering attention and you tried to justify it in every way, as friendship, friendly concern, natural nervous reaction towards loved ones, friendly... blah, blah, blah.

You felt attached to Spencer Reid and infatuated with him. To the same Specter who supported you from the beginning, he remembered what your favorite coffee was, he remembered the little details that made you you, showed you care in the same way you showed him care, he wasn't tired of you usually being full of energy and a little too emotional and were your precious friends. You couldn't say you expected it, but you couldn't say you didn't either.

You were in trouble.

Technically, you didn't have to tell him, but on the other hand you had a hard time keeping your mouth shut. You had to work up the courage to tell him. For God's sake, for half a year you'd felt like throwing up just thinking about that conversation. This could be good, or you could have ruined everything. You couldn't be sure he felt the same way, maybe he was just nice (and the fact that your stomach was tingling and your throat was dry and you just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it until you couldn't breathe was a side effect). Too nice. Being nice was never a bad thing, but it made you unable to fully read his intentions.

With shame in your mind, you admitted to yourself that you were observing him much more closely than usual, to investigate his behavior, no matter how stupid it seemed. This case really made an idiot out of you.

One night you were staring at the ceiling in your not too big bedroom and exchanging meaningless conversations, as he carefully ran his long fingers through your hair and occasionally glanced at you. There was a lamp on the nightstand, which gave off a rather shady, flickering light. You should have replaced that bulb. The rest of the light coming into the bedroom was the moonlight, carefully trying to get in through the window, thanks to the open curtains and blinds. The bright moonlight was more shy, though.

You finally, with heavy heart decided to talk to him about it.

This wasn't a good idea, trust me.

You tried to play it cool, even as you swallowed hard and your shaking hands were hidden only by the dim light of your bedroom.

"Umm... Spence." The usual certainty suddenly disappeared from your voice. “You know, there’s this thing.”

He immediately turned his head towards you, now in addition to his unwavering attention you had his gaze as well. "Did something serious happen?" He wasn't the best at talking about emotions, but, as befits a profiler, he read them well.

"Not really. I mean, yes, but no." You swallowed hard. "Depends."

He didn't want to rush you, force you to talk or annoy you. "Okay, no rush." Despite that, he felt a growing curiosity and a bit of stress. You rarely took that tone.

Suddenly you felt his hand no longer in your hair. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently in his, assuring you that everything was okay. The gesture, combined with your nerves, made you feel like you might as well cry. It was a gesture that you had considered nice and didn’t object to, but now it was confusing you even more.

It was now or never.

“I think I love you. No, it's not 'I think', I’m convince. Yeah, I'm convince."

Pretty nice, but you won't be the only one saying it.

He didn’t answer right away, only because he always had the feeling he’d ruin everything the moment he started talking about feelings. But he squeezed your hand tighter and didn’t take his eyes off you, his hazel, puppy eyes fixed on you. His voice lacked confidence, he hesitated for a moment, he asked quietly. "Can I?" You nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a moment, you felt his lips on yours. It was soft, tender and sweet. You had waited so long for this, and his absolute gentleness and feelings melted your heart without the slightest problem. You felt like you were the only people in the world, especially since everything around you was quiet and calm that night, practically intimate without the actual intimacy. Life just happened and you were somewhere in between, not in a rush. You always had to be rushing somewhere after all.

The conclusion from his actions was one. He felt the same way. You thanked all the gods and heavens for that. You didn't even want to think about the disaster that would happen if he didn't reciprocate your feelings and you had to keep working together, not to mention the tragic ending of your friendship. But at that moment, besides your still shaking hands, something else was hiding in the darkness - a smile on your face.

Maybe everything wasn't supposed to be so bad.

Oh sweet child, what a stupid impression.

~

It wasn't until you became a couple that you realized how little had changed in your relationship. You weren't sure if it was just too romantic before or too platonic now, but it was pretty much the same thing, with the added bonus of showing affection. Your relationship was built on all these little things and there was never a moment when your heart stopped feeling warm. You were really, really happy with the way things were.

For a short moment you regained some of the sparkle in your eyes, take advantage of it.

If Derek had talked about having your hips glued together before, it was hard to say what it could be called now. It wasn't that you were blabbing about your relationship left and right, in fact the fact that your relationship had even happened had stayed between you for a few weeks. You spent a few evenings off from work wondering what to do with the new label of this relationship. Telling Hotch was one option, and keeping it a secret and hiding it in every way possible was another. Both had their pros and cons, because in theory, a relationship between agents wasn't necessarily indicated, so it was more reasonable to admit it than to have him find out later on his own. Hiding it was also reasonable, considering the nature of your work, the dangerous nature, the possibility that someone might use it someday. Well, you didn't come up with a solution right away.

The fact that Spencer would bring you coffee every morning, or the exchange of small smiles, and the fact that you would sit on the edge of his desk while you talked wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It had happened even before there was anything like a relationship between you.

After a few weeks, you decided and went to Hotch to sort it out and not expose yourselves to any unpleasantness related to your new relationship - a relationship between two agents. Potential risk? Hard to say. But maybe it was better to explain it to him honestly, like adults. After all, it was inadvisable, but not forbidden either.

Spencer squeezed your hand in comfort and leaned towards you. "It'll be okay." The warmth of his hand helped a little and brought you back to earth.

"I take you for granted. And you better be right." You turned to face him for a moment. That sounded like one of your joking threats to Spencer. It wasn't the least bit funny to you at the time.

You entered Hotch's office first, with Spencer right behind you. He was on the phone, but quickly put it away. You took a breath. When his gaze landed on you, you still wanted to turn around, run away, hide and hide. But it was too late. You turned your head slightly towards Spencer. And then you wandered with your gaze wherever you could.

To your surprise, the conversation with Hotch was so... ordinary. You felt quite surprised by this turn of events. None of your theories had panned out. Besides, they had no chance of panning out, it was impossible. You loved to imagine a million versions of a single event in your head, and mostly the worst versions. It clashed with your optimism.

Or maybe that optimism was fading anyway.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye through the window of Hotch's office that Derek, with an expression of obvious defeat written on his face, was giving Penelope a twenty dollar bill as soon as they noticed you two. Penelope had just won a bet of sorts and you felt disbelief, but at the same time a smile was also trying to creep up on your lips. You squeezed Spencer's hand imperceptibly tighter. For a moment you were distracted and focused on Morgan and Garcia. You didn't bring it up, it was just a little stupidity between them, one of many

Your relationship wasn't a big obstacle as long as it didn't affect the team's work, your cooperation in the field, or involve showing romantic feelings at work. 'And no intimate contact!' He even emphasized that a few times, but in an even more professional way. Not that you had any plans and you were an adult, so you shouldn't have been nervous, yet your cheeks and nose suddenly became more rosy. It ended with a few signatures and sending you out of the office with nothing. Overall he said that as long as you are happy, it's good. He went back to talking on the phone and reporting, which were more important to him at the time than such problems with agents.

You and Spencer were there for each other.

~

Everything seemed pretty fine until the headache and sleep problems came. And after it another headache and another headache. Sleep problems were nothing new, they happened every once in a while, but then they became more frequent. You thought it was temporary, caused by stress and fatigue, maybe not drinking enough water and being slightly dehydrated, but it only got worse. Often and routinely. The medication didn't help much, and the tests, head and brain scans showed nothing.

Spencer was almost going crazy thinking that this was early schizophrenia, some stage of the disease and he would end up like his own mother, which was his biggest nightmare. The knowledge that in a dozen or so years he might not remember anything, only have flashes of what he knew, become useless. He wanted to use his full potential. He was supposed to be a genius, to come up with something that would help slow down the progression of his mother's disease, not a useless piece of crap whose life would slip through his fingers because of the cavities in his head.

It had nothing to do with schizophrenia at the end of the day, but it was problematic enough. They were migraines, strong and painful migraines. They didn't seem dangerous in a long run, were not comparable in terms of potential danger to anything related to the disorder he suspected, however they were difficult for Spencer and he was clearly suffering, the sight that broke your heart.

You didn't want to see him like this, you wanted to do everything to make him feel better. You weren't an expert in medicine, but you used the comforting methods you knew to make him feel at least a little better, a little more mundane than the medical ones. You stayed at his apartment a lot more often, slept there a lot more often, to be completely sure about his pain, to help him through sleepless nights, to provide him with some peace. At one point, you practically lived there. Despite your sincere efforts, compresses, warm teas, kisses on the head and careful massaging of his temples, it wasn't enough, maybe it just helped slightly. You really tried and he knew it too, sometimes he even thought and mentioned, that he didn't deserve you.

You wanted to find someone who knew about these kinds of conditions. You knew that Spencer had more contacts and connections because he was in the scientific community, so he could do more, he could take care of himself, but you wanted to do something too. You spent your nights just to find a doctor, a scientist, anyone. This situation wasn't good for you either. Almost every time you worried about Spencer, it took its toll on you. The nerves and helplessness became overwhelming. You yourself experienced headaches, but you just clenched your teeth. It was from exhaustion and you wouldn't admit it. Spencer thought you didn't have to do it, to sacrifice and worry so much, he always reminded you of that.

You were there for him, nothing new.

Wait, sweetheart.

You know you weren't the only one anymore? Really, no one told you?

You were about to give up, thinking that there was no point in searching any longer. More frustration than concern flowed through you. Mostly frustration with yourself. But you found it. You had it. You found a geneticist who could help. You felt enlightened and filled with hope. You hadn't felt this kind of hope in a long time.

There she was.

Dr. Maeve Donovan

You felt convinced, you had a feeling she would be the solution to Spencer's problems. He had no doubts when you suggested that Maeve look at the scans. You sent them by email, but you didn't go into why that was the right way for her. It wasn't your business after all. She had reviewed Spencer's MRI scans of brain, partly to help, partly out of pure scientific interest, he was a brilliant mind after all. Unlike other doctors, she saw the solution in these headaches and sleeping problems. After a few weeks of analysis, she wrote everything down, including recommendations and a prescription for some medications that you knew a little about because of how immersed you were in the whole topic of migraines, insomnia, and even paranoid schizophrenia, despite everything, Spencer knew more about these meds.

~

Months passed. I guess. You were losing count. Something was wrong and you knew it. Not with Spencer, he was slowly getting better and was in less and less pain, he didn't wake up at night as often and he wasn't in more pain during the day. You were relieved to see your beloved getting better, the meds were working, and he was regaining his nerdy drive and commitment to everything. It was a precious sight you had been waiting for.

So you should have been happy, it was wiser not to dig anything up. You didn't have a habit of behaving like that. Since Soencer was acting strange at least, you had to find out what was going on and why he wasn't telling you. He always trusted you, he told you everything, and if he didn't say something, he still mentioned the situation. Now he was avoiding anything that could be related to his behavior. He was nervous, as if stressed, sometimes he would suddenly disappear at Sundays and come back after a few minutes without a word. Later he was a bit concerned, but he tried to get back to reality. And later he would even sneak out during work, when you were with the team in the field. Sometimes you'd see notes and a pen left around his apartment, like he was writing letters. You never tried to read them, but you felt a pang in your heart.

Your intuition wasn't some great mechanism, but it wasn't stupid either. You saw him get even more worked up one afternoon. That was when Maeve told him she loved him. But you were so blissfully unaware that you were in that position. Spencer wasn't a cheater, that much was for sure. He froze for a moment after hearing those words, but he didn't answer her. He thought about what to do with this new awareness, he thought a lot.

When, during one of the cases, after Spencer had a quick conversation with Blake, she gave him a ride somewhere, you felt like something was happening completely behind your back. At least Alex already knew what was going on after she confronted him near the telephone booth. And so she promised him she wouldn't tell anyone, so you remained in unconsciousness. Unconsciousness that was no longer blissful.

And then you saw a book wrapped carefully in ribbon in Spencer's apartment, even if Spencer wasn't particularly artistic. You didn't look in there. You didn't know if it would calm down or if you'd find out something you didn't want to know. He didn't even noticed you'd noticed the book, he was behaving the same way as last time. A little nervous, but pretending to be normal. You were also a profiler, he couldn't hide it from you, even if you didn't make a habit of profiling your loved ones, it didn't agree with your morals. Well, you made plenty of exceptions for Spencer, so why should this be any different?

You loved this living room 'cause of the light. As you stood by the bookshelf, staring at the spines of old, yellowed books whose arrangement you already knew by heart, Spencer came up behind you, a slightly sheepish smile on his face. You knew that look on his face. You often cut his hair because he wasn't very comfortable with having a barber do it. He didn't like the feeling of a stranger messing with his hair, it wasn't pleasant in any way, even if most of society disagreed.

“Umm… I’m starting to think I look weird.” He began uncertainly, referring to his hair. “It’s a little too long, I think.”

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze darting between his face and his hair, you smiled. You had thought about proposing a haircut to him a few days ago, but in the end you didn't. The request seemed rather sudden. Finally, you reached out and touched his hair, and he leaned slightly into your touch. He found it a pleasant experience.

"I don't know, I like it. It's not too long yet." You admitted as you focused on his hair and kept running your fingers through it, trying to style it.

"You think so?"

You didn't know why he was so determined about it, or why he cared so much at that time. As if there were already too many strange things happening that you couldn't explain, another one was just happening.

"Yeah, it's fine. Trust me, Spence."

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. This kiss was warm and sincere, as always, but it had a slightly different tone than what he usually gave, more... apologizing? What the hell did he have to apologize for?

You didn't bring up the subject of hair again. You didn't know, but Alex had told him that his hair was fine the way it was and it wouldn't affect what Maeve thought. It would be funny if you were the one who cut his hair to meet her. And your eyes kept returning to the white cover and the ribbon - The narrative of John Smith

You thought you were stupid, that you were really just making up a story to yourself because you were too bored, that it was just your stupid overthinking and nothing was happening, you were drawing too many conclusions and adding a story to everything. You thought you were crazy, that something was wrong with you. You should have been happy that Spencer was no longer suffering and in pain, not making up events that you had no idea about.

What if you were right?

~

While at work one day that seemed as normal as any other, except for the constant doubts in the back of your mind, you saw Spencer briskly walk to Hotch's office without a word. He was there longer than you expected, which certainly didn't comfort you. And then you were all in the bullpen, around Spencer, whose voice was breaking.

"... He thinks he'll get away with this and he might." He stared at the floor and didn't look up. "I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioral patterns of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies, victim survival odds. But right now I can't focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, which makes me the dumbest person in the room." All eyes were fixed on him, it was an unexpected situation. "So... please help me. Help me find her."

