#and what his reaction was when she was back in the office

[felassan]

David Gaider on Shale, under a cut for length:

"Oops! I realized I'd moved on from DAO but missed one of the companions I'd written. Which checks out, honestly, because I almost didn't write Shale and, even after I'd written her, she almost didn't happen anyhow. Then she did. Prepare yourself for... PIGEON QUEST. 🦤 So... I'm wracking my brain, but I don't recall how Shale began. I have this vague memory of us wanting a "weird" party member who didn't conform to the normal classes (this was back when Dog didn't need to be in the party), and I think my mind drifted to an old indie comic character named Concrete."

"Now, your reaction to that is probably "who?" That's OK. When I explain that HK-47 in KotOR was inspired by an old Canadian TV show called the Littlest Hobo I get the same perplexed response. 😅 In short: Concrete was just a regular dude. Who happened to also be a walking hulk of rock. Cue hi-jinx. The problem here is I don't remember whether the Concrete thing was part of the original inspiration or something I thought of at the point when I started writing the character. Because I didn't, at first. That was later. Shale was initially taken on by Jay Turner, then one of our junior writers. Jay had an idea to make Shale more of a robot, an emotionless automoton killer... think HK-47, but without the layer of sarcasm. I was leery, and told Jay he'd have to be very careful. "Emotionless" can very quickly turn into "boring", after all, unless you're VERY careful. But Jay was determined. Sigh. This was a fail on my part, as his lead. There's been a couple of times in my career when I've let a junior convince me with their enthusiasm to take on something my experience said they shouldn't. And then watch their confidence crumble despite every effort I made to reassure them it was OK. This was one of those times. Jay, no idea if you'll read this but: I'm sorry. Even an experienced writer would have found that a daunting challenge. Tonia, my other Big Fail on a similar situation in DAI: I'm sorry. Both times, I should have known. You did your best, but I set you up to fail. 😔"

"Jay did his best, and this version of Shale was certainly interesting... but, when he was done, it was one of those peer reviews where every writer had that look of "I'm REALLY sorry to say this..." It felt flat. Jay tried numerous revisions, but the issue wasn't his ability - it was the concept. I only allowed my writers a certain number of tries before I take it away. This hearkens back to an earlier time at Bio when writers would hack away at something that wasn't working 6, 7, 8 times or more until finally their soul was dust. Mike Laidlaw can attest. Revision isn't always the answer. So I moved (a much relieved, I think) Jay onto something else, and the question arose: what do we do with Shale? Do we cut it? It was already very late. Then Shale dropped in my lap. I don't remember if it was me refusing to let it go or maybe Brent (Knowles, Creative Director) giving it to me. I suspect it was the latter, because I recall being a bit bitter about the whole thing. WHAT am I going to do with this character? At the time, they'd moved me out of the writers pit to instead be in a big office with the other leads. I had this corner desk by a window (yay) with an awful view (ugh) What was so awful about it? It looked out onto the neighbouring roof, where there was only an HVAC unit to see. In the winter, pigeons would gather around it. They pooped all over everything - there was this alcove around the access door, right? The pigeons roosted there and it was POOP FAUCET city."

"Not only that, the pigeons used the HVAC like some kind of sex den. Angry, ugly pigeon sex. The only respite was when a hawk would appear and the pigeons scattered. Then I'd get maybe a day when there was a single pigeon corpse, like an exploded ball of down, to act as a scarecrow. Good days, those. What does any of this have to do with Shale? Well, there's me, staring out the window trying desperately to think what I'm going to do. But I CAN'T stare out the window because, gross. But what else am I going to stare at while I think? It was making me furious. I hated those pigeons SO SO MUCH. And then it hit me: Shale is basically an animated statue, right? Something that pigeons are rather notorious for also gathering on? And so I wrote. I wrote like the angry, angry wind. I had zero time to do this so it was basically me vomiting all my annoyance at everything into a single character. Not that it helped much. There was a battle going on over Shale - first, as I recall, it was the art team. They were going to make every doorway in the game EXTRA HUGE because they were worried that Shale was too large and might clip. So, yes, let's alter the whole world to fix that. Good idea. 🙃 Eventually, they compromised by making Shale smaller. Sten-sized. Or Brent went Akira mode, but I don't really know. This was a battle happening above my level. Yet Shale got cut anyhow. There wasn't time to do her abilities and we were short on cinematics time. There was never enough time on DAO."

""Oh well," I thought. "That's that." I did what I could, but cut content is almost never resurrected. The idea was floated of making Shale into a DLC but I scoffed. Yeah, right! But... it happened. That's why the "almost" is there. Enough of the team liked Shale they made it happen this one time. This meant I could finish up the writing once we'd more or less wrapped DAO, and the rest of the team (cinematics, in particular, who were pressed the hardest for time) could move onto the Shale DLC once they were ready. It was supposed to come out well after release, but you know. Shenanigans. This particular shenanigan was EA deciding to sit on the finished DAO a few months in order to delay the release. Why? Again, not my level. To get closer to Christmas, maybe, or maybe for sim ship. It did mean Shale ended up being ready for release day. Unexpected confluence of events, honestly. Cue some fans getting upset that "cut content" was sold to them separately, which... fair, I guess? The alternative would have been that Shale was simply cut, period, and it just worked out this way but... yes, fair. This was back when DLC was the main beef of hardcore gamers. Oh, the good old days. Overall? I have a soft spot for Shale. She has no soft spot for anyone, being... you know... made of rock. It's why I put her in Asunder, and why she was also going to be in the - apparently now notorious for its Fenris murder - cancelled fourth DA novel. Also, if you're a pigeon fan: not sorry. 😇"

[source thread]

[annaphoenix1994]

Everlasting Lover

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

The drive back to Kiera's house was quiet. Lawson was the only one sober enough to get us back safely. If it were up to me, I would've driven, but I wasn't confident in getting everyone back in one piece as I truly had no idea where the fuck I'd be going. 

Roughly a half-hour later, the truck began rumbling as it transitioned onto the gravel driveway leading to the ranch, the lights from the main lodge catching my attention. I still yet waited to meet her parents, but that was a terrifying thought to me because by what Kiera had told me, her father was a hard man to please. 

Lawson parked the truck outside Kiera's house, tossing the keys to me as we helped Kiera get out of the passenger seat. She slung her purse over her shoulder as it was clear she was tipsy, but still aware of her surroundings. "Thanks, kid," she said to Lawson, taking the keys from me and putting them in her purse. "I may need to head out somewhere." She said to him, referring to making a sudden trip. 

"Not tonight, you're not." 

"Sun-fucker!" 

"What?" 

"You heard what I said." 

"You're right, I heard what you said, but I don't understand what the fuck that means." 

"Fun-sucker," She corrected, removing her vape pen from her Carhartt shirt pocket, taking a long drag. "That's what I meant to say." 

I shook my head with a smirk at her slurring speech, "Fucking hell, let's get you inside." 

"I know where I'm going." She said, nearly stumbling on one of the larger gravels in her driveway. 

"You sure about that?" I chuckled. "You're about to fall over, love." 

"Nope. Got two feet under me." 

"Two left feet." 

Both Lawson and Frankie began laughing, "Well, just make sure she doesn't kill herself. We're gonna head back down to the bunkhouse." 

"I can hear you, asshat." Kiera scoffed at her cousin, taking another long drag from the vape pen, embracing the feeling of an incoming nicotine high. It wasn't a good combination: liquor, beer, an empty stomach, and nicotine with an ounce of adrenaline. "I'm sorry, Simon. I just have a headache. I drank too much." 

"You're not telling me anything new," I smirked. "I'm sure it took the edge off. Now you can sleep it off." 

"Aye, Captain." 

"Lieutenant." 

"Right, sorry. I guess you're still in military mode." 

"I never come out of it, Officer." I replied, knowing she didn't like to be acknowledged as an officer unless she was on duty, just like I didn't like to be called anything other than Lieutenant when it came to titles. 

She rolled her eyes playfully, pulling out her keys from her purse to unlock the front door, snickering as she felt along the wall for the light switch as the faint blue light from her vape pen engaging with another puff gave her enough light to see where she was putting her hand. "Okay, I'm going to bed." 

"I was hoping you would," I shook my head. "Do you need anything?" 

"A million fuckin' bucks and another vape." 

"Give me that," I said, watching her take another drag from it. "That's the fifth time in two minutes you've taken a drag off of that bloody thing. Give it a rest." 

"You referred to it as a pacifier," She scoffed, frowning as I took it from her grasp. "I need it."

"What you need is to go to bed. Sleep off all that liquor that you clearly can't take." I poked, loving her reaction, especially when she arched her brows at me as if I offended her. Fuck, she was so cute. 

"I beg your damn pardon?" 

"You heard that, didn't you?" 

"Loud and fucking clear, Lieutenant. I can handle my liquor." 

"Yeah, it shows." 

"I can't with you." 

"No, you can't, that's why you're going to bed." 

"Oh, I can, I'll go get more right now if it means proving a point." 

"I'll pour it out." 

"You wouldn't dare." 

I raised his brows at her. In truth, I didn't know where she kept the whiskey, but I knew I could easily toy with her in this state, and I was taking advantage of it. I liked winding her up. It was a release for me as I couldn't recall thinking about anything military-wise while poking at her. "You clearly don't know me, then." 

"And you clearly don't know me." 

"You're right, I don't, but what I do know is that you can't handle your liquor. What happened to Adderall when I asked you back at the base why you could drink a lot and not seem drunk?"

She scoffed, "Such a jackass. And I'm out." 

"You're going to take the biscuit, love." 

"Who the fuck started talking about biscuits?" She furrowed her brows and opened her arms. 

"It means you're starting to push your luck, darling." 

"Well, now I'm hungry for biscuits." 

"Go to bed," I breathed a laugh. "I'll go get you a water." 

"Aren't you a gentleman." 

"Don't get used to it." I poked, although I was lying. I wanted her to get used to me taking care of her, because I could see myself tending to her for the rest of my life. I wanted this, yet I felt stupid because I was thinking about these things way too early. 

How does that saying go? When you know, you know? Or something like that?

I watched her walk towards her bedroom, leaving the door open as she set down her purse before turning the corner that led to her bathroom. I then searched the kitchen for a bottle of water, finding one in the fridge before hearing gagging sounds. Bloody fucking hell. 

I walked into her bedroom, which was definitely uncharted territory for me, but I didn't care. She sat on the wood floor of her bathroom, hunched over the toilet as the night's activities took their toll on her. "Least you waited until you got home." I commented, daring to step in and take a seat on the side of her bathtub. 

"Yeah, I'm just trained to throw up on command." She scoffed, and I could see that she was fighting the urge to throw up again. The smell was sour and mostly liquid - looking more like stomach bile. 

"Rough combination, love, but I'll have to give it to you - you took it like a bloke."

"Simon, speak fucking English." She sighed. 

I chuckled, shaking my head, "Sorry, let me translate for you: you took it like a champ. That better?" I asked, standing up to then get a cloth from the closet before dampening it in the sink and offering it to her.

"No, because I hate feeling like this." 

"Then don't try to have a drink-off with some stranger at a bar with whiskey after you've already had four glasses and a cocktail. It'll fuck you up every time." 

"If anyone took it like a champ, it's you. You haven't shown one sign of being drunk." 

"Because I know when to stop myself." I replied, making the move to pull her hair behind her shoulders, holding it for her before she regurgitated again, seeing it coming far before she even felt it.

"You don't have to be here at my whim. It's my fault. I don't want you to see me like this-"

"Let it all out. You'll feel better." I said, ignoring her statement. 

I wanted to be there. 

She relaxed after the next round of unmerciful bile, sitting down completely on the floor as she reached up to flush the empty remains of her stomach. I moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub, watching her skin flush to white. I then handed her another cloth, watching her press it against her forehead. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it. Here," I added, picking up the water bottle from the floor. "Don't drink it too fast or you'll be here all night." 

"Thanks for the tip." 

I breathed a chuckle, keeping my gaze on her as she looked to be searching for something. "What're you looking for?" 

"My nic-stick." 

"What in the bloody hell is that?" 

"You'd call it a Ciggie." She retorted, using my British slang against me by mocking a British accent.

I then patted the pocket of my jeans, "I don't think so. You're cut off." 

She scoffed, "It's mine. I paid for it." 

"You sure are paying the price for it right now, huh?" 

"God, I can't stand you." 

"You can't. That's why you're sitting." 

"Simon, I swear to God, if you don't shut up, I'll hit you right where it hurts." She warned, shaking her head as she noticed that I was sitting with my knees apart as it was a comfortable position for me. Manspreading, is the common term for it, but it was just comfortable. 

"Big words," I mocked, standing to my feet and offering my hand to her. She hesitated before grabbing it. "Let's go to bed." 

She tilted her head, "Wait, are-are you insinuating on going to bed with...me?" 

"I meant it as in getting you to bed."  

"Oh, well, I mean, if you wanted to, I got a nice King-sized bed in there..." She trailed off in a goofy tone, looking around playfully as if she were asking, but not asking directly. 

"I'll keep you up." I replied, not giving her a direct answer, hoping my warning of keeping her awake was enough. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my body around hers, to hold her throughout the night while I was her primary source of warmth while resting my nose against her head. God, I wanted that so bad. 

"I doubt that. I sleep like a rock." 

"Rocks don't sleep?" 

"It's a metaphor, Simon. Christ." 

"You still didn't answer my question." She cocked her head at me. 

"I don't know. I- you'll be awake all night." 

"Yes or no, Simon. Thought you were simpler than that." 

