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faenemy · 7 months ago

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Hansel & Gretel + Snow White

I've never done a writing challenge before so here goes nothing :] For @thepenultimateword s fics and fables challenge :D

CW: Death, Attempted Murder, Attempted Cannibalism

On a cold, winter night, a noblewoman sat by her window, staring longingly at the sky above. Try as they might, the woman and her husband had remained childless for many years. As a star blazed across the sky, the woman prayed that she may one day have children whose beauty could compare to the stars. With hair as dark as night, skin as white as snow, and lips as red as blood, on a winter eve, the twins were born. They were all the pair could hope for, and brought much joy to their home. However, soon after the noblewoman came down with a terrible illness, and try as they might the kingdom’s best physicians could not save her. The nobleman mourned the death of his beloved wife, of the mother his children would never have, of her tender heart that they would never know.

As the seasons changed the children grew more beautiful, and the world welcomed them. Charming and kind, Hansel was loved by all who met him, soft-spoken, he always seemed to know what to say. Graceful and witty, Gretel was a quick thinker, who always delighted in a challenge. Though his children warmed his heart, the nobleman wanted more, someone to soothe the aching hole left by his beloved. Nearing the children’s seventh birthday, the nobleman returned from one of his many trips, with a woman. Though the children knew not, the nobleman had been visiting the neighboring domain often and had fallen in love with a woman, who he hoped to take as his wife.

Their wedding was grand, second only to the marriage of the king and queen, with people traveling from all over the country to attend. The children were excited to have a mother, for they could not help but envy the doting mothers of their peers. Though they had not known her for long, the lady already held a place in their heart. The only day that the nobleman had smiled brighter had been the twins' birth. However, soon after the wedding, the children’s dream would be shattered.

The new lady of the estate was not like the noblewoman before. Though she was more beautiful, her heart was frosty, and her cruel actions were only hidden behind a kind facade. She hated being a second choice, and the children acted as a constant reminder of that fact. How she loathed them, with their screaming and squealing as they ran about, a constant bother and nuisance. The lady could have cared less for the nobleman, for her, it was a marriage of convenience, one to cement her family's name. For that, she needed an heir, one of her blood, not another’s.

Despite her cruelty and disdain for his children, the nobleman loved her still, showering her with gifts of all kinds. The lady had a love for decadence, and extravagance, eagerly accepting all she was given, repaying the nobleman with her treasured affection. He had given her everything from jewels to horses. If he could, the nobleman would have gifted his wife the moon and stars. However, the noblewoman’s favorite gift of all was an enchanted mirror. Her husband had brought it back from the capital of the kingdom, calling it a companion mirror, someone who may keep her company while he was away. Though the noblewoman was skeptical at first, the mirror became almost a friend to her.

“Ask me anything, anything at all, for I hold all the answers, and gift them to you,” said the mirror.

After a moment's hesitation, the noblewoman asked, “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who does my husband love most of all?”

“You, my lady. His love for you is as deep as the sea, and as everlasting as time.”

The woman glowed at that statement, knowing she would not be cast aside. However, the noblewoman wanted to know one truth most.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

“You, my lady.” ____________________________________________________________

The noblewoman was ever so pleased with her gift, and spoke to it often, treasuring its words and reassurances. She knew her beauty was beyond compare, and even as she aged she remained ever fair. Everything she ever wanted, everything she ever needed, she held in the palm of her hand, and it was perfect. Until one day, on the children’s tenth birthday, the noblewoman turned to her mirror, and asked the same question she had asked it every morning since she had been gifted with its enchantments.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

“Matched in beauty, the twins Hansel and Gretel are the fairest of them all.”

Shock and rage contorted the noblewoman’s face. How could mere children be more beautiful than her? The noblewoman had always resented the twins, but now, she despised them. Anger coursed through every bone in her body as she heard the distant singing of the pair as they played.

As the noblewoman sat at the high table that night, the celebrations roaring about her, all she could focus on were the two children who dared oppose her grace. With bright smiles and blushing cheeks, the children danced through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and stories with their fellow nobility. All the while the noblewoman remained above it all, a scowl pointed across her face. Watching them with envy, the noblewoman began to scheme. Oh, the poor children would be beautiful no more, by the time she was through with them. It started with simple lies, of the children breaking things, of them neglecting their studies. Taking away Gretel’s most lovely jewels, Hansel’s father’s broach as punishment. Blame after blame was pushed onto the children, and all the while the noblewoman kept asking the same question.

“Who is the fairest of them all?”

Even without their jewels, without the elaborate suits and dresses that had been custom-tailored for the children, they remained ever beautiful. And so the punishments became more severe. The noblewoman would lock the children out of the manor when she could, then blame them for staying out too late and disobeying their father’s wishes. To make them miss dinner, she would trap them in their rooms, leaving their father furious at his own children’s disrespect. Try as they might, the children could never convince their father of the wicked woman’s wrongdoings, and only found themselves being loved less and less.

The manservants and maidservants tried to help the children, but to no avail. Anyone who was caught was quickly cast out by the noblewoman. And so, in a lonely estate, the children were left alone, with no one to turn to but each other. They would hide when they could, in rafters and secret chambers, anything to avoid their stepmother’s fury, and yet she would always find them. Her seemed never-ending to the children, following them through every hall and room of the manor in a relentless chase of torment.

Through all the noblewoman’s plots and schemes, each time she would turn to her mirror, she received the same dreadful reply.

“Matched in beauty, the twins Hansel and Gretel are the fairest of them all.”

Finally, the noblewoman had enough, and decided that if she could not strip the beauty from the children, then she would simply rid herself of them. The noblewoman wanted the children gone, permanently, and so she sought the services of a particular man. Hiring a talented huntsman, known for taking down the most vile and beastly creatures, the noblewoman gave him a simple task; kill the twins Hansel and Gretel. Whispering one more request of him, she sent him off, telling him that soon the twins would be far from the estate, alone and vulnerable. No eyes to watch over them, no ears to hear them scream, and no tongues to tell their tale.

The noblewoman sent the children out to the edge of the woods, to meet their father for a supposed hunting trip. Excited to spend time with their father, the way they had before the noblewoman arrived at the estate, the children gathered their things and headed toward the woods. Gretel had packed treats for the two, with sweets and blanket in hopes they may have a picnic. The two chattered happily as the manor grew small in the distance. As the two approached the forest’s edge the birds grew silent and the air tense. An eerie feeling overcame the two, and Hansel pulled his sister close.

Lurking in the shadows of the wood, was the huntsmen, bow pulled tight as he aimed for the daughter. With a shudder and a twang the arrow flew. Eyes wide, Gretel began to scream, before Hansel pulled her into the tree line. Another arrow landed at Gretel’s heels, hurrying the twins further on their path. Tangled roots and rocks littered the ground, as branches swayed in and out of the children’s way. This was a hunt, and they the prey. A hidden threat lurked, as the children ran the forest closed in around them. Towering trees blocked out the sun, as curious eyes stared at them from the dark. But the children did not notice the eyes, the only thing they saw was the next step away from death. Faster and faster, their breath came shorter, and Gretel began to fall behind.

Her foot snagging on a stone, Gretel fell. Hansel turned to help his sister up, only to freeze as a silhouette approached. A stocky build, arrow in hand, the huntsman stood, he notched his bow. As death starred the children in the eyes, the world went silent. And then Gretel began to cry. Time was at a standstill and slowly Hansel crept toward his sister, pulling her into his arms, never looking away from the huntsman’s gleaming eyes. Staring at the trembling girl, all the huntsman could see was his own daughter, alone and afraid. In his heart he could not find it to kill the children, for no wrong he knew they had done. The jealousy and envy of one woman would not end two innocent lives, the huntsman would not be their end.

Turning away the huntsman began his trek back to the estate. As the huntsman turned away, the twins ran, taking off into the shadows and disappearing. The man knew the children would not last long in the woods, that nature would claim them soon, but the lack of blood upon his own hands granted him peace of mind. The noblewoman still demanded proof, however, her whisper echoing in his mind, and so the huntsman slayed a boar, planning to present its innards as the twins. Though a huntsman may lie, a mirror may not.

Bearing the heart, lungs, and bones of the boar, the huntsmen presented them to the noblewoman on a shimmering platter when he returned. Her eyes lit up with glee as she bared a smile with far too many teeth. Twisted delight left her shaking as she took the bloody heart into her hands. No longer would it beat in that child’s chest, no, it would become one with her. In her chambers that night, the noblewoman prepared a boiling pot over her fire. She hummed as she worked, a simple tune, for this was the happiest day of her life. Caring not that she was doing the work of a maidservant, the woman dropped the lungs and heart into the pot, cooking them. She boiled the bones for their marrow, adding their broth to her pot.

That evening the noblewoman would turn down dinner, claiming she was too worried about the missing children to possibly eat. As night fell she feasted on what she believed to be the children’s heart and lungs, and the witch treasured every moment of it.

A day passed with the noblewoman in delight, as search parties found no trace of the children. Her husband distraught, came to her for comfort, and all was well. As the sun fell, the noblewoman turned once more toward her mirror, and hummed out of habit, “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all.”

“Matched in beauty, the twins Hansel and Gretel are the fairest of them all, my lady.”

The noblewoman dropped the comb she had been using with a scream. She fell to the floor, tearing at her hair in rage. Her efforts had been in vain, for the huntsman had deceived her. His deeds would not go unpunished by the noblewoman, however, the children would be the first target of her wrath. If she wanted the children truly gone, then she must do it herself. So the noblewoman began to devise a trap, one no child could resist. Consulting her mirror, the woman began to concoct a spell. A sprinkle of toad’s foot, a few whiskers of rat, a douse of nightshade, and finally an apple blossom. Looking through the mirror, it revealed to her an empty grotto, perfect for the trap she planned to lay. Through the mirror, the noblewoman sent the spell, enchanting the ground and cursing the soil. She would have those twins' lives, no matter the cost, and they would challenge her no more. ____________________________________________________________

Hansel hummed a gentle melody, one that the children’s nanny had sung in a different time. Under the stars their mother wished upon, the children slept, holding onto each other, in a hope to not drift away. With the rising sun came hunger, a small whisper at first that would grow into a roar. The children understood that they would not last long, without warmth, without water, without food, without shelter. Every comfort that the noble twins had possessed was ripped away in an act of jealousy.

As dawn came, the tired twins ate what little food Gretel had packed the day before. Much had fallen on the ground as the pair ran, left to be a feasted upon by birds and critters. They knew that they would soon die if they could not find food, for their was no chance to return to the manor. They had no time to wallow in the sorrow of their predicament, and so they set off to scout their new home. As the children explored their surroundings they stumbled upon a lone fox. The children halted as they saw the creature, for they did not want to startle it. The animal whimpered, pulling further away from the pair.

“Why Hansel I think he’s hurt!” exclaimed Gretel.

“Gretel, may I have your kerchief?”

Cautiously, Hansel approached the creature. With gentle hands, Hansel tied the kerchief about the fox’s leg, covering its wound.

“Does that feel better, friend?” asked Hansel.

The beast hesitated for a moment before scampering away. Sniffing about, it moved toward one of the many bushes that were full of ripe plump berries. Gretel watched as the fox ate the berries, gobbling up the many that hung low on the bushes’ branches.

Pulling at her brother’s sleeve to grab his attention, Gretel whispered, “If we eat only what the animals eat, then we may be safe. For this is there home, they know more than we do.”

Although the children did not know such, their kind act would not go unnoticed. The creatures of the forest took pity on the kind, young souls, who had shared their gentleness, even when they had been given none. They feared not the children and treated them as friends. The pair was rarely alone in the woods, constantly trailed by birds and critters alike. Companionship blossomed, and maybe Hansel and Gretel felt less alone in the world.