Sometimes you felt small glances at you. You clenched your hand on the edge of the desk. You weren't even mad. You felt your stomach drop. Maeve, same Maeve. How could all this be happening so close to you and you were so stupid? You didn't say anything, just like everyone else. The difference was that the others were taken aback, surprised, but you were just numb.

After a moment, Hotch spoke up, even his tone of voice was a little different than usual. "We don't know if we have a case. So we'll be working on personal time. Does anybody want to leave?"

Silence.

You swallowed hard, but did nothing. You didn't leave, you stood there, leaning against the desk. It seemed impossible. This was all a bad dream. If nothing happened, then you weren't betrayed, right? Still, your heart ached. Your heart ached for another reason. You couldn't even feel angry because you were more concerned with his trembling, cracking voice. What the hell was wrong with you. What was even worse was that Spencer didn't have the courage to look at you. His gaze wandered, staring at the floor, his gaze meeting everything and everyone but you.

"Good. Let's get to work."

Soon, you were sitting at the same round table as always. All of their letters in front of you. The same written pages that you had seen in Spencer's apartment, but that you had never touched. You hadn't spoken to him since his confession and plea for help. You should have occupied yourself with the fact that this was about the life of an innocent woman, approached it professionally, but you couldn't. Looking at these letters, holding them in your hands and reading them, you pressed your lips into a line. You didn't share your thoughts or observations. In fact, you didn't have any, because all the letters merged into one, and you weren't able to think deeper.

Spencer was clearly taking it, looking worse than he had during any stressful case, worse than he had during any other stressful event. And you wanted to help him, or take him aside and talk to him. But he didn't seem to have a clear head to talk. What were you supposed to do anyway? Comfort him? You were the first loved one, it wasn't fair to you. Who said feelings were fair? Were you supposed to yell at him? In his condition, it wouldn't do any good anyway, and you'd only say too many words because of how you felt now.

He was angry, he didn't behave rationally, he stretched all possible theories. You had never seen Spencer like this, so emotional.

And you thought he was emotional when you were shot in the stomach during one of the cases five, maybe four years ago.

You remember his panic, your hot, scarlet blood on his hands, the pressure of his hand on your stomach where the bullet was and the tears in his eyes. And you smiled slightly at him, you don't know why, but you weren't even scared. You didn't feel any pain, because of the adrenaline in your body. You lost so much blood at the same time that you started to feel blissful, maybe that's why you weren't afraid. He acted like a hothead, and you thought there was no need to panic.

He sat in the hospital all night, right under the operating room, when you were being operated on. For several days he sat in the hospital almost constantly, slept on those uncomfortable chairs and showed you the greatest care. He was the first person you saw after waking up. The team and the nurses practically had to drag him away from the room and the hospital.

He brought you everything that could help you recover faster and smuggled in some snacks when you made pretty eyes, although according to the regulations he shouldn't do that. He explained that he wasn't doing it because it was your whim, but because after losing so much blood you should eat chocolate to normalize. You knew that wasn't his intention, but you appreciated the clever excuse.

It doesn't change the fact that you lost a part of yourself back then.

But his behavior back then was nothing like what he was now. A nervous wreck. He wanted to do everything in his power to save Maeve. How could you have known they were in touch? You thought that after the meds were prescribed, it was over. But no, she had sent him a letter praising his article on psychology. You tried to work on it, like everyone else, you really did, but you felt like shit. Maybe she was what he had always been looking for? They were interested in similar things, had similar topics and knowledge in different areas. Maybe you were just too stupid for the long term, didn't have that much to offer.

Weren't you his love by any chance?

Anyway, you didn't even talk. You didn't bring yourself to talk, you didn't look at him. The team's hard work had paid off, even if the atmosphere was tense and heavy. You were supposed to find Maeve, find out where Diane was holding her. Diane had already killed Bobby, Donovan's ex-fiancé. After her efforts, Garcia discovered where both women could be. Hotch absolutely forbade Spencer from showing up at the scene, but Spencer clearly protested. He wanted to pretend to Diane what he felt for Maeve - love.

After those words, you really felt like nothing.

You no longer showed him the same sweet support you always did, you couldn't, but by not giving up on your help you also made it clear that you wouldn't just abandon him. Despite the lack of contact between you, you devoted your nights to this matter, you slept worse than usual and drank more coffee. Don't kid yourself, you didn't really sleep because you were thinking about your relationship. Was it real or was it your imagination? You weren't working, you were consumed by thoughts and you were losing all of yourself in it.

So you were there for him, well, more for his cause, but for him.

~

Outskirts of town. Spencer entered the old, abandoned building first. None of you thought it was a good idea, but you didn't stop him. You felt the pain in this whole situation, and you were even more afraid of something happening to him. Well, it was because you loved him. You didn't know if he loved you the same anymore. You couldn't even think about 'no'. You were exhausted for the past few days.

You waited there impatiently, not knowing what was going on inside. At least you didn't see that fake kiss between Diane and Spencer. You knew it would be wiser to step in there, so that's what you did. They tried to keep you at a distance, to the side, so you wouldn't do anything stupid under the influence of emotions. Spencer tried to negotiate with Diane, who was holding a terrified Maeve, while with her other hand she was holding a gun to her own temple. You kept your cool, just like Spencer, but you could see his nervousness.

"He's the one thing you can never take from us." You heard Maeve's last, quiet words, and then a noise.

A bang, a screech in your ears, and a large, spreading stain of blood on the floor. Both women lying on the cold floor, their hair in dark blood, and a gun nearby. You looked at Spencer, who was rooted to the ground, with tears in his eyes. He quickly approached the lying, still warm Maeve. The bullet flew through the head of one and stopped in the head of the other. There was nothing left to save from the shot brain. Spencer's beloved was currently bleeding out in his arms, his hands were completely covered in sticky blood, and tears were running down his cheeks, staining her pale skin and face, from which the life had gone.

Everyone was in shock, no one made a move or said anything. Tears welled up in your own eyes. Partly because of how Spencer felt, how tragic his condition was, partly because you only just realized what was happening. He was crying hard over the body of another woman, whispering quiet words to her, hoping she would hear them, even though it was a foolish hope. He was too stunned to do anything at that point, so you walked up to them, her blood was also on your hands, you thought you could still save her yourself, even though there was no chance of that.

~

He helped her parents bury her. He was there until the end... in fact, he was there even longer. Everyone else had gone, and he was left at the grave. No, he wasn't there alone. He was there with you. You helped him in everything. You loved him and watched him bury and mourn his beloved woman. He hadn't slept in many nights, his eyes were red and his face was drawn and sunken, and he had probably lost weight. He didn't remember much of the ceremony, he was numb and had been on sedatives for several days.

Days passed, and attempts to contact Spencer were in vain, he wasn't at work, he didn't answer his phone. You went to the staircase of his apartment, to the tenement house where he lived. You'd sometimes pass JJ or Blake going up or down the same stairs. You knew the stairs by heart by now, and every time you went on the second floor up them it only got worse. Penelope left more baskets of food and necessary things by his door. Eventually they disappeared, he had to take them when no one was there, he had to survive somehow, not leaving the apartment.

You couldn't handle it, but you tried not to show it. Despite that, the rest seemed to notice your suffering. They certainly did, knowing how close you were. Suddenly you felt betrayed, rejected. What the fuck was that? You were always there for him, always, you loved him, he seemed to love you sincerely too. And in the end, he suffered because of the loss of another woman. How did she achieve this so quickly? You wanted to be understanding, but you didn't know how. You had the right to hate him, but you didn't do that either. You were left empty.

Without optimism, without a spark in the eyes, without what you started with.

You knocked on his door again, even though you had a feeling it wouldn't make much difference. Your voice was loud enough to be heard, but tired.

"You know Spencer, it's me again." You started uncertainly, having to think about every word so as not to say something stupid. It was a delicate situation. After a moment, you continued. "I just want to know how you're holding up." You leaned toward the dark, wooden door with a small plaque with the number 23.

You heard faint movements and rustling on the other side of the door, but no response. You sighed quietly. "Maybe you don't want to talk to anyone. Okay, I'm not forcing you. I think I look a little stupid talking to the door, though."

Suddenly you heard the sound of the lock turning in the door. The door opened slowly, as if he was wondering if he wanted to open it. Finally you saw him in the doorway, dressed in a thick sweater, deep in mourning. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed. The curtains in the apartment were drawn, and it was a general mess, which you could only see because of what you could see behind him, in the back of the apartment. "Hey." He was barely holding on.

You wanted to help him, to be there for him again, but you no longer felt entitled to do so. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you into the apartment. You immediately opened one of the windows, not much, just enough so that the fresh air would make him feel better. You repeated your previous question. You were standing close to him, but at a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" You asked in a soft voice with your typical concern.

"Not so well." He answered shortly, he didn't have the strength to talk.

You didn't push. Hell, you couldn't even talk to him. It was almost like you were standing there with a stranger, not with the man, you loved so much. The light you loved so much was gone from this room. It was almost completely dark. The air was thick with lose and indecision.

He walked over to you, more tears flowing from his eyes. Suddenly you were his support again. He hadn't really cried in days, he just didn't have the strength anymore. Seeing you made him realize everything he had done. He clung to you like you were his last lifeline, he clung to no one else but you. You heard his sobbing and some quiet words, you didn't even understand what they were, there were tears in your eyes too, but you didn't hug him like you usually did.

On the corner of the table, the same book was lying again, this time without the brown ribbon. You were lucky you didn't see the dedication inside. It would have destroyed you even more. Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.

He cried on your shoulder, and you pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart. Why did he even feel entitled to this, why did he keep leaning on you? You felt like screaming. You really wanted to scold him, but it probably wasn't appropriate at the time.

Again you were there for him, it was always you at the end of the day.

~

The atmosphere at work was tense, heavy. Everyone seemed to be behaving normally, but it wasn't like usual. No one talked to you about the incident anymore, except maybe Penelope, who as always tried to talk to you, to make you feel a little relieved, brought you those herbal, sweet teas with syrups that you loved. She didn't delve into the subject, so as not to drag out your own pain, she skirted the subject all the time. Basically, everyone was tiptoeing around you, which irritated you. Damn, you didn't want any forced pity.

A few weeks passed, Spencer went back to work, but you didn't talk more than necessary and everyone noticed the changes between you. You became colder, distant. After all, your relationship wasn't supposed to affect the team's work. But was it even a relationship anymore?

You bit your nails, picked at the cuticles around your nails, scratched off the polish. You clenched your fists, dug your nails into your palms, leaving indentations in the shape of half moons on the palms of your hands. Every morning you looked at him with a storm in your eyes, and he didn't notice the signals you were sending him.

You had to talk to him, there was no other way. He had avoided you during Maeve's case and the funeral, and after that you had only had this one, harmless conversation because you didn't want to overwhelm him with more things right away. But now you were the one who was overwhelmed. You cared about his well-being, but not your own. It had always been like that, you were mainly concerned about him, even if it was ultimately overwhelming for you.

Was it worth it? Because I don't think so.

Having a free moment, you approached him and approached him. You wondered if you should do it or just back off, but your tongue got the better of you and the words came out. "We should talk."

He immediately turned to you. He knew this conversation would come, but somehow he wasn't ready for it. But he also knew how much worry and pain he had caused you, he couldn't put it off forever and keep running away. Grief wasn't an excuse. "Fine."

You found a spot in the hallway, a little more private, far enough away so you wouldn't be conspicuous through the glass doors. No one in the bullpen needed to hear your conversation or see what you did. You didn't promise predictability.

You could see he wanted to start calmly, like it always was between you, but you started abruptly first. "Spencer, what was that all about?"

He wasn't looking at you again, suddenly the floor seemed much more interesting. "What does that mean?"

"Don't suddenly act stupid, you're not stupid and unintelligent. What was wrong with our relationship?" You play brave, tough. You play because you don't feel that way.

He looked up, his lips pressed into a line. “Nothing. Everything was fine.” His answers were distant.

You shook your head slightly. “Spencer, talk to me, I don’t want any half-spells. You know what, I would expect this from anyone, anyone, but you."

He let you down, he let you down and that hurt him the most. He wasn't what you deserved. "I'm sorry." You could feel the shame in his voice but you didn't want shame or an apology because there was nothing left to save.

"I don't want your sorry. I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. I didn't expect anything in return, not even though I got your feelings in return, I'm not saying I didn't, I won't lie. But how did you replace me so easily?" And your bravery quickly crumbled, and tears appeared in your eyes, you blinked a few times.

Silence.

"Do something, say something! You won't lose anything anyway." You were starting to get angry. This was the first time you had been angry at him like this and you had allowed yourself to be angry. "Because what else can you lose?" Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut and not said that. It sucks, it happens.

He swallowed hard. "You. I could lose you." He knew those words wouldn't do much now, but he tried anyway.

"Oh, you're just now thinking about this? And where, excuse me, were you earlier?! Sorry I forgot, in a phone booth. And you didn't see my gray face, how sick we've become, and if you noticed, you wouldn't admit it." You didn't mince your words, you deserved to be genuinely mad.

"I..."

You should have let him talk, you should have, but you didn't. "No, listen to me! You acted like the biggest, selfish asshole and I don't know what you were thinking!" He had never seen you so upset with him, but he didn't interrupt. "What did you miss, what did I miss?"

He deserved those words, he knew he deserved them. He didn't even try to argue, he accepted the harsh words. It hurt him more when he heard your question. "No, no, you didn't lack anything. It's my fault and I'm really sorry. You were so good and sweet to me, it's all my fault." He didn't want to lose you too, but he worked for it.

"You can't change anything, beating yourself up now won't change anything... Spence." You hesitated to address him that way at all. You weren't as loud as you had been a few seconds ago, but I guess he preferred it that way. It was easier for him to accept your anger and the hurling of insults than the disappointment in your voice. And that was exactly what was in your voice - disappointment.

He looked almost like a beaten puppy. "I know, I realize that." He thought for a moment; he wasn't in the habit of swearing. "I screwed up."

"Yes, and I don't deny it. I really thought you'd be honest. I wish I had known from the beginning, maybe it would have been easier." You had tears in your eyes, but you couldn't be stupid enough to cry. "I thought it was honest. My own pain was such an imposition."

He reached out and ran his hand through the hair on top of your head. He didn't want to scare you, to do something you wouldn't like, he held his hand there for a moment. "It wasn't an imposition, don't think like that. And you shouldn't have known this from the start, in fact I shouldn't have done it at the first."

