#he's a nerd with little to no sense of self

[fclsebnnyodair]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . loser stiles and his out-of-his-league pretty girlfriend.

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

stiles finally gets it. he gets you. 

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

—

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then she smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tiredbitchposts]

I often feel like people forget that both Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu got fucked over in the transmitgation with Shen Yuan dying and being forced to live as someone to fix that person's mistakes and Shen Jiu being forced out of his body so someone could live his life better than he did. Both of them got the shit end of the deal, that's the whole point of it, Shen Yuan may have gotten his happy ending but he'll never be his own person and he's at the mercy of the system for the rest of his life and Shen Jiu never got a happy ending but now he'll never get tortured in the most cruel ways possible and live knowing he indirectly caused the death of the person he loved the most

[chai-dye]

So so normal about what a character's music tastes says about them

[tobiasdrake]

I really do love how much you can tell about Doomguy just from looking around his room.

Like. Yeah, all the stuff you expect to see is there.

He's got his big ol' gun rack.

What appears to be a rock he uses as a punching bag.

Whetstone for sharpening his knives. All the Real Manly Violence Man stuff you'd think would be there.

But also a pair of nunchaku. Doomguy has never used nunchaku in any of his games. Those are just there because apparently he's the kind of dork who likes to play around with nunchaku and pretend he's doing kung fu.

Also a jump rope. Gotta keep his cardio up for all that running and jumping he has to do.

He reads Guns & Bullets magazine, but he also reads Science Monthly. Which makes sense that he'd be a bit of a techie since....

...he seems to have made his new Praetor Suit by disassembling the old one and rebuilding it to be higher-quality. You can see from the guts of the suit that it's powered armor, and he just... knows how to work that.

He's mad. Not stupid.

He also reads cooking magazines, of course. His only friend is Doom J.A.R.V.I.S.; He's gotta be self-sufficient. Though how he got those pizzas delivered is certainly beyond me.

And, of course, he has a collection of regular books that he likes to read as well. Though his taste in literature reveals a certain trend.

Also, he reads comics.

So many comics.

So, so many comics that he's left discarded comics lying around on his munitions cases. This man is a nerd.

And if you doubt his nerd cred, remember that he even keeps collectible toy displays. Doomguy is explicitly the kind of person who will go out of his way in a firefight with the forces of Hell itself to go snatch up a new toy for his collection.

He even has collectible toy figures hanging out on his computer desk. He put a little hard hat on one of them.

On the other side of his desk, he's got some leftover pizza from the inexplicable delivery service, plus takoyaki flavor chips and some candy. It seems Doomguy is a fruity candy kind of guy, not a chocolate guy. Man after my own heart.

Oh, you know he has shredded every single surface of the Fortress of Doom at some point. How do you think he learned to react so quickly in combat?

That is, of course....

When he's not ROCKING OUT with one of his three separate guitars. I bet the middle one's his favorite. It has a place of honor under the giant demon skull.

Some people might say that a record player and casette tapes are old-fashioned but cut him some slack; He's a Gen X-er.

Of course, there's one thing that any walk through Doomguy's room reveals more than anything else. The one thing that matters more than the world to him. The thing that drives him in his every waking moment.

He loved his bunny rabbit. My favorite thing about the portrait - Well, my favorite thing about it is that it's a piece of fanart that got officially canonized, but aside from that - is that he's wearing his Praetor Suit in it.

That's not something he brought from home. He commissioned an artist to paint that after becoming a Night Sentinel. He still loves his poor, late bunny rabbit.

And he keeps her close to him when he's home.

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[frmisnow]

BORDEAUX !

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

notes. welcome to a new verse (aka. series), usually most of my series are more fluffy w a touch of smut (besides two whores, one job lol) but this one is gonna be a lot more angsty and smutty! so i hope y'all are into that kinda jam 🍷⭒⋆｡˚

warnings /includes. (1.7 k words / suggestive!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, alcohol, shitty ex :/, jk is an alcohol nerd?, reader kind of uses him to kill bad memories ?, making out

the air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and smoke melted with the faint music somewhere in the background: jazz, how unfitting for this kind of environment. the enviornment which people go to specifically to escape reality, for a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

the alcohol wasn't bad, at least judging by the wine and it offered a sense of peace or rebellion, stupid fucking rebellion. your ex used to despise wine with all of his heart, he hated the scent of it, didn't want you to drink any of it near him.

he didn't like when you drank alcohol over all, he was stern on the idea of keeping you innoccent. you chugged down the glass like a shot at the sheer memory of the behavior you used to put up with.

the glass hits the table with a dull thud and you could almost hear his voice, scolding you for how reckless you were. you reach out for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass. and this time you savor the taste on your tongue, the rich flavor.

you feel eyes burning into your face, no- not burning, observing. it didn't feel uncomfortable but you could firmly feel them on you. the man's presence cut through the fog of alcohol and self-pity that had settled over you, and for a moment, you simply stared.

you should have looked away, but you didn’t. instead, you lifted your glass to your lips, taking another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down your throat, heavy and warm. he watched you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving yours.

he stands up making his way to you, and suddenly the crowd and all the shitty memories fade away, it was almost like he had a bigger effect on you then the alcohol did and that said a lot.

finally, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “mind if i join you?”

the question was formal, did he work in business? no, that would be stupid to assume based of just a question. you nod, slowly but surerly, motioning towards the chair next to you.

he takes the seat next to you, signaling for a nearby waiter, requesting another glass, before turning his attention back to you. his gaze is intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to see straight through to your soul.

“rough night?” he asks, his tone conversational but his eyes still focused intently on you.

his thigh touched yours, the proximity with somebody you didn't know should make you feel uncomfortable but it strangely didn't. "yeah," you mouth. the whole truth was too complicated, too raw, to lay out infront of a stranger.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before he speaks again, his voice was soft, almost soothing. "you're downing that glass like it's water."

you look at the almost empty glass that your fingers had been circling around while talking to him, he was right. you didn't even remember how many glasses you had, three perhaps?

"you have a pretty voice," you mumble, finshing what was left of liquid in the glass.

he raised an eyebrow at the compliment, surprised by the sudden comment from you. he can't help but chuckle a little, amused by the drunken confession. "thank you," he replies, sounding sincere.

you both barerly talked, you were two strangers in a cheap bar, why bother talking about boring jobs? the night was young.

the music in the background shifted, a slower, bluesy tune now. the more you looked at him, the more you could firmly feel his thigh pressed into your own. his fingers, tattooed, why hadn't you noticed that earlier? took the wine bottle from earlier, tilting it around to look at the label. he seemed to know the brand, humming in approval.