A grotto deep within the forest would become the children’s home, where they would sleep in the hollowed remains of an oak, as no doubt many animals had before them. Hansel and Gretel could not return to the estate, for fear of their stepmother's wrath, but the forest was no true home to them. The children were trapped, not by a cage but by the trees above and the ground below.

As the children explored their wooded prison, they grew more in tune with the nature around them. Leaving shining pebbles the children marked various paths, one to the steam, another to a large oak, and more throughout the woods. One day, as the children went further and further into the woods, Hansel and Gretel found a sight to behold. A home made of gingerbread and sweets, chocolate covered the roof, and cream followed at the sides. Trees of gumdrops and candied apples rose tall, providing shade. To the nearly starving children, it seemed they had stumbled upon paradise. But something was wrong, so very wrong, and Gretel could feel it in her bones. The critters who followed them stopped at the edge of the clearing, as though a barrier kept them out. No birds chipped, no animals scattered in the grotto. Nor had anything eaten from the house, it stood, perfectly preserved, as if a gift.

“Hansel, I fear it is too good to be true,” whispered Gretel, afraid her mere voice would cause it all to come crumbling down.

As if entranced, Hansel took a step forward, and then another. Gretel grabbed his hand pulling him back into the woods. With a start, Hansel shook his head.

“I'm sorry Gretel, I do not know what possessed me then.”

“I think we should go.”

“And I think you are right.”

The house tempted the children, a haven just or of reach. As rain poured and thunder clapped, the allure of the home grew ever stronger. Every path they took inevitably led to the same cruel grotto. The house stood, unweathered and tempting, begging the children to draw near and accept its gifts. But the children remained steadfast in their resolve and ignored the gnawing desire that grew.

However, fate did not favor the twins, and the noblewoman grew tired of waiting. She sent for the best hunters in the land. The children would either meet their end with an arrow to the heart, or be forced from their hiding place. With the children’s extended disappearance, the noblewoman proposed a somber fate. Rumors had circled of the forest’s enchantment for decades, of pointed ears and wings, of stolen children and wicked laughs. Any creature that bore the face of the twins was not of this world, and must be killed, before it stole another child’s soul.

As the eve of the children's fifth day in the forest approached they were greeted with hostility. The birds began to fly up and away in a frenzy, as every ear turned toward the woods entrance. Bunnies returned to their burrows, squirrels scittered into trees, and a chilling silence overcame the forest. Creeping into the shadowed brush, the children joined the beasts in hiding. Seven sets of hooves clopped by, slowly, as if searching.

A flurry of arrows embedded themselves into the surrounding trees as the children ducked for cover. The huntsmen had found them, and the children knew not where to hide. Thinking quick, Gretel pulled her brother down a different path. Following the shining stones they had left before, Gretel led Hansel toward the candied cottage.

“Gretel, why have you brought as here?” Hansel asked in a hushed voice.

“We have no other hope brother. If the animals will not go here, may the men not.”

Befor Hansel could question his sister further, shouts echoed and hoofs clacked, forcing the twins into the grotto.

The clearing in which the house stood was the only place the huntsmen seemed unable to reach. For two days the children sat starving, for they knew if they gave into temptation, then death would soon follow. But with the reaper circling outside the door, they children were running out of time. On the dawn of the third day, Hansel broke. Maybe the home was a blessing in disguise, a gift for all the he and his sister had been through. A bite of candied apple had tempted his eye and his stomach since Hansel had first arrived, and he could no longer refuse. As Hansel took a bite of the apple, he was overwhelmed with a delicious sweetness, that quickly turned into a bitter burning. Poison seeped into his blood, as his sister rushed to his side.

“Hansel! Hansel!” his sister cried, but he did not respond.

Gretel watched as the house's illusion crumbled before her eyes. The walls turned to dirt and dust, as the trees bloomed purple before rapidly wilting. As the cursed house dissolved so did its barrier, and Gretel heard hooves fast approaching. Pulling her brother away, Gretel rushed into the trees in a panic. Hansel felt light in her terror, as she dashed through the brush, holding tight to her brother. Her fear heightened her senses, as Gretel hurried deeper into the woods than she had ever dared before. The trees towered high, with the sun rarely breaking through, leaving her in the shadows. With her fear waning, Gretel found Hansel heavier in her arms.

In a small clearing, Gretel laid Hansel to rest. He lay still, his breath shallow, as the flowers and grasses curled about him. Gretel cried no tears, for there was no sadness to be had, only anger. The woman who had claimed the family title would pay for what she did to Hansel, Gretel would assure it. She knew not if her brother would ever wake, but Gretel was confident he would be safe in the hands of the forest that had protected them, when they had been forsaken.

Gretel knew her stepmother would never dirty her own hands, and would have remained in the manor throughout the hunt. And so the girl would return to her former home. Taking some of the shimmering stones from Hansel’s pocket, Gretel marked the way from what she hoped would not be her brother’s grave, to the forests edge. All the while, Gretel searched for the hunters, keeping them at a distance whenever she spotted them. She watched hesitantly as they began packing away their gear, as though preparing to depart. For them it seemed, the hint was over, their mark lost, or their prize won.

Creeping back toward the estate, Gretel followed the hunters at a distance. Though they took the main road, Gretel stayed to the side, just out of view, watching. She wished not to be caught by them, lest she meet a fate worse than Hansel’s. As they approached the manor, Gretel felt her eyes water. Though she had been away nary a week, the estate felt foreign to her. Maybe it had stopped being Gretel’s home long before she was chased out, if it ever was. Home was were Hansel was, and he was not with her, he was not here.

Steeling herself, Gretel prepared for what she knew would come. She could not enter through the main gate, however, Gretel’s years of torment at the hands of her step-mother had left her well acquainted with the grounds of the manor. Sneaking through a small gap in the west wall, the young girl silently crept toward the main house. Though the sun had fallen, the estate was far from quiet, with the hustle of servants and guards, it remained alive and alert. Hiding behind corners, and ducking into entries Gretel remained unseen, until she reached the base of the tower which held her stepmother’s chambers.

Quietly, and with determination, Gretel began to scale the tower wall. Grabbing onto vines and ledges, Gretel’s ascent was cautious and slow, for she refused to fail now, not when she had survived this long. She would not let the witch win. The window to the woman’s chambers was cracked, allowing a slight breeze to blow through. Pulling herself just above the ledge, Gretel peeked into the room. Standing in front of a gilded mirror, talking to herself, was the source of all Gretel’s pain. Her hair curled about her like snakes, long and endless, as sharp eyes stared lovingly at her own reflection.

Gretel also saw her own reflection in the mirror, that of a young girl, with scrapes and cuts, and tangled hair. However, Gretel was not the only one to spot her reflection, as the noblewoman whipped around with a snarl.

“YOU!” she schreeched.

Hastily, Gretel threw herself over the windowsill and into the chamber. The girl looked around frantically, for anything she could use to defend herself, as the woman stalked toward her.

“Why must you ruin everything-”

The witch lunged at Gretel, but the girl quickly moved from her path. As the woman hissed at her, Gretel moved toward the fireplace, for something had caught her eye. In the fireplace rested an iron.

“-when may I finally be rid of you!”

With a fury in her eyes, unlike anything the noblewoman had seen before, Gretel grabbed the discarded iron and branded it across her stepmother’s face. The woman unleashed an unholy screech, as the iron melted her skin.

Pulling the mirror from the wall, Gretel threw it to the floor, watching it shatter into a million pieces with glee, as the woman screamed. Possessing determination beyond her years, Gretel grabbed one of the glass shards from the floor, and stalked over to the witch. The iron had melded itself to the woman's face, stuck to her like a burr, as she tried helplessly to pry it off, crying to Gretel for help. Standing over the woman, Gretel lunged, and sunk the remains of the mirror into the woman’s throat with a guttural cry. The world seemed to stop. A gurgling noise came from the body on the floor, as the woman choked on her own blood. It stained the carpet, pooling below her cooling body. It was the same color as Gretel’s lips. ____________________________________________________________

With a solemn heart, Gretel returned to her brother’s resting place. His breaths were even, if she wanted to, his sister could almost trick herself into thinking Hansel was just asleep. But she knew better. And with the knowledge of what she had done, Gretel knew there was no bringing her brother back. Wrapping her arms around Hansel, Gretel cried. Tears poured down and stained Hansel’s face, as though they were crying with her. And the forest heard her weep. The animals came crawling from their burrows, flying from their nests, to the cries of a child lost. Surrounded by life, Gretel had never felt more alone. Not even in the walls of the estate, as that woman had tormented them, because then she had Hansel, she had her home.

Gathering around Hansel, the animals joined Gretel in her grief. As a squirrel nuzzled Hansel’s face, it pushed hard against his cheek, as though it were trying to become one with him. With that, Gretel would swear that a miracle occurred. The remaining chunk of the poisoned apple was dislodged, and Hansel's eyes cracked open, as he began to cough and hack. Tears of sorrow turned to joy as color was painted across Hansel’s face once more.

“Hansel!” Gretel exclaimed pulling him tight.

“Oh Gretel, why are you crying?”

“I fear it may be a long story brother.”

And so Gretel told her brother of the candied house and his curse. She told him how she had slayed the witch, how their stepmother would torment them no more. Of a mirror that held every answer, yet could not solve the witch’s blight. That eve, the two returned home, hand in hand. Their father would throw a feast in celebration of their return, and the children would never suffer or want again.

#ficsandfables #writing challenge #fantasy #fae writes #writing #i was not born to tag #tw cannabalism #tw death #tw murder #cw death #cw murder #cw cannibalism #please tell me if i missed any tags #i dont post writing here often so i am out of the loop for tagging #fairy tales

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carnalpleasure · 4 years ago

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Sleepy Bunny

Just a lil self indulgent Jim x Reader I've been working on💕 I was originally writing this with Michael, but after rewatching TTOPV last night, I haven't been able to get Jim out of my mind. And I think this story works so much better with him anyway. Based on personal experience. TW.

Summary: Reader wakes up in the hospital recovering from a suicide attempt where she meets Jim, who's recovering from the overdose that was supposed to kill him.

Warnings: suicide mention, drug mention, hospitalization, 51/50, needles

You know that feeling when you wake up from a nap, and you’re more tired than when you went to sleep? That was how you felt waking up this morning.

You slowly pried your eyes open and peered around the room. You weren’t completely sure, but the whole layout seemed different.

The lamp was to the left before. There wasn’t a window there. Wasn’t the door on the other side of the room?

Your eyes were still struggling to focus when one of the nurses walked in. “Look who finally woke up,” she said flatly. She was carrying two trays of food. It smelled like burgers and fries... the smell of food made your stomach turn.

She handed one tray to the boy in the bed beside you with a gentle, “there ya go, honey.” You rolled over and pulled the blanket up, hoping to avoid the nurse altogether and go back to sleep. You closed your eyes tight and prayed she’d go away as her soft soled footsteps on the linoleum floor crept closer.

“You have to eat now. You haven’t eaten in days,” the nurse scolded you from behind. She didn’t sound concerned or compassionate, she just sounded cranky and cruel. Why is she so mad at me?

You turned back to look at the nurse over your shoulder, glaring right back at her. “I just ate last night. Leave me alone,” you replied weakly before turning away from both of them again.

“That wasn’t yesterday,” she huffed. “You slept through yesterday. You’ve been asleep since Friday night.” You quickly sat up in shock and turned around to look back at her. You searched your mind, looking for any detail you could remember from the vague memories you had lying around.

“You have to eat or they won’t take you,” the nurse’s bitchy voice interrupted and threw your whole train of thought off course.

You looked confused. “Who-?“ you started, but she cut you off again. “Eat. I’ll be back in 30 minutes for the trays,” she snapped. Then she turned to exit the room, but not before giving one last genuine smile to the boy in the next bed.

You pushed the tray away and sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest and balling up. There was an awkward silence in the room now. You were too ashamed to look at the other patient.