You wanted to ask what Maeve had that you didn't, but you didn't even have the courage. You pulled his hand away from your hair. "Those are nice words, but we both know you can't take back your actions, which said something completely different." You bit the inside of your cheek until you finally spoke again. "You're losing me."

He didn't blame you for rejecting his hand, he understood that perfectly well, you had every right to avoid him, but he still felt a pang. He shook his head slightly. "No, don't say that, please."

"But it's over, Spence. You kind of decided that yourself. I'm really sorry she's gone, but helping with a case like hers is one thing, and love is another. I know you and I saw, well... that." You didn't want to bring up the brutal murder directly. "That's what love looked like."

For a moment you stood in silence, he couldn't deny it and you didn't know what to say. Without a word you turned around and started walking down the hallway towards the glass doors, a few tears in your eyes balanced between your lash line and the corners of your eyes.

Spencer lost something again, but you were no longer there for him.

See? I told you so.

You know what they all say, you don't know what you got until it's gone.

[moonlitstoriess]

Oaths and Ashes-Lorcan x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Bound by oaths to Maeve and haunted by the bond he fears, Lorcan clings to loyalty as a shield against his own heart. But when a mission goes awry, forcing him to choose between duty and his mate, the cracks in his resolve begin to show. In the shadows of betrayal and pain, will love rise from the ashes?

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, manipulation, physical injury, toxic loyalty, and themes of betrayal. Angst with no fluff and an uncertain end.

A/n: Got this random idea for a Lorcan fanfic and thought why not? Anyway you have been warned, enjoy 😘

See masterlist

The outpost was eerily quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind outside. The cold stone walls did little to keep the chill at bay, and the fire in the hearth burned low, its feeble warmth barely reaching the center of the room. She stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the snow swirl and dance in the night.

Lorcan sat across the room, sharpening one of his blades with slow, deliberate movements. The metallic scrape echoed in the silence, grating and purposeful, as if he was daring her to speak first. He didn’t look at her.

“Another mission done,” she said, her voice low, breaking the stillness.

“Hm.” The sound was dismissive, his focus never wavering from the blade in his hands.

She turned, leaning against the windowsill, her arms dropping to her sides. “Is that all you have to say?”

His dark eyes flicked up briefly before returning to his task. “What else is there to say? We survived. That’s enough.”

The coldness in his tone cut deeper than she’d expected, and her jaw tightened. “You don’t think it’s worth talking about? The fact that it was another trap? That Maeve sent us into another gods-damned death mission?”

“You’re alive,” he said flatly. “That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? As long as we’re breathing, it’s fine. Just another day serving Maeve like the obedient dogs we are.”

His hand stilled, the blade catching the light as he set it down. When he looked up at her, his gaze was cold, calculating. “If you’re not cut out for this, maybe you shouldn’t have sworn the oath.”

The words landed like a blow, and she staggered back a step, her chest tightening. “You think I want this? You think I wanted to swear myself to her?”

“Did someone force you?” he asked, his voice sharp, mocking. “No? Then don’t complain about the choices you made.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, unable to look at him. The sting of his words mixed with the weight of her anger and exhaustion, threatening to choke her.

“I should’ve known,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

He stood abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the floor loud in the silence. “Don’t presume to know what I care about,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then tell me,” she said, whirling to face him, her eyes blazing. “Tell me why you’re so gods-damned loyal to her. Why you follow her orders without question, even when you know it’s killing us. What is it, Lorcan? What keeps you chained to her like a dog?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” she shot back, stepping closer, her voice shaking with anger and something rawer. “Because I’m standing here, breaking myself for this—for you—and you won’t even look at me.”

He flinched at the accusation, but the mask of indifference remained firmly in place. “Don’t make this about me,” he said coldly. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you swore the same oath I did.”

“And that’s all I am to you? Another oath? Another pawn in Maeve’s games?”

His silence was answer enough.

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with unspoken words and frayed emotions. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak even as her heart ached. “You can’t keep doing this, Lorcan. Pushing me away, shutting me out. It’s not going to make the bond disappear.”

His expression darkened, his lips pulling into a tight line. “The bond doesn’t matter,” he said harshly. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me.”

The words were a dagger to her chest, and she staggered back as if he’d physically struck her.

He saw the hurt flash across her face and immediately hated himself for it, but he didn’t take the words back. He couldn’t. Not when the truth was so much harder to face.

“Fine,” she said, her voice breaking. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then neither do I.”

Before he could respond, she turned and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Lorcan stood there, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, the weight of his words crashing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache spreading through his chest.

For the first time in centuries, he felt something dangerously close to regret.

But Lorcan was too stubborn to let go of his pride. She would understand at some point. That he is not meant to have a mate.

The bond, while recently discovered by the both of them, lay unacknowledged by either. Though he could see how much the female whom he has known for so long is trying to create something out of this.

But it would be useless. Lorcan knew it. He was not meant to have a mate. How could one ever have a mate after walking a lonely road for so long? Too much blood, too many sins on his hands.

Besides, he was too much of a monster to even know anything outside of pain, bloodshed, loss and anger. His shadows, his demons constantly consumed him and that was enough to draw him away from everyone. Including her.

—————

Y/n had loved him for as long as she could remember. Well, maybe not from the very start because the way they met wasn’t quite under the best conditions.

She was a rebel, part of a secret organization that went against those in power. She still remembers how one hundred and fifty years ago, she was captured by The Cadre and brought to Doranelle.

There, under Maeve’s orders she was questioned. Fenrys and Gavriel constantly tried going the diplomatic way and ease her into talking while Lorcan and Rowan would just vote to have her tortured.

Y/n smiled at the memory.

Though they all started at the wrong foot, eventually she grew closer with the males, even going as far as to prove her usefulness to Maeve and swearing a blood oath, a choice she has come to very much regret.

The boys see her as a part of them now. A younger sister and a very capable fighter with a unique power.

But Lorcan…..he has always been this way and not just towards her but to the others too. It just hurt a little more because she unfortunately grew to deeply care for him.

That is why, on one random day when both her and Lorcan found out about their bond was also the moment all her dreams with him came crashing down.

He said very hurtful things that day, how he would never accept it. How he will never even acknowledge it and neither should she.

Y/n tried, she really tried to get through to him but alas, everyone has a breaking point. And yesterday was the final straw for her.

How much longer is that prick going to choose Maeve over his mate? His fucking mate!!

How much longer is he going to follow every order of that poisonous queen and defend her in every argument?

It hurt….and she was tired. Tired of trying to get through to him. She has been doing that from the moment they met and now it was time to stop.

Y/n sighed as she cleared her mind, put on her stoic mask, straightened her shoulders and entered the sitting room of Doranelle’s Grand Stone Palace, designed specifically to fit the taste of her bitchy majesty, Queen Maeve.

Upon entrance however, she noticed that the queen is yet to arrive. Rowan, Fenrys and Gavriel were all scattered around the room, with the silver haired warrior standing next to the gigantic windows and watching the view over Doranelle and the latter two sitting on opposite armchairs.

Lorcan was nowhere to be seen but, she would not concern herself with the thoughts of him.

"Y/n! Finally you are here." Gavriel's voice brought her back as she looked to see all three of them looked straight at her.

Y/n offered a tight smile to Gavriel as she moved further into the room. Fenrys shot her a grin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Let me guess, Lorcan was brooding too much, and you needed a break?”

Y/n snorted, pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto a side table. “More like I was brooding, and he needed a break.”

Rowan turned from the window, his piercing gaze scanning her face. His sharp instincts probably caught the flicker of tension in her shoulders, but he said nothing. Instead, he inclined his head. “How was the mission?”

She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Standard Maeve nonsense. Get in, retrieve the target, fight off a few surprises along the way. Nothing we haven’t done a hundred times before.”

“Yet you look like you’ve been through hell,” Fenrys said, leaning forward in his chair. “What happened out there?”

Y/n hesitated, feeling their eyes on her. She knew they cared, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the emotional storm that had brewed between her and Lorcan. “The usual,” she said finally. “Maeve’s intelligence wasn’t exactly accurate. There was an ambush.”

Gavriel frowned. “An ambush? Were you injured?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said quickly. “We managed.”

“You managed?” Fenrys repeated, a skeptical brow arching. “Sounds like there’s more to that story.”

“There isn’t,” Y/n said firmly, brushing past him and sinking into one of the chairs. “It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

The males exchanged glances, their concern evident, but they didn’t press further. Instead, Fenrys leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, next time, try not to steal all the excitement. We’ve been stuck here dealing with Maeve’s mood swings. Honestly, I’d take an ambush over her any day.”

Y/n allowed herself a small chuckle. “Careful, Fenrys. She might hear you.”

“Let her,” Fenrys said with a smirk. “I live to irritate her.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You live to irritate everyone.”

“True,” Fenrys admitted, grinning. “But I do it so well.”

The light banter was a welcome distraction, and Y/n felt some of the tension in her chest ease. For a moment, it was almost enough to forget the weight of the bond, the mission, and Lorcan’s cold words. Almost.

The grand double doors swung open with a creak, and the room fell silent as Maeve swept in, her dark hair gleaming and her presence commanding as ever. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Y/n before flicking to the others.

“Good,” Maeve said, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. “You’re all here.”

Y/n straightened in her seat, instinctively falling into the poised composure Maeve demanded. But then her heart sank as another figure stepped into the room behind the queen.

Lorcan.

His towering presence was as dark and imposing as ever, but it was the way he stood at Maeve’s side, slightly behind her like a shadow, that made Y/n’s stomach churn. He looked as though he belonged there, loyal and unyielding, his gaze sweeping over the room without a flicker of acknowledgment in her direction.

Fenrys stiffened, his usual easygoing demeanor vanishing in an instant. Rowan’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. Gavriel was the only one who spoke, his voice calm but tense. “Maeve. Lorcan. What’s the occasion?”

Maeve’s smile was sharp, predatory. “A new directive,” she said, her gaze landing on Y/n. “But first, I’d like to hear about your little adventure.”

Y/n clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet Maeve’s piercing gaze. “The mission was completed successfully,” she said evenly. “We retrieved the artifact and neutralized the threats.”

Maeve’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes glittered with something that made Y/n’s skin crawl. “Good. I expected no less.”

Lorcan said nothing, his face carved from stone, but his silence was louder than any words. It echoed in the room, in her chest, as Maeve began to speak of their next orders, her voice a cold melody weaving a new web of commands. Y/n barely heard her, her focus splintered by the man standing silently by the queen’s side, the mate who had once again chosen duty over her.

“And you,” Maeve said, her voice honeyed and venomous all at once. “I have a special task for you.”

Y/n’s spine straightened, her expression unreadable, her mask firmly in place. “Of course, my queen.”

Maeve tilted her head, a mockery of affection flickering in her eyes. “I’ve decided to send you on a mission of utmost importance. Alone.”

The room tensed. Fenrys shifted in his seat, his golden eyes flicking to Y/n with concern. Gavriel’s brows furrowed, his mouth opening as if to protest, but one glance from Maeve silenced him. Even Rowan, stoic as ever, allowed his jaw to tighten, his fingers flexing where they rested at his side.

She was never sent on a mission alone. It was always with one of the members because 1. Maeve, no matter how much she pretended, never trusted y/n and 2. The males would always manage to protest against her going alone, though it is not something she hasn't done before.

Y/n didn’t flinch. She didn’t allow even the faintest crack in her calm facade. “What would you have me do?”

Maeve’s smile widened, pleased with her composure. “There is a rebel camp in the northern cliffs. They’ve been meddling in my affairs, intercepting important supplies. I want you to dismantle them—destroy their operation entirely.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rowan finally broke it, his voice carefully measured. “The northern cliffs are treacherous, especially this time of year.”

“Which is precisely why I’m entrusting this to her,” Maeve said smoothly, her gaze never leaving y/n. “She has proven herself capable time and time again. Haven’t you?”

Y/n inclined her head. “I’ll see it done.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Lorcan’s face, but he stayed silent, his broad shoulders stiff. Fenrys leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “With all due respect, this is suicide. Send at least one of us with her.”

Maeve’s expression hardened, her voice cutting like a blade. “Did I ask for your opinion, Fenrys?”

He clenched his jaw, leaning back in his chair but shooting y/n a glance filled with unspoken worry. Gavriel tried next, his tone more diplomatic. “She is capable, yes, but even the most skilled warriors can be overwhelmed. Perhaps a small team would ensure success.”

Maeve’s gaze snapped to him, her smile razor-sharp. “Are you questioning my decision, lion?”

“No, my queen,” Gavriel said softly, bowing his head.

Maeve turned back to y/n, her tone almost sweet again. “I trust you will not fail me.”

“I won’t,” y/n said evenly, ignoring the tension radiating from every male in the room.

“Good,” Maeve said, stepping closer, her presence suffocating. “You leave at dawn.”

Without another word, Maeve swept out of the room, her dark gown trailing behind her like the shadow of death itself. And Lorcan behind her.

As the door closed, the room erupted.

But even through all the worries, all the scoldings, all the words said by the three males, her brothers, y/n's mind was only filled with the sense of betrayal.

He didn't even protest. Didn't even stand against Maeve. Didn't even offer to join y/n. His mate.

This has to be some cruel joke fate is playing on her.

----------

Y/n was alone, methodically packing her gear. Her hands worked quickly, though her mind was a maelstrom. She refused to dwell on the danger of the mission, on the implications of Maeve sending her alone. This was just another test, another way to prove she could survive whatever hell was thrown her way.

A knock sounded at her door. She didn’t bother turning, knowing who it was. “What do you want, Lorcan?”

The door opened without her invitation, and he stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind him. He didn’t speak at first, his dark eyes scanning her as if trying to decipher her thoughts. Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t go.”

She didn’t stop packing. “Not your decision to make.”

“It’s reckless,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp. “Maeve’s playing games, and you’re letting her.”

Y/n spun to face him, her eyes blazing. “Letting her? Did you not hear me back there? She gave me an order, Lorcan. What would you have me do, defy her?”

His silence was damning.

“Exactly,” she said bitterly, turning back to her pack. “You’d rather I die proving myself than risk questioning her.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice softening, but she rounded on him.

“Fair?” she hissed, her voice shaking with anger. “What part of this is fair, Lorcan? The bond? This gods-damned oath? Maeve holding our lives in her hands? I don’t see you fighting for anything better.”

“I’m not the one running into death for her approval,” he shot back, his tone colder now, defensive.

“No,” she said quietly, the words cutting deeper because they were true. “You’re just the one standing by while she destroys us.”

He flinched as if struck, but she didn’t stop. “You chose her again, Lorcan. You always choose her.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “She is my queen.”