Take your fucking shot, Simon. Take it. Embrace her and protect her from her dreams. All you'll be doing is sleeping. There's no harm in that.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" 

A brief pause. 

"Yes." 

"I'll meet you there." I said, ensuring she made it back into the bedroom before I did, watching her sit on the bed as I walked by, sure that the smell of my cologne lingering in the room. 

When I returned in a change of clothes, she played on her phone, the TikTok app being her kryptonite as it distracted her from her brief sickness. She giggled at one of the many funny videos, watching me walk around the bed and sit on the edge. "Now you're hyper." I commented. 

"No. I feel better, though, but my head hurts. Now's the time to hand me back my nic-stick."

"Not a chance. You're cut off."

She rolled her eyes playfully before setting her phone aside and turning off the lamp, leaving us in complete darkness. "Good-damn-night." 

The bed rumbled from the chuckle that was stuck in my throat. I hoped that she was seeing that I was beginning to open up to her, and I hoped that she saw that I was only poking and prodding at her just to get a reaction, not to piss her off. 

I lay as stiff as a board on the bed, one arm draped over my stomach and the other folded behind my bed, my body laying over the comforter, listening to her steady breathing as she was slowly falling asleep. I knew I wouldn't fall asleep any time soon, and I was glad that I managed to bring her iPod along with me to drown out the silence. I looked over at her, reassuring myself that she was comfortable and breathing before sifting through her playlists. Living on the Sand by Colter Wall playing through the headphones I had found in the drawer of my loaned room. I then looked up at the ceiling, listening to each lyric as I imagined the song was about me. 

♪Keep that gun locked away, locked away, boy; Well, you know you're an angry young man; Going in town with six rounds you're sure to be Hell-bound; That house you've got is built on the sand...♪

I then began to wonder where Kiera's mind would go when she listened to this type of music, wondering how her energy matched with the genre. Perhaps it was the heavy strums of Colter's guitar, or Tyler Childers' raspy Appalachian voice, or Whiskey Myers' guttural lyrics - I liked it all, but it all held a darkness to it that held a lot of meaning and emotion. 

As the song ended, I kept his gaze on the rotating ceiling fan as a soft strum of a guitar played on the next song - Everlasting Lover by 49 Winchester began playing. I haven't heard the song before, but I certainly was going to listen to it. 

It enticed me as much as she did. 

♪Everlasting lover; Oh, how I owe you my gratitude; You were the first to make me feel like I ain't just some dude; Everlasting lover, baby, you've got the kindest eyes; And when mine are red and I look half dead you can't even realize; When I get stoned and feel rejected; weary from the road and half beaten down; you come off of your throne and I feel protected; Oh, and even from the bottom of the bottle I know you won't let me drown...♪

[pengweng-quack]

Bloodbound

Carlisle Cullen x Human!OC

Summary: Place Carlisle in the Edward situation of falling in love with a human, and see what happens

Chapter 12/?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Notes:

This is on Ao3 under the same title and username if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/54527830)

Leave your thoughts (or don't, your choice) in the comments, I enjoy reading through your thoughts :)

Word Count: 2587 words

General warning: I used some religious references in this story so read with caution if you're not so keen into reading that

TW for this chapter: drinking

PM or Comment to be added on the taglist for this one!

Masterlist

“And I promise that starting today, I will never leave you.” Carlisle whispered, pulling away from the hug and softly kissing her on the lips

With the kiss serving as a quiet declaration of his unwavering devotion and love, he hadn't expected Celine's reaction. A mixture of need, hope, and nostalgia rushed through him as their lips connected. He gave the gentle embrace his whole being in that brief instant, hoping she would know how deeply devoted he was.

Their hearts beat in unison, creating a tapestry of unfulfilled promises and shared memories with every beat. He lingered in the last of their connection's warmth as they parted, silently hoping that she had sensed his love's resonance resonating deep within her.

Pulling away from the kiss, Carlisle gently wiped away the tears that stained Celine’s cheeks, ensuring to leave tender pecks after each tear was wiped away, a silent reassurance of his presence and affection.

“I want to properly court you.” Carlisle whispered, their face only mere centimeters away from touching again

“I didn’t do it properly the first time. But I want to show efforts in pursuing you, I want to show you that I’m actually into you instead of just being with you because of this vampire mate thing. I want to show you just how much I am yours.” He continued, leaving small kisses around Celine’s face

Celine felt like laughing at Carlisle right now. She found it ironic that he hadn't considered the possibility that she was simply prioritizing her own well-being. She considered herself to be a rational woman, and she knew that her best course of action for the time being was to remain with the Cullens until the Volturi fiasco was resolved, at which point she planned to leave them.

Because why would she stay with beings that showed her how easy it was for them to leave her?

Everyone knew and agreed that the best decision now was to get Celine to live with them, prioritizing both her safety and her gradual adjustment to their way of life prior to her transformation. Carlisle graciously offered his room to her, allowing her to design it however she likes so that she’ll have a piece of her humanity in their home.

The people at the hospital slowly figured out that Doctor Cullen and Nurse Celine have gone back to their old ways, with Carlisle even going back and using his side of the office. No one knew what was going on between the two of them, all they knew was that Nurse Celine appeared slightly friendlier toward everyone compared to her demeanor before Carlisle's return.

Celine’s nonchalance to Carlisle was something that he couldn’t ignore though. She was kind to everyone at home, but when it comes to him, there’s this subtle coldness that Carlisle could feel. She was quick to engage herself in a conversation with any of them when they get home, and when he’s about to initiate any conversations with her, she was quick to call it a night.

Celine rarely reached out to him in regard of being a vampire as well, always choosing to ask Edward or Rosalie about the diet and all that she would need to know once she becomes one of them. It lightly stung his feelings that Celine wasn’t asking him questions instead but he didn’t worry much, thinking that Edward and Rosalie are just better at giving objective answers to her questions than he would probably be.

Because why would he be concerned when he has all of eternity to win her heart again?

~~

After a successful surgery resulting in the patient's discharge with just a scar, Doctor Cullen extended an invitation to everyone involved in the operation for a night out. Something that even Celine couldn’t get a grasp of why he was doing it.

“You all deserve it.” Carlisle only replied with a shrug when Celine asked, sending her a smile before reading the report about the surgery.

“You don’t even drink? Or eat for that matter.” Celine asked, sitting on the chair opposite of his

“When has that been an issue for us?” He asked back, averting his gaze away from his laptop and to her, his eyebrow raised

“I mean, what if they notice?” Celine asked

“Then I’ll just say that I’m your designated driver for the night.” Carlisle answered like he’s already thought of that specific alibi “Maybe I’ll even drive them home if they’re beyond definition of drunk.”

“I’m sure Nurse Grace would love that.” Celine said, pulling the laptop so she could have a read of the report

Celine pretends to not notice the nurses' evident enthusiasm whenever Carlisle is present. She remains seemingly indifferent to the way Carlisle's angelic smiles brighten their days, purposely ignoring the fact that his smile is wider when directed to her. She always just ignores the bubble of jealousy forming in her whenever he does that, deciding to just focus on her job.

‘Because why would it matter if he flirted back to them or not? It’s not like I cared.’ Her mind would always remind her

“Jealous?” Carlisle asked playfully, teasing in his tone

“Just telling you, don’t assume too much.” Celine replied cooly, ignoring Carlisle

‘You have a plan, stick to it.’ Her mind hissed to her. Though the blush forming on her cheeks says otherwise

“You have nothing to worry for, my love.” Carlisle comforted, standing up and going in front of her, towering over Celine as she was seated on the chair “I am all yours.”

“I know.” Celine replied quietly, still focused on the report and purposely ignoring how her heart is beating faster at his declaration

“I love saying that I’m all yours.” He replied with a grin on his face, kneeling to be on the same height as she was “Makes me feel complete.”

“Don’t be too dependent on me.” Celine warned him. She wanted to hurt him, but not to the extent of him reaching Edward status when Bella was still human and was presumed dead.

“You make it hard to not be.”

The day of the celebration has come, with everyone in the operation talking about it in the group chat. Celine opted to ride with Carlisle, eliciting a smile from him as they made their way to the agreed-upon bar for the gathering

The same bar that held Celine and Carlisle’s first date.

The rest of the family all watched as Carlisle’s car grew smaller in the distance, a smile on their face as they could see Celine slowly warm up to Carlisle again. They only had 6 months until her 30th birthday, and it seemed like Celine hasn’t really warmed up to the idea of being a vampire, only seeing it as a responsibility that she had to take for everyone’s safety.

“Do you think that 6 months will be enough?” Bella asked quietly, looking at Edward

“If Alice’s vision doesn’t change, then 6 months will be more than enough for Celine to welcome Carlisle back into her heart. Which would make the transformation less of a responsibility for her but more of a desire to spend eternity with him.” Edward answered his wife earnestly

Edward hid Celine’s plan from everyone, confident in Carlisle's ability to regain her trust and affection. However, observing the slow progress between them and Celine's persistent intention to leave Carlisle and their family once the Volturi threat diminished, Edward recognized the need for action.

“Family meeting.” Edward called loudly, getting everyone that was about to do their own thing to immediately go to the living room

The four of them were enjoying the night out and Carlisle felt happy that his initiation was the cause of it. Celine, Sean, Eunice, and Grace were sharing a bottle of vodka, but he couldn't overlook the fact that Celine seemed to be consuming more shots of vodka than the others, despite their shared bottle.

“No drinkin’ tonight, Doc?” Grace asked him, passing a glass for him to drink “One shot wouldn’t hurt.”

“Not a drinker.” Celine answered in a matter-of-fact tone for him, grabbing the glass that she was offering to Carlisle and drinking it “Learned that when we went out on a date.”

Sean, Eunice, and Grace all exchanged surprised glances, causing Celine to furrow her eyebrows in confusion at them as to why they looked at her like that, before realizing what she accidentally just said

“Whoops?” Celine asked, a sheepish grin on her face as she looked at Carlisle

“I did ask her out on a date.” Carlisle continued for her, knowing that her drunken state would not be able to find a proper alibi on what she said “Just one, then I backed away. I realized that I wasn’t ready for the love that she deserves.”

“Is that why you left?” Sean asked curiously

“No, that’s a different discussion. A very private one.” Carlisle answered, his eyes following Celine as she goes past the line of tipsy

“I wish you didn’t leave.” Celine muttered so quietly that Sean, who was next to her, didn’t hear her

“You are so drunk.” Eunice laughed at her, giggling as Celine grabs the whole bottle and chugged a lot of it before putting it down on the table

“Maybe if I was drunk, I’ll forget things.” Celine joked with a drunken smile on her face. But Carlisle can see behind her drunken smile that her eyes held so much pent-up emotions

"I remember how fuckin’ cold you got when Doc Carlisle bounced those first couple weeks." Grace started, getting Celine to sit up and look at her with don’t-you-dare eyes

“Tell me, I’m curious.” Carlisle said, flashing a smile to Grace that was sure to get her to tell the story that she started to tell, to Celine’s dismay

“She was so cold and strict.” She started before taking another shot of the drink

“You know, she's gotten all...like, real calculating since you split. Too smart, too tough to handle, Doc. And, like, even though we all can't stand Doc Daniel, he's the only one who can really get under her skin, you know? Like, brings out some different vibe from her, not just all authority and stuff. She was pretty rational before, but now? It felt like you took her heart with you when you left.”

“Grace, that’s enough.” Sean warned her. Carlisle was so engrossed with what Grace what saying that he didn’t notice Celine finish the remaining content of the bottle of vodka that they had and had ordered a second one already

Carlisle stood up immediately and carried his chair to sit next to Celine, her blood still being intoxicating but also had a hint of something else in it because of the alcohol. She was quiet, and her face was redder than usual. She glanced at Carlisle, managing a loopy grin before resting her head on Sean's shoulder.

“Tired?” Carlisle asked Celine softly, fixing the strand of her hair that fell in front of her face

“Drunk.” Sean answered for her playfully “I think you should take her home.”

Carlisle scooped Celine up with his arms, letting her rest on his chest.

“Keep the tab open for the night, all your drinks tonight are on me.” He told the three, earning cheers from them “I’ll take her home and call it a night for myself, I think.”

“All goods boss.” Eunice teased, mock saluting to him “Thank you for making sure that we’re all off tomorrow too.”

“Anything for my team.” Carlisle said to them with a smile, before standing up and smiling goodbye to them.

Carlisle quickly walked to his car, making sure that he gets Celine in the car all buckled up before he even gets in to drive home.

“Have I told you that you’re a really shit person right now, Grace?” Celine mumbled as Carlisle started the car to drive them home “He didn't need to hear that. Honestly, I doubt he'd give a damn about it anyway.”

“Why do you think that?” Carlisle asked her

“Because I just know.” Celine answered, crossing her arms and letting out a huff of anger “He walked away from me so easily, why would he give a damn about what I've become since he left?”

“Did you ever know why he left?” He asked her again.

Despite feeling conflicted, Carlisle knew he needed to seize this opportunity to understand Celine's true feelings. He felt compelled to understand her true emotions, even if it meant facing the painful reality of that he was losing her.

Hell, he’ll even fight the Volturi if it offered even a glimmer of hope for Celine to be able to retain her humanity.

“He said something about needing to protect me or whatever.” She answered

“You know what was messed up? I needed him more than he needed me! I needed him every time I wanted coffee because he’s the only one that knows the specific measurements for my taste. I needed him every time I would get any sort of sprain on my body, because he always knew what to do to ease me, and because I knew that if I ever fell, he’d be there to catch me, always. I needed him when I felt insecure, because— damn it, he never gave me a reason to doubt or question myself.”