You didn’t know why he was here, but it couldn’t be more embarrassing than purposely overdosing on your own medication. But his soft, smooth voice broke the silence.

“Their food sucks. Makes me wanna gag too,” he said jokingly. It was meant to help ease your nerves but your embarrassment was growing too fast. Oh my god, do I look nauseous? I feel sick. Be cool, bitch. Be cool.

You peaked your head up to look at him and you were met with the sweetest, most sincere smile you’d ever seen. It lit up the room. Yet the moment you first laid eyes on his face, all you could think was, if there is a god, he fucking hates me.

The only thing that could possibly be worse than waking up in a random hospital bed looking like shit?.. That’s right. Waking up in the bed right next to the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, while looking like shit.

“What day is it?” was all you could think to say back. A yawn escaped your lips. You rubbed your eyes and wiped away the dried mascara. Everything felt foggy. Your thoughts, your vision, your memory. But you could see his face glowing bright as day.

He sat up in his bed and turned to face you, crossing his legs and pulling the sheet over his lap. “It’s Sunday. So you’ve been asleep for..” he glanced up at the clock on the wall and then back at you, “..about 34 hours? You opened your eyes a couple times but.. you were pretty out of it.”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. It’s a strange feeling losing an entire day of your life just like that. But it feels even stranger when it finally starts coming back to you.

“Motherfuckers..” you cursed under your breath as the memories played back in your head like a reel of film. A single tear formed in the corner of your eye and then strolled leisurely down your cheek.

You saw it as if you were hovering over your body, watching from above as two nurses held you down by your arms. You were lying flat on your stomach with your shorts pulled down while each of the nurses stuck a needle in your ass to sedate you because you wouldn’t stop crying. They said they needed to calm you down, not knock you out cold..

The boy in the matching gown stayed silent, giving you time to process. Unlike the nurses, his face did seem full of concern and compassion. He looked at you the way you looked at lost puppies on the street. Like he wanted to rescue you.. or at least give you a big hug and hold you for a while.

“This isn’t the same room,” you said, unsure of whether you were talking to him or to yourself. But he answered anyway. “No, you were across the hall when you first came in,” he nodded towards the doorway. He could see how out of it you still were and he wanted to protect you so bad.

“You put up quite a fight,” he gave a short laugh and you thought he was just teasing until flashbacks of you cussing out the hospital staff and shoving the security guard off you started to resurface.

You threw your hands over your face to hide the humiliation and fell backwards on the bed. You wanted to hide from him and everyone else. But he just sat patiently, studying your every reaction.

He’d spent the last couple days watching you sleep, wondering what you were like on a normal day outside of here, what made you laugh, what kind of music you were into.. everything about you was a mystery to him. But like the sad kinds of mysteries that go forever unsolved. That have people mourning and reminiscing still a hundred years later. She seemed like she wanted to take all her secrets with her to the grave.

More than anything, he wondered what could’ve happened to this girl to make her dread being alive so much. It was tragic to think about. But it actually took his mind off his own problems, and for that he was grateful.

Thinking about her distracted him from all of his dad’s bullshit stories, and his mom’s constant compulsive drama, and his sister’s quiet sadness that never seemed to go away. It distracted him from his constant urge to get high. For as long as he’d been around her, that longing to escape was replaced with a longing to be loved.

“I’m glad you’re awake now,” his soft, syrupy voice spoke up and pulled you from your thoughts into a warm embrace. He paused for a moment and you heard him digging around in the drawer on the other side of his bed. Then he sat back on the edge of his bed criss cross. “Now I have someone to play cards with,” he announced cheerfully.

You pulled your hands off your face and looked over at him. You couldn’t help but break into laughter at the sight of him holding up his deck of cards and smiling at you like a little kid who just made a new friend on the playground. Something about him was so innocent and gentle. The way he looked at you like a boy with a schoolyard crush made your heart melt.

“I only know how to play Go Fish,” you admitted shyly. His smile seemed to brighten after you said that, his excitement growing evident on his face. “That’s my favorite game,” he said with a wink as he slid the cards out of the box and began shuffling. They had pictures of pin-up girls in bikinis on the back.

You turned to face him and crossed your legs too, mirroring his position on the bed. The two of you took turns calling out numbers and passing cards back and forth. You were shy at first but the tension quickly melted away. His calm demeanor relaxed you beyond what you thought was capable.

Every once in a while you’d catch him peeking over his cards at you, stealing glimpses of your face when he thought you were too busy looking at your cards to notice.

Each time he’d quickly avert his gaze, hiding behind his cards until his cheeks stopped burning red.

And each time, it made you feel like a kid with an innocent crush again. Back when you thought true love was just holding hands with someone at nap time.

About halfway into the game, you finally got up the courage to ask the question that’d been floating around in the front of your mind. It hurt your heart to think about, but that’s why you had to know. Your mind would just keep coming up with sick scenarios to taunt you with unless you found out for yourself.

“Why are you in here?” you asked nervously, searching his face for his first reaction.

His eyes looked up to meet yours and he sighed. He looked like he’d been waiting for this question. “Overdosed on my mom’s percs,” he said with a soft laugh and a side smile. He tried to shrug it off like it was nothing serious. Like it didn’t scare him.

You recognized it right away. He was downplaying it so you wouldn’t feel sorry for him. He was used to hiding his pain and pretending his problems didn’t matter because he had other people’s problems to take care of. He didn’t want to burden you.

“On accident?” you asked gently. It was hard for him to talk about, but he could see how much you cared by the look in your eyes. He nodded.

The serene smile that graced his face had slowly faded away. His eyes avoided yours and a look of shame seemed to take over. “Yeah. Stupid, I know,” he forced a fake laugh, trying again to play it down.

“I felt so good, I just kept taking more. I just wanted to feel..better.” His voice was low and quiet, just barely above a whisper. He spoke as if he didn’t even want to hear what he had to say.

You wanted to say something to cheer him up, or to at least alleviate some of his shame. But the bitchy nurse from before came barging back in through the door. She was back to collect the trays and to her dismay they were both still untouched.

“James?” she scoffed, picking up the first full plate of food and looking at him disapprovingly.

“What.. now you’re not eating either?” she scowled. He clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything and kept his eyes straight ahead, focused on you.

She came for your plate next but she didn’t take it away. Instead she shoved it towards you again and waved a stern finger at you. “You, Y/N, you still need to eat. If you won’t eat, they won’t take you anywhere. And I don’t have room to keep you here.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you finally snapped back impatiently. You groaned and put down your cards, side eyeing her. You didn’t give a fuck about what she had to say. She’d been nothing but rude to you ever since you were brought to the emergency room and placed in her care.

She sighed dramatically in exasperation, wanting you to know just how irritated she was before answering. “You’re only here on a 72 hour hold. Then you’re being transferred to a mental health facility for a psychiatric evaluation. I explained all of this to you when you blah blah blah blah-“

You tuned her out and quickly turned your attention back to the cards in your hands. Your eyes carefully studied the bikini girl laminated on the back, desperately trying to distract yourself from everything. You couldn’t let yourself break down again. You couldn’t let them see you panic. You didn’t want another shot.

You had been so wrapped up in your little card game with the sweet stranger, you’d almost forgotten where you were and why. Once again, reality came crashing down on you.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you were too sad to look back at him. You waited until she was gone before finally letting yourself look at him. You could see the worry eating away at him already.

He looked as scared as you felt. At first you thought he was just feeling sorry for you, but it didn’t look like pity. It was more genuine that that. You didn’t want to admit it, but he looked heartbroken to see you go.

It was your turn to break the ice now. “So.. it’s James?” you asked, smiling as his name rolled off your tongue for the first time.

The way you said it made him look up at you like he was seeing God in your eyes. He was captivated by you. His sleeping beauty from the psych ward.

He slowly nodded, still mesmerized. “Yeah well.. I go by Jim” he added nervously. That charming smile returned as he ran his fingers through his wavy brunette hair before letting it fall back in his face.

You stared at him as intently as you could, wanting to savor every last moment you had together. You studied his features like you were cramming for a test, trying desperately to commit the beautiful boy to memory before time ran out.

The freckle on the left side of his face, his baby blue hooded eyes, his pink pillowy lips, the way he ran his hands through his dark tousled waves. You wanted to remember all of it.

You’d only known him a few hours but you already knew in your heart you were going to miss this boy forever.

💕taglist: (lemme know if u wanna be taken off<3) @sexwon131 @jimmason @whatcodysaid @theneverendinghunger @angelicmichael @thewarriorprincessxo

#jim mason #jim mason x reader #the tribes of palos verdes #jim mason fic #jim mason x you #jim mason imagine #jim x reader

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managedmischiefs · 5 years ago

Text

north//chapter three

here’s the new chapter!! please enjoy and leave me your feedback! as always, let me know if you want to be on the taglist by sending me an ask :)

genre: fluff, angst if u squint

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 11.3k

SPENCER

The elevator doors pop open on the sixth floor on a bright, sunny day, and the smile on my face is the biggest it’s ever been and I don’t think there’s any way I’ll be able to wipe it off. This morning, Amelia confessed that she had never seen Doctor Who before, and then she encouraged me to ramble on and on about my favorite parts and favorite characters and she asked questions and my smile never went away, even as we said our goodbyes and through the dirty train ride. But having seen Amelia will make my day better and the walk to my desk seems so much brighter and happier than normal.

"Good morning, Spencer," Alex smiles at me as she passes my desk, setting her bag down and sending me a wave.

"Morning," I return her smile, taking the last sip of the coffee from my cup, the one from my meeting with Amelia, giving it one more longing look before tossing the cup in the trash.

Alex watches me closely as she sheds her jacket and scarf, draping it over her chair. "Weather's rough, right? It's getting really cold,"

I spin in my chair and my eyes trace up to where the wall and the ceiling meet, staring out the windows there. "Yeah, it's pretty rough out there,"

"Christmas is soon though," a smile comes to her face as she sits and takes a breath. "Do you have any plans yet? Do you think you'll go to see your mom?"

I shrug my shoulders and push away the sharp pain in my chest at the mention of my mom and at the mention of such a joyous holiday that’s supposed to be filled with friends and family. But instead, I’ll do the same things I’ve done the last few years- sit by myself at home and reread a book from my shelf. "Not sure yet. Haven't really thought about it,"

Alex hums, not pleased with that answer, and spins her chair around to face her desk. "Okay, well, don't wait too long or else you won't have any plans, and nobody should be left alone on Christmas," I choose not to respond. I just turn my chair back to face my desk and get to work.

"Good morning, wonderful crime fighters!" Garcia exclaims, bounding into the bullpen as Morgan holds the door open for her. Her bubbly attitude brings JJ and Rossi over to my desk area and even though I was trying to avoid any conversation, I spin in my chair to join the circle that forms. "I've brought cookies to lighten the mood that this horrible, horrible cold weather is reigning down on you BAU-tiful people," she grins happily at her recycled pun as she pops the top off the tin in her hand. Everyone, except for me because group food is not and has never been my jam, reaches their hands in and grabs some cookies, mumbling a few thank yous to our dear friend.

"So what's up with everyone?" Morgan asks, glancing around at the team. "We're always together but we don't always get to talk about our lives. So, come on, I know someone's got something,"

There's a moment of silence between the team where everyone wants someone else to speak up first, especially me. I wish I could duck my head down and hide under my desk because I know they will all want to ask me about what’s going on in my life and I'm not ready to tell them yet, and I’m not the best liar. I want to keep Amelia a secret. I want to keep her for myself. But if I try to make myself smaller in any way, then a team of profilers will notice immediately and I'll get called out. It's a lose-lose for me. And maybe it's irrational to want to keep her my secret. Last time I did that, it didn't end well and I’ve never forgiven myself for that. But even still, I want to keep Amelia for myself.