“And I’m your mate!” she yelled, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, raw and exposed. “Or does that mean nothing to you?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His dark eyes burned with emotion, but when he finally spoke, his voice was icy. “It doesn’t change anything. And we are not mates."

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her like a physical blow. “You really are a coward, Lorcan.”

Before he could respond, she shoved past him, her pack slung over her shoulder, and walked out the door. She didn’t look back, even when she thought she heard him whisper her name.

When she reached the stables, she mounted her horse and rode into the night, the frigid wind biting at her skin. But the cold was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the one that reminded her she was truly, irrevocably alone.

The northern cliffs were as treacherous as y/n had anticipated. The jagged terrain, biting winds, and freezing temperatures made every step a trial. Her days were spent navigating narrow paths carved into the mountainside, her sharp eyes scanning for signs of movement. At night, she set up meager camps, always alert for threats, her weapons and magic ready for use. Sleep came in fleeting moments, her instincts honed to the dangers lurking in the shadows.

It had been five days since she left the fortress. Five days of cold, isolation, and silence. She told herself that she didn’t mind the solitude—it was better than the suffocating weight of Lorcan’s words or the betrayal she’d felt when Maeve’s command echoed through the room.

Still, the mission felt… off. She’d found no sign of the rebel camp Maeve had described. The cliffside paths, though rugged, showed no indication of regular travel, and the forests below were eerily still. It was as if the cliffs themselves were abandoned, yet Maeve had insisted that rebels were causing disruption in the area.

“She sent me here for a reason,” y/n thought bitterly, though she wasn’t sure if it was to succeed or fail.

On the sixth day, y/n stumbled upon a narrow gorge that seemed to fit the description of a potential rebel hideout. The entrance was obscured by thick overgrowth, and the cliffs loomed high above, casting long shadows over the path. She hesitated, her instincts prickling. This was the first sign of anything remotely suspicious since she’d arrived.

Cautiously, she advanced, her sword unsheathed as her senses sharpened instinctively. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic. Blood.

She moved swiftly, keeping to the edges of the path. It led to a clearing—a small encampment, or what was left of one. The ground was littered with debris, tents torn apart, supplies scattered as if a storm had swept through. But it wasn’t a storm. The claw marks gouged into the rock told her that something—or someone—had done this.

Kneeling, she examined a broken weapon—a sword, its blade snapped in half. Blood stained the hilt, fresh enough that it hadn’t dried entirely. Her pulse quickened. She was being watched.

The sound of a snapping twig behind her made her whirl, sword raised, ready to strike—but nothing was there.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into her from the shadows. She forced herself to stay calm, to think. If this was a rebel camp, they wouldn’t leave it undefended. If they were gone, where had they gone? And why did the destruction look staged?

Her heart sank as realization dawned. This wasn’t a rebel camp. This was a trap.

The first arrow whistled past her ear, embedding itself into the rock behind her. She ducked instinctively, rolling into a crouch as more arrows followed, peppering the ground where she’d stood. Her claws gleamed in the dim light as she shot forward, seeking cover behind a crumbled tent.

Voices echoed through the gorge—low, guttural commands that sent chills down her spine. She couldn’t see them yet, but they were closing in.

Y/n moved quickly, her breaths steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She darted from cover to cover, her sword slicing through any obstacle in her way. The first attacker emerged—a tall man clad in dark leathers, his face obscured by a hood. He lunged at her with a blade, but she sidestepped, her dark magic aimed right at his chest. He fell with a gurgled cry.

Another came from the right, and she barely dodged the strike aimed at her side. She spun, driving her small but sharp knife into his arm and kicking him backward. But for every one she took down, two more appeared.

Soon, she was surrounded.

Y/n fought like the rebel she was, every movement precise and lethal. She used the terrain to her advantage, leaping onto rocks and darting through narrow paths. 

But there were too many.

An arrow grazed her leg, the sharp pain momentarily throwing her off balance. A sword nicked her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Her breaths came heavier now, her strength waning.

One of the attackers—a burly man with a scar down his face—stepped forward, a cruel grin spreading across his features. “The Queen sends her regards,” he sneered, raising his blade.

Y/n’s heart sank. Maeve had sent her here to die.

The realization stole the last of her resolve. She faltered, just for a second, but it was enough.

The scarred man’s fist connected with her stomach, and she doubled over, the air knocked from her lungs. Before she could recover, another blow landed against her temple, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Her vision blurred, and the world tilted as she tried to push herself up. Hands grabbed her, wrenching her arms behind her back. She struggled, but she was too weak, too drained.

A final strike—a boot slamming into her ribs—left her gasping for air. The edges of her vision darkened, her body refusing to obey her commands.

As she was dragged to her knees, she heard the scarred man chuckle. “Tie her up. The Queen wants her alive—at least for now.”

Y/n’s head lolled to the side, her strength gone. The world around her faded into darkness, the sounds of her captors’ laughter echoing in her ears.

Her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her was bitter and raw.

She sent me here to die, and I have no one left to fight for.

---------

The first week of her absence, Lorcan told himself he was being irrational. She was skilled, ruthless even, and capable of handling herself. Maeve had sent her on this mission for a reason, and despite his misgivings, he trusted y/n to see it through. He buried his worry beneath grueling training sessions and the cold edge of duty, convincing himself that she would return victorious, her sharp wit ready to cut him down the moment he dared to question her ability.

By the second week, unease began to fester. There had been no word from her—no missives sent, no whispers of success or failure. Maeve brushed off his inquiries with a dismissive wave, her cold smile tightening when he pressed. “She’s completing her task, Lorcan. You wouldn’t dare doubt her, would you?”

The third week unraveled him. He had spent every waking moment pacing the grounds, his chest constricting with an unbearable weight. Nightmares plagued him when he did manage to sleep, visions of her broken body haunting his mind. He snapped at everyone—Gavriel, Fenrys, even Rowan—driving wedges into bonds already frayed by his aloofness.

Now, a full month had passed, and there was no room left for denial.

“She’s dead,” Fenrys growled, pacing the chamber like a caged wolf. “Or worse.” His golden eyes were wild, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with simmering fury. “We all know Maeve doesn’t send anyone on a mission like this without an ulterior motive.”

Gavriel sat at the table, his head bowed, his fists clenched. “We don’t know that,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed the hope he was struggling to hold onto.

Rowan leaned against the far wall, his sharp features carved with tension. “Have you noticed Maeve hasn’t mentioned her once since she left? Not a word about the mission or her progress. That’s deliberate.”

Lorcan stood apart from them, his back to the room, staring out the window at the moonlit forest. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, and his nails had bitten into his palms, drawing blood.

“She’s alive,” he said at last, his voice low and trembling with suppressed rage.

Fenrys stopped pacing, glaring at him. “You don’t know that. You have no idea what she’s endured out there—alone—while you stood by and let her go.”

The accusation struck like a blade, and Lorcan whirled around, his black eyes blazing. “You think I don’t know that?” he snarled. “You think I don’t feel it every second of every gods-damned day?”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension.

“What are you saying?” Gavriel asked, his voice cautious.

Lorcan’s hands trembled as he raked them through his hair, his composure shattering. “She’s my mate,” he admitted, the words spilling out like poison. “She’s my mate, and I let her go. I chose Maeve over her because I was too much of a coward to—” His voice broke, and he turned away, his shoulders heaving.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You’re telling us this now?” Rowan’s voice was cold, laced with anger. “After she’s been missing for a month?”

“I thought she’d come back,” Lorcan said hoarsely. “I thought she’d be fine. She’s strong. She’s—” His voice cracked, and he slammed a fist against the wall. “I failed her. I failed her because I didn’t want to admit what she meant to me.”

Fenrys sneered, his rage barely contained. “And now she’s out there, suffering gods know what, because of you.”

Despite their anger, the Cadre couldn’t abandon her. She was one of their own—or at least, she had been before Maeve’s manipulations twisted their loyalties.

Rowan took charge, his strategic mind cutting through the chaos. “We’ll have to do this without Maeve finding out. If she even suspects we’re undermining her, she’ll punish us all.”

“And y/n,” Gavriel added grimly.

Lorcan barely heard them, his mind consumed with images of her—alone, wounded, dying. He couldn’t let himself think she might already be dead. If she was gone, the bond would have snapped, wouldn’t it? But it hadn’t. It was still there, faint but unbroken, like a fragile thread connecting him to her.

“We’ll start at the cliffs,” Rowan continued. “That’s where she was sent. If Maeve wanted her gone, she wouldn’t make it easy to find her body—or what’s left of it.”

Fenrys shot Lorcan a glare. “You’d better hope she’s alive, or I’ll make you wish you’d died with her.”

The journey to the cliffs was brutal, the terrain unforgiving. They traveled under the cover of night, avoiding Maeve’s spies and using every ounce of their combined skill to remain undetected.

They did not rest. Not even once. And even if they did, Lorcan knew that he would leave his brothers behind to find her. He would not rest until he found her. Hopefully, alive because if not....

Lorcan did not want to think about that and the hell he would raise if that were the case.

When they reached the cliffs, the sight that greeted them confirmed their worst fears. Blood stained the ground, long since dried, and the remnants of a camp lay scattered, eerily quiet.

“She was here,” Gavriel said, his voice tight with anguish.

Lorcan knelt, his fingers brushing the bloodied earth. It felt wrong—cold and empty, as if the life had been drained from the place. His chest tightened, and the bond tugged at him, faint but insistent.

“She’s close,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She’s still alive.”

The Cadre exchanged wary glances, but they followed him deeper into the gorge, their weapons drawn.

They found her at dawn.

She was chained to a rock in a dark cavern, her body battered and broken. Her clothes were torn, her skin marred with bruises and cuts, and her breathing was shallow. Her once-bright eyes were closed, her face pale and gaunt.

Lorcan froze, his heart shattering at the sight.

“She’s alive,” Fenrys said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lorcan didn’t wait. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he broke the chains binding her. “y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, wildling, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, her gaze met his. There was no recognition in her eyes, only pain and exhaustion.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

As he cradled her broken body in his arms, the weight of his guilt crashed down on him. He had failed her in every way possible, but he wouldn’t fail her again.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Rowan said, his voice tight. “Before Maeve realizes what we’ve done.”

Lorcan nodded, his jaw set with determination. He would burn the world for her, tear it apart piece by piece if he had to.

And when Maeve found out, he would be ready.

Lorcan cradled y/n against his chest as they made their way out of the cavern, her body limp and fragile in his arms. Her shallow breathing was the only reassurance he had that she was still alive. His every instinct screamed at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between them and this gods-forsaken place, but he knew better. They weren’t safe yet.

The bond tugged at him, a faint but insistent reminder of her fragility. It was his lifeline now, urging him forward through the oppressive darkness of the cliffs.

Rowan took point, his sharp gaze scanning the shadows ahead. Gavriel brought up the rear, his sword drawn and his senses on high alert. Fenrys prowled beside Lorcan, his golden eyes flashing with barely-contained fury.

“She’s too quiet,” Fenrys muttered, his voice low and tense. “We need to move faster.”

“She’s breathing,” Lorcan snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all that matters right now.”

The moment they stepped out of the cavern into the pale light of dawn, the attack came.

A hail of arrows rained down from the cliffs above, forcing them to scatter. Lorcan twisted his body, shielding y/n with his own as he dove behind a jagged boulder.

“Move!” Rowan barked, his wind magic deflecting the arrows with a gust that sent them clattering harmlessly to the ground.

The enemy poured down the rocky slopes—Maeve’s minions, cloaked in shadow and armed to the teeth. Their feral grins gleamed in the dim light, their eyes alight with cruel intent.

“They know we have her!” Fenrys shouted, drawing his twin blades.

Gavriel let out a low growl, his lion-like strength cutting through the first wave of attackers. “We’ll have to fight our way out!”

Lorcan’s grip on y/n tightened as he pressed his back against the boulder, his mind racing. He couldn’t fight—not with her in his arms—but he also couldn’t let her go.

Rowan appeared at his side, his ice-blue eyes blazing. “Can you hold them off while I take her?”

“No,” Lorcan snapped. The thought of letting her out of his grasp was unbearable. “You clear the path. I’ll carry her.”

Rowan hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Stay close.”

Chaos erupted as the cadre launched themselves into the fray. Rowan’s wind and ice magic tore through the ranks of their attackers, sending bodies flying into the jagged rocks. Fenrys moved like a shadow, his blades flashing as he cut down anyone who got too close. Gavriel fought with brutal precision, his strikes swift and lethal.

But their enemies kept coming, waves of them spilling out of the cliffs like a swarm.

Lorcan’s every step was a battle. He ducked and weaved through the melee, his muscles burning from the effort of carrying y/n’s dead weight while avoiding strikes. His sword remained sheathed—his focus was entirely on her.

“Lorcan, behind you!” Fenrys shouted.

Lorcan twisted just in time to see a dagger aimed at his back. He snarled, releasing a pulse of his power that sent the attacker sprawling. The effort cost him, though—his legs trembled as he stumbled forward, the weight of y/n and his exhaustion dragging him down.

A group of Maeve’s soldiers broke through Rowan’s defenses, their eyes locked on Lorcan and y/n.

“Over my dead body,” Lorcan growled, shifting her weight slightly as he braced himself for the charge.

But before they could reach him, a silver blur streaked past—Fenrys. He leapt into the fray, his movements a deadly dance as he tore through the soldiers with savage efficiency.

“You’re slowing us down,” Fenrys barked as he dispatched the last of them.

“Shut up and fight,” Lorcan snarled back.

Rowan’s sharp whistle cut through the chaos. “Now! Move!”

The cadre regrouped, their enemies momentarily scattered. Rowan’s magic formed a protective barrier of ice and wind, giving them a few precious seconds to retreat.

“We’re not going to hold them off forever,” Gavriel warned as they sprinted toward the treeline.

“We just need to make it far enough to lose them,” Rowan said, though his tone was grim.

Lorcan’s chest burned with every breath, but he didn’t stop. Y/n’s head lolled against his shoulder, her face pale and bloodied. Hold on, he willed her silently. Just hold on.

As they reached the forest, Rowan dropped the barrier, and the group plunged into the shadows of the trees. The dense undergrowth slowed their pursuers, giving the cadre a chance to put some distance between them.

“We need to split up,” Rowan said. “Fenrys, take Gavriel and lead them away. Lorcan and I will take y/n and head for the rendezvous point.”

Fenrys opened his mouth to argue, but a single look from Rowan silenced him.

“Go,” Rowan ordered.