"it's a good vintage." he says, still holding the bottle but his eyes are on you, studying your face in the dim light.

and this actually managed to crack a smile out of you. it wasn't meant to be a funny comment, in fact he seemed serious about it. was he an alcohol expert? the fact that you knew absolutly nothing about wine made it better.

he takes a sip from his own glass, his eyes never leaving yours. he can't help but find your lack of knowledge about wine oddly endearing.

please, talk me stupid about alcohol. i want to know what rebellion tastes like. the words linger on your tongue but you don't cave into the urge of saying them. i want you to teach me what he was so afraid of showing me.

"i have a whole collection of rare and expensive wines back at my place. some you would never find even in the best bars," he pauses, his hand brushing slightly against your arm.

"are you trying to make me come home with you?" you ask though it's not a question you necessarily need an answer to, you knew what he had meant.

"and if i was?" his eyes stay on yours, tilting his head, "would you come with me?"

stupid fucking question.

the second you step into his apartment, the door closing behind you, he is already on you. his hands are on your waist, holding you firmly in place as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting the mixture of your saliva and the rich flavor of the wine.

when you both take time to breathe, you ask, "so where is the wine you were talking about?" your tone is clearly intoxicated, your eyes a little hazy as he doesn't let go of you and you both stumble towards his living room together. the action seeming strangely domestic.

"it's right there." his voice a tad bit breathless, he motions towards a large display of alcohol, his eyes scanning the selection before settling on a particular bottle.

he reaches for the bottle, the arm around your waist still keeping you close to him, the alcohol clearly making the both of you more touchier then you would be sober.

jungkook holds up the bottle, letting you get a good look at the label. it was an expensive brand, even you could tell that, the words written on it swirling in an elegant script.

you hum, "italy," leaning into his touch sub counciously whilst he drew little circles over the clothed skin, twisting the bottle, "when did you get this?"

"i have a guy who brings me the good stuff from time to time."

your eyes wandered over the display, you wanted to kneel forward to look over the bottles but didn't want to get out of his embrace either.

it felt good, doing everything your ex would scrutinize you for. he'd be disapproving off even letting you look over all of these.

his head made a little motion towards almost like a silent 'go on' like he could firmly hear your thoughts.

the bottles seemed rare, visably very espensive and whilst you looked over the alcohol, he looked at you.

"what do you think?" he asks after a few minutes, tone soft and quiet like he didn't want to disturb you.

"i think i've had enough to drink already but it's all really pretty," you trail off, "you're really pretty"

jungkook smiles at the comment, reaching forward to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture seemingly absentminded yet surprisingly tender, "is that the alcohol talking?"

you shrug, grinning, "i honestly don't know"

he studies your face for a moment, his eyes roving over your features. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline, the touch light and gentle. "you know, you're very pretty yourself," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

the color of the red wine in your hands is now the exact color of your cheeks and your mind is empty as you lean forward to kiss him once more.

this time when your lips meet, it was rather delicate and slow. as you both sat on the ground next to the large display and kissed eachother like it was the end of the world.

and you don't stop when you felt like you couldn't breathe, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the pulse beneath the shirt. this was what drowning memories was all about.

your ex didn't kiss like this. he didn't hold you like this and he most certaintly will never get the chance to redeem himself ever.

you find yourselves sinking to the floor while jungkook craddles your face as if you were something precious, something worth cherishing.

your ex kissed you just to check of the foreplay box, jungkook kisses you because he wants to.

"i want you," you mumur against his lips as you both take time to breathe.

you wake up to harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds, you realize you're lying on a coach. his coach. the cool leather fabric is a stark contrast to your bare skin, that's when you notice — you’re only in your panties. red lace with little bows.

the rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, your shirt draped over the armrest, your skirt crumpled beside it.

you try to piece the events of last night together, did you sleep together? ... you can't quite remember. you sit up slowly, your head pounding with the dull throb of a hangover.

jungkook's presence was no where to be found, the apartment was dead quiet. he left you here, naked and confused: what a dick.

you do your best to gather the clothes, slipping into them, you search for your phone, finding it next to the alcohol display. you take another look at the various bottles, now sober.

you shake your head at how easy you were yesterday, checking the time on your phone until your heart drops — the meeting. the meeting you could not afford to miss.

you let out a groan of frustration, fighting the zipper of your skirt, great- you were going to meet your new ceo looking and feeling like a mess.

you step into the large building with your heart still pounding, why did the metro station have to be so far away from your job? running as fast as you can had been your only option.

you push through the glass doors of the conference room, instantly sitting down, you did not want the people to look even more then a second at the wrinkled skirt of yours.

the important man stands facing away from you, writing something down on a white board. he seemed pretty tall, confident posture.

and then he turns around.

your expression drops. it's him. it's the man from last night.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd

[mariasont]

What if I put an insane little idea in your head and let it bounce around? Mid seasons (7/8 ish?) Spencer with a kinnda sorta fangirl? She just started at the BAU and it’s not that she’s weird about him but she does have like 3 of his papers memorized down to the letter and she “possibly quoted him on her college application essay” (it’s the literal conclusion).

Like she’s just this little ball of excitement and he has no clue what to do when the team is like “ask her out for the love of god and stop making heart eyes when she lets you nerd out”

Sorry if this makes no sense it’s 2:30 in the morning

FANGIRL - S.R

a/n: AHHHHH BECAUSE WHAT IF I JUST SMOOCHED YOU

loved, loved, LOVED this idea and writing it! you are amazing <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: reader being a fangirl for reid because WHO WOULDNT BE UGH

wc: 1.2k

"Dr. Reid, hi, it's such an honor. I'm the new agent."

You give him your name, hand extended out to him, bouncing off the balls of your feet. There was a badge pinned to your shirt, the clip attached to it gleaming in the fluorescent light, which despite its usual severity, seemed to soften around you.

Spencer comes to a standstill, his coffee suspended mid-sip, documents wrinkled in his hands as he assesses you. You are pretty. exceedingly so, but he's having trouble processing it, his mind still shrouded in the remnants of sleep. 