"Well," JJ laughs when nobody speaks up, "Will and I took Henry to the zoo for the first time over the weekend and he absolutely loved it,"

That brings everyone into a conversation and I'm glad I can let my mind wander off to Amelia. She always looks beautiful, but she looked especially stunning today. She wore plaid jeans with a black sweater tucked in, a black knit scarf, and her normal black boots. Of course, she had a black peacoat on to shield her from the weather, and the strap of her camera was slung over her shoulder instead of around her neck. Her hair was up in this messy braided updo that I don't even want to spend time wondering how long it took her to execute. Her nail color changed for the millionth time, now to a pale blue. Her necklace was almost completely hidden behind her scarf but I noticed that she wears the same one every day, a small butterfly. But today, there was just something about her smile and her laugh that made me feel extra warm inside. It made me feel like I wanted to scoop her up and bring her back to my apartment and never let her leave.

"Reid? Hey, Reid!" There's suddenly a hand snapping in front of my face, bringing me out of yet another one of my daydreams.

Everyone has vacated the area and Alex is crouched in front of me, brows furrowed in confusion. I lift my head, blinking a few times to bring myself back to reality. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Alex tilts her head, resting her arms on her legs. "Are you okay? You haven't been yourself lately. You've been a little bit distracted," she sighs and I can tell that she's wondering if she should say something. She ultimately makes a decision in her head to not say it and instead just waits for me to answer. But her holding back her thoughts frustrates me. I thought we were close so why would she hold anything back from me? When has she ever held anything back from me?

"Say what you were gonna say," I insist, sitting up more in my chair. "You were gonna say something. Say it,"

Alex chews on her lips and lets out a long breath, glancing around to make sure that nobody is too close. "Well," she hesitates one more time, "I know that you're still hurting about Maeve and-"

"No," I cut her off before she can even finish her sentence, "it's not about that. It's-" I push my hair out of my face as my breath gets caught in my throat. I take a replenishing breath and shake my head, turning back to the paperwork on my desk, "I'm fine, okay? I promise. Thanks for, uh, looking out for me,"

"Maybe you should consider going to therapy," Alex is clearly not ready to let this conversation go.

"I'm fine," I say yet again, giving her a tight-lipped smile, not even glancing her way again.

I hear Blake sigh and then walk around, seeing her sit down at her desk. There's part of me that feels bad for being so secretive to my closest friends. But I want to keep Amelia for myself. The team likes to know everything and they like to bring up significant others all the time. I don't want Amelia brought up like that. I don't want Morgan teasing me about her, or Garcia insisting on a double date, or JJ wanting to know how we met. But besides, Amelia isn't even my girlfriend. Right now, she's just a girl that I get coffee with before work. I wish she was more, but she's not.

Garcia comes back into the bullpen, holding a hoard of IPads in her arms and one case file for me. "It's case time, my loves!"

There’s a collective sigh that falls over the group as everyone pushes themselves out of their seats and towards the round table room, ready to endure another day of sadness. There’s no good day to get cases but really, there couldn’t be a worse time to get a case. Amelia and I ran out of time this morning and her story about the time her and her best friend got lost in California on a spring break vacation got cut short, and she promised to finish it tomorrow. She also swore that I could tell her all about my time at CalTech and about my favorite classes, all while she lets me fiddle around with whichever camera she happens to bring that day, even though I could possibly break it. I mean, she couldn’t get any more amazing. Technology is not my strong suit, whether it’s a computer or a phone or even a camera, but she’s still going to let me tinker with it. I didn’t think that she could get any better.

After the catastrophe with Maeve, I never thought I'd ever have feelings for another person again. I thought that I'd die alone and loving Maeve. I thought she was my soulmate. I thought that the connection we had was one in a million and that I would never connect with someone on a romantic level again. Seeing her die right in front of me was like no other death I had ever witnessed and nobody, including and especially me, thought I would ever recover from that.

As much as I don't want to admit it and as adamantly as I will deny it, I've been through a lot. Childhood aside, my work at the FBI has been grueling. I've been taken hostage, I've mourned the death of my best friend who actually wound up to be alive and I’ve mourned the death of my unit chiefs wife, I've conquered drug addiction and two relapses alone, I’ve spent months mulling over the death of my girlfriend, and I've seen more death, destruction, and horror than anyone ever should.

It's unfair, really. All I wanted to do with my life and with my career was to help people and do something bigger than myself, but in turn, I've ruined myself. And after everything I've seen and how it has changed me, I’ve been expecting to work myself to death and die alone. I'm a loose cannon and it's obvious. I try to keep myself reined in, but I know that won't last for long. The years that I’ve spent at the FBI have imprinted on my brain and I thought that Maeve would be my refuge, but she was ripped away from me. Then and there, I knew that I would never love again.

But then Amelia waltz's into my life. She comes bouncing in with her black heels, vintage cameras, tea bags, nose piercing, beautiful smile, and melodious laugh. She makes me feel like a normal person. She doesn't treat me like an FBI agent, or like someone who has endured the traumas that I have, and maybe that's because I haven't told her about any of my trauma, but I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. Amelia comes laughing into my life with her denim skirts that aren't appropriate for the cold weather, curly blonde hair wrapped in patterned scarves or tied back in scrunchies, love for red wine, entrancing blue eyes, and her affinity for strawberries.

It's impossible to not fall in love with her and I hate myself for that. She makes it incredibly easy, so maybe it's not my fault that I can't get her out of my head. Maybe it's not my fault that I look at the empty spot on my desk and wonder what it would be like to have a picture of her there. Maybe it's not my fault that I hold her pinky in mine for far too long when we say our goodbyes. I wish I could blame my feelings all on her. I wish I could blame Amelia for how fast I'm falling for her.

I fall in love with the energy she radiates. I fall in love with the way she speaks of her creative process while painting a new piece or drawing a new picture. I fall in love with the way she claims she has a foolproof formula for finding hidden treasures in any given thrift store. I fall in love with the way she always has a new story to tell yet listens to every word I have to say. She speaks with such passion and fire in her eyes that it draws me in. Amelia has even taken to setting an alarm on her phone to make sure I leave on time for work and every few days, she makes sure to show up before I do so that she can order both of our drinks so that it's not always me ordering for her and "wasting my money on her hot, flavored water."

Amelia and I keep up our morning coffee meetings for two months. We meet as much as we can, only taking the time off when I'm not away on a case. It's actually normalizing my sleep schedule too and I'm getting more sleep than I have in two years- or since Maeve died. When these meetings started, I used to not be able to sleep out of pure excitement of knowing I'd be able to see Amelia again. But then she started to text me the night before, sometimes to remind me to set an alarm so I'm not late or to remind me to bring a magic trick to show her (magic tricks are now common occurrences in the mornings) or to just tell me that she's looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. It’s always an odd sensation to get that third text because most people aren’t usually excited to see me.

The word date never surfaced in any of our conversations. I'm not sure if any of these meetings would be considered a date. Typically, dates happen at night, but these coffee meetings are happening bright and early in the morning. And maybe I'm too scared to even bring up the word date because then that will solidify what we're doing, if we even are doing anything. I'm too scared to admit that I'm falling way too hard and way too fast for Amelia.

But as terrified as I am of the way that I feel about Amelia, I wish so desperately that I wasn’t. I wish I could climb to the roof of my apartment building and scream at the top of my lungs that I’m falling in love and that I want everyone to know. I want to be able to see her outside of the confines of a tiny cafe just a block away from my apartment. I want to be able to see her out on the town, laughing and bouncing on her toes in the adorable way that she does. I want to do anything else in the world with her besides just sitting and drinking tea or coffee. I want to know even more about her. I want to know absolutely everything. I need to know everything.

ONE WEEK LATER

SPENCER

"So you got shot in the knee?"

"Yeah. The doctors told me that I might never walk without a cane again,"

"I'd like to see you with a cane," Amelia snorts, tucking her face behind her cup of tea as she succumbs to a fit of giggles. The sight makes me laugh too, trying to hide my joy behind my cup of coffee. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just-" she takes a long breath to calm herself, and, with a giant smile, she continues, "an FBI agent with a cane? I can't picture it,"

"Well, I wouldn't be allowed in the field. As much as I thrive in the police departments, I love being in the field. It gives you a rush, you know?"

"Mm, no. I don't know," Amelia laughs, "but I can imagine what you're talking about. An adrenaline rush. I've never caught a bad guy in action like you do. I mean, the closest I've ever come to that is catching one of my siblings stealing cookies late at night,"

A fond memory comes to mind, one involving a dinosaur-shaped cookie jar and a little hand. "I've caught my godson doing the same,"

"So, Spencer," Amelia's voice is lighter as she moves away from the previous topic of me taking a bullet in the field. She shimmies her shoulders just a little bit, then gestures to the Christmas drawings on the window. "Do you have any plans for Christmas next week?"

Oh, the dreaded question. Each of my team members had asked me that during our case last week and I had to lie every single time. I don't want them to feel bad for me when I tell them I don’t have any plans and I’ll be spending Christmas alone. Alex might try to invite me to dinner with her family, and JJ would probably do the same and swear that Henry had been asking about his godfather, but it's just out of pure pity. I don't need any more pity from my team.

"Um," I have to keep my voice from cracking as I drown out myself in a sip of coffee, "no,"

"No?" Amelia repeats, but her face doesn't change at all, not like she’s sad or she’s pitying me. "Me either. I told you, my family's in Texas and I'd only be able to go out there for two days. So as much as I'd love to go, it doesn't really make sense, you know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. My mom is in Las Vegas so I know what you mean,”

Amelia looks down at her cup of tea, fiddling with the teabag. "You know, if you don't have anything to do on Christmas, maybe we could spend the day together?" She suggests, glancing up at me with a nervous smile. "I was planning on spending the day alone but if you also don't have anything to do, maybe we could do something together," she goes quiet for a moment and I wait, wondering if she's finished with her request. Or maybe it’s just that I’m speechless and I have absolutely nothing to say in response to that request. Yeah, that’s more likely. She, again, looks down at her cup and I can see her fingers shaking slightly as she toys with the teabag. "And besides, I love our little coffee dates but it'd be nice to see you outside of here,"

And there it is. It all comes out with just those few sentences. Not only does Amelia see these meetings as dates, but she wants to see me outside of the cafe. She wants to spend Christmas with me, a day that you usually spend with your family or your closest friends. She was so nervous to ask me about this that her hands are shaking. When has this ever happened? Usually I'm the anxious one. I'm the one here who does the nervous laughing and fumbles over my words and taps my feet and fiddles with my hair. She's usually the one who takes charge of the conversation and laughs louder and initiates our pinky hold when we have to say goodbye. Being anxious is my thing and if Amelia is taking that over, then that must mean that this request took a lot to say.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she adds quickly before hiding, again, behind a sip of her tea.

I’ve let myself hold back with Amelia for far too long- for two whole months. I’ve gone two months without growing some balls and asking her out and I can’t handle it anymore. I need to see her with a different background behind her other than a tan leather booth. So I don’t give myself a moment to think or stress before I speak. "I'd love to,"

Amelia's eyes dart up to me and her smile starts to grow. "Really?" I nod wordlessly, too scared that I'll say something dumb and ruin it if I open my mouth. "I would've thought you'd say no," The alarm on Amelia's phone goes off, telling us that it's time for me to leave for work. She gives me a sad smile and silences it, chewing on her lip. "Time for you to go. You've got people to save, Dr. Reid,"

The two of us stand and wrap ourselves in our coats and scarves before heading out the door, into the bitter, cold wind. Amelia turns on her heel and holds out her pinky to me. I switch my coffee to my left hand and wrap my right pinky around her, watching her nose start to go pink from the weather surrounding us. Amelia smiles, and the timer in my head starts to run, counting up the seconds we stand in front of each other and just smile. We’re already standing here longer than yesterday but not as long as Tuesday two weeks ago. And the longer we stand here, the pinker Amelia’s nose gets, and the more my heart melts.