With a growl, Fenrys and Gavriel peeled off, drawing the enemy’s attention.

The silence that followed was deafening. Only the sound of Lorcan’s ragged breathing and the faint rustle of leaves broke the stillness as he and Rowan made their way deeper into the forest.

When they finally stopped, Lorcan sank to his knees, cradling y/n as though she might disappear if he let go.

“She’s alive,” Rowan said, though his voice was heavy with doubt. “But barely.”

Lorcan couldn’t respond. His hands trembled as he brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from her face. Guilt and rage warred within him, threatening to consume him whole.

“We’ll get her back,” Rowan said, his voice firm. “But you need to keep it together.”

Lorcan’s jaw tightened as he looked up at Rowan. “If she dies…” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“She won’t,” Rowan said, his eyes fierce. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Lorcan nodded, swallowing hard as he forced himself to his feet. He wouldn’t let her die. Not like this. Not when he had failed her so utterly.

And Maeve… Maeve would pay for this.

------

The first thing Y/N registered was the scent of wood smoke and herbs, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of rain-soaked soil. The air was warm, almost stifling, and it felt heavier than it should have. Her body ached with a dull, persistent throb, as though she had been wrung out and left to dry.

She blinked against the dim light filtering through a small, cracked window, her vision swimming before settling on the modest, cramped interior of a hut. The walls were made of rough-hewn logs, the roof thatched, and a single table sat in the corner, cluttered with vials and bandages.

Where am I?

The thought was fleeting, overridden by a sudden awareness of weight—solid, grounding, and entirely foreign—pressing against her. She shifted slightly, hissing at the pull of her tender muscles, and turned her head to look down.

Her breath caught.

Lorcan.

His head was resting on her stomach, his dark hair falling in unruly strands over his face. His massive frame was hunched over, as though even in sleep, he couldn’t quite relax. One arm was draped over her waist, the other gripping the edge of the makeshift bed she lay on. His hold was tight, almost desperate, as if he feared she would vanish if he let go.

For a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—something in her chest softened. He looked so unlike himself, so vulnerable and human, and it was a stark contrast to the cold, stoic warrior she knew.

But then it all came rushing back.

The mission. The ambush. The betrayal. His cruel words.

Her face hardened, and a sharp burst of anger surged through her. How dare he?

Without thinking, she raised her hand and swatted the back of his head.

Lorcan jolted awake instantly, his head snapping up as his body went rigid, his instincts kicking in. His hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there, his eyes wild and dark, scanning for danger.

Then his gaze landed on her, and he froze.

“Y/N?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, raw with disbelief.

Her eyes, dull and tired, met his. “Surprised to see me alive?” she asked, her tone cutting but drained of its usual bite.

Relief flooded his features, followed quickly by a maelstrom of emotions she couldn’t decipher—shock, guilt, anger at himself, and something she wasn’t ready to name.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“No thanks to you,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to sit up.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his hands moving to steady her. “You’re not ready—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, shrugging him off.

She wasn’t fine. Her body screamed in protest, and her head swam, but she forced herself upright, ignoring the way his hands hovered near her, ready to catch her if she faltered.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice clipped.

Lorcan cleared his throat, straightening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “A healer’s hut. A friend of Fenrys’—a trusted one. It’s safe here, for now.”

“For now,” she repeated bitterly. Her gaze swept the room, noting its sparse furnishings and the faint smell of damp wood.

“You’ve been unconscious for two weeks,” Lorcan continued cautiously, as if afraid of her reaction. “We’ve been... waiting for you to wake up.”

“Two weeks,” she echoed, her tone flat. “And where are the others?”

“Rowan and Gavriel went back to ensure Maeve hasn’t caught on to our escape, or atleast somehow keep the situation stable.” he explained. “Fenrys stayed with us.”

“Of course, Fenrys did.” She exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard.

Lorcan flinched at her tone but didn’t argue. “I—”

“You what?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “What could you possibly have to say, Lorcan?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might retreat behind his usual walls. But then he surprised her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and rough. “For everything.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t have the energy to yell or argue, not anymore. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“You said Maeve was your queen,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. “You said you’d always choose her over me. So why are you here, Lorcan?”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was so gods-damned wrong. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness—hells, I don’t even deserve to be here. But I—” He hesitated, his hands curling into fists. “I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”

Her laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “Congratulations, Lorcan. You didn’t lose me. But what’s left of me isn’t much, so I hope you’re satisfied.”

Her words hit him like a blow, and the guilt in his eyes deepened. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “It’s true. I’m tired, Lorcan. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of—” She broke off, her hands trembling as she clenched the blanket.

Lorcan dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering near hers but not quite touching. “I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling. “I know I failed you. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But please, y/n... please don’t give up. Not now. Not when you’re here, alive.”

She looked away, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll fix this,” he said desperately. “I don’t know how, but I’ll fix it. I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life.”

“Words,” she muttered, her tone laced with exhaustion. “They’re just words, Lorcan.”

He bowed his head, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her dismissal. But he didn’t leave. He stayed there, on his knees, as though the very act of being near her was penance.

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and filled with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

Eventually, she lay back down, turning her face away from him. “I wish to be alone.”

He nodded, his throat working as he forced himself to his feet. “I’ll be right here,” he said softly, retreating to his chair.

She didn’t respond, and as her breathing evened out, Lorcan watched her, his heart breaking anew. He had been a fool, and now the woman who held his soul was a shadow of herself. Someone who just went through so much trauma while he sat aside and watched it happen.

His y/n was gone, the female in front of him was an empty shell.

And it was all his fault.

———————————————————————

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads CH2 ( Homelander x OC )

chapter two: signed and sealed

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: benjamin knows full well he's out there, watching and waiting, even doing a little breaking and entering. homelander is simply biding his time until he gets his way.

Benjamin’s personal life had always been a simple one.  With little to no time to truly be, there wasn’t much drama to get mixed up in– well, there used to be.  Back when he tried to have the best of both worlds, there was… a lot.  Failed relationships, friends walking out on him, family shunning him for his absences, unreliability, and perceived short temper that was truly just pure exhaustion.  It was one hell of a cocktail, but sometimes the loneliness was worse.  It was hard to see the few people who still talked to him, and harder still to make time to call his folks, but somehow those relationships survived.

Worse yet was his track record with jobs.  Delivery boy was optimal given his particular skill set, but showing up on time with every little disturbance was beyond difficult.  Table waiting jobs were even worse, and he’d lost a fair few.  These days he supplements income with side photography while primarily working an IT job at a small tech firm that he probably wouldn’t have gotten without a friend putting in a good word.

Moving to New York with his best friend from college was a decision he wouldn’t undo, but it wasn’t without its strife.  If not for his friend, good ol’ Jason Ortega, Ben would’ve fallen through the cracks so many times. Eventually they split from their cozy roommate situation after Jase got a girlfriend, but there were no hard feelings.  In fact, he was the only person in the world who knew about Ben’s little secret.

The two worlds of Benjamin's life were starting to collide bit by bit.

“You met Homelander!" 

“Shh! Not so loud!”  Ben stresses, eyes wide.  They’re on their first coinciding lunch break in a while, and they'd decided to pop a few blocks down to a sub shop for their first hangout in damn near three weeks.  “Yeah, just–”

“And you worked with him, right?” Jason asks, leaning forward eagerly, food all but totally forgotten.  “That’s what all the articles are saying.”

“No, I–” Benjamin releases a heavy sigh.  He knows about those.  It’d been two weeks since Homelander propositioned him, and… well. 

It had been an interesting two weeks.

“It wasn’t like that.”  Ben says, mind wandering back…

Bodega Burglary Botched!  Spidey and Homelander Team Up, had been Vought News Network’s big headline of the day the morning after the confrontation in the alley.  Ben pretty much choked on his bowl of Maeve-O’s when the segment ran on his TV.  

“Boy, I’ll tell ya,” Homelander said, smiling perfectly for the camera.  “That Spider-Man is exactly what we need in The Seven.  After last night, I really do see why people say he looks out for the little guy.”

Ben must have looked quite the sight standing there in his boxers, spoon dangling from his mouth. Did he have bedhead or was his hair just showing how absolutely fucking insane he felt in the moment? 

“I can’t think of anyone better to fill Translucent’s shoes.  So, Spidey, if you’re seeing this: you’ve got my vote buddy!”

“You mother fucker…” Ben murmured.  This was a power play unlike anything he could’ve imagined.  This wasn’t just for PR– though it definitely was.  This was a way to turn the public onto the idea.  To make sure the wall crawler would be reminded of the offer everywhere he went.  

Which is precisely what happened.  And now it was happening in his personal life, which was even worse.  Not that Jase knew the fine details of what had happened, but…

“Man, Vought’s been hounding me for a while now.”  He explains.  “And now they sent the big dog.” 

Ben takes a moment, voice hushed, to tell Jason about all that had happened.  About how intimidating the whole thing was, how Homelander practically looked right through him, how he fucking name-dropped him despite every length the bug has gone to keep his identity a secret.

“You wanna know what else?”  Ben asks, glancing from side to side.  “I think he’s fucking stalking me.”

“Dude…” 

“Yeah, so get this…”

He spares no details.

It started off small.  Simple fly-by’s, flickers of red, white, and blue in the sky zipping by at the most random of times.  At first, it seemed like something weird in his peripherals, but then Benjamin learned to look up.  He made eye contact three days after first noticing his stalker while walking into work, and he’s not sure if that made Homelander more bold but he definitely did get worse.

Benjamin could’ve coped with the stalking. In fact, he was almost getting used to it, but then he went for the newly bought jug of milk in the fridge and found the seal cracked and roughly a quarter of the contents missing.

The lack of cup in the sink had him pouring the contents down the drain because that bastard clearly drank from the jug.  After that, subtlety went clear out the fucking door.

Ben’s apartment isn’t the neatest thing on planet Earth, but he prides himself on keeping up with his laundry.  His closet was organized, shoes kicked into a slobbishly-neat pile in said closet, and his underwear drawer was folded to perfection.

So why in the world were his boxer briefs unrolled from their tight, military-esque fold?  Why is his acoustic guitar on the stand where the electric normally sits?  

And why the fuck is the bed he made that morning now unmade and very obviously laid in?

Homelander had crossed a line.  This wasn't just some light stalking and intimidation, this was a Goldy Locks level violation of his privacy and space, and Ben didn’t know if it was going to end up so bad someday that he'd wake up to the fucker standing in the corner like some patriotic version of the hat man.

“And it’s still happening,” he tells Jason.  His best friend stares at him wide eyed with his mouth parted in disbelief. 

“Man, I hope you changed your toothbrush…”  He says.

“Fuck… No, but I will later, I–”  

A ringing from Jason’s phone breaks their banter and signals the end of their break.  Ben takes the opportunity to grab his own phone and type a message to him.  Eyes up when we leave.  Don’t react to this.

They pay and leave.  Sure as the sun rises in the morning, on the edge of the roof across the street stands Homelander, who smirks down at them, clearly having used that super hearing of his to listen in.

“Woah…” Jase utters.

Ben simply keeps his eyes up, watching closely as the star spangled supe gives an informal salute and takes off.

“Dude…” Jason says.  “That’s fucked.”

Yeah, Ben thinks to himself. I’m fucked.

By the end of the third week, Ben’s absolutely had it.  He can feel Homelander’s eyes piercing through the walls of his apartment building.  In fact, Benjamin knows right where he’s sitting.  He’d been laying in bed relaxing before his usual run through the city.

He hates to admit it, but… he’s given some thought to the offer.  Moral objections aside, he could make a real difference at Vought.  Plus, there’s the opportunity to try to change it from the inside out.  Maybe leak some information here or there…

Nothing he’s vocalized, of course.  He’d never risk Homelander hearing something and come barreling through the wall to laser him in two for even considering it.

But enough was enough.  These little interferences in his life weren’t going to stop, it seemed, unless he did something about it.  Ben swings his legs off the side of the bed and stares down at where his suit lays in a pile on the floor.  There was no sense in even putting the fucking mask on.  Homelander can see through it anyway.  He knows who he is, where he lives…  The jig is up as far as secrecy with Homelander goes, if there was even any to begin with.

Ben walks to the window and peers out.  Just as he predicted, Homelander is stood on the building across the street, looking almost amused at the bug’s knowledge of his location.

“Get over here,” Ben says.  He knows Homelander can hear it.  “For once, you’re being invited inside.”  With that, he opens the window.

What the fuck am I doing, Ben thinks to himself.  Fuck, I should’ve gone out, not let him in.  Fuck, fuck fuck…

It’s a curious thing to watch Homelander float through the window perfectly horizontal.  It never occurred to Ben that flying supes could do that so easily…

“Benjamin,” Homelander greets.  “Nice of you to finally extend the offer.”

The bug plops down on the edge of his bed, gesturing to his desk chair for Homelander to sit.  It’s almost comedic to watch him swish his cape out of the way to do so.

“Y’know, I can cope with you stalking me,” Ben says, getting right to the point.  “But rifling through my drawers is overdoing it.”

Homelander smiles, and it’s almost scary to see him so close in such an intimate environment.  Outside, he’s practically god.  In here he’s… scary in a different way.  Especially when Ben notices just how sharp his canines are.

“Couldn’t help it, Benny.  Besides, you’ve got some interesting things.”  Homelander turns in the chair just slightly to rap his gloved knuckles against the top drawer of Ben’s nightstand.  “Especially in here, you dirty boy.”

Ben’s cheeks flare red immediately.  Fuck, he hadn’t even considered–

“You are interesting, I’ll tell ya.” Homelander continues.  “You’re so fucking ordinary, and yet you’re about to be in The Seven.  Nothin’ to you besides that do-good moral compass of yours and some spandex.”

“What do you mean, ‘about to,’” Ben asks incredulously.  “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Homelander gives him a smile so sinister that it practically takes a bite out of his resolve.  “Oh, I know.  But you’re going to once we’re done here, trust me.”

Ben cocks a brow.  “... explain.”

“Not yet.” 

Homelander leans to the side and snags one of those guitars he was clearly very familiar with.  “You’re a peculiar little thing, you know that?”  He says, finger plucking awkwardly at a nylon string that damn near snaps under his strength.  It makes Ben cringe a little.  “You’re so full of anxiety I can practically smell it on you, but you still have the balls to tell me no.  You’re pretty much a shut in as...” Homelander gestures vaguely to Ben to describe his secret identity.  “But then you’re such a social butterfly.  Thought you might’ve just had a thing for being stared at in spandex, but you’re quite the little ray of sunshine in the leotard.”