He blinks away his surprise. "Nice to meet you. Hotch must've briefed you about the team, I assume?"

He adjusted the heap of papers to under his arm, freeing his hand to meet yours. The softness he encountered prompted a momentary pause, awakening a sudden urge to not let go. However, he promptly set aside the thought, releasing your hand with a concealed hesitation. 

You fiddled with your earlobe, you shot him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, Hotch did, but I already knew a bit about you. I've always been a fan of your work. I mean, not like a fan per se, because that would be weird, right? But I've read all your papers, and they're just... they're brilliant, honestly."

Spencer was clearly caught off guard, his brows leaping upwards as he surveyed you. You weren't lying--that much was clear to him. He could see it in the way you met his eyes with an enthusiasm so bright it was nearly blinding.

"My work? You're actually familiar with it?"

A soft giggle bubbled from you, a sweet sound that seemed to momentarily leave him winded. He placed his coffee on the desk, leaning back slightly. 

"Oh, definitely. Your research on chemical composition analysis in narcotics? I've read it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep."

He considered the possibility of you exaggerating. He took great pride in his work and (without sounding too cocky) he was well aware of its significance and contribution to his field. However, there's a difference between knowing your work is recognized and encountering someone who has internalized it to such a degree--especially someone like you. He suddenly felt a touch of self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry, that was too much, right? I promised I'd play it cool, and then I saw you and... well, it's all just really surreal," you said before gesturing vaguely towards the bullpen. "Anyway, I'm going to go, uh, find my desk."

You hurried away before he could refute your words, head bowed. He felt like an ass.

The day threw him off balance. His contributions to the team lacked their usual insight, his mental gears turning more slowly. And for some inexplicable reason, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of you. He attempted to rationalize it as a reaction to your interest in his work, a level of admiration that was a rare find. Unlike the formal niceties from others, your excitement about his work, about him, stood out.

He tried to latch onto Hotch's deductions about the unsub, willing his intellect to snap to attention and offer up a decent theory. However, a glance in your direction derailed his efforts. You were bent over the desk, your hands animatedly navigating through the papers. He was happy to see your enthusiasm was there despite his lack thereof earlier.

"Based on the geographic profiling and the choice of victims, it looks like the unsub has a background in urban planning."

Emily nods, "Good theory. What led you to that?"

He watches the anxious flicker in your eyes, glancing towards him, hands clasped together as you incline your head his way.

"Actually, I read about a similar case in Dr. Reid's paper on The Spatial Patterns of Serial Offenses." It strikes him then--he hasn't yet invited you to use his first name, adding another tick to the ever-growing list of ways he feels he's been inadvertently discourteous. "The clustering of crime scenes near arterial routes suggests the offender leverages the urban grid to facilitate escape and avoid detection. Embarrassingly enough, that was the topic of my college application essay."

Spencer was momentarily speechless (not something that happened often), his mind racing through the physiological response to shock--catecholamine release, vagal tone alterations, even transient arrhythmias--mirroring the way his heart seemed to skip a beat. You really did have his work memorized.

"That's, uh, right," he said, his voice gaining momentum. "By leveraging the urban grid, the offender not only evades capture but also creates a psychological terrain of control."

Hotch nodded in agreement, turning your attention to a series of photographs.

Before Spencer even looked her way, he could sense Garcia's stare, and as he turned, she prodded him with her elbow, smirking. "Seems like she's quite the match for you, doesn't she?"

"Huh? What? No, I mean--she's my coworker, and besides, she's much younger." Spencer was quite sure he sounded anything but convincing.

Garcia raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "I meant in terms of smarts, but oookay, Spencer."

She walked out with a bounce in that definitely hadn't been there earlier, and Spencer was left with a red face.

He had every intention of pulling you aside, to apologize for earlier, to reassure that he didn't find you odd or weird, and to admit that he was genuinely flattered. But it appeared that every time he had a chance to make it to your desk, you had vanished, or were in deep conversation with JJ, or inside Hotch's office.

It was a relentless cycle that persisted until the end of the day, when everyone began to leave--except for you, who remained still firmly planted at your desk, fervently jotting notes into your notebook.

Absorbed in your work, you didn't notice his approach until he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said softly.

Startled, you flinched, prompting him to immediately feel like shit. Strike three. You laughed off the shock when you realized it was him, moving your notebook aside, offering him your undivided attention.

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, hi! How's it going? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I'd see if you needed help with anything, and you can call me Spencer, if you want." He glanced at his watch. "Are you still working?"

You pushed a piece of hair from your face and nodded towards the formidable pile of forms. 

"Spencer, okay," you said, like you were testing it out, "and just sorting through a mountain of onboarding paperwork."

He nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "Listen, I need to apologize for earlier."

You tilted your head. "What for?"

"I think I wasn't as welcoming as I intended to be."

"That's okay, I know I was a bit intense."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't. It's just... It's rare that my work gets much attention. I'm happy you appreciated it. If there's a specific topic that you're more interested in, maybe I could explain more about it sometime?"

You glanced down at your hands, trying to hide the smile that was blooming there. You weren't successful. When you looked back up, Spencer felt a little bit awestruck by your eyes, the flecks of color that he could now see clearly.

"I'd love that. Maybe over coffee?" you suggested.

"Yeah, sure." He could feel the heat rushing up his neck. 

He reluctantly parted ways, leaving you to your paperwork, and as he approached the elevator, Penelope was there.

"You know, sugar, maybe I did mean quite the match in a romantic way. So, are you going to ask her out, or shall I play Cupid?"

He blushed. "I think she might have just beat me to it."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles

join my taglist here!

[megwritesriddles]

Sweeter Than Fiction ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 7 - Queening / Face-sitting. Spencer meets Reader when she starts working at his local library and he's quickly in over his head. After he goes snooping for information on her online, he finds out a dirty little secret, she writes fanfiction.

Tags: Face-sitting, Oral sex (f receiving), Fantasies, Masturbation, Pining, Friends to lovers, Love confessions, Sub!Spencer, Autistic!Spencer (implied ig?), Both Spencer and Reader are NERDS, Set somewhere between seasons 1-3.