"Get warm soon," I tell her softly, worried that if I speak too loud, I’ll ruin the moment.

"You too," she smiles, wrapping her finger even tighter around mine as a way to tell me not to leave just yet. "I know you'll let me know if you have a case. But if you do," she lets out a breath, dropping her smile until her dimples disappear, "get home before Christmas."

///

I inhale deeply and brush my fingers through my hair, trying to make it seem somewhat presentable as I turn the corner to Amelia's apartment, double-checking that I'm at the right one. I smooth down my sweater and check that my converse are tied twice before knocking on the door. I can hear music from inside her apartment but I can't tell exactly what the song is yet, but based on what today is, I can only assume it’s a Christmas song.

I wait patiently for a moment behind a closed door, still second-guessing my slightly more casual outfit of converse, jeans, and a Christmas sweater. And after only a minute I'm convinced that Amelia has backed out and doesn't want me around for this sacred holiday, and I’m almost convince o turn around and leave. Maybe I could walk home and find a bookstore and get some takeout. I'm about to do just that and I’m mentally mapping out the best route home when the door swings open and Amelia stands there with her stunning smile.

"Hi, Spencer!" She exclaims, popping the door all the way open and letting me feel the heat that radiates from the inside. "Come in, please," Relief washes over me as I step inside her warm apartment, my eyes darting around the walls and decor of her home. "You can just put your stuff anywhere. It doesn't really matter to me. Make yourself at home. Be comfortable," I recognize the song now as It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas, playing from her beloved record player that I’ve heard a surprising amount about. She bought it when she first moved to Virginia and it was the first thing she bought for her apartment, before she even bought a bed or food or utensils.

I pull my messenger bag off and set it beside the door, ridding myself of my peacoat and my scarf, hanging them up on the coatrack. Amelia is still standing beside me but before I take the time to admire her like I usually do, I really stop to look at her apartment. It's exactly how I pictured it to be. It reflects her personality perfectly.

The walls are comprised of dark brick and there are different pieces of artwork scattered along the walls of her entire apartment, like stray photographs and polaroids put up with wash tape, or a canvas painting in a frame, and a floral tapestry behind the television. To my left is a huge shelf of books and records followed by a wall full of picture frames with pictures I can only assume are of her family and friends. To the right of the door is a cozy looking living room with a tv and the active record player, and a fireplace with a log already lit. Beside the living room is the kitchen, and across from the kitchen is a set of floating stairs that leads up to what I presume is Amelia's bedroom. In front of the stairs is a door out to a small balcony overlooking the city.

"Hey," Amelia reaches over and pokes my shoulder, laughing, "stop profiling my apartment. I cleaned up for you, there can't be too much for you to judge,"

"Profiling isn't actually judging, per se," I blurt out facts before I can stop myself. "Profiling is actually just noticing behavior,"

Amelia crosses her arms over her chest, etching on a smile. "Sometimes I wonder how your head isn't physically bigger with all that information you've got stored up in there. Really, it keeps me up at night sometimes," she says quickly, and then rolls her eyes at herself. She gestures towards the kitchen, "Well, I've got- oh, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas,” I echo, following her into her kitchen, trailing just a step behind her.

As she walks in front of me, I get the chance to admire her. Today, she's decided to wear a black and white plaid tweed skirt with a red knit turtleneck tucked into it. Her legs are bare otherwise but she's wearing dark wool socks with a pattern on them, almost identical to the ones I’m wearing. Her hair is down in curls and flowing down to her waistline, but there's a green clip on the left side of her head that's holding back some of her hair. Her face is glowing, like usual, and her nose and ear piercings are in, like usual. It takes me a moment to realize how much smaller she is now that she's not wearing the heels she always has on. I'd peg her at around 5'2" and that's a major difference with me at about 6'1”. But even though I’ve observed countless outfits of hers, she's just as beautiful today as she is every other day.

"So I thought that, since it's only noon, we could make some Christmas cookies," she suggests, showing me her kitchen island full of cookies and bags and ingredients. "I have ingredients for quite a lot of cookies because I meant to make them myself but never got around to it. I have ingredients for gingerbread cookies and sugar cookies and oatmeal cookies and probably way more,"

"Sounds good to me. I like all of those,” The thought of making all those cookies with Amelia sounds much better than sitting and doing nothing. I don’t have time to make cookies like this on my own and I didn’t get to have any of Penelope’s, so making cookies with Amelia sounds like the perfect way to spend Christmas.

Amelia sits down at a barstool and gestures for me to sit beside her, and it’s a weird sensation, for a split second, to be sitting beside her instead of across from her. She reaches for a bag of flour and a bowl, but her hand stops midair when she looks over at me and a smile breaks out on her face. "I like your sweater,"

I glance down at my sweater, just shrugging at my own appearance as if I wasn’t freaking out about it ten minutes ago. "It's just a sweater," It’s one that I’ve had for as long as I can remember and one that could probably pass as ugly, but it has a pattern with snowflakes and stripes and reindeer. I almost didn’t wear it because I thought that maybe Amelia would think it was ugly.

"But Spencer, I always see you in your work clothes. You're always wearing sweater vests and button-ups. You're still wearing jeans and converse but the sweater is a change. I like it, that's all,"

She turns her back to me to grab something else and her compliment makes me chew on the inside of my cheek. I wipe my hands on my pants before I take a deep breath. You can do it, Spencer. You grew enough balls to accept her Christmas invitation. You can do this. "I like your outfit," Oh thank god I managed to say that without sounding like a total idiot.

When Amelia turns back around to set the sugar on the counter, she's blushing. "Thanks,"

I read over the recipes she has printed out and then set them aside, standing up again so I can attempt to start helping her. We decide to start with the Pillsbury sugar cookies since all we have to do is put those in the oven, so we start arranging them on a tray.

"I should warn you," I mumble to Amelia as we bump hips, "I'm not the best baker,"

"It's not too hard," Amelia says nonchalantly. "I'll give you some tips. A smart man like you can pick it up, don't worry, love,"

The simple pet name makes me blush but we're both so preoccupied with putting the frozen cookies on the tray that Amelia doesn't notice. The simple pet name makes my heart beat faster and almost burst out of my chest. Once the cookies are on the tray, she puts them in the oven and then turns to me.

"Okay, which cookies do you wanna make first?" She grabs the recipes and holds them up for me to see as if I hadn’t looked at them before.

"What do you think we should do?" She looks up at me with her big, beautiful eyes, and I almost get lost for a moment, but I pull myself back when she rustles the papers again. "I've never done this before and you seem to have a lot of experience so-"

"You've never made Christmas cookies before?" Amelia gasps, the papers falling onto the table as her jaw drops in disbelief, and I shake my head at her. "Okay, then we're gonna make gingerbread cookies first because they’re a classic. They're my favorite and they're the most fun to decorate so hopefully you’ll like them too. I can't believe you've never done this before!"

She whips around and starts to assemble a new set of ingredients, telling me now and then how much to measure out, even though I've memorized the entire recipe. But nonetheless, I let her take the lead and take the previous cookies out of the oven.

"Okay, come here," Amelia says when my back is turned to her. She has the gingerbread dough rolled out on the island and a few different sized molds laid out, flour caked on her hands. "Getting the dough onto the pan is an art itself," I let out a little laugh, but then she turns her head with a threatening look as if to say I’m serious, that isn't threatening at all. "I'm serious. First, you've gotta use the mold to cut. Then you've gotta wiggle the mold. Then you've gotta get the dough off the counter and that's the hardest part because if you didn't put down enough flour then you’re screwed. It's an art. You laugh, but it's true,"

"I believe you," I put my hands up in surrender, reaching for one of the molds. I stand beside her and it takes me a moment to process how close I actually am, and I only do when I feel her body heat on me. "So, like this?" I push the mold into the dough and then wiggle the plastic back and forth until it's completely separated from the mass of dough, just like she told me to. But then when I lift the mold, the snowflake-shaped piece of dough completely lifts and folds over, ruining the dough. I let out a defeated sigh, looking up at Amelia with a dramatic pout, silently begging for help. "It is an art,"

Amelia giggles, bopping my nose, and I can feel some flour residue getting left there, making me scrunch up my nose. "Yes, it is. I'm glad you've realized, let me help you,"

///

An hour passes and we've finished baking all the gingerbread men, we're baking chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and we've eaten half of the sugar cookies. We're chatting aimlessly about anything and everything and I'm starting to really actually enjoy this. I’m happy to be seeing Amelia outside of the cafe and I’m happy to be so comfortable with her, and to see her literally and metaphorically let her hair down. I thought I would be riddled with anxiety and would have to make some excuse to go rushing out, but now I don’t think I ever want to go home. I would be content with never leave this artsy apartment and making cookies with Amelia for the rest of my life.

"I'm gonna try to make you but as a gingerbread man," Amelia says as she sits down with a piping bag full of icing and half of the gingerbread men. I've got the other bag of icing in my hand and the other half of the gingerbread men in front of me, waiting to be decorated with far less finesse than Amelia’s cookies.

"You're an artist. You've got an unfair advantage," I pout yet again, starting to make uneven lines and lopsided eyes on my cookies. I grimace at my creations and my pout only grows when I glance over and see that Amelia’s look perfect.

"It's not a competition," Amelia responds, not even looking up from her interpretation of me in gingerbread form. "And remember what I said, everyone sees art differently. There’s no right or wrong in art,” she lets out a small squeal and then throws her piping bag down, leaning closer to me to show me the cookie. “Look! It’s you!”

The gingerbread man has an attempt at curly hair along with a button-up shirt, a tie, slacks, and converse. Honestly, the cookie version of me is pretty cute, but maybe I’m biased because Amelia made it. Amelia is elated at my pleased reaction and goes on to decorating more cookies, so I prop up her creation and keep on going.

I settle into my barstool and keep my eyes down, swinging my feet back and forth. There's a question on the tip of my tongue that I'm too scared to ask. It's been there for weeks. But this question implies follow up questions about me and I don't want to risk that. But I’ve been pondering this question since I met Amelia and I think that I would be willing to risk the follow-up questions if it means I get some sort of answer.

"Amelia," I say quietly, earning a hum in response, "I have a question,"

"Yeah?" She's soft-spoken, clearly focused on her cookies.

"Why don't you talk about your family?"

I look up just in time to see her grip on the piping bag falter, and she has to readjust her hold. But before she can do that, her hand reaches for the butterfly necklace that's forever around her neck and she tugs on it gently. That tells me that the necklace has a connection to her family, I just don't know how. Nope. Stop it right there. She told me when I came in to stop profiling her, even though it was clearly a joke, I shouldn’t start doing it now.

"I, um," she lets out a breath and lets her eyes wander behind me, presumably at the wall of picture frames, "I just don't really like to talk about my family," that's all she says before she goes quiet. She readjusts her grip on the piping bag and goes back to work, deciding the conversation is over. Heat rises to my cheeks and my anxiety increases when I realize that my curiosity has gotten the better of me and I’ve ruined the good thing we have going on here with that simple question. So I just decide to shut my mouth and keep decorating my cookies. "You don't talk about your family either,"

It’s the question I was dreading, but it’s the one I was expecting. So I just shrug my shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. "You're not the only one who doesn't like to talk about their family,"

Amelia doesn't respond to that. It's one of the first times in our two months of knowing each other that I've seen her act shut off. The only time she ever acted out of character was asking if I would come over today, and she was only a little bit nervous for a few minutes. She's always so bubbly and open to any question or topic I have, so to have her sitting as close as ever but feel so far away is frustrating and the need to fill the grave I just dug myself.