“I–”

Homelander holds up a finger.

“And you’re so fucking sad, little Benjamin.”  

What..? 

“You’re lonely.  Just that one buddy of yours and that strained relationship with good ol’ mom and dad… plus that cousin or whatever the boy is.”  Homelander plucks the lowest string, a deep open note reverberating through the body of the instrument.  “But you’re so sad, crying at night like you do.”

But I haven’t– 

“I can tell what you’re thinking… You haven’t had a bad night in a few weeks.”  Homelander says nonchalantly.  “What, you think I wasn’t scoping you out before that night in the alley?  Please.  I know you down to the fucking lube you use at this rate.”

“What the f–”

“Astroglide, by the way.”  He says, wiggling his brows.  “You want that spider-high you get when you’re swinging around to be permanent?  Quit your little desk job, stop being a pussy, and join my team.  Go have time to live your personal life– I don’t fucking care– just do the right thing.”

Ben’s gaze falls and he picks at his fingers.  Fucker found the sore spot and was using it to his full advantage.

“Don’t look so sad, Benny boy.  I’m offering you the relief you’ve been looking for, aren’t I?”  Homelander smiles almost genuinely.  “So exhausted all the time, too.  When was the last time you got eight hours, huh?  I’ve seen the way that little tingle in your head wakes you up all the time.  Plus all those late nights… you must be so burnt out.”

“Shut up…” Ben tries, but it comes out more sad than he means for it to.  He hates how fucking right Homelander is.

“Friends, family, rest… No more rent struggles…” Homelander sets the instrument down and turns toward Ben.  “You know what else?”  He asks, voice almost sweet.  When Ben looks at him, he grins.  “Ma and Pa will thank you when I don’t drop an oil tanker on them from orbit.”

Ben’s blood runs cold.

“Yeah, I flew by a day ago.  Nice little suburban house in Annville, right?  Pops has a nice red truck.”

No, no, no– fuck– 

“Be a shame if they had to suffer because of you, wouldn’t it?”

Benjamin sits stock still, his only movements being shakes of fear and anger.  How fucking dare he?  How dare he hold something so–

“Like I said, you will be joining The Seven.  And, if you do, no harm will come to mom and pop– I promise.” 

He knows he has no choice now.

“So, little Benjamin,” Homelander says, rising from the chair.  “What’ll it be?”

As if he has any choice.

“Fine…”

“Oh,” Homelander cocks a brow.  “What was that?  I think I need you to be a little louder.”

“Fine,” Ben says, more conviction in his voice this time.  

“Say it.  The whole thing.” Homelander demands, smile growing even wider.  “You’re gonna join The Seven.”

“I’m…” Ben sighs.  “I’m going to join The Seven.”

“Attaboy!” Homelander chirps, clapping his gloved hands together.  “Alright, buddy, get some shoes on and let's get you to the tower for your big signing day!  Did I mention you get a sign-on bonus?  Pretty killer, right?”

Dejectedly, Ben stands from the bed and slips his shoes on.

He supposes he’ll be signing his contract in his pajamas.

[madwomansapologist]

going on vacation with queen maeve would include

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Royalty AU | AO3

synopsis: A few months after getting into The Seven, your mind and body were on the edge. Good for your that your girlfriend™ knows exactly how to make Madelyn shut the fuck up.

warnings: vought. female!reader. this is fluffy!

• It's funny how you thought for so long that Maeve didn't give a damn about you. Because now, seeing clearly what she is doing, you notice how much she really cares. How deeply Maggie cares about you.

• Your relationship now being real don't make everything easy. It makes easier, of course, but it still pretty fucked up to be used as Vought way of making pink money. But as time passes, you noticed all the little things Maeve did so it would be easier for you. The fact that she does that in secret is what really makes your heart skip a beat.

• Like when you discovered that Maeve fought with Madelyn so your birthday would be a private event. Or when your copyright percentage got higher because of her. And there was that day Maeve discussed for over a hour with the marketing guys so you could cut your hair however you wanted. And the time a "journalist" threatened to expose a story about your normal life so she... You still don't know what exactly she did, but the story never saw daylight.

• So when out of sudden, in the middle of the most tiring week of your entire life, Ashley informed you that your vacations was postponed to next week by the HR people; you knew it was her. Of course it was.

• You both talked to her about your plans, and Ashley took care of everything. She usually does. She made sure there was no one on the beach, no paparazzi, not even a leaf out of place. If there was one thing you valued, it was your secret identity, and since Maeve also took the same care, every precaution was necessary.

• After a car trip, Maeve doesn't get on planes under any circumstances, complete with lots of diabetic sweets and loud music, you finally arrived at the cabin. Everything inside was some kind of licensed Vought product, but ignoring that until you looked like just a normal couple. Nothing surprising. No drama, no pr stunts, no forced smiles. It was just you and Maggie, and that was all.

• Maggie spent the whole week running the bar. You've already discussed her being basically a functional alcoholic, but she's always emphasized the functional. She took care of the drinks, you took care of the barbecues, and the two of you tried to understand how to make Starlight Seasoned Rice™.

• Maggie was more the type to pick up a gothic novel, apply sunscreen until she looked like a ghost, and toast on a beach sarong. You were the one challenging the sea to a fight. And cursing the hot sand.

• Caught up in Jane Eyre's poor choice to marry someone she discovered had locked his first wife in the basement, Maggie didn't think she needed to worry. Until the salt water fell on her and her book, and Maggie saw you with your smirk and a yellow toy bucket. You wanted war? Okay.

• Playing fights with your girlfriend is one of the most common things in relationships. Playing fights with your super powerful warrior goddess hot girlfriend is much more interesting. Will Maggie one day realize how much you love being beneath her? She probably already did.

• With hydrating hair masks, tasty meat, strong drinks and practically inedible rice™, you fell asleep on the sofa in the cabin while you tried to prove to Maggie that Emile Brontë was the best sister.

• You both deserved that.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[thornsinyoursides]

HELLLOOO EVERYONE this is my first fic here and time postin in a while! This will be a new series! Aka first one! After chatting with the handsome and amazing @riisume and seeing their oc maeve and chatting bout them I got inspired to write her meeting bell with their permission! Go give them a follow and enjoy

Bell in the foxes den part one

Bell had been arena fighting for some time now. The prize money’s nice, and it’s fun to cut loose! It’s a nice break from some heated mercenary work. Not that merc work was stressful for her it just gets boring after awhile. Besides, punching trees for training gets a tad old after the millionth time, so punching peoples a good break from that monotony.

She usually wins easily since her blood powers mean she can kick ass and regenerate quite quickly. She’s a crowd favorite since she always has fun kicking ass especially of someone cocky. However there was another reason she kept competing. Shed heard whispers of an amazing beautiful warrior who could give her a challenge. Nicknamed the bear or mommy maeve. Bell had been intrigued by her mentions. And hoped to one day fight her! ~~and maybe get her number~~

Then the day arrived that bell was matched up with maeve on the announcement thing. Shes ecastic! Finally a worthy foe! Finalky someone she can go all out on. Finally!…. Her thoughts stop when she sees her…… That hair, those eyes! Those ears! Those claws! That style! That figure! That smile! gorgeous… bells heart started beating. Damn it she was having a gay panic!

She pulls herself together and begins stretching cant pull a muscle thatd be painful…. and embarrassing. Then Maeve started approaching her direction. Huh thats weird. Why was..

**SHE WAS COMING DIRECTLY TO HER?** thankfully bell had mastered a poker face! She kept a cool demeanor and gave a cocky looking smirk. Internally she was freaking the fuck out. “Well well well! Maeve! Ive heard about ya! And May I say I get the feeling youre not gonna disappoint!” She says as internally she was thinking *oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck she smells nice! Her hair flows so amazingly I wish my hair was like that and not red. Those beautiful eyes damn it!!! Stop being so beautiful! Why are you getting close.*

Maeve not being an idiot and by the fact bell was pinching her arm could tell…. Bell was either nervous…. Or crushing hard. She gives a pleasant little grin to her opponent and did her usual flirty schtick “Hmm welll id hate to disappoint a pretty face.” And bell just went red at this, then before she could respond to her comment maeve did what she usually did and began feeling the opponents abs…. immediately she had the biggest and most immediate reaction shes ever seen. As if bells blush wasnt adorable enough she immediately began giggling and blushing like mad from the gentle traces, her knees buckling and was barely able to stand as she giggled adorably and softly, but loud enough to make maeves opinions on bells cuteness skyrocket.

Bell gently pushes her away , despite that display of giggles she didnt take a breath. Seems she has alot of energy. And is very ticklish… this was gonna be a fun match maeve though

Bell was so flustered she couldnt even speak just shooting maeve a blushy adoravle flustered glare like a puppy trynna be intimidating.

“Hmmm. Seems the red haired beauty blood mages tongues in the hands of a cat no?”maeve asks with a pleasant smile

Bell just blushed even more internally screaming that maeve was flirting witb her. … “Ill show you whos tongue is got when I kick your ass!” She says as if that comment makes… any sense

“Hmm… we’ll see ! I think youlk be having too hard a time laughing your beautiful head off.” Maeve says as flirtatious as ever

Bell blushed even mkre her face now as red as her hair. “I!!! … its not beautiful! Sh-shut up!” She says giving another flustered glare and crossing her arms

Maeve grinned cheekily “hmm No I know you are beautiful. That laugh and what I felt definitely are. AnywaySee you in the match cutey!” She says giving a littke wave before walking off to the arena..

Bell crosses her arms. Now fucking melting… was was she being genuine when she called her beautiful? No! Snap out of it dont let that distract you! You have a fight to win! She says thinking to herself while also thinking how nice it felt to giggle and smile openly like that…. Her hands also felt nice-… she grabs her forehead in gay frustration as she goes to fetch some water.

End of part 1 i hope you enjoy!! And thanks for reading!

[plethomacademia]

WIP WED DO NOT CHECK THE TIMESTAMP

tagging @eregar maybe? no pressure but i know you are cooking.

Y'all I have been bouncing between bullying Gale and bullying Astarion but the Gale fic is mostly an outline, so have the most Astarion introduction I think I will ever write. This is a direct sequel to the tadpole fic and it is, as everything is between Astarion and Maeve, an escalation. But the beginning is just me rolling around in the emptiest, prettiest head in all of Baldur's Gate

It is another beautiful morning at the end of the world. Well, it is a fair enough morning, Astarion thinks to himself as keeps pace with the rest of the group. The wind from the sea has a bit of a chill and the sun seems incapable of keeping pace with it. He is always prone to being cold, what with the undeath and everything, but the others seem unphased, perhaps even cheerful. Impending death has a way of putting the shine on things. There are eight of them walking in a group this morning, twice as many as usually move together but it is a temporary arrangement. Healthy paranoia keeps them in smaller groups but today, two groups of four are heading in the same direction, at least for now, and no one was interested in making a production of one group leaving after the other. It might have been the early morning earthquake that put the fire under them, or simply just that awareness that things were coming to a head. Some might even call it a climax. Astarion feels himself smile. If he had been speaking out loud, that would have been a good pun. After all, what else is there to do between trying to save the entire gods damned world than to fuck each other senseless? That seems to be the way their party is coping, at least.

[msommers]

seven forms of love but make it all 3's for riya maeve and auretta xoxo

ty v much ily and we're gonna pretend i answered these in a timely manner xoxox // seven forms of love questions

How do they feel about public displays of romantic affection? Does it make them uncomfortable? How do they feel if a romantic partner kisses them in public?

RIYA — loves ‘em. Riya's always been loud and proud about her relationships (much to her mother's vexation on more than one occasion, i'm sure), so public shows of affection are very much in her wheelhouse. she's the #1 initiator of kisses in front of whoever the fuck is around, not paying them any mind. i'm torn because Riya is casual about most of her relationships so that'd lean towards her not caring if a partner doesn't want to engage in public affection, but my heart is telling me that she'd be bothered by it if there's a full Ban on it. like she could reach a compromise with a more private partner, but if they say no outright then she's gonna be offended and uncomfortable with it. are you ashamed of me, are you embarrassed, what are you hiding type of questioning lmao

MAEVE — [insert gimme more by britney chorus on repeat here] any kind of affection generates little cartoon hearts above her head and has her smiling by default, but public displays probably hold a special place for her after growing up around parents that rarely even touched each other. probably some extra rough years in there with Carden where public displays used to be ways he showed off having a pretty young wife and pacified her clinginess, but they were shut down entirely as one of the first things he took away to punish her for disobeying/arguing with him. she’s gonna be fucking spoiled with public displays down the line so it’s fine, we're not thinking about the sadness.

AURETTA — hmm i don't think she'd be uncomfortable with them, unfamiliar is more accurate. i think she would actually come to be a big fan of them if she gets a partner that's affectionate, she'd just need to put time into learning from them what they like, and then with them on what she likes.

What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?

RIYA — answered here!

MAEVE — loyalty and reliability are pretty high up there, she needs to have that trust in her closest friends. after that idk, let's go with bravery, passion, and honesty. many of her friends are different from each other but those are usually the through lines. 

AURETTA — answered here!

How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

RIYA — she literally starts to feel sick at the idea of upsetting or disappointing her dad because he's given her everything and is the light of her life, so there's that. that's normal and chill. Riya's relationship with her mother's approval is interesting because she very much wants it, but she never went out of her way to seek it before her recruitment. she was in a place of being kinda comfortable?? with Priscilla's disappointment in her, or at least expecting it, which is like. not great. (and not fully accurate but hey that’s a whole other topic. hi 3 hour de Clairmonts vc you'll always be famous to me) but Riya got this attitude from Priscilla to begin with—this belief that she should do and take what she wants, and damn anybody's opinion. i believe at this moment it was a few days ago in-universe that Riya was shaking and crying writing a letter to her mama promising her that she was going to finally make her proud through this whole Warden business, so that’s her kinda direction right now of seeking parental approval. Priscilla spent years and years tearing her hair out over Riya not embracing familial duties or taking her place in life seriously, so maybe this’ll work lmao

MAEVE — being desperate for her parents’ approval is the origin of her people pleasing struggles. she went so far as to packing her things and leaving with Carden without a single complaint or doubt because it was what they wanted, and she thought it would earn her that big show of approval and pride that she'd spent so long working towards and well. that didn't work out. the need to please them in particular faded with time, but she still wastes years seeking it from others to satisfy that built-in belief she needs to make others feel good before she herself can. i don't know if it ever fully goes away, but it for sure becomes a more healthy acts of service type love language.