Word count: 4.6k

all fandom masterlist | cm masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Surprise!! I changed a couple things on my kinktober due to lack of inspiration so here's an unexpected extra Spencer fic!! This is soooo long and the plot is so self-indulgent and ughhh but he eats you out so...!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Spencer had never felt like this before, he hadn’t really had the chance to. Crushes had never really been his thing, having been significantly younger than his peers all throughout his education and being staunchly focused on his career ever since. He had physical attractions here and there, like an occasional reminder that he really was just a fallible human man as much as anyone else, but never any true feelings, nothing he ever wanted to try to pursue in a serious way. It wasn’t simple for him like it was for someone like Morgan, in many senses of the word. Not only was he just not socially skilled enough to pursue relationships, whether casual or otherwise, with any success, he also had a large set of difficulties that he would carry into any relationship. He was quite touch averse, not that he didn’t desperately crave it all the same, which could easily cause issues in any physical relationship. He also had a lot of emotional baggage, from his mother, from his job, from his bullying. He felt a mess emotionally and didn’t see the point in trying to bring in another person to see the mess in all its glory. So he kept to himself. He wasn’t completely without experience, but every experience he’d had was marred with difficulty and complication, none of it ever lasted. He was reasonably content to keep to himself.

Until he met you. He’d been visiting the library nearest his apartment since he moved to D.C. for work. One day he walked in and you were sitting behind the desk, all bright-eyed and excited. The attraction to you had been immediate, he’d found you to be beautiful, he liked the way you dressed, and he liked your sweet voice as you spoke to the customer in front of you. He thought it would end there, that he would silently find you attractive from afar but remained more focused on other things. Cursed to stammer nervously at you whenever you scanned his books, but never say more than necessary. For a long time, that’s all it was, until he was taking out a book that, unbeknownst to him, was a big favourite of yours.

“Oh my goodness, my favourite” you chuckle as you pick up the book from his pile. “This book is amazing, you’ll love it, I’m sure,” you smile brightly as you scan it onto his card. His fingers twitch where he rests them on the edge of the wooden counter. He hadn’t been prepared to talk to you, but it’s nicer than most things that catch him unprepared.

“Y-yeah? Uh… great,” he swallows, drumming his fingers on the counter as you scan the rest of his books, mostly textbooks. 

“Well, if you have any taste that is,” you tease. He laughs back stiffly, his mouth feeling dry. 

“I uh… like to think I do…” he smiles awkwardly.

“You’ll have to tell me what you thought of it,” you hand him the books and his brain blanks for a moment. You’re inviting him to speak to you some other time, to have an actual conversation. He moves jerkily, taking the books from you and packing them into his satchel. You smile kindly and wave to him as he leaves. “See you soon,”

The way his mind is spinning from that simple conversation, he knows that this is something different. He collapses onto a bench outside the library, taking a deep breath. Why is his heart racing? Is this what butterflies feel like? He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it up. When the anxiety fades away, he’s left with a warm feeling in his chest. You want to speak to him again. He flips open his satchel and pulls out the book you’d said was your favourite. It’s classic literature, something he’s been meaning to read for a long time now, but has somehow never gotten around to. He devours the book in mere minutes, thanks to his impressive reading speed. It’s an amazingly compelling tale, with feminist undertones that were ahead of their time and he feels he understands you just a little better by knowing you like this book. He packs it back into his satchel and stands, heading back into the library. The queue to your desk is a few people long, but he joins it anyway, fiddling with the strap of his bag. You don’t make much small talk with the people in front of him in the line, making it feel all the more special that you’d spoken to him. He reaches the front and you smile, but tilt your head in confusion.

“Forget something?”

“The book was great,” he blurts, and you look even more confused.

“What?”

“The book, the one you said was your favourite, it was phenomenal, and surprisingly progressive for its time! Having those sorts of sentiments about a woman's role in a marriage in the 18th century, while seeming slightly archaic by today's standards, must have caused quite a stir at the time, especially coming from a female author. British law in 1764 actually suggested that women–” he doesn’t realise he’s rambling until you cut him off.

“Hold on, you read it already?” you look disbelieving. He smiles sheepishly. “I only lent it to you, what?” you glance at the clock on your desktop screen. “15 minutes ago,”

“I can read very fast,” he mumbles, looking at the scuff on the toe of his shoe for a moment. You giggle.

“Yeah, clearly,” you study his face. He goes quiet, eyes flickering over the small decorations you had scattered across your desk as a means of personalising your space. “You were saying?” you prompted softly. He looked up at you in wonder, no one had ever requested he resumes an info dump, usually, he was told to shut up and looked weird, but you seemed to wait with genuine interest. Perhaps that was the moment that he was well and truly done for. He steps aside so that the person behind him in the line can get their books scanned. He talks at you for almost a whole hour, getting lost in tangent after tangent as you work. You occasionally pipe in to ask a question or make a comment, but you seem happy to listen. Suddenly, your already beautiful appearance becomes more like that of an angel or a goddess to him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life. He leaves the library after you excuse yourself for your lunch break. Once he gets home, he sits down on his couch, smiling dopily. Then, it slowly dawns on him that he’d just stood there and rattled on about various topics that he had no clue if you even had any interest in. He buries his face in his hands and groans. Has he already ruined things with the first person he’s ever felt anything genuine for? It was bound to happen eventually, but this soon? He goes to bed miserable that night.

Fortunately, his misery had been for nothing. The next time he visits the library, you’re there, all smiles at him like usual. When he comes to return his previous book haul (yes, maybe he hasn’t used the returns box since you started working here, what of it?), you greet him, asking if he has any more facts for you. At first, he thinks you’re mocking him, but the genuine smile you give tells him otherwise. He scrambles through his mind for something interesting to tell you, feeling less than a genius at this moment. He settles to ask what your favourite animal is, then spends the next several minutes telling you all the nichest information about that animal he could think of. This time, you start to talk too, though instead of spewing facts, you’re telling him personal anecdotes, or about new books the library has got in. The next several times he comes in, you end up talking for long periods of time. You never interrupt him when he rambles and in return he allows you to ramble too, not bothered by the slightest if he has to listen to you for hours. He’d do it happily. Things escalate over time, and he realises the two of you have truly become friends. The thought excites him, as he is closer to the object of his affection, but also because he doesn’t have all that many friends outside of his work. With you, he has somebody to talk books with, and that means the world to him. You text daily, though they’re not particularly long conversations, just whenever something comes up that you think might interest the other. You’d originally given him your email address and he’d explained that he didn’t use email. He felt completely silly, but you’d just shrugged it off and given him your number. Despite that, he still keeps the piece of paper onto which you scrawled your email address, tacked up by his seldom used computer. Just in case.