“I needed him, in so many ways that I wish I knew how to express.” She cried in her seat, covering her face “I didn’t need protecting, I just needed him.”

“Did you love him?” Carlisle asked again

“God— I wish there was a deeper word than love that I can use to tell him what my heart screams.” She sobbed, taking deep breaths in attempt to stop her tears from flowing

“He was so gentle, so kind, so patient. He lifted me up so high, I felt like I was flying from all the love that he showered me with.” She continued, her words digging deeper into Carlisle, making him realize just how much he actually fucked up

“He came back though, didn’t he?” Carlisle asked, wondering what she thought of that

“For an obligation to me.” Celine drunkenly laughed “He wouldn’t have come back anymore if he didn’t need to.”

Carlisle wanted to argue, tell her that she was wrong, tell her that she was never an obligation to him. But he understood that this was coming from a place of pent-up anger, and the fact that he did leave her.

“What do you plan now?” Carlisle asked quietly, slowing down to hear what she has to say before they get home

“I wanted to hurt him.” Celine answered, wiping the tear streams that were on her cheeks “But whenever I see him, whenever I feel his tenderness, whenever I feel his love for me, it’s like my mind stops for a second to question if I was doing the right thing. If hurting him the way that he hurt me was the right way to go.”

“Do you still love him?” Carlisle asked, some sort of hopefulness in him

“Not once did I stop.” Celine answered drunkenly, a grin forming on her face “It’ll always be him. No man will be able to love me the way he did.���

“Do you want to hurt him?” He asked as he sees the house in view, realizing that Celine will one way or another figure out that it wasn’t Grace that was talking to her this whole time

“I have to. It's the only way I'll feel better about everything.” Celine answered, a strain in her tone as she says it.

Carlisle couldn't help but hope that the strain in Celine's voice was a sign that she didn't want to hurt him. Perhaps, buried beneath her words, there was a glimmer of reluctance, a flicker of hesitation that hinted at her true feelings.

[enigmaticexplorer]

Whenever you say that your response went on too long, I know I'm in for a good time.

I felt so bad for her the next day...she knows what she's doing, but she can't help herself! It's her self-defense mechanism

It's that self-awareness and the guilt/shame that accompanies it, along with the self-preserving innate human need to protect oneself. It makes for a sticky, uncomfortable, and maddening combination!

I was surprised that Fox was already waiting for her, but he is not just going to let this go. He wants to talk about it! I can't imagine how he felt all the night before.

I like to think he immediately went to Wolffe and they had a couple of drinks, and then he sat in front of a fireplace stewing. He spent all night sitting there (Wolffe abandoned him when he got tired); but he couldn't sleep. So he went into work as soon as possible to distract himself. Knew he was going to approach her as soon as she got to work. Got the alert about the cams and set out.

And when he said he wanted her that night, to me he wasn't necessarily saying he wanted to fuck her right that moment. I thought he meant he wanted to be with her, in all senses of the word.

Yes. You were right. It transcended sex. It was a pleasure-addled moment of vulnerability for Fox: admitting he wanted her - for the long term, through thick and thin, for always.

Well thank you, Commander Obvious! She is well aware of that fact, thank you very much!! But I am glad that he let her know that he knows though.

HAHA. This made me chuckle! But, to be fair, Fox is pissed off. And he's human. He has his bad-decision moments.

He was gone. He wasn't coming back to her shop. She'd driven him away. Which is what she wanted to do. But now it sucks.

Funnily, this is all part of Fox's plan. Yes - he's hurt and stewing and pissed. But he's also not going to force himself into her space when it will only make things worst. He's giving her space to stew; but he also has a guess that the distance might make her approach him. (Which is why he's so calm and unsurprised when she finally goes to his office.)

He KNEW who she was. He knew...how? BECAUSE FOX HAD TALKED ABOUT HER THAT'S HOW! He knew as soon as he saw her who she was. God, I loved that so much!!!

YES. Exactly! Fox told Wolffe about her (how could he not?). He's known about her for months. And of course he's going to be smirking at the thought of 1) her chewing out Fox (because she looks pissed, obviously), but 2) seeing his brother (hopefully) be happy.

I was so engrossed in their conversation, his reactions to her. How he was going to convince her that no matter what she said, he still wanted to be with her.

Me when men see their partner as a multifaceted human and still love her deeply: 🥹

Why was that so hot?!!! Honestly, why was that so fucking hot?

I know that MMCs lasting super long and being hella skilled in bed are what readers typically want. But I like my men desperate enough for their partner that they can't last long. The thought of her simply touching him and him nearly coming? It's my cup of tea; and I fucking love it.

"And I fell in"...LOVE! He was going to say he fell in LOVE!!!

And the way you ended up this chapter...brilliant!! Absolutely brilliant

Fun fact: the code to her apartment is the day the first Star Wars movie came out in theaters!

I'm going to reuse the only gif as my acknowledgement of all of your comments and how happy they make me:

Let Me Love You - Part IV

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

General Summary. An opportunity to expand your grandmother’s business brings you to Coruscant and a chance-encounter with Commander Fox. Friendship is your intent. But feelings grow, and with them, renewed fears. 

Pairing. Commander Fox x female!OC

General Warnings. Self-esteem issues; intimacy issues; trust issues; explicit sexual content. 

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Word Count. 3.4K

9 Kelona, Zhellday

Early morning sunlight greeted you, playful and eager. It was the same each morning. A monotony fitting Coruscant’s metallic environment. 

The planet’s controlled climate lacked the inspiration of a heavy rainstorm as the skies blackened and sheets of rain pummeled the fields. 

It lacked the novelty of a spring snowstorm as a dense fog captured the hills in its uncanny embrace and snow blanketed the landscape for kilometers.

It lacked the natural yet unpredictable change among autumn’s maple leaves and the joy of a harvest nearing completion.

Perched on the edge of your bed, you glared out the window at the cityscape beyond. Already the walkways bustled with life. Air traffic crowded the sky. 

A planet with more than a trillion beings and you were more alone than ever.

A result of your actions, you were well aware of this fact. 

As solitude consoled you with its quiet, independence-encouraged embrace, so too did self-sabotage comfort: a self-preserving shadow that protected you from the unknowns of the future. 

Both solitude and self-sabotage were formerly lurking forces that, over many years, became your closest allies.

They looked out for you. 

They wanted what was best for you. 

They cared about you.

They were voices of reason. They maintained an organized list of your flaws, and reminded you of them often. Not to humiliate or shame you. Rather, to protect you from the inevitable hurt of abandonment. 

You couldn’t be hurt if you never opened yourself to the vulnerability of being—

Your feet lurched to a stop outside the stained-glass windows of the gallery. The panes of purples, blues, greens, and yellows glowed beneath the morning sunlight. They weren’t the attention of your focus, though. 

It was the man with a shoulder resting against the door and armored arms crossed over his chest. A man who was seven hours early.

You ground your teeth. Clenched and unclenched your hands at your sides. Smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from your pencil skirt. Unease coiled tight with foreboding as you forced yourself to move forward.

Fox lifted his head. Straightening, he removed his helmet, his expression carefully blank. 

You kept your face equally blank. “What are you doing here?” 

“We received a security alert.” The answer was unexpected. Your relief must’ve shown because Fox frowned. “The cams on this street went out an hour ago. A malfunction. I need to check the gallery.”

Understanding the wordless intent in his response, you keyed in the code. The door swished open and you stepped inside. The overhead lights flickered on in welcome. Depositing your bag atop the counter, you motioned for Fox to continue into the backroom and then logged into your computer, pulling up today’s schedule. A moment later and Fox returned. 

“I’ll need your security footage for the last twenty-four hours,” he said.

“I’ll get a copy made.” Your gaze remained planted on your computer screen. “It’ll be ready tomorrow.” 

Silence, swollen with tension, thickened throughout the gallery. 

Opening a file, you prepared notes for your first two client meetings, waiting for the door to announce Fox’s departure—

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

You stiffened. It took far too much effort to meet his stare, and once you did, you wanted to look away. His gaze was too familiar. Too intense. Too intimate.

“I’m not sure what there’s to talk about,” you said calmly. “We kissed. That was it. It was a lapse in judgement—”

“A lapse in judgement?” His low chuckle was anything but humorous.  

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your arms wrapped around your stomach. “I won’t apologize for not inviting you—”

“Let’s start with you putting words in my mouth.” There was a rigid set to Fox’s shoulders: defiant, defensive. “I never said you were a hookup.”

“And I said that I don’t do them.”

Fox exhaled a sharp breath and then braced his hands against the counter. “You ran away from me. Without an explanation. Nothing. We could’ve talked, like the adults that we are, but you fucking ran.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You offered an exasperated smile. “It was just a kiss—”

“It meant nothing to you.”

“It was just—”

“A kiss.” Ire narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I got that.” Releasing the counter, Fox scrubbed his jaw, eyeing you with an unfamiliar hostility that made you tense. “When I told you that I wanted you, what did you—”

“You don’t want me.” Your voice was inflectionless, dismissive. “You don’t even know me.”

Fox considered you for a long time. Then, scoffing with disbelief, he turned on his heel and started toward the door. However, halfway there, he paused. He looked over his shoulder. 

“I pity you.” His voice was low and yet it carried in the silence: deafening. “You say that you want to be known—you’re a liar. You don’t want to be known. That means letting someone get close. Letting them see you. But you don’t let anyone in.” Steely anger hardened once-soft eyes. “You’re too fucking scared to give someone a chance.”  

Before you could react, before you could respond, Fox strode through the door and disappeared down the walkway.

The next day, Coruscant’s afternoon shone as usual: unordinary, temperate. You were filing notes from your recent meeting with a donor when the front door swished open. The unfamiliar cadence in the visitor’s stroll informed you that it wasn’t Fox. The differences in armor—white accented with red, no kama—further confirmed it. 

The Guard introduced himself as Commander Thire. You led him into the backroom where he checked the sword. He left with a perfunctory nod.

That night, huddled in a tight ball on one side of your bed, you gritted your teeth as tears puddled on your pillow. It didn’t matter that you were staring blankly out your window. They trickled down the planes of your face, as persistent as autumn’s drizzle pattering against red and gold leaves.

You were alone. 

You would always be alone.

The next day, Commander Thire visited your gallery at the same time with the same professional indifference. 

That night, you sat on your couch and watched hours of entertainment on the holo. It was mind-numbing. An endless relay of drama that kept you from thinking about him.

On the third day without Fox, you selected an elaborate recipe for dinner, purchased ingredients after work, and then spent four hours deliberating over your meal. 

Finely chopped vegetables, each measured to an exact length.

A pretentious sauce requiring varied times of simmering, boiling, and cooling.

Stew, slow-cooked and mandating both counterclockwise and clockwise stirring.

Bread dough left to rise to an exact second, and then kneaded for a set number of rolls.

Thinly sliced citruses, marinating in a simple syrup and then muddled.

Once finished, you sipped the vegetable stew, savored the spices of the sautéed salad’s sauce, munched on the toasted bread, sipped your citrus-infused, nonalcoholic drink. 

Throughout your silent dinner, you defended your actions and decision from a jury of mental critics. Not only were you protecting yourself, but you were saving Fox from eventual disappointment. He deserved better.

On the fourth day, while Commander Thire made his departure, you called after him: “How much longer of this?”

He paused. “ ‘Til Commander Fox deems the issue resolved.”

Your eyes narrowed. “It’s been four months. Do you really think the daily visits are necessary?”

“Commander Fox believes they are.” Commander Thire extended his chin in your direction. “He oversees this specific case. And he’s relentless with the things he wants.”

The fifth day without Fox’s presence, the 14th of Kelona, Zhellday, you were still mulling Commander Thire’s farewell from the previous day. For some reason, it was stuck in your mind. Snagged on an obstinate thorn. 

And he’s relentless with the things he wants.

As you strolled out of the gallery and down a darkening walkway, you rolled your eyes. Fox was relentless. Persistent in his objectives. Consistent in his doggedness. His relentlessness went beyond his career—it was obvious in your last conversation. The demand for an explanation. And the harshness in his parting words. 

I pity you.

Gods, you hated those three words. You hated the disdain on his face. You hated the way his judgement speared your chest and stripped you bare.  

Your pace quickened with your anger. 

How dare he judge you? 

How dare he pity you?

The mere arrogance was fucking unbelievable. 

For five days, you’d let his words exist without argument. Without debate. But he couldn’t have the last word, especially when his judgement was so inaccurate and uncalled for. 

A sharp turn took you in the opposite direction of your apartment.

Twenty minutes later, you strode into the former military base, now headquarters for various military and security departments. A lift ride spat you out on the Department of Security’s floor. Three Guards, dressed in armor, were chuckling about something. 

You strode toward the front desk. “Where’s Commander Fox’s office?” 

One of the men—a dyed mohawk slicing across his head—rubbed the back of his neck. “Commander Fox doesn’t have any available appointments this late in the evening.”

“That’s fine.” You leaned against the desk’s counter. “I’ll wait for him to leave.”

Before the Guard with the mohawk could argue, a Guard with a cybernetic eye strode out of an adjacent office. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear any armor. He glanced you over. “Down the hall,” he said. The beginning of a smirk curled his lips. “Last door on the right.”

With a curt nod, you made your way down the hall. At the last door, you rapped the metal. The door immediately opened.

“You had—”

Your voice faltered as you took in the two men seated across from Fox. Commander Thire and another Guard.

“Sorry.” Embarrassment flushed through your upper body, and you retreated a step. “I’ll wait—”

“They were just leaving.” Fox rose to his feet, levelling a pointed look at the two men. “We’ll continue this later.”