"Amelia, I didn't mean to offend you with-"

"No, it's okay," she shakes her head, once again, her fingers adjusting around the piping bag. "It's a common thing that people talk about and I've never brought it up and you're a profiler so naturally, you would bring it up. It's fine, Spencer. I promise,"

"It doesn't seem fine. You're not even looking at me,"

"You're profiling me again," Amelia responds, her voice wavering.

I put my piping bag down and move closer to her, gently taking hers out of her hand and placing it down on the table. "Amelia, I-I didn't mean anything by it. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,"

She looks up at me and I can see that her eyes are glassy, and it stings to know that I’m the one who made her feel like that. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be doing this on Christmas," She sniffles, reaching her fingertips up to wipe at her under-eyes. I have an overwhelming need to comfort her back to happiness, especially since I made her so unhappy. So even though my hands shake in the slightest, I hold my arms out towards her. Amelia notices right away, her eyebrows raising. "Seriously?" I nod. "You won't shake or hold my hand but you'll hug me?"

"You need a hug so I'm here to give you a hug,"

Amelia’s face lights up and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around my waist tightly. I circle my arms around her shoulders and tuck her head under my chin, smiling at the way she fits perfectly under me. This is comfortable and I feel warm and when she wiggles her body to get closer, it brings a smile to my face. I feel safe. I haven't felt like this is a long time. I might never want to let go, but I think Amelia might have the same idea.

"Does this mean I get to hug you more often now?" Amelia mumbles into the fabric of my sweater. "Don't get me wrong, I love our pinky promises but I also love hugs,"

My eyelids flutter closed and I nod against her head. "Yeah, we can hug more often," I flatten my hands on her back and pull her closer. "I really am sorry about asking about your family,"

"Well, I brought yours up afterward so it's fine,"

We're only pulled apart when the timer on the oven dings and lets us know that the oatmeal cookies are finished. I reluctantly pull myself off of her and grab the oven mitts, pulling the tray out while Amelia returns to frosting her gingerbread men.

"Hey, Spencer?" Amelia calls as I'm scooping cookies off the pan. "Do you have any information about gingerbread men in your big genius head?"

She asked, so I answered. I go off and tell her how gingerbread men date back to the 15th Century and how the first documented use of them was at the court of Elizabeth I. I go on for maybe ten minutes about the history of these edible men and maybe it's more than she was bargaining for, but she never interrupted and she listened to the whole thing. That's rare these days. Even my closest friends on my team cut me off constantly and sometimes tune out my facts.

"I didn't know any of that. School really doesn't teach students anything they wanna learn about," Amelia laughs, adding two more gingerbread men to the pile of cookies.

We finish creating our mountain of different types of cookies at around 4 so we decide that we should start making dinner, that way, we can relax the rest of the night and not have to be rushing around the kitchen. The sun starts to set and the snow starts to fall as we set out on a new adventure of cooking dinner. Amelia goes to turn up the heat and I notice her take a moment to pause in front of the balcony doors to stare out at the fresh blanket of snow. But the second she turns and comes back to the kitchen, I whip my head down to the lasagna recipe in my hands to memorize it. Yet again, I decide to let Amelia take charge of this recipe because I would rather not mess it up.

///

We pop our tray of lasagna in the oven and then set a timer for the proper amount of time. "Alright," Amelia says, clapping her hands together and bouncing on her toes, "that'll be done in about twenty-five minutes. So maybe we could watch a movie? We've been baking all day so it'd be a good idea to get off our feet,"

It’s a no brainer to agree to the suggestion and I follow Amelia into her living room like a lost puppy with his tail between his legs. She gestures for me to sit on the couch while she drops to the floor in front of the tv, sitting up on her knees to shut off the record player. Then she pulls out a wicker basket filled to the brim with movies. "What are we watching?"

"I've got plenty of Christmas movies because they're my favorite. I've got ones like," she holds up the case to each movie as she names it, "Polar Express, The Grinch, Home Alone, Elf, Love Actually, A Christmas Story and way, way more. Plus I've got the claymation ones like Year Without a Santa Claus, Rudolph, Jack Frost, Frosty the Snowman, and Santa Claus is Coming to Town," she looks up at me. "So which one do you fancy, love?"

There's that damn pet name again.

"Um," I let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of my neck, "I've actually never seen any of those before so I guess just put on your favorite,"

Amelia's eyes widen. "You've never seen any of these before?" I shake my head with a coy smile, my cheeks turning pink. "Wow, I guess it's my turn to educate you, Spencer. I might never get the opportunity to do this again so I'm going to take advantage while I can,"

Amelia jumps to her feet and pops one of the movies in the DVD player. She doesn't tell me what it is but she grabs the remote and comes to sit next to me on the couch. She's not too close to me but she's close enough to make my hands sweaty. I lean down to unlace my shoes and set them aside before getting myself a bit more comfortable on the couch, but not too comfortable. I’ve overheard far too many arguments between Morgan, JJ, Emily, and Garcia about how sitting too close to girls in moments like these can make a guy seem like, in Garcia’s words, a douchebag. And the last thing I want is for Amelia to think I’m a douchebag. So even though I feel I’m a mile away from her with just a couch cushion between us, I don’t move to close the distance.

"I put on The Polar Express because this is one of my favorite Christmas movies of all time," Amelia explains as the main menu comes up and shows the opening titles. "It's a good intro to Christmas movies, I guess, I don't really know,"

"Sure," I nod enthusiastically. "I like learning, I'm ready to watch. Go ahead, play,"

Amelia presses play and then reaches behind her for the blanket draped over the couch. She folds it over her lap and then glances over at me, holding up the corner of the blanket. "Do you-" she trails off, asking me if I want to share. I nod, scooting just a bit closer so we can both comfortably fit under the blanket. Our thighs are touching and it takes everything in me not to cuddle up even closer to her. She invited me over here so she must not think I’m a douchebag, right? This is okay, right?

The movie starts and it's quite different from the movies I'm used to watching. But I can tell it's a movie that has sentimental value to her so I pay close attention to it. It’s not filled with history or framed with subtitles or spewing information at me to instantly memorize. It’s just a lighthearted children’s movie that celebrates Christmas and teaches kids to not let others judge you and to believe in what you want to believe. I would have never watched a movie like this without Amelia and the longer I sit through the movie, the more I wish it wouldn’t end.

But eventually, I lean down to whisper in her ear. "None of the kids have names. Only Billy does,"

Amelia giggles, her head tilting closer to mine but keeping her eyes locked on the tv. "Yeah, you're right. I'm not sure why, they just don't,"

I hum, looking back up at the tv, not completely satisfied with the answer but willing to accept it. I try to focus back on the movie and figure out why these kids are sliding down tiny conveyor belts but I feel Amelia's eyes on me, locked on the side of my face. My attempts to ignore her gaze go in vain because I'm looking back down at her within another minute. She's looking up at me with her bottom lip between her teeth and her blue eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering. She looks horribly stunning and I fear I let my eyes linger on her lips for too long.

"What?" I whisper, wondering why she's staring at me when she should be watching the movie, a movie she claims is one of her favorites.

"Nothing," she says, but makes no attempt to break eye contact with me. "Nothing, I just-" she trails off yet again.

My hands had been placed at my sides but I can't help it when one of them moves to Amelia's cheek, barely even touching her soft skin at first, too afraid that she would flinch. A part of me is almost surprised when she doesn't pull away, but why do I keep getting surprised by her? She's remarkable. She asked me to spend Christmas with her so I wouldn't be alone. She cares about me in some capacity. She's showing me her favorite movies and baking cookies with me and she cares about me. I care about her and she cares about me. Why am I holding back?

"Can-" I clear my throat nervously, "can I kiss you?"

Amelia's eyes flutter for a moment before she nods, tilting her chin upwards. For a moment I think she's going to initiate the kiss, but then she doesn't. She just waits there, leaving me to feel her warm breath on my face and her cold skin under my fingertips. But she respected my boundaries when it came to handshakes and hugs, so even though I've already asked and she's already accepted, it makes sense that she would respect my inevitable boundaries with something as germy and personal and bacteria-filled as a kiss. So that means I have to finally take charge and I don't even have time to figure out if that terrifies me or excites me.

With my hand on her cheek and my heart about to beat out of my chest, I draw her forward and press my lips to hers in the softest and sweetest, most wonderful kiss. She tastes sweet, like strawberry lip balm and gingerbread, and I find my senses being filled with the taste of her. My brain had intended for a simple kiss, but after said simple kiss, I had to have more of her. Amelia doesn't resist as I deepen the kiss, bringing my hand to her neck to bring her closer. Her hands start at my chest but eventually travel up to my jawline, fingertips resting there softly, just barely coaxing me forward. Our lips move perfectly in sync and I could swear, as cheesy as it sounds, I feel burning on my skin from the fallout of the fireworks that erupt above us. I feel Amelia smile as she shuffles a bit closer to me on her knees, her body making even more contact with mine than before when we were just sitting.

My mind is screaming at me to pull away, to push her off of me and run home and curl up in bed, and to ignore Amelia forever. My head says to shield her from this horrible part of the world that I expose myself to and to protect her innocence. That's all I want to do. I want to protect her. As it often does, my head says no but my heart says yes. I can't deny what I'm feeling for Amelia. I can't deny that I haven't slept over my alarm for two months because I'm far too excited to see her every morning at the cafe. I can't help the way my heart speeds up when she walks in and waves at me, or the way I can't help but beam when she laughs, or how I don't want to leave when the alarm on her phone sounds. That's what leads me to wrap my free arm around her waist and bring her chest to mine, the fabric of her sweater clutched in my fist and my lips fervently sliding against hers.

The sharp cry of the oven alarm is the only thing that can get us to pull apart, far too quickly for either of our likings. Amelia pulls away with a sharp inhale, her eyes closed for just a moment longer than mine. "I'll-" she moves one of the hands from my jaw to wipe at her bottom lip, "um, I'll go get that,"

Amelia begrudgingly untangles herself from my arms and then from the blanket around her legs, feet silent on the floor as she hurries to pull the lasagna out of the oven. I'm left on the couch for a moment, completely stunned and actually quite pleased. I’ve never been kissed like that. I didn’t even know I could kiss like that. I didn’t even know I had it in me. But once the momentary shock wears off, the tension sets in and I know I need to follow Amelia. I reach up to pause the movie so we don’t miss anything before following Amelia into the kitchen, seeing her close the oven as she places the tray of lasagna on the stove. Her cheeks are flushed but I can't tell if that's from the kiss or the heat from the oven.

The apartment is tense now that it's silent and Amelia's back is turned to me. Despite the obvious verbal consent, I fear I've ruined everything. I asked to kiss her and even though she accepted, she's quiet. She's busying herself with dishing lasagna and I'm realizing that the only other time she acted this shut off was when I asked about her family. Does that mean I need to apologize again? Oh my gosh, I really don’t know how girls work. I’ve already upset her twice in one day and made her act in ways I’ve never seen before. Maybe I should have listened more when Morgan complained about his girl problems. You know what? Maybe I won’t apologize this time. I’ll try a different approach.

"That wasn't-" I mumble, lingering in the entryway to the kitchen, "weird, right? That didn't totally ruin things, right?"

Amelia's hands pause mid-air for a moment but then she continues dishing food. "No, it wasn't weird,"

Okay, Spencer. If you've ever needed to be bold, now's the time. She obviously likes you and you've accepted that you like her too and that you don't want to lose her, and right now, you're losing her to whatever her brain is telling her. Don't let that happen. Do something.

"So," I take a step closer to her and place my hand on her waist, spinning her around to face me, "so you wouldn't mind if I kissed you again?"

Amelia doesn't even respond, she just grabs my cheeks and kisses me again. I instinctively push her against the counter and hold her there, my hands clutching her waistline as her hands start to thread through my hair. This kiss is needier than the first one, almost as if it's solidifying to both of us that we're really doing this and that these feelings are actually mutual. That the first kiss didn’t scare either of us off and we’re not going anywhere.