The team at the BAU tease him relentlessly when they find out about the ‘sweet girl from the library’ that he texts everyday. Any hint of him interacting with a woman, they latch onto like rabid wolves, but when the texts from you keep popping up on his phone now and then for weeks, they absolutely won’t leave it alone. They all know he likes you, even if he’s been very careful to not reveal this fact and they tease him about it. He’s just glad you’re never there to hear it, as he might just die from the embarrassment. One week, while staying back from a case due to a mild cold, he sits in Garcia’s office and watches her work while he does his own. She had insisted he come keep her company, and he hadn’t quite dared to tell her no. He’s scribbling down some notes about the latest crime scene photos they’ve been sent through when Garcia receives a call. It’s Morgan, asking her to run a check on an email address that may potentially belong to an unsub, to see what kind of accounts can be linked to it, and if there’s anything untoward and potentially warrant-worthy. He watches over her shoulder as she types the email address into a program, which spits back out several accounts all over the internet. He rolls his chair over, watching curiously.

“How do you do that? Is it for FBI stuff only?” he asks nervously, twirling a pen around in his fingers. Garcia laughs and glances over her shoulder. 

“No, you can find programs to do this in various places online,” she answers, highlighting accounts of potential interest. He nods, still watching over her shoulder, working his lip between his teeth. He tries to convince himself that he’s not going to do it, even as he asks Garcia to write him down one of these websites. She gives him a knowing look but obliges. He keeps telling himself he won’t do it, and that it’s creepy as he gets the train home, but as soon as he’s in his apartment, he heads for his computer and boots it up. He searches up the site that Garcia recommended and tells himself one last time that he isn’t going to do it, before copying your email address into the search field and hitting enter. He waits as the website loads the results, glancing at the door to his apartment as if you’re going to burst in and tell him off. Oh, how he wishes you’d be in his apartment one day, or he at yours. He’s never really wanted to share a space before, but lately, everything he does he imagines what it would be like to have you there. Your arms around him as he cooks, your head on his lap as he watches TV, your body against his in the bed. The website finishes its search and he takes a deep breath, investigating the results. There are various common social media websites, accounts with academic journals (which he appreciates you for), and a couple of other sites he doesn’t recognise. He clicks on the first and furrows his brows. Fanfiction? He supposes that you are a voracious reader like he is, and you mentioned liking to write, but never admitting to what you wrote. This was it then, was it? Your secret writing? It wasn’t that secret, the account was registered in your name, all the works listed being for books and media that you talked about often. You had quite a decent following, at least in his eyes, you were no celebrity, but you had a decent collection of comments and likes.

He starts to read, beginning with your most popular piece. He digests it in moments, his cheeks burning bright. It was pure pornography. Well not purely, there was quite a well-woven storyline behind it, but the focus was undoubtedly the filthy sex scenes. He loosens his tie, feeling hot. He double and triple checks that this is definitely your account, but it clearly is. He’s feeling a little disbelieving, you had just always seemed so innocent to him, but he supposed the two of you had never discussed sex in any way. Spencer would have combusted if it had ever come up. He inhales the rest of your work, getting unreasonably hard in his slacks as he reads. He’s impressed by the skill of your writing, but more than anything, by how delicious your imagination is. It’s like you’ve plucked every fantasy he’s ever allowed himself to have out of his brain and written it up with beautiful flowery language. He doesn’t know half of the characters that you’ve written for, but it doesn’t matter to him, as he imagines the two of you in their places and it works perfectly. Almost like it was written with the two of you in mind. He discards that thought, but not before noticing that you’ve been writing a lot more in the past few months you’ve known each other. He notices how many of your stories centre around a more submissive male, a favourite trope of yours seeming to be having the female partner sit on their face. He imagines you sitting on his face and groans aloud, having to palm his bulge through his slacks. He imagines you’d be like the protagonists in your stories, dominating but kind. He reaches into his slacks to stroke himself, not something he does often, but something that has certainly been more frequent lately. His eyes skim a passage of one of your stories as he tugs at himself, picturing your face between the words. He cums harder than he thinks he ever has because this feels that much closer to the real thing. Once he’s done, he sits catching his breath, staring at the mess on his hand and stomach. He thinks he should feel ashamed, but he’s still aroused, terribly so. He wishes he could show you what you do to him. Before he can stop himself, his aroused brain much less intelligent than he usually is, he makes an account on the site with his name and leaves a comment on your most recent work.

“This was the hottest thing I’ve ever read,” 

He sends it and sits back, wiping the rest of the residue off his stomach. As the haze of arousal lifts, he realises what he’s done. Panicking, he tries to delete the comment, but there’s no option to. He swallows, taking a deep breath. It’ll be okay, he tells himself, if she ever notices, I’ll pretend I was just being sarcastic, teasing her for writing this kind of thing, not genuinely rocked by it. However, his phone is already ringing. It’s you. You never call. You couldn’t have seen the comment already, could you? He seriously debates not answering, even as he’s desperate to hear your voice. Against his better judgment, he picks up the phone.

“Am I speaking to SpencerReid1981?” you chuckle over the phone, your voice teasing as you recite his username. His plans to pretend he was mocking you go out the window the second you talk. He can tell you have one over him by the confident tone in your voice. You’ve had one over him since the day you first met. 

“Y-yeah,” he relents, seeing no way out of this now. What would the chances be of another Spencer Reid born in 1981 having commented on your fanfiction? If he wasn’t so nervous and lingeringly aroused, he could’ve told you. He decides to just be earnest. “You’re a really good writer,”

“How did you even find me on there?” you scoff, laughing gently. He blushes, glad you can’t see it.

“You don’t want to know,” he mumbles. There’s a moment of silence.

“So… you found it hot, huh? What part?” he chokes slightly on his spit, going bright red, you can probably tell, even through the phone.

“Don’t make me say it,” he squeaks. You hum softly on the other end.

“Oh come on… you started all this,” you coax. He’s silent for another beat, you hear his laboured breaths on the phone. 

“The- when- when she uh… sat on his face,” he stutters out. You smirk.

“Really?” you stretch out the last syllable in a playful manner. “You a big giver then?” you say it to tease him, expecting him to sputter and deny it, to beg to change the subject, but he doesn’t.