Commander Thire and the other Guard stood, the latter muttering under his breath, “We just got here.” Commander Thire thwacked the back of his head. 

As they made to leave, you scanned Fox’s office, taking in the stiff, gray couch pushed against an adjacent wall and a single holophoto mounted on the opposite wall. There were five men in the photo; they all wore different colored armor. You recognized Fox and Cody, and to your surprise, the Guard with the cybernetic. The two other men you weren’t familiar with. 

The swoosh of the door announced Commander Thire and the other Guard’s departure.

You faced Fox. He’d rounded his desk and was leaning against its front edge: relaxed, unflappable. It annoyed you.

“You had no right to say that you pity me,” you snapped. “You don’t know me—”

“I do.” Fox tucked his hands into his pockets. His gaze was steady on yours. “I’ve spent the last four months getting to know you. I know you better than you think.”

“Is that so?” He remained quietly composed, and you shook your head. He didn’t know the real you; the realization hollowed a wan smile on your mouth. “I’m opinionated and self-righteous.”

He merely arched a brow.

“I’m a perfectionist,” you said calmly. There was a desperation unspooling within you—a desperate need for him to see your flaws, your issues, and reject you. So you could finally move on. “To the point of being overly critical of both myself and those around me. I prefer things to be a certain way.”

Fox nodded solemnly.

“I’m self-preserving.” Your eyes narrowed at his unaffected demeanor. He needed to understand; you needed to make him see to understand. “I’m cold. Some probably consider me heartless.”

“I’m well aware of your flaws.” Fox spoke with an equanimity that made you stiffen. His eyes swept across your face. “I have them, too. I can be controlling when stressed. Dismissive of others’ feelings. Blunt and apathetic—so much so, it comes across as condescending.”

“We’re not talking about you.” He started to chuckle. “I’m not having kids.”

The statement cut through his chuckle and he sobered.

A knowing smirk sliced across your face. “I’m selfish when it comes to my physical and mental health, and I know myself. I know that I won’t make a good mother. But I do know that most men want kids—”

“Some of my brothers have kids. You know that.” Fox turned a smug smirk on you. “But I never imagined children in my future. I like being an uncle. That’s it.”

You gritted your teeth. “I don’t do blow jobs.”

Fox released a choked noise, and he brought a hand to his mouth, running his thumb along his lower lip. He looked…the bastard looked amused.

He was supposed to be disillusioned by these revelations. Suddenly uninterested, disgruntled. Not fucking amused.

“I don’t like being choked or roughly used or humiliated.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be used.”

Fox nodded thoughtfully. “All right.”

His blasé response was simultaneously shocking and irksome. You frowned. “I’m being serious.”

“I know.” He shrugged at your bemused glower. “I don’t care how you touch me. And I can be satisfied with just your hands. You learned that a few nights ago.”

“I don’t believe you—”

“I almost came in my trousers that night. All because you fucking touched me.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Don’t question the effect you have on my body.”  

Your lips pressed in a thin line.

Fox tapped the edge of his desk. “Would you suck my cock if I didn’t fuck your mouth? If I let you…do whatever you wanted?”

“I…” You pressed a palm to your chest, massaging it. 

The thought of tasting him—running your tongue along his shaft, sucking on the tip, exploring his body with slow licks—without the fear of expectation or being used was…appealing. You wanted to listen to his moans, and feel him tremble beneath your touches, and watch him come apart. 

You wanted to be with him; you wanted to experience the physical intimacy. 

But, even if he didn’t fuck your mouth, it didn’t matter.

“I’m not good at sex.” You stared at him, weary, drained. “I’m slow, and I struggle to orgasm, even on my own, and penetration can hurt. It’s a waste of time—”

“I fucking hate when you say that.” Annoyance hardened the consonants of his words as Fox scowled at you. He exhaled a long breath and then pierced you with an exasperated stare. “A man won’t give a shit how long you take. So long as he gets to see you naked—so long as he gets to touch you—he’ll take whatever time is necessary.”

“You’re ignoring the part about penetration—”

“There are other ways to find pleasure.”

“Sure, but sex is—”

“A learning curve.” Fox mimicked your stance, arms crossing his chest. “I don’t care if it takes months. I don’t care if it takes years. I don’t care if I spend the rest of my fucking life learning. All that matters to me is being honest with one another. And being willing to learn.”

You dug your fingernails into your biceps. “I don’t have the body type that men want.”

“You’re generalizing men’s wants,” Fox said sharply. “But you don’t know what I want. You’ve never asked.” 

You clenched and unclenched your jaw. “What do you want?”

“You.” Fox straightened to his full height and stepped forward. “I’ve already told you this—”

“You don’t want me, Fox.” Your voice was quiet, as hollow as you felt. “You may want me temporarily, but it won’t last.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?” 

As he closed the distance between your bodies, you backed into the door, eyeing him. 

“You’ll be disappointed with me,” you said. “Or you’ll grow bored.”

Fox braced his hands on opposite sides of your head. Trapping you.

“I don’t think you’re taking my points about sex seriously—” 

“Sex is only one part of a relationship. And I fell in—” He swallowed. “I want to be with you because I like you. I like being around you. I’ve had four months to get to know you—flaws and all—and I’m still here.”

The intensity of his gaze was too much to bear, so you lowered your eyes to a point on his chest. This close, you could see the failed attempt to remove a scorch mark just above his heart.  

“You said you pity me,” you whispered.

“I…was angry,” he said quietly, regretfully. “At you. With myself. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

A combination of sweat and something woody—cedar—enveloped you. As tangible as the arms caging you against the door. 

“I can’t promise that I’ll be the perfect man,” Fox murmured. “But I’ll hold myself accountable for my mistakes. And I’ll strive to be a good man.”

Emotion flared within your chest, tightening your lungs, constricting the back of your throat. 

This was supposed to be easy. Simple. He was supposed to dismiss you—see your issues and turn the other way. 

“You aren’t perfect.” Your eyes were trained on his chest plate, but you could feel the heat of his gaze on your face. He lowered his face a smidge. Your eyes met his. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. We’re human. We fuck up. We get angry. We disagree. It’s our nature.”

“But there are better options,” you said hoarsely. “Better women—” 

“I don’t want them.” His hands flexed against the door. “I want you.”

You shook your head. 

There were other flaws, you were certain of it, that would deter him. Make him realize he deserved the best this galaxy had to offer. 

You searched the crevasses and chasms of your mind, seeking out the organized list. But you’d already named the worst offenders. Would your preference to go to bed early qualify as a disqualifier? 

“I’m going back home.” You were trembling. “In three years. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.”

“I’d like to see the stars.”

“Don’t—” You looked away, swallowing the emotion threatening to release. It churned hot and volatile within you. “Don’t do this. Please.”

“Let me in—”

“You could hurt me.” Your back flattened against the door; your fingers scraped the metal. “You could really hurt me.”

Silence, and then: “Look at me.”

You ground your teeth. 

“Look at me.”

Your eyes lifted to his and, against your will, it happened. A single tear leaked onto your cheek, slowly drifting downwards, leaving an unmistakable trail. 

Quickly, you went to wipe it away. But just as swiftly, Fox grabbed your wrist, pressing it against the door. His eyes wandered along the tear’s trail to its conclusive end at the drop off of your chin, and then returned to yours.

“Let me love you,” he said quietly.

Undeserving.

Unlovable.

Never enough.

Another tear splashed from the corner of your eye. 

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.” Fox released your wrist and flattened both hands against the door once more. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

“I don’t know how to.”

“Let me in, and I’ll show you.”

A part of you wanted to close your eyes, press your palms to your ears, curl inwards on yourself until it all disappeared. Fox. The last four months. That damned tiny hand pounding against your ribcage, insistent for him. You wanted to ignore it all. Pretend none of it had happened.

A greater part of you—a part tired of being alone, tired of the hollowness within you—silenced your two closest allies and their lurking whispers.

“I need space.” You felt empty, worn. “I need space to think about…everything.”

Fox surveyed you for a moment, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and then gave a short nod. “I’ll walk you back to your place.”

The first day after your conversation, Commander Thire reappeared for the daily visit. His now-familiar face was a relief. You were grateful for Fox’s consideration.

On the evening of the second day, you slipped into your sequined dress and creamy heels, treated yourself to a private dinner, and then returned to the Museum. You spent four hours perusing levels five, four, and three.

Another three days elapsed without Fox and you went to the transport center, purchasing tickets to Lefaepa for the 1st of Yelona. No matter what happened, you were resolved to return home for the Harvest Festival.

After six days, on the evening of the 20th of Kelona, you retrieved your comm and messaged Fox: 0525.

The code to your apartment building. 

Masterlist | Part III - Part V

A/N: I feel like I owe an explanation.

For an embarrassingly long time in my life, I thought blowjobs were supposed to be rough. I blame it on the media I consumed. Books and fanfic, alike, always portrayed them as a very rough activity. It became ingrained in me. Blowjobs were rough. And you simply had to take it.

I wasn't interested in rough. And I thought that because I lacked that interest, then there was something wrong with me. Eventually, just the thought of sex nauseated me. If a guy showed interest in me, I immediately cut him out because I was scared of the possibility of sex and blowjobs.

It's taken me a lot of years to process and deconstruct this belief. It's something I still struggle with; I find it hard to believe, at times, that there are men who can be content without rough blowjobs. One of the ways I'm trying to "normalize" non-rough sex for me is through writing. It's why I've avoided writing explicit blowjob scenes for my most recent stories, and why there's been an emphasis on my MMCs being gentle when it's been explored. I know that I neglect male pleasure and prioritize female pleasure in my writing; so I wanted to explain why that is.

Also, this is NOT to shame people who enjoy certain types of sex. This is simply for me to see my personal wants/boundaries normalized and represented in fic. Thank you for understanding.

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Re: Well, she can hardly say "Netflix & Chill" and "Dirty Talk" in an interview. 😄

If Ze can announce to a whole crowd he fucked his wife for the last three days, she can also say that. Equality. 🤌

That's a good point. 😂

[whatsfourteenupto]

Fourteen has taken up watercolour painting again. They really like painting little scenes from town

[evermoreal]

price would be strangely possessive over his assistant.

referring to her as things that really aren’t work appropriate at all. “swee’eart,” “dolly,” “sugar.” once, a “baby” slipped through his teeth, but he was switching the subject before she could really catch on.

it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it was he started tacking “my” in front of his pet names. “my angel,” “my love.”

even when she wasn’t in the room — it was impossible to know he was talking about a colleague with the way he spoke about her. “my woman’s always on my case abou’ shit like that — cholesterol levels, sugar intake. fuckin’ bullshit, but i do it to make ‘er happy.” or “can’t stay long, lads — got my lady waitin’ on me.”

in the summer months, her skirts get a bit shorter and her tops a bit tighter. he doesn’t blame her, the AC is shit and the heat can be suffocating. what does bother him, though, is the way his men ogle her as they stroll past her desk. how they’re coming up with excuses to visit her throughout the day.

it’s an easy enough fix. “why don’t ye come work in my office for the day, lovey?” he’s already collecting her paperwork. “keep an old man company, would ye? i’ve got a nice little fan too, keep ye nice an’ cool.”

though the job came with benefits, perhaps more than an assistant should be getting, price didn’t think it was enough. when her phone started to slow and the screen cracked, he left a new one on her desk. didn’t bother mentioning it came out of his paycheque. if she complains about her outfit — all my good clothes are in the wash — he’ll take her shopping, doesn’t let her worry about the totals. and, hey, if they end up at a lingerie shop, no one has to know, right? he’s just being a good boss. it’s only crossing a few boundaries when he gets her to model it for him in the fitting rooms. when she disappears behind the curtain, john adjusts himself in his slacks — it’s a natural reaction. on that note, it would make too much of a fuss if he were to correct the worker when she asks if his wife needs any help.

when day turns to night and she’s refusing price’s suggestion of hitting another shop, he pulls into a nearby restaurant, insists on treating her to a glass of wine to end the night. finding out she’s a lightweight is a pleasant discovery — two glasses in and her skin is warm to the touch, she’s giggling and hanging onto his every word. he likes her like this, he decides — but it’s not safe to leave her alone. no, she should stay with him tonight. another few sips and she’s agreeing, changing into one of her new lingerie sets and falling into john’s bed, dozing off with his hand splayed over her tummy, beard tickling the back of her neck.

it’s been too long since he’s had a woman in his life. his wires have gotten a bit crossed. you can’t blame him, can you?

edit! here’s more <3

[tender-rosiey]

Can u do a drabble with jjk men where their child gets into a physical fight?

"MY KID IS NOT GUILTY, YOUR HONOR!"

— when your kid with gojo, sukuna, nanami, geto, and toji gets into a fight (f!reader)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband happily swings your hands together, as you walk to the principal’s office. meanwhile, you’re worried sick about s/n and what happened to him.

satoru rubs your hand reassuringly before slamming the door open and yelling, “did you win?!”

your eyes widen, but before you interject, s/n replies back enthusiastically, “yes, I did!”

you hurry to your son, kneeling in front of him to check him thoroughly.

you let out a sigh of relief when you see that he isn’t hurt in any way. sensing your distress, he hugs you. “I missed you, mama,” he says, snuggling into your neck.

“me too,” you smile and almost get lost in the moment, but then you hear a camera shutter. you look back and see your husband, holding a camera.