I'm the first to pull away when I run out of breath, but I have not a single intention of moving away from her. I still feel Amelia's lips brushing mine and her warm breath fanning across my face, delicate fingers pushing my hair off my forehead. It's shaggy and falling over my forehead, but she arranges it perfectly so it's out of the way. She smiles nervously at me and then she shrinks, and I realize she had to go on her tiptoes to kiss me. "I, um," she laughs, letting her hands fall to my shoulders, "I've had a crush on you for a while. Like, since we first talked,"

I slide my hands down to her hips, feeling the rough tweed fabric under my fingertips. "Really?"

"Yeah," she smiles bashfully. "I thought you were really cute and I may have walked into you on purpose because I was too scared to approach you when you were reading,"

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the realization that the camera fiddling was just a ruse. "What?" Amelia giggles, ducking her head into my shoulder to hide her blush from showing. "No! No hiding!"

"It's true!" She pulls her hands from my shoulders and covers her face. "You were reading and you were doing it so fast and I was confused at how you were actually retaining the information and you looked so cute with your hair up like that and I wanted to talk to you but I didn't know how to. When you got up, I just walked over and then grabbed my camera and-" I grab her wrists gently and pull her hands away from her face. Amelia's face is bright red in embarrassment but she smiles as I slide my hands into hers and lace our fingers together. "I thought you didn't hold hands,"

"You also thought I didn't hug or kiss until tonight," I remark, bringing our hands down to our sides. I lean in one more time and press our lips together, and this time the kiss doesn't need to be quick or passionate or wet. It's slow and sweet. It fills me with the familiar warmth that only Amelia has been able to provide me with.

"You're just full of surprises," Amelia giggles, twisting her head to kiss my cheek. "We should eat before it gets cold, right?"

"Yeah, probably," I don't want to let go of her but I reluctantly do, letting her continue her task of dishing lasagna for the two of us. We resume our positions on the couch, sitting even closer than before. Amelia rewinds the movie quite a bit, making sure I’ve seen every frame that we missed while we were engaged in other activities. She claims she doesn’t mind seeing it again, that she watched this movie last week anyway so rewinding it for me isn’t a big deal at all.

I do my best to pay attention throughout the rest of the movie like Amelia wants me to do, but it's proven to be a challenge. All I want to do is look down at the angel sitting beside me and kiss her and play with her hair and talk to her about any topic that might pop into my head. But she's fixated on the movie and I don't want to tear her away from something that she's so invested in. So I stay silent and sling my arm over the back of the couch in an attempt to get more comfortable. I do it unintentionally, but Amelia takes this as an invitation to cuddle up beside me. She brings her knees up to her chest and rests her head on my shoulder, effectively tucking herself into my side. I'm not complaining, because even though I wasn’t intending to do the ultimate douchebag move and basically silently invite her to cuddle with me, I’m not complaining. I grin for the rest of the movie.

///

"So did you like it?" Amelia asks eagerly, sitting up on her knees as the credits rolls, an expecting grin plastered on her face. "I know you're used to watching movies in different languages and-"

"It was pretty great, actually,"

"You're not just saying that because I told you it's one of my favorites?"

"Not at all. It bothered me that the children didn't have names, besides Billy, but other than that, it was a wonderful movie. I can see why you like it so much," I tell her. "And it's only seven. Are we gonna watch something else?"

"Well," Amelia chews on her lip, pulling away from my embrace slightly as she plays with the hem of her skirt, "the depends on you. If you wanna head home, I know you have work tomorrow and-"

"Actually," unintentionally, I cut her off yet again. But she looks up at me with bright eyes, hopeful that I'll want to stay, "I don't expect that you got me anything but I brought you a gift,"

I quickly leap up to avoid seeing her reaction, returning to my messenger bag in the doorway, reaching in for the perfectly wrapped gift. I spent hours on the floor of my bedroom wrapping the present, and then unwrapping it when the paper creased, then wrapping it again, then unwrapping it when the paper ripped, and then finally leaving the wrapping after what seemed like the millionth try. It was a process but it was worth it because it looks absolutely perfect.

When I return to the living room, Amelia is gone. I sit down with the gift in my lap, assuming she'll be back soon. And sure enough, she comes bounding down the floating stairs a second later. "I did actually get you a gift," she says, jumping back onto her spot on the couch. "Just something little," I pass my gift off to her and she does the same with me until we're holding each other's presents. It's odd actually, because I've given and received gifts with my team and with my mom, but never like this. Never with a girl I have a massive crush on. Never with someone who I care on another level for. Never with a girl who seems to put the sun in the sky.

I gesture for Amelia to go first, placing her gift in my lap, to be opened next. She gives me an excited smile and nods, obeying my quiet warning to hold it carefully as she searches for a spot to pull the paper back. "They're-" she pulls the paper clean off and beams, "45's,"

"Yeah," I nod anxiously as she reveals my present. "You told me you love records and this bookstore I love sells records too. I found these and I thought of-" I clear my throat, "well, they made me think of you,"

Amelia looks through the small stack of records in her hands, narrowing her eyes at me. "Most of them are classical, Spencer,"

"You need more classical music in your life, Amelia," I sass back at her, earning a small scoff in returning, bringing up a small quarrel we had a few weeks ago. "You can't spend your days listening to Christmas music, Frank Sinatra, and Taylor Swift,"

Amelia glances up at me with a small pout. "I could try,"

I laugh, pointing to the records in her hand. "Well, now you don't have to,"

"Thank you, love. This is wonderful, really. I'm gonna put one of these on right after you open your gift," she places them on her lap and then points at the present in my lap. "Go ahead. It's your turn."

I tear back the wrapping paper and first find a pack of coloring pencils, which seems like an odd gift, considering how many times I’ve established that I’m bad at art, but then I find a black leather journal behind it. Upon further inspection, I find that there are drawings on the front of the journal. My name is written in beautiful calligraphy on the top of the cover, and all around the front are small pictures. I find things like coffee cups, cameras, a deck of cards, an imperfect square with the pattern of one of Amelia's scarves, a record player, beakers, plenty of books, and much more.

"It's a sketchbook," Amelia explains softly. "You were saying how you wish you were better at art, so now you have the means to practice. And I was thinking about when you go on cases and you could bring it with you and I tried to put things on the front that would maybe, I don't know, comfort you." She pauses and I look up at her, waiting for her to continue with what she wants to say. Because just by the tight-lipped smile on her face, I know she wants to say something else. "Selfishly, I put references to me on there,"

I set my gift onto the coffee table and then move the records aside, pulling Amelia into my arms again. She happily accepts this embrace, arms circling my shoulders. "I love it," I tell her. "Thank you. I'll definitely bring it on cases with me. I can't ensure that anything I draw in it is good, but-"

"But you've got a pretty great teacher right here."

///

Amelia watches with an overly dramatic pout as I button up my jacket and put my scarf on, glancing out the window to check out bad the snow is. She crosses her arms over her chest as I put my messenger bag over my shoulder, making me laugh. "Don't make me feel even worse for leaving,"

"If I make you feel really bad, will you stay?" Amelia practically begs, even though she's already reaching for the doorknob. She knows I have work tomorrow and I have to be up early. She opens the door and then leans against the frame, still clearly not ready for me to depart.

"Hey, why don't you sleep in tomorrow? We don't need to meet up tomorrow morning. Get some extra sleep. It's almost midnight,"

Amelia's pout grows. "What? But what if you get a case? Then I won't see you for a few days, at least,"

"Then," I hadn't entirely thought this through because she totally has a point. WWDMD? I know exactly what Derek Morgan would do. Of all the times I’ve thought about Morgan today, I know exactly how he would respond in this situation. I reach out to grab her waist and pull her into a half hug, smiling, "then I'll make it up to you by taking you out on a proper date when I get back,"

Amelia's smile grows and she starts to nod. "That sounds like a plan," she goes up on her toes to kiss me but her lips only brush mine before pulling away again. "What if you don't get a case? Are you still gonna take me on a date?"

I put on a pensive face that makes her laugh. "I'll think about it," I press my lips to hers, unable to handle the short, torturous distance anymore. The kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as I want it to because we’re standing the hallway at midnight where anyone could catch us, letting the heat out, after a long day of making cookies and watching movies, and it’s absolutely freezing. So when we pull away, I have to will myself to not groan or grimace.

"Let me walk you out," Amelia hums, grabbing her keys before walking out with me. Our pinky's interlock as we walk down her apartment hallway, towards the door outside. "Will you text me when you get home? I just wanna make sure you get home safe," we stop in front of the door and she wraps her arms around my waist. "I know you're a fully capable FBI agent and all but it's late and I worry about that stuff,"

"Of course I will," I hug her tightly, pressing my lips to her cheek. "Thank you for inviting me over. I would've just been sitting alone and reading books all day without you,"

"Thanks for coming over," she echoes, pulling away from our ultra-warm hug and letting a chill run down her spine. "I would've watched movies alone all day. So thanks for being with me. I'll miss you tomorrow,"

"I will too, but I'll text you when I get home and I'll talk to you tomorrow to let you know if I get a case or not,"

"I'll be glued to my phone," Amelia winks at me, getting me to laugh one last time for the night. "Now go, before it gets even later."

“You go back to your apartment first. I know it’s right there but I, uh,” I glance behind her, down the dim hallway, “I worry about that stuff,”

Amelia smiles in the most smitten way I think I’ve ever seen, and for once, I think I’ve actually done something right. “Yeah, okay,” she nods, and she pushes herself up on her toes to kiss my cheek on more time. “Bye, Spencer. Merry Christmas,”

“Merry Christmas,” I echo, watching her scurry back to her apartment and unlock the door, stepping into the warmth. Her head pops out once more and she sends me a wave, blowing me a kiss before she disappears. The air I exhale reverberates off the wall and the smile on my face is undeniable, even as I dance on the cusp of frostbite during my walk home. A girl like that is mine? A girl like that who blows kisses and bakes cookies all day and cuddles during movies? She’s mine? Amelia is mine. She really is and as soon as that thought echoes in my head, a laugh escapes my lips. I must be the luckiest man alive.

hello there! if you’re still reading here then please tell me your favorite snack!! plz im v hungry thank u sm okay here’s the taglist

TAGLIST

@etheralgubler @babybobbybones @whollytaciturn @reidswords @thegingerfairchild @matthewreid @shrimpyblog @garcias-batcave @anamelessfacelessnerd @nastyhar @gublergirls @mandapanda8

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #nikos north fic

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londonfog-chan · 5 years ago

Text

Abbacchi x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

The coffee shop Abbacchio THIRST everyone keeps losing their collective shit over on AO3 and admittedly the chapter where I decided I was one thirsty ass bitch. All characters aged up.

...

"Ok, fucking Darth Vader over here, whoever has their headset on turn it the fuck off! Sounds like you're doing something gross!"

Darth Vader is an understatement. Whenever someone leaves their headset on and does any task, your ears are assaulted with what sounds like some mouth breather huffing directly into your ear canal.

Not even two shifts into Passione and you're already showing your coworkers that you have the capacity to look innocent, but have the mouth of a sailor. In a fitting turn of events you've been put on customer support, free to fuck off wherever you wish and cuss all you want on the headset. No one at your store appreciates your humor, in fact any time you make a joke they conveniently pretend they don't hear you or they grimace until the situation becomes awkward and you have to shut your mouth before you make an even bigger ass of yourself. Here at this location, the boys eat it up with a spoon. They can't get enough of your jokes, encouraging you whenever they force a headset on your head the minute you clock in. Even the new girl Trish, a pretty thing with dyed pink hair and a smile that goes for miles, joins in on the never ending train of dirty jokes, profanities, and general riff raff that makes Bruno bitch at everyone involved like a single mother.