“I– I would be for you,” you both go silent, you in shock and him in fear of your reaction. You’re dumbfounded that he would ever be so direct with you. It’s been clear to you for a while that he has a thing for you, you’ve caught his lingering looks on your lips or your thighs, the way you’re able to fluster him, but you’d assumed he’d dance around it forever. He’d just essentially admitted, leaving it hanging in the air.

“Come over,” you answer simply, hanging up the phone before he can ask questions or change his mind. Spencer feels completely dumbstruck by your words. Come over? His legs are carrying him to his door before he can think about it. He grabs his bag and his coat and hurries to his car. He’s never driven so fast in his life, he’s only been at your place once, to drop you off after your work, but the way there is memorised like the back of his hand anyway. He worries in the back of his mind that he may get a speeding ticket, but any fine is worth it for you. He’s sprinting up the stairs of your apartment building, his long frame moving nimbler than ever before. He reaches your apartment and knocks at the door.

You answer the door, dressed in some loungewear and he suddenly realises how real this all is. He stands there staring, unable to do anything else, even as you greet him and tell him to come in. You have to take his arm and pull him inside, your hand on his arm lighting him on fire. But he’s shy again, he needs you to take control of this because he has no clue what he’s doing here. He’s never done something like this before, and he's never been so reckless. Did he even lock the door when he left home? You look so beautiful that everything could be stolen from him and he wouldn’t bat a lash. He fidgets, looking anywhere but your eyes. You’re talking to him but he can’t figure out what you’re saying, his brain feeling like mush. He tries his best to pick out some words from the pleasing hum of your voice. You’re saying something about your bedroom. He connects the dots when you start to pull his arm.

“Wha- wait, what are we doing?” he asks, his voice shaking. You freeze, tilting your head.

“What do you mean what are we doing?”

“I mean– uh– I wasn’t really– are we…?” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting. 

“Don’t you want this?” you frown, worrying you’d misread this somehow, even though he’d come rushing over here. He stares at you, eyebrow twitching. You move closer, gently smoothing your hand up his arm. He closes his eyes, losing himself in it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, even though he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to. Whatever it is, if it’s preceded by you touching him like this, it must be good. He follows you like a puppy as you guide him to your bedroom. You place your hands on his chest and he whines, somewhere deep in his throat. The feeling is just so overwhelming in all the best ways. His eyes are wide staring down into yours as your fingers twist, gripping his sweater vest. You lean up, touching your lips to his and he’s whining again. He kisses back, his hands finding your hips, hovering. Your hands are raking through his hair.

“Lie on the bed for me,” you mumble between kisses. He shivers.

“Are you going to sit on my face?” he asks bluntly, needing to know if he’s getting what he’s been thinking about non-stop since earlier this evening, probably even before that. You chuckle at his candour, he’s always been like this and it’s endearing that he’s no different in this situation.

“That’s the idea,” you grin, tilting your head to the side to press closer as you kiss him. He shuffles toward the bed and you push him back to lie down, disconnecting your lips to pull his sweater vest off. He looks up at you pleadingly until you lean down to kiss him again. You straddle his stomach, his hands lie awkwardly at his sides. His breathing is erratic and his fingers fiddle nervously with the material of your sheets. “You okay?” you ask between slow wet kisses.

“Just nervous… I don’t– I can’t disappoint you and I– I don’t really have a lot of experience here,” he admits, his lips pressing needily against yours between words. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll take care of you,” you promise, he nods against you. Even he’s surprised by how much he trusts you. You pull back, watching as he stares up at you, his eyes practically black. He’s panting heavily. You pull your shirt over your head, feeling his hips buck under you as your breasts come into view. He’d always known every inch of you would be perfect for him, and he was right. He was a genius after all. You move just enough to shed your pyjama pants, taking your underwear with them. You stuff your panties into Spencer’s slack pocket with a wink. He takes a shaky breath. 

“Thank you,” he exhales, eyes drinking you in. You giggle, shuffling up to straddle his chest. He swallows loudly, his mouth watering from the little glimpse he can get, craning his neck. “I’m so… glad we’re doing this,” he whispers. You chuckle again at his behaviour. You stroke his hair gently and his eyes flutter. He usually hated unexpected touch, but everything you did was blissful.

“Ready?” you ask softly. He nods, eyes fluttering back open, determined to get a glimpse of you that he can commit to memory. 

You lift up and shuffle yourself over top of his face. He gasps like he’s just seen God. You, spread open above him, glistening with want. He grips tightly at the sheets, trying to keep himself grounded as the heady smell of you fills his nose. He leans up and places a gentle, experimental kiss on your folds, whining as he does so. You hum softly, leaning forward to brace yourself against the headboard. Puffs of breath wash over your core for a moment, before Spencer leans up, flattening his tongue and laving it against you, up and down, slow and steady. You can tell he’s still finding his way, so you let yourself enjoy the gentle pleasure. You sigh encouragingly as he gets acquainted with the area, exploring it with the tip of his tongue. Never in a million years would he have guessed that you tasted so good. Though he was new at this, he knew anatomy well and knew the spots he’d be looking for. His tongue finds what he assumes to be your clit and he gives it a soft kiss, feeling your hips gently buck. Success. He swirls his tongue carefully around it, not wanting to overwhelm you. Your sighs increase in volume. Spencer takes a chance, lifting his hands and wrapping them around your thighs, pulling you down so you’re more seated on his face. You gasp slightly and he smiles, eagerly returning to his work. His tongue laps at you hungrily, getting into a rhythm. He breathes through his nose, not wanting to stop what he’s doing for even a moment. The taste of you gets stronger and stronger against his tongue as you approach your peak steadily. He groans at the taste. Your hand snakes down into his hair, gripping his long locks to keep yourself anchored. You moan above him, your head lolled forward against the headboard. As he starts to focus his tongue more pointedly on your clit, flicking gently like he read to do in a book once, your hips rut slightly. 