“oops, don’t mind me, hun.”

the dad of the other boy—who you didn’t notice was even there—stands up, livid, “can you take this a bit more seriously?! my son is injured!”

you’re about to reply yourself, but then satoru beats you to it. he stands right in front of the man and looks down at him, “surely, you’re not yelling at my wife, right?”

the man stumbles back into his chair, and satoru stares him down, making him sink even further into the chair.

the mother then speaks to you, “what your son did is unacceptable! look at how my baby is right now!”

looking at the other boy, you decide that the mother has every right to be mad. his nose is bleed profusely. you’re pretty sure it’s broken.

you look at your son and quirk an eyebrow, “s/n? what happened?”

“I was showing my friends the picture I got of you, and he said you were ugly! he can’t do that!”

your husband turns back and gasps, “he did what?!”

as if the dad himself is the one that is getting scolded, his eyes get teary.

meanwhile, you see the mother whispering to the boy, and he nods, ashamed. she looks back at you and says, “however, what your son did is not acceptable.”

“I know that the reaction was a bit much, but what your son did is also unacceptable,” you answer with your son nodding behind you.

“well—can you not be so close to my husband?” she snaps at satoru, whose cursed energy is increasing.

“you and your husband need to get taught a lesson if you raise a kid that’s so stupid he thinks my beautiful, divinie, and drop dead gorgeous wife is ugly,” he states, and the lady finds herself shrinking back beside her husband.

the little boy also scrambles into his parents’ embrace.

you place your hand on satoru’s forearm, and he immediately relaxes.

you smile and press a kiss to his cheek then pat your son’s back before instructing him softly, “you have to apologize for hurting him so much, though, s/n, okay?”

your son, ever the obedient sweetheart when it comes to you, looks at the boy, “I am sorry, but you should be sorry too!”

the other boy nods, crying, “I am sorry!”

your son nods, satisfied with the answer. your husband then picks s/n up and spins him around as he sings his praises, “I am so proud of you for defending mama like that! so so proud!”

the boy grins happily and hugs his dad. satoru then raises his finger, “but you gotta know that people are weak, so we can only do this to them all the time.”

your son nods eagerly, before wiggling to the ground. he runs to you, excited to tell you about his day. you grin and listen to him happily, ignoring the crying family on the other side.

your husband kisses the top of your head before turning to the principal with a smirk, “so, principal, is there anything you would like to say?”

“I am gonna piss myself.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

you dragged sukuna to the principal’s office, after you got a call of a major incident happening involving him. your husband insisted on dismissing it, but you just had a feeling that something is seriously wrong.

you both enter the office, eyes immediately falling on your son who is sitting unbothered on the chair. meanwhile, the principal is resting his elbows on the desk and striking a pose that could only be described as trouble.

when s/n sees you two, his eyes light up, and he runs to give you—and only you—a hug. sukuna scowls, “what about me?”

“you said you don’t like my hugs,” your son huffs, averting his eyes away. sukuna stares at him for a second, before picking him up by the scruff and placing him in his arms.

the boy looks at his dad, shocked, before snuggling into his embrace.

your husband leans his head just a bit on s/n’s head. you both then direct your attention to the waiting principal.

the principal taps his fingers together, but sukuna grumbles, “are you not gonna talk?”

you stifle a giggle—which sukuna notices and you notice the slight smirk now present on his face. the principal looks up at the three of you then speaks slowly, “well, you see…”

he looks up, “your son set my car on fire.”

a few beats pass.

then your husband barks out a laugh, one so hearty that it catches everyone but you off-guard.

the principal looks incredously at sukuna. your son tilts his head in confusion, before sukuna ruffles his hair, “how did you even do that? seriously, that’s my son for you!”

the boy thrives off his dad’s praise, and they get lost in their world, as your son details how he orchestrated everything.

the principal frowns, vexed. he clears his throat to speak up, “sir, I think you might have misheard. I am saying your son—”

“did I ask you to repeat yourself?”

the tone leaves no room for discussion, and it also sends shivers down the principal’s spine. your little boy snickers, and you side-eye him, effectively shutting him up.

the principal shakes his head slowly, then he looks at you for help.

truthfully, the man has every right to be both terrified and offended cause what the hell kinda is able to set a car on fire and act so nonchalant about it? it’s the kinda kid with a dad who backs him up for it.

however, the man assumes that voice of reason is you.

you want to help, but you’re just too tired. so, you smile, “I understand that what happened is harsh, sir,” he lights up, then you continue, “but surely, you can get a new one, right?”

the man pauses and looks at you with wide eyes, before spluttering, “wha—ma’am, you can’t be serious—"

“surely, you. can. get. a. new. one. right?” you glare.

the man nods frantically.

sukuna smirks pridefully, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. he leans his face near your ear and whispers, “my kinda woman.”

you smile and wrap your arm around his waist and squeeze his hip in return. you both exchange affectionate bedroom looks, forgetting about the frightened principal.

meanwhile, s/n looks at you guys, wrorried, and murmurs, “mom, you’re scarier than dad.”

despite what he says, s/n jumps into your arms and nuzzles against your cheek. your husband rolls his eyes with no real annoyance behind them.

with all the courage left in him, the principal smiles nervously and stutters, “you—you can leave now; I sincerely and deeply apologize for the hold up.”

nobody moves an inch.

“…please leave.”

NANAMI KENTO:

you, your husband, and your daughter are now seated in the principal’s office.

you are waiting for the other kid and her parents to come in as well. you’re tapping your feet, restlessly, but kento lays his hand on your knee and rubs it gently.

he nods at you, and you smile.

you know your daughter would never fight unprovoked. said daughter gets off her chair and climbs into your lap. she hugs you tightly, and you instantly start petting her hair.

she lets a small sigh, but then the principal enters the office with the other parents in toe. you see your husband’s eyes narrow, before he leans close to d/n and asks gently, “isn’t that the girl you said was bullying your friend?”

your daughter nods intensely and whispers back, “she was about to hit her today, and you told me not to let people bully others! that’s why I hit her.”

you pat her head, and she grins. kento hums then nods, “I get that, but couldn’t you get a teacher, sweetheart?”

“the teacher would’ve taken too long!” your daughter huffs, and she is right. but, there still is a lesson that she needs to understand.

the principal clears his throat and sits in his chair. “well mr. and mrs. nanami, your daughter has inflicted pain on a friend of hers—”

“bullies aren’t my friends!”

good saying, but this probably isn’t the time. you pat her back, and she instantly understands what you mean, so she—begrudgingly—calms down.

the principal continues, “as I was saying, she hit her classmate, and as you can see, it left a bruise. such violent acts are prohibited in this respected establishment.”

“shouldn’t bullying be prohibited as well?” you ask, and the man splutters.

“that doesn’t happen—”

“i can assure you that my wife is speaking the truth,” kento backs you up, “if you would like, we can check the cameras or what the teachers say regarding the environment you’re fostering.”

your daughter’s head starts spinning from the big words.

your husband places a hand on the top of her head before resuming, “while I acknowledge that my daughter shouldn’t have been physical in defending her friend, you ought to acknowledge that what the other girl did was also unacceptable.”

“and since you want to solve the root of the problem, shouldn’t you punish the one that did the bullying and warranted my daughter to act in defense?” you press on, and the principal gulps.

the father of the girl stands up, “my princess would do no such thing—”

“your record isn’t that pretty either, so I suggest you sit down,” you say with a smile, and it does the trick. the man immediately sticks to his wife—who has said nothing, and you assume it’s because she knew what her daughter did.

everybody keeps staring at each other for a while, with your daughter having a staring contest with the other girl.

“we will deal with our daughter accordingly,” kento speaks up as he stands up, straightening his suit, “but we expect that the girl is also held accountable for her shameful actions. thank you.”

you and d/n get up, and the three of you exit the office—like icons. kento holds your hand and d/n’s, and you giggle, “did you see how they looked?”

“should you be encouraging d/n about laughing at others?” your husband asks with a small quirk of his eyebrow. you nod confidently.

“if they’re rude then yes!”

he shakes his head helplessly with a smile. then your daughter looks up to kento as you are walking and says excitedly, “dad, I won!”

your husband looks down at her then smiles gently, nodding as he gives her a thumbs up. you raise your eyebrows and gasp lowly, “hypocrisy?”

“hmm, I don’t know.”

GETO SUGURU:

your daughters hang off their dad’s back as you guys head to the principal’s office. they squeal and giggle, and suguru has an ever-permanent smile.

he is holding onto your hand gently and says, “don’t worry; I doubt that the girls actually caused damage.”

“I know, but what I am curious about is why they would get into something,” you reply, pensive, “I know my daughters very well,” you smile, and the girls grin.

they start chanting your name, clapping, and saying I love you a million times.

you open the door slowly and are met with the principal standing in front of his desk and a girl standing on top of it. your eyebrows furrow in confusion, as you all enter.

your husband wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. he tilts his head, “so, what’s wrong?”

the man drums his fingers on the desk, leaning back, “your daughters have ganged up on my daughter.”

the both of you take a moment to examine the girl from afar. there seems nothing wrong with her: no bruise, no blood, no nothing.

you exchange looks, and you take the turn to speak up, “your daughter looks okay to me.”

the man huffs and crosses his arms, “she was hurt emotionally! severely too!”

the girl nods strongly and pouts. her dad gasps and hugs her. he then starts coddling her before asking her, “what did they say to you, sugarplum?”

“they said that I looked like a mole rat, daddy!” she replies, hand on her chest as she ‘falls’ to her knees, “and—and that’s only one of the many bad things they said!”

the man gasps yet again and starts comforting her.

you and your husband let out a snort, barely containing your laughter. the girls puff their chest in confidence. you and suguru look at each other with a poorly hidden grin, and you get caught.

the man fumes, “you’re laughing at my dear sweet princess sugar?!”

“no, we are laughing at the insult,” you reply.

“it’s quite creative,” suguru chuckles before turning to the girls who have long let go of him. he kneels down and asks them, “why did you guys do that?”

“she pulled my hair!” one of the twins spoke.

the other chimes in, “and she made fun of me.”

“oh.”

just from that word alone, you can tell which path your husband is gonna take in continuing this conversation. you have a half a mind to make him summon rainbow dragon to take you home.

you just wanted to know the reason, and suguru is probably never going to leave it at that. forget how ‘calm’ he usually is, his family should never be insulted.

“…see, this why you’re all a bunch of monkeys.”

“monkeys!!” the twins scream in unison.

this time both the principal and the daughter gasp incredulously. your secretly a diva of a husband carries your girls then holds your hand before exiting the office.

he walks in silence, and you quirk an eyebrow, “so, what are you going to do, mister ‘filthy monkeys’?”

“I have a feeling that you’re making fun of me, honey.”

“and that feeling would be right.”

the girls settle on his shoulders, freeing his arms, and he takes the chance to tickle you. you squeal, “suguru, stop! I am serious! not in public!”

“but you’re being mean, sweetheart,” he mock pouts, “such bad things you’re saying.”

your roll your eyes, and you guys continue on your merry way back home.

that event passed by like a breeze, but for some reason, the school has been appointed a new principal because the last one went missing.

I wonder why.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

“relax, ma,” your husband says as he rubs your shoulder in hopes of comforting you, “the kid is surely fine; he is our son after all.”

“I know, toji! but what if he did get hurt?” you fret then scowl, “I swear to god, if they harm a single hair on megumi’s head, I will make them wish they were never born!”

toji smirks lightly and ruffles your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before opening the door. he sees megumi sat, arms crossed and frowning.

involuntary, toji lets out a sigh of relief, and you waste no time in going to your son and checking on him, bombarding him with questions.

“did you get hurt?”

“no.”

“did he hurt you?”

“no.”

“are you okay?”

“yes.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, mom, I am fine,” megumi murmurs, cheeks heating up at your affection. toji chuckles at the display before looking at the principal.

the man purses his lips before sighing, “your son has beaten up jay.”

you and your husband blink silently. then your husband tilts his head, “who?”

the principal grits his teeth before standing up. he crosses his arms before huffing, “jay, the son of the town’s mayor! that boy is as important as his father, yet your son has so brazenly hurt him!”

you frown, “I don’t care who he is, and I am sure that my son won’t hit somebody for no reason!”

megumi nods, and you smile at him.

you pat his hair gently, and he reluctantly leans into the affection. meanwhile, toji has been listening silently before turning to megumi and asking, “who the hell is that?”

“the one with the sea slug hair,” he replies instantly. you let out a hum of recognition.

your husband stares blankly before he clicks his finger, “oh,” he then looks at megumi and ruffles his hair with a small grin, “I hated that kid’s dad—good job.”

megumi lets out a small smile before giving his dad a thumbs up. you roll your eyes with no real annoyance behind them and side-eye toji.

toji chuckles then looks at the fuming principal. the man, now red in the face, yells, “mr fushiguro, that is unacceptable behavior from both you and your son!”

“…okay?”

you shake your head and usher megumi out of the room. you and toji share a look, before you close the door. the moment it clicks, your husband turns to the principal with a blank face.

he takes a few steps, stopping right in front of the man. toji grabs the principal’s shoulder then speaks lowly, “you won’t speak of this, ‘kay?”

he nods frantically, face contorting as he tries to compose himself. toji smirks and heads to the door with a small wave, “see ya never, teach.”

your husband finds you and megumi in the school’s garden.

he sees megumi and yuuji—his friend—playing together, while you relax on the bench. for some reason, toji feels a wave of warmth flood his chest as when he sees you and megumi smiling.

yuuji yells something to you that makes you laugh heartily. toji feels himself relax and smile just slightly. it’s moments like these he feels ever so grateful to have you in his life.

and he swears to forever protect you and megumi. he has acknowledged a long time ago that his only wish is to be by your side.

that’s why, in no time, he is behind you, effectively blocking the sun. you look up from where you’re sat to your husband.