AURETTA — when we circled back on the half-elf siblings last month or so and i decided to get serious about Auretta, this topic was probably the first touchstone i found for her because god. imagine being a young half-elf being allowed into a city made up entirely of elves that notoriously rarely allows other races in, and you're only given a free pass because your dad happens to be some high-ranking clergy member. how do you not develop and intense need to earn his approval and praise to feel like you're deserving of your place in that incredible city?? i think she would've had a lesser need for her mother's approval because she probably worried that Jocelyn regretted having her, but that was fleeting. if you think about it Auretta sacrificed her relationships with her mother and three half-siblings to ensure she did well in Taltempla, so there's that i guess. other motivations and desires were there but daddy's approval was part of it for sure.

To what extent does your OC believe in the value (or even existence) of true altruism? Do they see an unselfish concern for the welfare of others as being naïve or foolish? Or as a moral quality to which people should aspire?

RIYA — targeted question here, huh. bullying Riya for being the naïve sheltered rich girl who thought everybody should be out here being nice and loyal and altruistic to everyone else because that’s what she herself was used to at home. interesting. she’s the opposite of that second part of the question, she finds altruism incredibly attractive (not necessarily in a Sexy way, but it can be if she likes the person lmao) and admirable in a person. i can see some scenarios where she'd consider it foolish to extend kindness to others (see: her entire attitude with the Delvers), but usually she's a fan.

MAEVE — lady bleeding heart over here is all altruism and can't comprehend people without it. i think a lot of people would assume that her years of traveling with witchers and dealing with her own trials on the side would have soured her compassion, but it actually intensified the trait tbh. made her triple down on the selfless gestures and dedication to providing for others (see: all her work for the pro-mage and non-humans causes, constant donations, establishing homes and sanctuaries for kids/women, etc).

AURETTA — i'm not really sure on this one tbh, i'm kinda going back and forth. i think she lies somewhere around the 70/30 spread of thinking it should be an aspiration and is admirable, and then sometimes she'll straight up call somebody foolish for extending compassion to someone that she has deemed unworthy lmao

How does your OC feel about one night stands? Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger? Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally? Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?

RIYA — i feel like i don’t even have to truly answer this one because we all know she’s a queen of these. it’s not a hot topic for the campaign bc it ain't necessary to bring up but i’m sure she’s had a few nights of fooling around with random Wardens since joining up. she likes sex 🤷 and she’s able to engage in it without any strings attached, so it’s easy and quite fun for her to get what she wants and bounce the next day (or bounce them. get out of her room <3 your job is done <33) ((i feel so sorry for the people who caught feelings and she treated that way oop. at least the sex was fire))

MAEVE — not something i've really considered for her even after all the years, because all of her relationships are so long-lasting and in depth. i don't think she'd necessarily be opposed to the thought of one if she feels a connection?? but there's an inherent risk to it in that she'd probably develop feelings like the emotional bitch she is. honestly the highest chance i see of a one-off hookup would be her and Ilya picking somebody up because the Vibes are hitting just right, but even then their group play is more focused on inviting already well known and established lovers/partners so idk lmao

AURETTA — i don't see them as something she'd engage in frequently, but she probably has a good number of them under her belt. a lot of hot elves in that magic city, a lot of exploring to do as a young half-elf who can't hold a steady relationship to save her life. i also 100% see her as the type to go for it on the eve of a battle, or even after the battle is won as a little treat. already riding that high of a victory, may as well try to ride smth else y'know what i mean

Are your OC’s parents still together? To what degree do they look to their own parents as a model for their own ideal relationship?

RIYA — answered here!

MAEVE — the idea of her parents resembling any kind of ideal model is fucking laughable and that only becomes more apparent to her with age. they resented each other by the time Maeve was born, plain and simple, and complained about each other to anybody who would listen. (her father less frequently because he was more of a pushover, but it still boiled over from time to time.) i never decided if Maeve ever sees them again after leaving White Orchard, and i’ve also never decided if they’re still together or not. there’s the concept that the money and resources Carden gave them saved their marriage because it saved the farm, but there’s also an equal chance that Fanette simply took all the money one night and used it to run back to her family while leaving Moshe behind 🤷🏻

AURETTA — answered here!

Does your OC judge themselves by the same standards as they apply to others? Or are they sometimes hypocritical in condemning others for faults they also possess? Or perhaps they find it easier to forgive others for things that they cannot abide in themselves?

RIYA — this would have to imply a certain level of self-reflection being done that i simply don't see for Riya at this time. she might be aware of a few surface flaws of hers, but even then she can excuse/explain them away and not really consider them real flaws. just cute quirks bc she's a hot girl. heart shaped red flags. and i think you can kinda see that when she'll be a little lenient towards somebody expressing similar faults to her, because she's expressing some empathy there even if it's something ridiculous to others. i do see many occasions of her dunking on others though just because she's a judgy bitch.

MAEVE — was incredibly rough on herself for years, but she grows out of that with the right support and influence. gonna be so honest that Maeve's flaws are not things she'd condemn others for, outside of maybe being a bit manipulative sometimes?? i could see that being something that she harps on others for, then gets harsher the more intense their manipulation is.

AURETTA — Auretta has always been her own harshest critic, i see no reason why that wouldn't also come into play here lmao. she's aware of [most of] her own faults but they're built in deep and painful to work on, so mostly she sticks to simply condemning herself for them but ultimately shying away from growing out of them. meanwhile if she sees those traits in others? her family and friends are given endless grace, but others are criticized to hell and back. she knows she's being a hypocrite but it doesn't stop her. maybe if she bullies others hard enough she'll start to work on herself who knows

[eventinelysplayground]

The Vixen and the Wolfhound

So this is another OC 'kids' fic of mine, I say 'kids' but they are young adults in this. I do plan to write more for these two just this was where I started because it was what came together. This fic follows one of Nokto and Emma's daughters (romantic route) and Silvio's son, they were very briefly referenced in a Nokto fic I did before. A sudden frigid storm leads to taking the first step towards a roaring flame. WC approx 1285.

Two figures rode swiftly across the terrain as the sky around them turned dangerously gray. The rain came down hard and the wind whipped at them without mercy. They spurred their horses on but suddenly a loud clap of thunder echoed around them followed by a flash of lightning that lit up the sky in a blinding light.

“We can't stay out here!”

“Follow me, just inside the treeline there's a cave!”

The shorter rider turned taking off for the treeline and the other followed after a quick glance up at the sky. They broke through the trees and darted left going further inwards until they came to an outcropping of rock. As they dismounted their steads more lightning lit up the sky making them turn in unison to look upwards.

“Freaking weather.”

The taller rider pushed back their hood revealing long grayish blue hair pulled back into a ponytail, a chiseled jaw and deep blue eyes. He was often told he looked and acted eerily similar to his father and his current attitude did nothing to deter those sentiments as he stomped off towards the cave. As he approached the entrance he turned to the other rider and motioned to the cave entrance.

“After you Princess.”

“I'm fine out here.”

The princess shook her head vehemently and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Like hell I'm goin in there and leaving you out here! The whole damn royal family would have my head if they found out now, come on.”

“I said-”

The man roughly grabbed the princess’s arm causing her hood to fall from her head revealing long silver hair with a distinct chestnut streak and clear crimson eyes that sparkled like gemstones. As she was shoved into the cave she turned around, hand raised to slap the other but it was caught mid flight.

“Nice try but my reflexes are even sharper than your tongue. Why are you being so disagreeable anyways this was your idea?”

“Let go of me, Prince Dario.”

Prince Dario gave a wicked smile as the Princess tried to tug her wrist free from his grasp.

“Whatever you want Princess.”

Prince Dario let go as the Princess tugged hard and she fell backwards onto her behind causing him to burst out laughing. She quickly scrambled to her feet and smacked him on the chest before stomping off to the entrance of the cave in a huff. Silence fell for a long while after. Prince Dario sat on a rock absently fidgeting with a dagger while the princess remained standing at the entrance of the cave, her arms wrapped protectively around herself.

The time continued to pass in silence as the storm raged on outside the cave. Suddenly another loud crash of thunder broke the stillness and Prince Dario didn't miss the fact that the Princess jumped in place.

“What the hell, are you afraid of a little-”

Dario had been walking up to the princess ready to mock her at her fear of thunder but he stopped when he saw her close up. She was so pale, her eyes were shut firm and her hands clenched into her arms so tightly she could draw blood any second.

“Hey Maeve, are you ok?”

Dario reached out a big hand and placed it on Maeve's shoulder. Her eyes opened and she stared up at him looking lost and frightened, but only for a moment.

“It's pretty silly isn't it?”

“Nah, everybody is afraid of something.”

“Oh really, and what pray tell is the daring Prince of Benitoite afraid of?”

Dario knew Maeve's tone was mocking and that she clearly was not expecting him to answer.

“Crabs.”

“Crabs?”

“Ya.”

“Why?”

Dario looked down into Maeve's earnest eyes and sighed before looking out the cave entrance.

“When I was little I accompanied my Dad on one of his voyages. We had to stop at this patch of shoreline and like any small kid I got bored, started throwing rocks around. Well guess I hit one or something cause this massive crab came out followed by a few more and started comin after me. I didn't really like em before that, they had always looked creepy as hell but these ones were huge and pissed off. I ran so fast, Carlo almost had a heart attack when he saw them all chasing after me. My Dad and some of the sailors took care of em though.”

Dario looked back down at Maeve who's expression wasn't one of mockery like he had expected but rather shock and curiosity.

“What about you, what's up with the thunder?”

“It's not the thunder, not really anyways. It's more the cave.”

“Huh, but the cave was your idea?”

“I'm aware of that.”

“So what's with the cave then?”

“When I was….maybe four years old, I was bored one day. Three of my older sisters were having lessons and my younger brothers were taking a nap. So after losing my nanny I was wandering around and eventually left the boundaries of where I was allowed to be.”

Dario let out a throaty chuckle.

“Why ain't I surprised.”

A small smile crept on to Maeve's face and she nudged Dario with her shoulder.

“Anyways as I was exploring I spotted my Uncle Clavis and Aurora pretty far up ahead and I gave chase calling for them but they didn't hear me and kept walking away. I ran faster and then suddenly the ground gave out underneath me. I had fallen into a pit trap, it was really deep and dark, and smelly. I tried reaching up but I was way too short plus it turns out I had sprained my ankle in the fall so I couldn't stand for long but at the time I just knew it hurt.

I shouted and screamed but I guess they were too far to hear me. I was in there for a really long time and then it started to rain badly, a lot like today actually. I didn't particularly like small places or thunder before that but….I spent all night in that pit. I was so cold and scared and all alone, at least it stopped raining during the night. My Uncle Licht finally found me just as the sun had started rising, I never saw him look so frightened and relieved at the same time.”

Another crash of thunder peeled through the sky causing Maeve to shut her eyes again as tears rolled down her cheeks while she curled into herself.

Dario looked at her not knowing what to say, he had never seen this side of her before. He hadn't been in Rhodolite very long but even just that short time was enough for him to figure out why she was called the beastly princess, not that he ever cared. He found her a refreshing change and he appreciated these glimpses of the side of her that she clearly kept hidden from most.

More thunder came followed by a fierce gust of wind and Dario watched Maeve try to make herself even smaller. Before he knew entirely what he was doing he had moved behind her and wrapped her tightly in his arms while covering her with his cloak.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothin.”

“Nothing?”

“Just this way you'll stay warm, and know you aren't alone.”

Dario could feel the heat in his cheeks but he didn't care, especially not when he noticed how red the tips of Maeve's ears were.

“Dario?”

“Ya?”

“I still don't like you.”

Dario smiled to himself not believing that for a second. He decided to take a risk and gently kissed the top of Maeve's head before resting his chin on it.

“Whatever you say Princess.”

[yazaleearchive]

I'll Just Have To Make Sure

When Aziliz finds her, Maeve is sitting in an armchair in her room, her face empty and a glass in her hand.

“That’s my drink,” Aziliz deadpans, and grabs the cup to swallow some of the amber liquor, before putting it back on a small reading table by the window. “Why is the princess sulking, now?”

Maeve responds with a scathing look.

“Don’t,” her voice is choked by raw, venomous anger. “Don’t call me that again or I swear I will kill you in cold blood.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Aziliz shoots back, dead-serious.

Maeve does not move from her position, but she shakes her head. “Are you here to play with me, Kervran?”

No answer.

“You can hate me-”

“And I do,” Aziliz pipes in.

“But don’t you think that’s a little low, even for you?” The unveiled jab at Aziliz’ birth status is crude, but Maeve just wants to strike back. To hurt back.

The other girl shrugs, unaffected and Maeve’s fury tugs at her fiercely.

“You still look like a princess to me.”

Bewildered, Maeve motion to her messy night gown, her half-drunk glass of spirits and her worn-out complexion. “I’m nothing, and surely not a princess any more.” She scoffs, “Actually, I was never one.”

“Bratty, commanding and proud.” Aziliz’ smooth voice explains without any hint of mockery. “You fit the part so damn perfectly, though.”

“Stop it.”

“I don’t remember you being so fucking fragile, Rohan.”

“I said stop it,” Maeve is slowly spiralling out of control.

Aziliz is propped against the window, watching her with cold interest.

“Ah, yes.” she says, a hint of savage satisfaction tainting her words. “Here she is.”

“What do you want from me?” Maeve answers hotly. “I can’t give you anything. Not power, not money, not even a pretty little accessory you can show off.” Her tone turns wry. “Our deal is off.”

“I don’t care for pretty,” Aziliz’ expression does not change, but her gaze grows impossibly more intense. “I want real.”

“I can’t do that either.” A resentful, broken whisper. “I don’t even know if I am real.”

Aziliz drops a knee next to Maeve’s hip and leans in, her eyes holding Maeve’s. Maeve stares back, eyebrow raised in defiance.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure.”

And then, burning hot lips are seizing hers. Maeve has been kissed before, but never like this. Nothing about the kiss is gentle. Aziliz kisses the same way she breathes: demanding, merciless, and vicious. It’s all bites and fight, and Maeve feels herself responding with the same desperate violence.

She is aware of how close Aziliz’ body is from hers, but she wants more and she makes to grab the girl’s hip, to keep her there. It’s only when Aziliz freezes that Maeve’s hand changes its trajectory, landing on the soft fabric of her sleeve before slightly tugging at it. Their mouth separate in an instant, as a loud gasp escapes Aziliz, or maybe it’s hers. She doesn’t know. 