But at the moment, the breathing most certainly does not belong to Bruno. Usually he's the one who always casually reminds people when they leave their headsets on.

"Mista!" you growl, "Turn it off or breathe less!"

"It's not me." he insists, the beep of the warming oven being cut off as he mutes himself.

"Narancia, I love you but I don't need to hear what it's like for you to get laid!"

"Negative babe~... I'm on drive bar." Narancia replies.

"Trish?"

"Not me hunty." she answers, and the sound of the wind in her headset confirms this.

"Fugo, I swear to fuck-..."

"It's me. Fugo doesn't have a headset."

Immediately you press on the sprayer head a little too hard and the back splash soaks the entire front of your apron and your uniform shirt. The voice you're greeted with on the headset is totally foreign, and unmistakably sexy. A low hum, almost like Bruno's baritone, and much like the rest of the crew you've come to love it's colored with the slightest hue of an accent that makes your knees start to knock together. Admittedly you're bad with voices and just as worse with names. You can't put a face to this voice no matter how hard you try, and it's no wonder considering that out of all the stores in the district, Passione has more employees than any of them, including H. Green and S. Platinum locations which are always overstaffed because of the sheer amount of business compared to the meager crowds you get at Ogre Street.

But... With that voice... if you were a customer you'd fucking live at that drive thru just to hear him read back your order to you.

"Woah..." you're nearly moaning the words "I'm wet in more ways than one, who the fuck is this?"

"It's Leone." he replies, voice low and sultry, "Sorry about that, I was eating a bagel."

Leone... who the fuck is Leone? Surely he has to be one of the other baristas whose names you never bothered to learn... doesn't really matter to you when you have constant attention of the store's man candy. But suddenly this is a whole new person with the sexiest voice you've ever heard giving you attention like everyone else. For very obvious reasons, this piques your interest.

"I don't recognize your voice." you said, putting down the whisk you were rinsing. "What's your last name?"

"Abbacchio." he responds. "We haven't met face to face yet, but I've seen you before. You're the beanie from Ogre Street right? It's nice to finally talk to you. I think you're really pretty."

... Oh sweet baby Jesus why aren't you taking the wheel yet!?

"Aww, and aren't you just a sweetheart?" you murmur, leaning over the sink as your voice drops to a near whisper. "Wait... Aren't you the one with the pretty handwriting in the book?"

His chuckle makes you honest to god swoon, and even Bruno peeks his head in to check on you when you make that kind of a noise.

"Yes, that's me." he confirms. "And you're the one with the great customer service. I haven't gotten a chance to talk to you, but I've been listening for a while. I really like your attitude. You're much more fun than your coworkers."

“Really?" you ask, taking up more dirty dishes, "Big shocker there, I'm surprised no one at this store is drooling over Ogre Street's heartthrob one miss Kimmy."

"Meh. I think the consensus is that you're the favorite barista out of everyone from your store if we're being honest."

That's Narancia, and even Abbacchio agrees with the rest of the crew. They all start complimenting you, how you never ask stupid questions, you try to help out any way you can. They honestly can't go two minutes without berating the other coworkers. It's all things you'd normally do to try and be helpful, but you're not sure exactly why it's so endearing to all of them. You're just another barista? It's never mattered to anyone this much before. Especially when you always come home in tears at your other location. It must be that you're not used to receiving compliments in such abundance.

"Agreed." reaffirms Abbacchio. "You're really agreeable, and I like your jokes. Your laugh is really sexy."

"Well aren't you a flatterer." you smile, putting the dishes to soak in the sani solution before throwing them for another go in the dish washer. "But I like having my ego stroked. Tell me more about how I'm wonderful, Abbacchio."

You can tell he's about to reply, until you hear the mournful "ding" from the drive thru sensors indicate that someone wants to order. You hear him tell you "hold that thought" before he turns his charms the customer.

"Hello there..." he purrs into the headset, "Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what can I get started for you today?"

The customer murmurs an "oh wow" before she remembers why she came here in the first place.

"Um yes hi can I please get a..."

It doesn't take much for you to zone out and return to your task. As soon as you finish up this set of dishes, you'll be able to take your last ten before you go home for the day. Customer Support is one of those coveted positions because you have little to no interactions with customers at a busy store. Bruno sets you to work with a task list, you work to the limit on the timer on your apron. Whenever it goes off, you have to drop what you're doing and come back to front to brew coffee. If anyone needs anything, like if Mista runs out of warming bags or Narancia needs more cups or milk, all they have to do is press the button on the headset and set you forth to do their bidding. Admittedly, you don't find yourself going straight home anymore. Even your brother, stoic and nonchalant, makes comments about it whenever you come home an hour or two later than the time you're supposed to. Mom, well, she's a worrier, and thinks you're getting up to no good shenanigans. But let's be real, when you live in the house you live in any trysts with potential suitors goes out the window. Your brother is in college and his schedule is unpredictable, and your mom is a homemaker.

The minute Abbacchio tells the flustered woman to pull up to the window, he returns to shower you with compliments over the headset, calling you the prettiest thing he's ever seen to put on an apron, how cute your angry face looks when you're totally focused on bar, even busting out some cutesy nicknames that make you squirm as you try to finish up your dishes. Strangely enough, everyone else is silent on the headset, letting you and Abbacchio get acquainted with one another to your heart's content, the lull in the conversation only happening when a customer pulls up. Eventually, like all good things, the compliments come to an end and the conversation turns to other topics.

"So you said you live with your mom?" Abbacchio asks after taking an order of five different fraps. You can hear Narancia cussing softly as he has to make each individual drink.

"Yeah, my mom and my big brother." you affirm. "It's the most I can afford in this town. Everything's so goddamn expensive, I couldn't even afford to make the first and last month's rent on the cheapest place in town, and my brother can't move in with me yet since he's doing school full time. But enough about me, what about you?"

"Mm? What about me?" he asks, flirt evident in his voice.

"Which country do I have to thank for that blessed ass accent you have?"

"That's Italy." he laughs. "I've been with the company for over six years, I started out at the reserve roastery in Milan and came here when Buccellati offered me a job. I came on a work visa, and now you can't get rid of me. I'm one of your shift supervisors."

"Well, temp supervisor anyway." you respond rather sadly. "It's too bad this store hadn't been opened before I got hired. Otherwise I would have loved to start here."

"I still think you should transfer." interjects Trish. "No one likes Ogre Street anyways."

"I... I'd have to think about it."

"What's there to think about anyway?" Abbacchio asks, and you stop scrubbing the chocolate pump for a minute. "If you transfer here, I'd get to talk to you every single day. Tips are shit but you can move up if you'd like."

"And the best part is if you transfer here, we can see your huge ass every time you bend over." Mista chimes in.

"MISTA! WE ARE AT WORK!" Bruno sounds exasperated over the headset.

"Oh yeah, my bad boss. I mean to say we can see your venti ass every time you bend over."

Everyone loses their shit for a minute to laugh as Bruno begins to berate the very bad and naughty warming man off headset. Before he mutes, you can hear him threaten disciplinary action, and you can't stop howling in the back. Nearly falling over just thinking about it.

"So how about it cuteness?" Abbacchio asks, and his voice is so warm and inviting you can't help but smile. "Think it's worth us stealing you away to stay here?"

"Yeah... I dunno. Like I said, I'd have to think about it. Besides, I think working here would just give my mommy an excuse to show up more often..."

A shrill sound assaults your ears, the timer, and you sigh.

"Now the age old question..." you wonder aloud, "What the fuck did I brew last?"

"I know we've been selling a lot of medium and dark." Abbacchio replies. "And it's already ten thirty, just cut the blonde and do full batches. Narancia can do pour overs."

"Ah yes," you can hear the mischief in Narancia's voice. "My special americano pour overs."

"You know Narancia, one of these days corporate is gonna walk in and see all the shit you do and your ass is going to get canned." you respond, laughing as you wash your hands in the employee sink before going back out to front.

"Fuck it." he laughs. "It won't bother me none, Buccellati can take care of me with all that Mama Daddy money he's got."

"Oh hey, cara mia, when you come up to front, come to drive. I've got something for you."

That was Abbacchio, and for a hot minute you're almost nervous, like a first date, at the prospect of seeing him face to face.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

"Well," you hear the rustle of the bag, "It's cat shaped, and really cute, like a certain barista I know..."

"OOOOOOOOH DADDY!" you squeal. "You've just made me the happiest girl on earth!"

He's found your weakness. The quickest way for any man to get to your heart is to dangle some motherfucking food in your face, no lie. Even your brother has commented on more than one occasion that if anyone wanted to take you all they had to do was dangle a fucking cupcake in your face and you were toast. And it doesn't help that you called your mom squealing about the cute little kitty shaped cake pops they had out for the season.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Come and get this and we can meet in person."

Ever the one to be lured in with the prospect of free food, you run your ass to the front, nearly bowling over Mista as you skid to a halt at the nook where the drive thru window is located. To your ever lasting shock, you come face to face with the last person you'd ever expect to be flirting with you so boldly.

"Holy shit..." you breathe. "Abbacchio?"

It's the dude who gang faced you the first day you came in, and ironically the one who got fed up with your friend's bar time. Silver hair pulled into a pony tail, glistening purple lips, snatched makeup that's too perfect for a barista... All put together in a black apron. His glare never leaves his face, but maybe... Just maybe, he's like your brother and just has a very bad case of resting bitch face. Because you get a little hopeful when he sees you and his lipstick mouth smiles, beckoning you over with a warming bag in his hand. When Abbacchio reaches in, he pulls out the very treat you've been craving all day since you've seen it. This is the best part of the job. Sometimes some customers forget they get food and never come back, and it just sits there for hours until someone has to throw it away, or they'll change their mind last minute about the food, or worse yet someone on warming (Mista) will fuck up an order and get the wrong sandwich. If it's a sandwich, nine times out of ten you have to toss it, but if it's a sweet treat it's usually fair game for anyone to enjoy since it will just go in the trash. You love to have the mistake foods, sometimes you'll take them to your brother at the college, or more often than not you'll take them home to share with your mother. She loves sweets, and working for a coffee chain she normally can't afford to frequent is such a rare treat that you love to spoil her.

"Oh my god!" you coo, "Is that a kitty cat cake poop just for me??"

"Just for you." he chuckles. "Why do you call it that anyway?"

"I dunno. For some reason the feral part of my brain activates whenever I see words and I just like to play around with them and mutter weird things to myself. I tried telling it to my SM at Ogre Street and he told me I better not call it that, otherwise I might slip and call it a cock pop or something."

He can't help the smile that spreads over his face, and he suddenly gets a very naughty glint in his eye as he twirls the cake pop in your direction.

"So?" he asks. "You made such a big to do about being friendly on the headset. Be a good girl and take a bite of the treat I worked so hard to get for you. Come on, take a big nom nom out of this cock pop~."

You hope and pray that by some stroke of bad luck that no one you know outside of work just heard that. Not one to be shown up when it comes to flirting, you don't miss a beat as you step forward. With a look in your face that would make your mother faint if she knew how filthy you were being, you waste no time in licking a stripe slowly up the cake pop before taking a fat ass bite out of the head. Abbacchio's grin could split his entire face in half, and even more so when you use your teeth to pull the pop stick out of his hand.

"Hey... hunty, question?" it's Trish interrupting the positively predatory stares you and Abbacchio are giving each other. She's been listening in this whole time.

"Yes Trisha my love?" you respond, not taking your eyes off Abbacchio.

"Just one question... Can you eat pussy like that?"

A cacophony of screams and your screech of "NASTY WOMAN" makes Trish lose her shit outside, and Bruno swears up and down from the back office that he's going to write up the next person who says something filthy over headset during his shifts.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure vento aureo #jojo’s bizzare adventure #leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio #coffee shop au #reader instertjojo’s bizarre adventure reader insert

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