“hey pretty,” he hums.

you chuckle as he rests his elbows on the bench, “slain?”

he grins, “slain.”

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[foldingfittedsheets]

I was talking to my coworker today about my deep belief that more media should be finite. Some of the most disappointing endings in TV happen because there wasn’t an end goal that the plot was working toward all along. Ironically this came up because I was lamenting Arcane only being two seasons, a decision I admire, respect, and mourn.

I was juxtaposing How I Met Your Mother with The Office. The whole conceit of HIMYM is that the story is supposed to be leading toward this woman who haunts the narrative with her absence but because they set out with no end goal the finale is ultimately so unsatisfying. Nine seasons of build up for someone who could never have lived up to the hype because she wasn’t chosen beforehand or included early on.

Contrasted the The Office which was nine seasons that only ever claimed to be about the daily lives of office workers. Things get a bit looney tunes at times but ultimately the finale feels correct because there wasn’t some stated goal they’d been working toward narratively all along.

I then stated that the best and most elegant storytelling for TV was on The Good Place, in which every episode furthered the understanding of moral philosophy, advanced the plot, and was funny. It set out with a clear story and wrapped up exactly where it intended in one of the most satisfying conclusions ever that makes me cry every time.

My coworker then said, “What’s The Good Place?”

I froze. I frantically ran back everything I’d said thus far for spoilers and concluded that I had not ruined the plot. “You haven’t seen it?”

“No, it’s pretty good?”

“It’s. Really good.”

He mused about watching it with his partner or alone. I know he doesn’t like to rewatch media but I still suggested, “Watch it alone first, and then rewatch it with her. Trust me. The twist at the end of the first season will recontextualize everything and you’ll get to watch her reaction.”

I hope I get to hear him talk about it when I work with him next. I’m excited.

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[tbaluver]

hello! I hope you're having a nice day ✨

can I request LADS men reaction to MC sending them videos of their baby like it's either them saying their first words or anything adorable since the men are away from home for quite a while and MC and their baby misses them ehe (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Sending Them Baby Videos When They're Away- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff c/w: for sylus there's mention of him using his evol to x_x someone, no gore tho a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this was such a cute concept to write and i had to write this immediately (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) ‧º but i dunno if i did this justice so if it didnt, you alr know just pretend this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) anyways them as papas are such a cute concept i have so much of it in my drafts that i'll post soon ): enjoy reading and have a nice day or night anonnie ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He was sent away for a mission for a couple days due to fluctuations of Wanderers in the area. Unfortunately if he was by himself, it wouldn’t have taken days but his teammates were dragging him down.

His phone chimes, signaling a notification from you. Opening his phone he sees a video you had sent him.

“Rahhh!!” Your son squeals, hitting his toy sword at your plushies that you both won a couple years ago. Your laughter was in the background, making his lips tug into a smile. He missed you both as he watched the video. He was quick to text you back.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: is he protecting mommy

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: it seems i have taught him well

He clicked off his phone, determination bursting through him. He wants to go back home. The warmth of your laughter and the sight of your son, drove him forward. This mission dragged on way too long, he was going to finish this himself.

He moved swiftly, slashing his sword with precision. The hours flew by as well as the number of Wanderers. Without any word to his teammates from the mission, he headed out. He couldn’t wait to see the look on you and your son's face when he walked through the door.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎:  i’m on my way home now. does our son need a partner to protect you?

Zayne:

Zayne isn’t easily distracted except when it comes to you and a box of macaroons. Now if it was you and a box of macaroons that would be a deadly combo.

During his meetings or when he’s about to head into a surgery, he always lets you know if he’s occupied so you know he won’t be able to reply right away. But right after all of that is over, he’ll immediately check his phone for you and ignore any of his notifications.

But when he’s in his office, the moment he receives a message from you, he can’t help but glance away from the reports he needs to file or send over to the nurses. Your messages always pull him in no matter what.

He unlocks his phone and is instantly met with another cute video of your baby daughter. She’s wearing his freshly clean white coat, which she had pulled from the laundry basket. She’s also wearing his oversized shoes that are comically too big for her tiny feet. “Papa!” She squeals, her face lighting up with a silly smile as she looks into the camera.

A soft laugh escapes his lips and he can’t help but replay the video a couple more times, his heart melting each time. It’s as if he can hear her giggles through the screen. With a wide smile curling up on his lips, he texts you back.

☃︎ ♡: How adorable. I think we need to get her one that’s her size

☃︎ ♡: I have one more break after I finish this report. I can call you both when I finish.

☃︎ ♡: I’ll finish up my work quickly so I can get home sooner.

Rafayel:

He didn’t want to be at this art exhibition, or quite frankly any art exhibition if you weren’t there. All he could think about was being home with you and the babies. Leaving them behind felt like one of the hardest things he could ever do.

You sent him a cute and chaotic video while he was away. “Quick, show daddy what you just did!” you exclaimed, as you aimed the camera at your baby waving a crayon clumsily in their tiny hands while you cheered with enthusiasm. “Glub! gub gub!”

He couldn’t help but let out a wide smile, his little baby was going to be just like their papa, an artist in the making and even better they were learning Glubglubnese. The video ends up with your other baby blowing bubbles to their sibling and they start wailing.

Watching the video, his heart ached with longing for his family. He was a father. He was your husband and he shouldn’t have to miss out on all these precious moments he has wanted with you for a long time. He wanted to be there in person and experience the joy with you.

He texts you while making long strides to the exit, ignoring all the reporters and critics that tried to approach him.

𓆟:  tell them to stop being cute until i get back

𓆟: cutie im on my way

𓆟: i miss you and my little glub glubs

𓆟: getting the fastest plane ticket there rn

𓆟: see you soon cutie ( ˘ ³˘)

Sylus:

He was away for another business deal for a couple of days, a business deal that shouldn’t have taken this long and Sylus was getting irritated. “Mr. Sylus, we’re really sorry! Please give us a couple more days! We don’t know what happened to half of the inventory!” The man begged with desperation on his face but Sylus did not have the time for a couple more days.

Before Sylus could respond, his phone chimed with a familiar notification. He raises a finger, signaling for a moment while Luke and Kieran keep the restricted men distracted.

Opening his phone, he was met with an adorable video of your baby daughter. She was dressing up Mephisto in her doll clothes, her giggles flooding through the speakers of his phone. “Caw....” Mephisto caws defeatedly, his head drooping down. “Caw! caw!” Your daughter squeals, her laughter and yours was infectious as she lifts him up in the air, dashing around the living room with pure joy.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches the video. Once he clicked off his phone, a sigh escaped his lips. His heart ached with so much longing for you both and he couldn’t bear missing even more precious moments with you and your baby girl.

As Luke and Kieran snicker, stepping aside, crimson swirls began to surround the men, slowly suffocating them until they vanished into thin air.

“Send their team another warning. We’re going home.”

𓅪: The business deal is finally finished. I apologize for the wait, sweetie.

𓅪: I’ll call you both before I get on the plane. I hope I didn't miss much.

𓅪: I'll pick up more doll clothes for her on my way back.

Once he was in his private jet he couldn’t wait to have you and his baby girl in his arms again.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Pretty Boy | s.r. x fem!reader

a/n: you know i had to do something for glasses reid i’d be crazy not to.

“oh, here comes your pretty boy. capital p and b.” derek’s smooth voice entered your shared office with jj. you didn’t bother asking who, even coyly, he would just say something along the line of “your other half, pretty girl.”

so you rolled your eyes while scanning over a case file, not bothering to direct attention to the man. “and why the need to visit my space?” a teasing reply, both knowing his visits to the double liaison office were once in a blue moon.

there was the sound of shuffling before derek responded, “cause i wanna see your reaction.” such a vague answer that it caused you to pick your head up with a quizzical look, “what are-“ and you stopped when spencer poked his head through the cracked doorway.

“hey y/n, i brought you…” you didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. eyes too focused on spencer’s face and the new wardrobe attire perched along his nose.

your heart beat fast in your ears and you could feel your body warm in temperature. it was like you were sent back in time to high school and spencer was the insanely smart, pretty student ripped right from your fantasies. you hoped you weren’t drooling at the sight.

“y/n? you alright?” spencer’s voice was much closer now and when you blinked he was directly in front of you with the back of his hand to your forehead and a frown on his face. derek’s chuckles filled the crowded space and you couldn’t even manage a side eye.

“you feel warm. you didn’t happen to catch anything from the last case, did you?” full concern with round puppy eyes shining behind black frames. your heart was the picture of a popsicle melting on a hot summer day.

you took a swallow, “not- not that i know of.” eyes honed onto a freckle placed to the left of spencer’s chin.

derek laughed again, “ease up on her, pretty boy.” he moved closer and stood behind spencer’s left shoulder, a smug expression painted on his chiseled face.

“i’m just checking if she’s physically well.” spencer’s voice got high from defending himself and his actions while glaring at derek.

derek then jerked his chin at your sheepish expression, “well it’s declining each second you’re in her space.” joking at the expense of your crush, but spencer took it the wrong way and pulled his arm back to his side. “sorry, right boundaries. should’ve asked first.”

you managed to bounce back when he started moving away, “no! no, it’s- derek’s just joking. i- i don’t mind you touching me.” and it took two, two seconds, for your mind to process your wording.

“oh this is a great morning.” derek howled then decided he’s seen enough, leaving both of you hot and pink cheeked.

squeezing your eyes shut you wished for the floor to swallow you hole and drag you away from this situation. “i’m- i’m sorry… about that. bit- bit scattered brained right now.” trying to play everything off.

“you- you sure you’re alright? i’m certain hotch will let you leave early.” spencer’s brows pinched in the middle turning his face into more of a pout. oh he has no idea the effect on you.

you smiled gentle at his worry, “i’m well, just been staring at potential cases too long, that’s all.” fingering at the edge of the manilla folder in your lap.

“also i like the new look,” circling a finger around your eyes to play charades with him than just mention the holy glasses. “they suit you nicely.” friendly but said with a hint of flirty.

spencer’s smiled widened and his cheeks turned from bubblegum pink to a rosie hue, oh how you wish to just cover him in thousands of kisses. “thanks. i ran out of contacts for the month so i’m stuck with these until then.” making it sound like an inconvenience, but oh how you were gonna suffering for a month of those handsome frames.

you turned your head away before you were caught staring for too long and saw a baby pink bag sitting beside your picture frames. you reached out to grab it then pulled it apart to see a sweet morning treat awaiting for your teeth to sink in. “did you bring this?” asking spencer since you then remember that he said something when arriving but you didn’t hear what.

spencer straightened up and happily beamed, “yeah! i was walking past that pastry shop you like and thought you’d enjoy something for all your hard work.” you both knew that was a straight lie since that pastry shop is an extra ten minutes out of either of yours work routes.

but you didn’t comment on it just looked spencer in the eye and said softly, “thank you, spence. you’re very sweet.” and with a sudden boldness you leaned forward to press a delicate kiss onto his right cheek.

pulling back you noticed spencer’s lips were slightly parted, he looked almost winded from the sudden action. you were gonna apologize if you over stepped but then jj entered her office with derek trailing behind.

“uh… hi.” she stopped two steps inside then saw the way you both fidgeted to appear normal. as if you were doing something you weren’t supposed… “hi, welcome.” “everything normal here.” you and spencer talked over each other.

“okay, not even gonna ask…” waving a folder about, “but i found a case and hotch approved so into the conference room for debriefing.” jj gave both of you a final stare then walked around derek to flee the scene.

“come on pretties, you can smooch later.” “derek!”

[jadeddangel]

Hello! How about arcane charaters reaction to the reader wearing a pretty dress/outfit?

Please and Thank you

Arcane reacting to the reader in a pretty outfit

Jinx:

Whistles, like straight up

She'll stop whatever she's doing to give you all of her attention and I mean all of it

It's funny that you think that your walking away walking

If your a girl or a trans fem? She's got a strap in her workbench drawer ready for the occasion

You wanna top her? She's alright with that go straight ahead

Your male or trans masc? She will ride you until your shaking or give you head whatever you want

Your either passing out or crawling out of her workshop

"Oh! Hi bab- *whistles* well damn your a pretty thing!" Jinx giggled out excitedly,"cmere cmere! I wanna love on you!" Jinx insisted

"Ok ok ok what's up?" You said walking closer.

And then Jinx pulled you closer, whispering in your ear while letting out little laughs "yknow~ you look so pretty, but what if we just take it off?"

Your neck will be marked and hell she might even get you a collar with her name on it, just for a good precaution yknow?

Vi:

You're now not allowed to go anywhere without her

Your gonna go shopping and it's topside? She's got a hoodie on

You have to go to work? She's staying right where she can see you

Your working for silco? She knows how to follow and be undetected

She marks you, not even in a sexual way, she's just possessive

It's either your getting marked and she's going with you

Or your staying home and changing

"Little mouse? Oh, oh my..where do you think you're going?" Vi asked, leaning her side against the doorway

"Huh? Oh, I was gonna go shopping up topside and wanted to look nice. Why? Do I not look good?" You asked paranoid

"No, you just look a little too good, little mouse." Vi moved closer

Yea, on the other hand, if she decides you look too good, she'll just take it off herself

Silco:

He doesn't care

Like genuinely

He always has someone watching over you to make sure your safe

You insist you can take care of yourself? He'll agree with you(and send sevika after you)

He's borderline asexual and doesn't particularly feel the need to make sure your marked by him or anything

He knows he's feared in the underground, so there's nothing to worry about

You knocked on silco's door carefully hearing a muffled "come in" from behind it

Silco took a moment to glance up from his papers when he heard you walk through the door. "Ah good morning, my dear. I hope you slept well," silco said, setting his pen down

You nodded "yea I was gonna go out, so I was just letting you know "

Silco nodded. "ok dear, have a good time." Silco waited five minutes after you left to call sevika into his office. "Follow them," he ordered sevika

And this is the routine every time

Ekko:

You think your leaving your shared room like that? Hahaha no.