“Suck it,” you pant. He doesn’t register your words for a moment but when he does, he happily complies. His lips close around the little nub and he sucks carefully. Your hand tightens in his hair and you wail in pleasure. You grind yourself down onto his face as he suckles at you gently. You both know what’s coming and while Spencer is thrilled he could get you there, he almost doesn’t want it to end. It’s as if you read his mind. “Don’t stop,” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging slightly into his scalp. He pulls you closer to his face, focusing all his efforts. He switches fumblingly between licks and sucks, but it seems to be working nonetheless as you become louder and louder. “Oh! Spencer!” you cry out, your whole body shuddering. He almost comes in his pants at the sound of it. “Ooooh!” you wail, reaching your peak. Your body tenses and then releases, going limp with bliss. His lips stop moving and he stares up at you, waiting for your next move. “Oh, that was amazing Spencer,” you sigh, sluggishly moving down his body until your faces are level. He licks his lips, gazing at you adoringly. You reach up to wipe his wet chin with a small smile.

“I was okay, then?” he chuckles nervously, his hand coming to your waist, a little unsure.

“What do you think, genius?” you tease, kissing his temple. He sighs and flutters his eyes closed. Everything had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what this meant for the two of you and your friendship, so blinded by lust when he got over here. But you were kissing down his jaw and neck, not indicating that you were kicking him out, and he felt a little better for it. He notices that your lips are straying quite low, over his chest and stomach through his shirt. His eyes flutter open and his breath hitches as he sees you gazing seductively up at him.

“Wha–?” he stammers as you start to unbuckle his belt.

“Returning the favour,” you smile, pressing kisses where his shirt had ridden up. He moans softly, his brain starting to turn to mush once more.

“God, I love you,” he gasps. You both go still for a moment as his words sink in. He can’t believe he just said that, especially right now, with your head hovering over his crotch, even if he desperately means it. He opens his mouth to try and fix this but you beat him to it. You press a kiss just below his belly button.

“I love you too,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

xoxoxo

[4acoffee]

You can't breathe.

Your mouth burns.

Your body won't stop shaking.

You can barely see through the tears in your eyes (when did you start crying?)

You're on the floor, in the kitchen.

You look over, Katsuki is next to you, hunched over himself so you can't see his face, his shoulders shaking violently.

He stills, and looks up slowly to meet your blurry vision.

You both pause, and for a moment you know nothing but the crimson of his eyes, still bright and piercing.

Then you cough, a mistake because you immediately feel the burn of spice going down your throat sending you into a coughing fit and bringing more tears to your eyes.

It makes him break into hoarse laughter and watching him makes you laugh brokenly through your coughing with him.

The empty packs of Extra Spicy Curry Masala Maggi noodles lay abandoned between you on the floor after your competition of who could eat the most spicy noodles.

You think all the spice may have had some sort of effect on your brain chemistry the way you and Katsuki couldn't stop the breathy laughs from escaping even in such a pathetic state.

You're not exactly complaining, it's not often you get to see him look so content and carefree. It fills you with a sense of self-satisfaction that he feels comfortable enough around you to lose the ginormous stick up his ass personality he generally keeps up around most people.

You know you're also laughing way to hard right now, but you've also made a mess on the floor and Katsuki in between cackles comes to your side to help wipe up the sauce that was spilled from your poor attempts at wielding chopsticks.

"It's ok, you can admit I won now."

Katsuki tells you with a smug grin.

You look at him incredulously.

"What are you talking about, this was obviously a tie, — both of us finished the same amount of noodles" you correct.

"Yea but obviously, I'm handling it way better than you are, nerd." He objected with an appraising look at the heaving breaths you took and your flushed nose from rubbing it so much.

You snicker a little because for all his talk, he's honestly not faring much better, with his cheeks all flushed and the constant sniffing.

You reach out and gently wipe a bit of sauce staining the corner of his mouth. He playfully sticks his tongue out and licks your thumb before you have a chance to retreat, laughing when you gasp scandalously and smiling boyishly at you in a way that makes your heart feel like it's filling with soda bubbles.

He uses the moment to really take in your appearance.

Your lips are swollen and a dark red from all the spice.

Eyes shiny from the tears and sparkling under the dim kitchen lights.

You're grinning a little too wide in a way that would absolutely make yourself cringe if you could see yourself.

And Katsuki really thinks you've never looked prettier in his life.

In some sort of fit, he suddenly reaches forwards and tangles his fingers into your hair and pulls your towards him.

the burn of his mouth on yours is almost more potent than the still lingering taste of the spicy noodles on your tongue.

You make a quiet noise of surprise and brace yourself with a hand on his thigh and on the cabinet next to you.

He pulls away just enough to watch you, your chests heaving, the brief kiss more than enough to steal the breath from both your lungs.

Once again that familiar scarlet consumed all your attention and you couldn't help but fall into him as he pulls you closer.

You meet him half way this time and you shiver when he groans into your mouth.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips and you can taste the way he feels and the way he licks into you has you reeling.

You're still a little lightheaded from the laughing and the spice and it's too much for you to stop your body from trembling when he holds you.

The realization crosses your mind, that you're sitting on the floor of your kitchen, making out with one of your closest friends, and you wonder when the line between friendship and something more had started to blur because it obviously had if you're in the position you're in now.

This time you pull away, a little embarrassed that your first kiss with Katsuki was when you tasted like Extra Spicy Masala Maggi noodles, but in a way it was perfect and you knew you were never going to be able to forget it.

Still, you can't look at him, turning your face to the side and closing your eyes when he dips his head low to catch your gaze.

He snickers lowly at your reaction and that only heightens your embarrassment, feeling the tips of your ears go hot.

You feel his lips meet your cheek, not gently at all, smushing up into your face with aggressive affection.

"Now will you admit I win?"

Masterlist

[moonylvs]

⋆˙⟡ The prophecy

Summary: Your whole life of being ignored in love makes you believe that love will never come for you, so seeing James start dating the only person you thought loved you is too much for you. 'Let it once be me' Pairing: Jegulus x fem!reader Words: 4600 Warnings: Reader is an insecure nerd with a lack of love (she's also oblivious), mentions of crying and self-hatred, use of yn one time, hurt/confort, a bit of angst if you close one eye, slightly suggestive (Nothing explicit), a lot of fluff <3 Let me know if I miss anything!

Since you were little you could not help but feel forgotten, of course there were people who loved you, you were not a complete loser, you had a few friends and had no problems with anyone in your class, but still that painful feeling was still there, your friends had more friends, more friends to spend time with when you were not there, but you did not have so many people to hang out with.

Regulus was the only friend you were really close to, the only one who hadn't moved away over the years, Regulus had more friends, such as Barty or Evan, but he always showed you that you were his priority, including you in all the plans he made, listening to you attentively and never leaving you alone, the boy wasn't good at expressing his emotions, but it was the little details that made you feel his appreciation for you.