Maeve hears wood crackling in the fireplace, can smell the ashes on Aziliz’ skin, can taste the smoke on her tongue. Bare fingers close around her nape and Aziliz pulls her head higher, deepening the kiss. Maeve hums in the girl’s mouth and the moan that answers her sends irrepressible shivers throughout her entire body.

As if shaken awake from a daydream, Aziliz pulls away and takes a step back. Her lips are red and swollen and her pupils are blown out. Maeve is breathing heavily, her hooded gaze trailing over Aziliz’ sloppy appearance in delight - she had never seen the girl looking anything close to bothered, but now she was positively dishevelled.

Aziliz’ face returns to its cold impassivity, and she storms off. Before crossing the door, she turns and her golden eyes crash into hers. 

“You don’t get to cut off our deal on a whim, Rohan. We will be talking about this later.”

The door slams close, and Maeve is once again left with the fading warmth of the embrace. She takes the mental note that one day, she will be the one leaving Aziliz Kervran behind, hot and wanting. She might not be a vengeful princess any more, but she had not lost her taste for payback.

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ 🪞  ﹚ ﹕  there   was   a   gruesome   bond   shared   between   sisters,   a   mirror   of   each   other   neither   could   ever   really   escape⸻      immediate   to   recognize   maeve's   uneasiness   because   it   existed   within   her,   too,   no   matter   how   much   she   tried   to   hide   it.   henrietta's   smile   faltered   before   it   could   even   begin,   but   a   fixation   in   perfection   quickly   took   over   ﹕ shouldn't   lie   to   her   own   sister,   shouldn't   pretend   to   be   another   person,   but it   was   not   the   time   for   them   to   bleed   together.   not   when   her   sister   looked   like   she   needed   an   anchor.   not   when   this   whole   town   needed   to   look   at   someone   for   strength,   even   if   she   was   slowly   coming   undone   at   the   seams.   so,   she   forced   that   smile   again   and   willed   it   to   stay,   her   own   gaze   drifting   toward   the   price   house.   it   felt   like   a   betrayal,   this   hollow   composure,   but   it   was   necessary.   at   least   she   thought   it   was. “     you   know   it'll   be   okay,   right   ?     ”    she   said,   soft   and   steady,   like   saying   it   with   enough   conviction   might   just   make   it   true.   “     nathan   talbot   and   the   sheriff's   department—   i'm   sure   they've   got   everyone   on   it.   they'll   find   out   who   killed   alaina.   they   have   to.     ”   and   the   words   sounded   much   better   out   loud   than   they   did   in   her   head,   even   if   the   belief   behind   them   felt   paper-thin.   maeve   might   have   already   heard   all   of   thierry's   criticism   against   the   mayor,   many   of   them   probably   true,   but   henrietta   still   hoped   that   a   little   lip   service   for   red   creek's   leadership   would   soothe   some   of   her   sister's   nerves.   that   was   most   important   thing   here.   they   all   had   their   roles   to   play,   and   for   them—   for   their   family—   they   were   here   to   fix   the   cracks   ﹕ on   the   roads,   in   the   community,   in   people.   a   nivans   shouldn't   ever   be   the   one   to   break. “     if   it   were   up   to   me, though   ?   i'd   already   be   at   every   doorstep   with   a   search   warrant,   turning   this   town   upside   down   until   someone   gave   me   a   damn   name. ”   there   was   a   flicker   of   something   colder   in   her   words,   a   utilitarian   choice   playing   out   in   her   head⸻      far   from   the   idealistic   way   they   were   taught   to   follow.   but   it   still   made   sense   to   henry.   it   wouldn't   be   attractive,   but   it   sure   would   get   things   done.   it   sure   would   put   them   closer   to   the   red   creek   they   should   all   aspire   for.   that one she had been so adamant to see since she returned home. her   lips   curled   faintly,   a   mixture   of   disdain   and   frustration,   but   tamped   it   down   quickly,   sitting   beside   maeve.   “     but   for   now   ...   we   have   to   trust   they'll   do   their   jobs. ”    and cue   the   fake   smile   once   more.

🗝️ open starter for anyone. 📍 norwood street, just outside of maeve's front door.

✦ ⋰ norwood street feels particularly haunted now. it's a feeling that maeve can't escape – the moment she steps out of her front door, she's there. it's there. she often finds herself looking at the front door of alaina's home like a deer caught in headlights. so close, but impossibly far on the one night that it mattered. maeve nivans has finally met with a problem she couldn't fix ; alaina price was murdered- gone from red creek forever- possibly joined the uncomfortably long list of people that you just didn't talk about. she wonders if alaina's home will be notated as the price house in red creek history ; reduced to a horrific event & molded into a haunted house to prod at in the same way the thorne house was. her heart seizes at the thought. as she peers at alaina's front door, it almost feels like someone looks back — she nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears the footsteps. hand pressed to her heart, she nearly squeaks. ❝ oh my god. a warning would be nice. ❞ the anxiety is a new hurdle, too. an unwelcome guest that moved in with the ghosts on october 31st. she breathes out through her nose before offering a warmer expression– ❝ sorry, sorry. i'm just— on edge recently. you understand. ❞

[bird-of-eternia]

Sylvia (Pt. 6 ending) Begin

(Rose gets a visit)

Inspired by Dr Hooks Greatest hits album and girls being gays.)

Something heavy was draped across Rose’s legs. She squinted through the pounding in her head. Maeve was sleeping horizontal across the bed, mouth slightly open. Rose heaved the legs off of her own. Maeve grumbled and tossed a pillow at her. She ducked and the pillow landed on top of the dresser scattering magazines and forgotten mail.

Her head felt like August’s drum set. After brushing her teeth and swallowing some pain killers Rose decided a nice cup of coffee and toast would do the trick to ease her hangover.

The migraine dulled into a steady tolerable pain. It was quiet in the apartment, peaceful. Rose sighed, reveling in the quietness. Peace didn’t come often once she had moved to California. It had been a constant flow of gigs, house parties, bars, and loud guests. There was always a few minutes of peace after a gathering though. When everyone was sleeping it off or too hungover to speak.

She brewed some coffee and sat on the balcony breathing in the cool morning air.

“Thanks for that.” a voice mumbled behind her. Rose turned back to the ocean, leaning on the railing with her elbows. Maeve was propped against the open door, she raised a coffee cup in salute. They stood in silence sipping their coffee and listening to traffic go by.

At some point August stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a sleeve of crackers and gave a half hearted wave as she crept back into her room. Bette was asleep on the couch with the girl who had spat on the floor last night.

Knock Knock

Maeve glanced at the door and then back at Rose.

“Louis?” She asked. 

“No, he knows not to come around so early after a gig. He’d call first.” Louis Morrison was their agent. He was a greasy looking guy who wore his shirts half buttoned and snake skin boots but damn if he wasn’t good at snagging the best gigs in town. Louis had learned early on that the girls wouldn’t be happy if he came pounding on the door after a gig. He knew they would need time to recover from their hangovers, if it was an emergency he would call first.

Rose shrugged and heaved herself forward. The headache was almost gone and the toast had settled the queasiness.

Knock Knock

“Ugghhhh, who the hell is it?” Bette groaned from the couch. The girl rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her frown tilted softly at the girl whose head was in her lap.

Rose sighed, putting her coffee down, ruffling the hair from her eyes.

Knock Knock Knock Knock

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on!” Rose called.

She had expected a salesmen, bible salesmen, delivery guy, anything except who it was. Icey water trickled down her spine at the sight of the person in front of her.

“Oh...Good. I was worried it was the wrong place.” She said sheepishly. Her brown hair was in a ponytail, some of it had pulled loose and was dangling to frame her face. She wore a backpack and at her feet a small gym bag.

“Wha...” Rose couldn’t speak. She had lost all control of her vocal cords, she hope it would return before tomorrows gig.

Sylvia noticed this and hurried to speak.

“I uh, well, I was in town.” She fidgeted with her hands. “No, that’s a lie,” she smiled anxiously. “I left. Freddie I mean. All of it. I left.”

Rose was still staring at her like she was a ghost. There was a slurry of emotions battling for dominance inside her. Sylvie’s eyes caught on something behind Rose’s shoulder. Maeve scooted herself next to Rose who had frozen.

“Hello,” Maeve gave Sylvia a friendly nod. “Rose? You okay? Can I help you?”

Sylvia’s big eyes widened and Rose swore she could dive in and get lost.

“Sylvia. Maeve. Maeve. Sylvia.” Rose rasped out the words. Maeve raised her brows looking Sylvia up and down.

“This her?” Maeve nudged Rose’s arm with her own. Rose could only nod.

“Hey.” Maeve had heard about Sylvia in bits and pieces. The whole band knew that Rose had had her heart broken back home. She had never told them specifics or names just that she wanted to be done with it. Sometimes conversations got heavy and they talked about their lives. Maeve was always around and had been in the room on one of these occasions.

“Oh gosh....I’m sorry Rose. I didn’t know. I mean I should have figured...” Sylvia stammered taking a step back. Maeve wasn’t exactly giving Sylvia a welcoming look after figuring out who she was.

Rose finally found her voice and scrambled for words. “No! no,” she chuckled awkwardly. It was incredibly uncomfortable standing between Sylvia and Maeve. She gave Maeve a sorry glance. “You came all this way?”

Sylvia’s shoulders relaxed. “I hoped the address on the letters was still the same.” She was holding herself now, arms wrapped tightly. She should invite her in right?

“I wanted to see you.”

Rose couldn’t believe it. That incredible weight in her chest returned but this time she didn’t have a drink in her hand and she assumed nobody was in a joking mood. It sat heavy in her chest, threatening to drag her down.

I wanted to see you

“Freddie?” Rose knew she sounded shaky but couldn’t help it.

“He uh...He doesn’t know. I left last night. Didn’t feel like telling anyone.” She looked down the hall, no meeting Rose’s eyes.

She looked like she had been in a hurry, sweater and jeans with a haphazard ponytail. Two bags shoved full of clothes. It wasn’t like Sylvia to not make herself presentable, no doubt a habit her parents had instilled in her. Always look your Sunday best dear!

Rose felt a wash of love for her. It had been so long and they had parted on such strange terms. She was here now though. Maeve was watching but it wasn’t like they were actually dating. They had both had flings with other people within the band and outside. So Rose didn’t feel too bad when she stepped out into the hall and placed her hands on Sylvia’s shoulders. Sylvia was shaking with nerves but laid her forehead against Rose’s.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this.” Her voice was low, eyes closed. “I just...I listened to your songs and I...I was ready.” She was still fidgeting with her hands.

Rose reached out, holding them in her own, their heads still bent close. Rose smiled and recited the lyrics from her favorite song.

“I’d like to say a few things that have been on my mind.” Sylvia looked up in surprise. Rose softly sang the words this time. “And you know where my mind has been.”

Hot tears spilled from Sylvia’s eyes, she swallowed sang back, voice cracking slightly. “I guess I’ve learned my lessons,” her voice sounded thick with emotion. “and now is the time to begin.”

Rose sighed. It was similar to opening the windows in an abandoned house. All the dust and stale air rushing out, letting fresh air in.

[plethomacademia]

wip wed or drabble idk

I have always wanted to write what happens after Astarion's grave scene because in my game, the next day was when I went to kill Orin and I felt like there was a good angst brew in here. Anyway, first 750 words came together in a beautiful snap. Next 500 words are pretty good. Remaining 1k that I want to write is being an absolute prick, so have the part I love and maybe this is it for this thing. Not explicit but begins when Astarion pushes the character onto the ground in the graveyard so.

Astarion presses his hard length down onto his partner Maeve’s clothed mound. She meets him with her hips, meets him with her mouth as their tongues tangle. He moves to unlace her breeches, gets the cords just loose enough to open her pants placket and slip his hand inside. Then she turns her face away and breaks the kiss just enough to open her damn mouth and ruin everything.

“Astarion, my love, you can’t really intend to fuck me in a graveyard.”

He groans and presses himself up on his forearms to glare down at her. “Are you suddenly a prude?”

She looks at him in the way he likes the least, all raised eyebrows and twisted mouth. “No, I’m just not an idiot. Even if we didn’t have half the city’s powers looking to kill us, I am wearing trousers and I have no intention of having my arse in grave dirt, even if it is your grave dirt.”

“We could swap positions.”

“And then we are back to point one. Off.” She pushes at his shoulder but he is already moving to his knees. He adjusts his erection as she reties her drawstrings.

“You have ruined my romantic moment, you know.” He gets up first, then reaches out to help her back to standing.

She takes a moment to brush the dirt from her rear. “No, you had a very romantic moment and I was fully swept away. And now I am keeping you from ruining it.”

He rolls his eyes but when she reaches for his hands, he does not stop her. “Well then, darling, what is your proposal for the romantic evening that I had planned as part of the whole declaring my unending love for you? Or have you forgotten that part already?”

“Astarion.” She squeezes his hands, hard enough to make him look down at her. Her eyes have gone soft, just as they had earlier in that evening. It is still new, her letting him see her with her guard this far down. “No, I have not forgotten.”

“I supposed you would not be open to renting a room then.”

“No, I would not.” Her reply is quick and he can tell that it is final.

He does not argue the point. He knows why she insists on sleeping with the rest of their party nearby. It has been ten-days since she had lost control and nearly killed him in the middle of the night, but since that moment she has refused to even sleep in the same part of camp as him. Since they had been taking a break from sexual activity anyway, it had resulted in them splitting up in the evenings like youths who were having a chaperoned courtship. He wants tonight to be when they try to change that.

“You have not forgotten that either of our beds comes with about a dozen pairs of ears attached, have you?” he asks.

She laughs. “May I make a proposal for your romantic evening?”

“By all means, tell me how to proceed with my seduction of you. You do enjoy telling me what to do.”

“And you enjoy being told what to do, but we can play with that another evening.” She does not let him get in a word before continuing. “My proposal is that we take the room to the east for ourselves. We draw all the curtains. And then we do our best to be quiet.”

He enjoys the idea until the last part, but it wasn’t as if they would have been able to be terribly loud in the graveyard, either. “Is that enough for you to be comfortable?”

“No, but, it’s been so long, right? And Jaheira will likely still do her watch outside — don’t scoff, it is a kindness for her to do that. It is — She has been very kind to me, all things considered.”

Her voice cracks on the last word and he sees the softness return, that watery threat of tears. He kisses her forehead but she tries to talk her way through it, as she does so many things.

“I just — With tomorrow, Astarion …” She trails off and he sees her throat work.

He takes her in his arms and lets her hide her face. He holds her warm body against his cold one for a moment, wishing he knew how to show her that she can talk to him about this, too.