He will lock you in your bedroom till you change or will change you himself

After the day is done he'll insist you put it back on so he can admire you properly

Intimate moments were rather rare due to him running the firelights

So he definitely took advange of this

Those clothes aren't lasting through the night and neither is the grease paint on his face

"Morning firefl- no. Get back in that room now. " Ekko cut himself off, setting his coffee cup down on the counter and pushing you into the room gently

"Ekko nooo! Cmon, I look adorable!" You insisted

"Yea I know and I don't wanna have to deal with certain problems of my own and keep people from looking at you in the way only I'm allowed to, so change" Ekko finished before locking you in the bedroom and standing there until you were done

He loves you so much if you can't tell

[lxnarphase]

GOOD MORNING, BABY

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...ft. : h. hiromi + k. shiu + r. sukuna + h. kinji + t. aoi

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : somnophilia (pre-agreed on), thigh fucking, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, dirty talk, praise and degradation, breeding kink, sukuna is a dickhead, shiu really loves his girl, hiromi loses his shit, aoi is a great boyfriend, it's just really fucking dirty im not sorry

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : which jjk characters would fuck your thighs while you're sleeping bc they're horny but don't wanna wake you up !!

who does it to tease you ↴

✧ k. shiu ; he's slow, purposefully grinding right against your sex, his cock leaking precum all over your thighs when he pushes through them. shiu thinks it’s so fucking cute how you try to grind against nothing in your sleep, he can’t help but tease you a little bit, a little smirk on his face at all your reactions

“always makin' me do all the work, aren't ya? hm, got a pretty lil' pillow princess on my hands...” “your man had such a tough day, and your here all comfy and sweet, waiting for me t' touch you. tsk, should've come home sooner, didn't mean to leave my girl waiting." “god, always loved how damn soft you are, angel. mm, so so soft and warm, jus' for me. don't worry, i'll wake you up with my cock cummin' all over your pretty skin.”

✧ h. kinji ; to be fair, you caused this. you teased the poor man all day, and kinji knows he's getting you back when you telling him you're gonna take a nap, rubbing your hands against his chest while wearing nothing but his t-shirt. since you're soooo eager to tease, he had no issues with teasing you back.

“hm? going to pretend you sleep? c'mon, sweetheart, don’t you want to be fucked? you're so fuckin' cute when y'wanna try and be stubborn, hun." "i know you’re awake, i see your pretty eyes trying not to open. all you have to do is open them and i’ll stop fucking your thighs and fuck you instead.” “thaaat’s it, baby, tha's my girl. rubbing up against me while looking so pretty. let’s give you a reward, hm? gonna pop the tip in an' see how fast we can get ya to cry for the rest of it.”

who does it because they are desperate ↴

✧ h. hiromi ; there’s no knowing what caused him to snap, but hiromi comes home practically feral. it's hot, so hot as he quickly takes off all his clothes, uncaring about his expensive suit jacket on the floor. he’s been thinking about you ever since he left his office, thinking about every curve of your body, every sweet noise you’d make, and how delicious you sound saying his name.

“honey, wake up, please. ’m not fucking you until you wake up and look at me. you're not getting my cock til you look at me.” “beg? oh, no, no, no, pretty thing, no teasing and no playing around. the only one that’s going to beg is you, baby. now stop being a little brat and be good for me, yeah? don't wanna punish you, not when you look so cute right now." "how about i just fuck your thighs and, cum all on them? you want my cum to go to waste? or do you want to be fucked full of my cum like a good girl? make your fucking choice.”

who wakes you up ↴

✧ r. sukuna ; sukuna doesn’t even go to thigh fucking, he skips that. no, he’s grumpy his sleep was interrupted by the annoying rush of blood to his dick. so now, he's biting your thighs, sucking on them before going down on you, using his tongue and fingers to prep you lazily shoving his stupidly big cock inside you, humming when you moan yourself awake.

“look who's awake. took you long enough, I put so much effort into making you feel good before I shoved my dick inside ya. hey, don't smack my tits, brat, i'll bite your damn hand off.” “hm? you want me to move? mm. why should i? ...because i woke you up? tch...you're lucky you're s' fucking pretty or i'd just jerk off and cum all over your face.” "fuck, always take me in s' fuckin' good...i trained this cunt right, now she knows how t' handle my cock. 'member when you couldn't even take half of it in? look at you now, turned ya into my nasty little cockslut."

✧ t. aoi ; you fell asleep in aoi's lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you rested your head against his shoulder. the thigh fucking was supposed to happen, yes, but you were tired, opting out for cockwarming him as he watched whatever show he put on. but then you started squirming around, whining so cutely in your sleep. how could he not take care of his girl?

“oh, hiii, bunny...you’re finally awake? hey, shhh, shh, 's okay, i've got ya. feels real good, right? y'just sounded so cute, i couldn' help myself, pretty, you were squeezing me so tight.” “too slow? do you want me to go faster, darling? all you have to do is ask....heh, no, 'm not being mean! i just think you're cute all sleepy, is all.” “it’s hitting deep? yeah? maybe i should lift you higher and slam you down to see how deep i really can go.”

[reidrum]

hit me baby one more time | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: i have no explanation for this i just really want spencer to fuck me in a mini skirt. this was also fueled by me listening to baby one more time on repeat for the last week so enjoy my horny thoughts hehe

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v sex, munch!spencer, blowjobs, soft!dom!spence the loml, praise kink, spanking, suggestive dancing, kissing, afab reader, reader wears the outfit from the baby one more time mv (skirt and bra), i picture s11 spence so don’t mind the inconsistencies, idk if kirk actually wears a tie i am a star wars girlie not star trek, lowkey perv spence at the end but i would do the same tbh

summary: halloween brings spencer joy in many ways, this year he finds a new, and super fucking hot, reason to love the holiday more

wc: 3.3k

___________

spencer loved halloween. this was a known fact by many, he loved the lore behind the holiday, loved dressing up as his favorite characters, and loved playing tricks on morgan and jj around the office.

spencer also loved halloween because he gets to see you. not that he didn’t see you on a daily basis in the office or on the field catching killers, but in a state where you were carefree and didn’t have to worry about the behavior patterns of a psychopath.

in past years spencer has dressed up as different versions of the doctor (still claiming his tenth doctor costume was the best, because it was your favorite), the hobbit from lord of the rings, and nosferatu (to the dismay of morgan’s very scared reaction). you would go a more pop culture route, dressing up as characters from recent movies and shows including barbie, the scarlet witch, and wednesday adams.

he loved being able to tell you the lore of the different characters he was and he loved listening to you explaining the cultural significance and impact that barbie had on society. he could listen to you talk about literal garbage, actually, and still be hanging onto your every word.

what he loved the most, however, was your choice of costume tonight at the karaoke bar the team was out at.

for halloween this year you decided to go with a more nostalgic costume. clad in a black mini skirt, tied up white button up showing your tummy and just the right amount of cleavage to have your hot pink bra pop out, gray cardigan, knee high socks and mary janes, you were the spitting image of britney spears in the baby one more time music video. complete with the ribbon entwined pigtails.

the moment you walked in the bar, spencer knew he was utterly and absolutely fucked.

morgan knew about spencer’s infatuation with you, because, he’s morgan and spencer’s not subtle. so when he watched spencer’s mouth hang open like a beckoning for flies to land in, all he could do was pat him firmly on the back and say, “good luck, kid.”

he watched you walk over to the table the team had claimed, making your rounds at saying hi and hugging everyone. he was last, and when you reached up on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck he had no choice (lie) but to rest his hands at your hips while his thumbs brushed the bare skin of your stomach. he also had no choice (still, a lie) but to be deathly intoxicated by the smell of your shampoo and perfume as you placed your head in the crook of his neck.

“hi spence! your costume looks so cool, i love how it turned out. were you able to find what you needed at that store i told you about?” you bubbled happily.

it took spencer about ten whole seconds of staring at you (and definitely not at your chest) to realize that you were asking him something and tried to quickly (embarrassingly) recover, “um, yeah no i was! she knew so much about star trek and was super helpful, she told me how much she loves seeing you in the store.” 

you giggle, “i’m glad admiral kirk, she’s a sweet old thing.”

he should be ashamed at how you calling him that went straight to his crotch.

“y- you also look great, who are you supposed to be?”

“i’m britney spears! in the baby one more time music video?”, you’re met with a blank stare, “spence, we have to educate you better on the true icons of our time.” you playfully grab his forearm.

he laughs nervously at your joke and the contact and proceeds to down half his beer in one gulp. thank god garcia comes out of nowhere to gush over your outfit, “oh my god girl, you look so hot. you have to get up there and sing it, it’s only right!”

“let me get a few shots in first and then i’ll see, penny” you chuckle back.

after about two shots you were already feeling loose, whatever anxiety you had about tonight dissipated as the alcohol overtook your bloodstream. truth be told, you had a super secret mission up your sleeve. 

you would be a terrible profiler if you didn’t notice the way spencer changed whenever he was in your company, and it never made you feel uncomfortable. you only craved his attention even more, and it made your crush on him run even deeper. he was kind and smart and caring. and undeniably sexy. you knew for a fact he wanted you too, and you were determined to make him do something about it tonight.

knowing spencer hasn’t seen the music video therefore not knowing why the schoolgirl outfit, it turned you on even more knowing he was going to lose his goddamn mind after you were done. the plan was already rolling in your brain as you sauntered up to the karaoke stage and got ready to put on a show.

the beginning beats of the song play and you get a couple of cheers and “let’s go, baby!” from the crowd and your team— sans spencer, who was hanging on your every move as you started swaying your hips.

“my loneliness, is killing me. and i-i-i. i must confess, i still believe, still believe.” you sing and dance the choreography to the song you know so well.

“when i’m not with you, i lose my mind.” you make direct eye contact with spencer, and are more than excited to see him locked in on you too.

you decide to kick your plan up a notch, and walk off the stage mic in hand towards the bau’s table, earning many cheers and phones capturing the moment. you play up the theatrics a little by getting emily and jj to sing along with you, morgan and rossi leaning into you as you wrapped your arms around their shoulders.

“give me a si-i-i-ign,” you’ve reached spencer, and the last step in your plan.

your finger leaves featherlight touches around his shoulders and across his collarbone as you stand behind his chair. a flat hand trails down his chest closer to the bulge in his pants, spencer’s eyes widening at the gesture. your hand reaches the final destination at the base of tie, and you pull it so he’s looking up at you directly.

“hit me baby one more time.” you finish with the biggest smirk, never breaking eye contact with spencer. the cheers and claps became louder but all you could focus on were the deep breaths he was taking to compose himself. you give him a wink as you hand the mic back to the stage guy and walk back to him to sit on his lap.

“you don’t mind, do you? all the seats are taken,” you smirk as you feel his hard on through your lace panties, “plus i really want to hear what you thought about my performance.” you finish whispering in his ear. he shudders in your hold, but the feeling of your ass weighing on the place he needs you the most, his primal instincts take over and suddenly he has a boost of confidence.

he lifts your head so his mouth is right on the crest of your ear, “how about i show you what your performance did to me?” he shifts a little and lightly thrusts up into your clothed core and you let out a small gasp. luckily the team had all but dispersed throughout the bar, getting drinks or dancing, so no one has to be privy to your conversation.

the glint in your eyes was all the confirmation he needed. you stood up slowly with his tie still wrapped around your fingers, and you pull it over your shoulder so he would trail behind you as you walked. spencer followed you like a dog getting tugged by a leash, literally, and stumbles at first when you pull him but he quickly regains his composure as you navigate through the crowds, placing his hands on your waist protectively.

you end up in front of the women’s bathroom and spencer doesn’t hesitate to push the doors open and lead you inside. it was one of those single person bathroom with no other stalls, but it was definitely one of the more nicer bathrooms you’d been in. the maroon pattern of the wall adding to the sultry vibe you’re setting, not to mention a spacious countertop for the sink and amenities.

the possibilities of what was going to happen run wild in your brain, only being pulled out of it by the sharp lock of the door and the feeling of strong hands snaking around your waist again.

you look up to meet his eyes in the mirror and watch spencer fiddle with the edge of your button up, “i don’t think i told you how much i really like your costume.”

“yeah?” you lean back in his touch, “what do you like about it?”

he moves his hands to the middle of your chest, “well, i like how soft the blouse is,” he deftly undoes the knot, “and i really like the color you got on underneath.” he lets the ends of the shirt fall to your side and slides his hands up to cup your breasts through your lace bra, massaging them gently.

you let out a half gasp-moan, “what else?”

“this skirt is really cute, fits you well.” he hums while he smooths over the front close to your core, leaning down to press love bites into your neck.

you turn around in his embrace to face him, lay your hands flat on his chest, and look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you could muster, “want to see what’s underneath it?”

the ghost of a smirk lies on his face and he leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. his hand cups your cheek closer to him while his other one grips your ass and lower back.

his tongue slots between yours as he deepens the kiss, and he reaches down to the backs of your thighs to lift you up onto the counter. your legs open up instinctively and he steps in between them letting his hand run up the plush of your thigh to the band of your panties. he toys with the lace pattern of it before he detaches his lips and pulls the skirt all the way up.

he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact with you as he whispers, “this is definitely my favorite costume on you.” he’s face to face with your pink panty covered pussy and he lets out a groan when he notices the wet spot in the center. he tentatively traces a finger up and down your slit, gauging your reactions.

soft whimpers fall from your mouth as you let out a whiny, “spencer…”

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna take care of you.” he coos, “lift your hips.” you oblige as he gently pulls your panties down and stuffs them in his back pocket. his large hands push your legs apart, giving him better access as he tugs you closer to the edge and leans in to draw a long stripe up your core with his tongue.

you let out a high pitched moan at the contact, bracing yourself on the counter with your palms flat down. his tongue draws shapes on you and you feel his finger prodding around your hole before plunging in, driving you straight to delirium.

the sensations begin to overwhelm you and you feel the peak rising in your gut. you tangle your hands in his curls, “pl- please don’t stop.” you whimper.

he groans into your pussy and you feel the vibration sent throughout your entire body, enough to push you over the edge and let the white hot overtake you. he doesn’t stop pumping his fingers or his tongue as he drags out your orgasm for as long as you’ll take it, before you’re yanking him by his hair off of your core and up to your face to kiss him dumb.

the salty taste of you lingers on his lips as you grab his face with both hands and keep him close to you. he lets out a whimper when you tug his hair again, and you smirk as you break the kiss to slide off the counter and drop to your knees. you quickly undo the clasp of his belt, the sound of his zipper going down making spencer’s heartbeat go faster.

the size of his bulge through his boxers was intimidating but it only spurred your desire to please him more. you look up at him and offer an innocent smile as you lean forward to pull back the fabric of his boxers with your teeth and let it fall back into place with a snap.

the impact caused spencer to moan out loud, and he watched with bated breath while you slowly tugged his boxers down to let his cock spring free. you let out a tiny gasp, “spencer…i never knew you were so pretty.” 

his preening turns into a sharp moan as you take in the head of his length into your mouth. swirling your tongue around like a lollipop. you lay your tongue flat on the underside of his cock and slowly let it enter your throat until your nose is flush with his tummy and you’re gagging to keep him inside.

“ho-o-ly shit, fuck.” spencer groans when he looks down to see his whole length down your throat and your eyes bulging with tears at the fullness in your mouth. he wishes he had a photographic memory so he could engrave the vision of you on your knees for him in his brain forever.

you retract back and start bobbing your head on his cock, using your hand to pump whatever you couldn’t easily fit in your mouth. expletives and moans fall from him every millisecond, the feeling being so irrepressible that after a minute spencer had to pry you off him so he didn’t finish in your mouth.

“what, too much?” you grin mischievously, dragging your thumb across your bottom lip to wipe the spit.

his heavy breathing is the only answer you got as he turns your body around to face the mirror, and bends you down at the waist to lean your upper body on the counter. he flips your skirt up so your ass is on display for him and draws his hand back to give your right ass cheek a big smack.

you moan out languishly and he lets out a small chuckle, “kinky, are we?”

“you’re the one who spanked me.”

he bends down to whisper in your ear, “yeah, but you liked it. i can feel you getting wetter.” his fingers return to your core to spread the new wetness onto his cock before aligning it at your entrance. he slowly pushes in, stretching you out bewitchingly. he breaks his gaze from where you connect to look back into the mirror, and god, is he so fucking glad he did.

your face is beautifully fucked out, eyes glistening with tears about to fall over, cheeks flushed, eyebrows furrowed, your arms pressed so perfectly against the sides of your chest your breasts are threatening to spill out of your bra.

“god, you look like a dream,” spencer whispers from behind as he begins thrusting into you. you moan back in response and push back on his cock to meet his thrusts. the noise of your hips meeting and him sliding in and out of you filled the bathroom. 

“i’m so close, fuck, oh my god.” you whine pathetically. spencer can’t help but smugly grin in response, “already? it can’t be over that fast, hold it.”

you gasp out, “i can’t, please, i need to come.”

he wraps one arm around the front of stomach to hoist you up and uses the other hand to tug on your pigtails to lean your head back towards him, “you’ll come when i say you can. you’re my good girl, right? gonna show me how good you can be for me?” he whispers hotly in your ear.

a loud moan escapes your throat as you try to keep your composure and hold your orgasm at bay. his precise and timed thrusts doing nothing to help you, you feel yourself starting to float away, becoming so cockdrunk off of spencer you can barely keep yourself conscious.

“almost there, pretty girl. you’re doing so well, ‘m so proud of you.”

you make the mistake of looking back up at the mirror, becoming grossly entrapped by the image of spencer pounding into you from behind and his equally fucked out face tucked into your neck, “spence…baby, please.”

he whines at the pet name and finally gives in, “okay princess, you can come now.” your second orgasm of the night ravages through you, leaving nothing behind but thoughts of spencer. he continues fucking you through your peak, chasing his own release to come shortly after.

“fuck, i’m close. where d- do you want me to..?” he stutters.

“in my mouth.” you breath out.

he groans out loud, “on your knees.”

he pulls out of you and you immediately drop to your knees, not hesitating to take his length into your mouth and using both hands to pump the remaining. spencer puts a hand on the back of your head and guides you to thrust onto his cock until he lets out another stuttered groan, spurts of his release coating the inside of your mouth.

you make sure to get every last drop of him down your throat, seductively sliding your mouth off his cock with a resounding pop. you’re breathing heavily and you remain on your knees as you try to remember what fucking world you’re even in. spencer grabs you by the forearms to pull you back up to him, and gently perches you back on the counter noting you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own anyway.

spencer breathes hotly into your face, his hand coming up to caress your cheek and brush a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. his other hand remains on your waist, drawing soothing circles. you grin widely, and spencer notices and matches your smile without hesitation.

“what?” he laughs lightly.

“nothing, it’s just it looks like my plan worked.” you replied.

“and what was this plan of yours?” he grins.

“well, i just wanted you hot and bothered. i did not expect you to fuck me in a bar bathroom,” he blushes at your admission, “plus, you don’t even shake people’s hands. i definitely thought having sex in a public place, let alone the bathroom of a bar, would be so not your style.”

“i think if you keep wearing outfits like this around me,” he gestures to your disarrayed button up and bra, “you’ll be surprised at what i’d be willing to do.”

“so, is this a good time to tell you that britney has other music video outfits that are just as iconic as this one?” you gleam up at him.

his eyebrows raise in curiosity, “it certainly would be. on a totally unrelated note, i’m parked right out front.” he half jokes as he pulls you off the counter towards the door. you giggle and follow blindly behind him, when your eyes draw to the back pocket of his trousers and you notice a flash of hot pink.

“spencer! my panties, oh my god. give them back.”

he looks over his shoulder at you, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” he feigns. you roll your eyes and let him have it, totally ignoring the way he shoves the panties further down his pocket out of sight.

[pathologicalreid]

blue ribbon | s.r.

in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: chemist!reader, misuse of lab equipment i don't care, their daughter is very girly, glitter word count: 1.46k a/n: ending the post margotober drought with the very first margovember request!!! i promise i'm working on masterlists but for some reason they're exhausting.

“Why do I have to walk backward?” You grumble while trying to balance the end of the plywood on your knee, pulling at your badge reel to unlock the lab door.

Spencer nods his head in the direction of the keypad, “That would be why.”

Rolling your eyes, you push the door handle down with your elbow before pushing the door open with your foot, shuffling your feet. “Honey, can you turn the lights on?”

Lifting herself up on her tiptoes, your daughter flips all of the switches on the panel, cringing at the bright fluorescent lights.

Together, you and Spencer hoist the science project onto one of the lab tables, careful not to knock anything over as the papier-mâché volcano rests in your professional lab.

You and Leah had stayed up until eleven last night finishing the last coat of paint, even entertaining a visit from her Aunt Penelope so that the finished project could have a fine dusting of glitter all over it. Your dining room was now permanently sparkly, but the look on your daughter’s face when she saw the finished project made the mess entirely worth it.

Spencer steps to grab your jugs of white vinegar from the car, propping the door open so he can bring the supplies for the baking soda volcano in.

Obviously, you weren’t going to use the full-size volcano now, but Leah had refused to travel without it and Spencer believes that saying no to her is an impossible task. “Mommy?” The little girl pipes up, playing with the stirring rod that you had just set in front of her.

“What’s up?” You ask, leaning your hip against the counter, gently reaching out and adjusting the bows adorning her pigtails that you’d put in her hair that morning.

She looks over at the wall, minding each of the posters that line your laboratory, “What is that?”

You follow her finger to see what she’s pointing at, smiling softly, “It’s the periodic table.”

Humming thoughtfully, Leah sets the stirring rod down and walks over to the poster, “It looks like the one at home.”

Nodding, you get a step stool out for her to stand on, “They’re the same poster, the one we have at home is just a lot smaller than the one I keep at work.” You explain to her, knowing she’s talking about the poster you keep in your home office. “Come on baby, let’s go get you a lab coat.”

Setting a hand on her shoulder, you guide her to the storeroom, “Woah,” she breathes. It’s not a positive reaction, her eyes flitter all around the room, a mess of lab coats and goggles.

“Okay,” you say, shoving your way through the space until you find your locker, pulling out your lab coat, as well as safety glasses for the whole family. Holding a coat up to her and having her pull it on, you put your own lab coat on before looking back to find your five-year-old drowning in polyester. Laughing slightly, you adjust the lapels of her jacket, “How does it feel?”

Leah looks down at herself, “Cool!” She exclaims beaming up at you and giving you two thumbs up. She skips out of the closet and heads back to her volcano, almost tripping over the extra fabric of the lab coat, but Spencer grabs her arm before her knees can hit the linoleum.

He smiles at her, “Are you okay?” Helping her adjust her coat, he kneels down to her.

“Daddy,” she cheers, completely ignoring his question for the sake of being five years old, “Look at my coat!”

Smoothing her hair back, Spencer’s eyes briefly meet yours before he looks back to Leah, “You look like mommy.”

In a fit of giggles, he scoops her up in his arms in an attempt to avoid a tripping hazard, but she just thinks it’s fun. He sets her down feet-first on the step stool you had gotten out for her.

“Here,” you say, handing him a lab coat for him to wear and setting the safety goggles you’d gathered on the countertop.

When your daughter came home in tears because she felt like she had been assigned the ‘most boringest’ project for the science fair, you and Spencer quickly decided that you’d try everything to make her baking soda volcano exciting. At the very least, you’d work together to make sure she has fun.

Leah puts her goggles on and looks up at you for her next instruction, watching you divide the baking soda and white vinegar into separate beakers, “So, what will happen when we add these two together?” Spencer quizzes, watching you make careful portions.

“It’s gonna fizz up!” She responds correctly, bouncing on her feet while you gently push the first two dishes in front of her.

You nod, “You can pour the white vinegar into the baking soda,” You nudge her gently, knowing that you measured just enough to reach the top of the beaker, but not enough to flow onto the counter.

She uses both hands to grip the beaker and pour the liquid out, and the immediate reaction surprises her so much that Spencer holds an arm out to keep her upright. He trains his eyes on her amazement as the foam dissipates and the water and sodium acetate are left in the glass. “Can I drink it?” She asks, frowning up at her dad.

“No,” you both answer immediately, a sort of parental reflex. If you don’t answer quickly enough, odds are she’d pick it up and try anyway.

Disappointed, her frown remains on her face while her eyes return to the countertop, timidly, she tugs on Spencer’s lab coat, prompting him to crouch down to her eye level, “What’s wrong, lovey?”

Her eyes nervously look around the lab, eyeing some of the cabinets before she takes a deep breath, “Can we make it pink?”

“The foam?” Spencer says curiously, eyes flickering up at you while you nod frantically, already thinking up options so that you could further individualize your daughter’s glitter volcano.

She rocks back and forth, “Can we?”

As soon as Spencer says yes, it’s like a hold on you has been released, unlocking some of the cabinets so you can grab more supplies from around the lab, you return to the station with an armful of things to try, and Spencer mutters something to Leah about you being a mad scientist, leading you to maturely stick your tongue out at him.

You set up four options, taking photos as you go so you can paste them onto her presentation board. The first one is just baking soda, but you added a touch of dish soap to the vinegar. The increase in bubbles seems to greatly please Leah, so you decide as a team that the final product should have dish soap in it.

The second one has manganese sulfate mixed into the baking soda, and if the pink salt altered the color of the foam at all, it doesn’t impress your perfectionist daughter.

The third one includes phenolphthalein, which you think has some real potential, based on the way Leah’s eyes widen at the sight of it combined with the vinegar. The liquid was almost a fuchsia color, and she gasps when she pours it in to find that the foam is white, “It’s gone?”

You nod, “The phenolphthalein when it’s in the vinegar is pink because it’s an acid, but as soon as you add the baking soda it becomes a basic solution, so…” Your voice trails off when Spencer starts shaking his head, and you look down to find that you have completely lost Leah’s attention. Instead of listening, she’s trying to pronounce phenolphthalein, tracing the letters on the black countertop.

“What do you have next?” Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dropper bottle in front of you.

Picking it up, you drop some of it into the vinegar and hand it to Leah, “It’s food coloring.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Why do you have food coloring in the lab?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, the expression makes Leah giggle, “Mind your business.”

As a family, you watch the chemical reaction, the white of the foam mixing with the red food coloring to create the desired pink lava. “Oh,” your daughter says softly, “Thank you, mommy!”

Beaming down at her, you place your hands on your hips and sigh, “If you’d like, we can add glitter to the baking soda too.”

Wide eyes look up at you in amazement, brown eyes inherited from her father, “I love science,” she whispers.

Behind her back, you hold your hand out for Spencer, exchanging a silent fist bump—a quiet celebration between two scientists.