Over the years you and Regulus had become too close, you practically lived in his room, where he could listen to you for hours talking about the same subject no matter how much you rambled, it wasn't always like that, sometimes it was quiet evenings where you were both silently reading, just enjoying each other's presence.

Anyone who knew Regulus knew you and vice versa, you spent most of your time together, occasionally being accompanied by Barty or Dorcas.

With anyone else you couldn't help but feel like a lapdog, chasing people and seeking their attention, with Regulus none of this happened, there was no awkwardness or anxiety, just tranquility and affection.

But as always, the universe seemed to want to test you, every year a misfortune happened in your life, this year the misfortune was called James Potter and it was a cute quidditch player with glasses.

At first you didn’t care, you and regulus were assigned together to a school job with James, nothing out of the ordinary, regulus seemed somewhat irritated by the idea of working with one of Sirius' friends but said he wouldn’t give it any importance.

The assignment was not particularly easy, it was hours in the library and you had to admit that working with James wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but time seemed to pass quickly when the three of you were together.

Everything seemed relatively normal to you, you didn’t even care that James and Regulus seemed to get along, it was all too subtle, started with Regulus going to the library first, spending time alone with James and discussing assignment issues without you, then James started visiting more often the black lake, where you and regulus spent time together, but after that Regulus started going to the library without you, you used to find James chatting with regulus in the halls.

You wanted to think it was nothing, regulus still your best friend, still paying attention and even remembered your favorite chocolate, which he made sure to give you whenever he felt something was wrong.

You wanted to convince yourself that nothing was wrong, but there was a strange feeling in your chest, a little voice in your head telling you that something was wrong.

But how could this be wrong? James was sweet and attentive, he was the most popular boy at Hogwarts, he made Regulus smile, which no one else but you did, he even talked to you, included you in his plans and talked to you, listening carefully to what you said.

Even if you tried to hate James you couldn't, the boy was a gentleman in every sense of the word, but you thought it was his nature, you didn't think you were special, so you let James carry your books, walk you to class and even went to the three brooms with Regulus, for you it was nothing out of this world, but in spite of everything that horrible feeling wouldn't go away from you, that feeling that everything was going to end badly.

You really wanted to like him, there was nothing wrong with James, maybe it was you that was wrong...

“I didn't think you even knew anything about poetry” you could recognize Regulus' voice as he turned in one of the corridors, which surprised you, you hadn't seen him all morning, which was strange since you used to have breakfast together on weekends.

“Oh hi dove” James' voice snapped you out of your thoughts, you hadn't even noticed that you almost bumped into them.

James had a habit of calling everyone by nicknames, from “dove” to “sweetheart”, so you had understood that it didn't mean anything, but a strange feeling settled in your stomach every time he did.

“Hi, where were you?” You asked both of them, although your gaze was fixed on Regulus, your voice was calm but had some concern in it, had they gone out alone?

“We went to hogsmaede, for the poetry books I told you about” Regulus said calmly, but you felt a pang in your chest, you were the one who had told Regulus about those new books in the bookstore, you had agreed that you would go together for it.

“I thought we were going together after dinner” You said somewhat confused, but it was obvious that you were feeling a little bad about this.

“Ah it's just that I told James and he offered to go with me, you seemed busy with your Herbology homework, I didn't want to bother you” Regulus explained without giving it any importance, he really believed that you didn't care, you had gone a million times together to Hogsmaede and he had seen you a little off these last days, so he didn't want to bother you or force you to go out, he knew you were not the most social person.

But he didn't know that you didn't care, that you would always go out with him if he asked you to, of course, you weren't a fan of socializing or going to places with a lot of people, but you didn't care if it meant going with him.

“Oh okay, sure…” You said trying to sound as calm and disinterested as possible, maybe it was ridiculous, you were just overreacting, right? Regulus could go out with whoever he wanted, it didn't matter, but why did it hurt so much?

“We can go again later if you want, Marlene said there is a new coffee shop next to honeydukes” James said almost instantly, he seemed to have noticed the way your mood had changed.

“Oh no, Regulus was right, I have to finish my herbology homework…I'll see you guys later” You said with disinterest, though you couldn't even look them in the eyes, you felt a lump in your throat forming, a whirlwind of emotions flooding you, but you didn't want to make a spectacle of yourself there, it would be ridiculous, so you didn't let them say another word and hurried off to your room, feeling a pressure in your chest grow and the tears stinging in your eyes.

You wanted to stop the tears but you couldn't, it had all become too much at that moment, so all you could do was lock yourself in the bathroom of your room, sitting next to the bathtub and bringing your legs to your chest as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You felt ridiculous, crying over two boys you didn't even have anything with, that was the problem, you had nothing, you never had anything, at the beginning it was a joke between you and Regulus, saying you were both losers with no love life, but now there was only you, Regulus had James, the most damn beautiful and attentive boy at Hogwarts, and where were you?

You didn't know what it was that feeling that came over you, some kind of envy or… jealousy?

You had seen the way James looked at Regulus, with stars in his eyes, you wanted that, you wanted someone to love like you were the air he breathed, you wanted to be able to intertwine your hands with Regulus' like James did, you wanted to snuggle between the two of them and wake up knowing you had someone who cared about you.

But you knew it wasn't possible, you knew it since you were a little girl, when all your friends ended up moving away, when everyone started to have their first kiss and you hadn't even held hands romantically with someone, you just wanted it to be you for once.

A knock on the door made you jump in place, at first you thought it was just one of your roommates, but a voice proved otherwise.

“Is everything okay in there, love?” at that moment you couldn't hate regulus' nicknames any more, you didn't want to see him at that moment, to anyone.

“Yeah, I'm fine” You said trying to sound calm, wiping the tears coming out of your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Can we come in?” your brow furrowed slightly at his words, We? but as if Regulus had read your mind, he spoke again. “James is here too, you didn't look so good earlier.”

You wanted to curse, what the fuck did James have to do there? You didn't want to be seen like that, you didn't want anyone to see you like that, but there was another feeling in your chest, you wanted to be comforted, you wanted someone to tell you that everything would be alright.

So before Regulus could say anything else, you walked up to the door and unlocked it, opening it slightly before stepping away, letting them in.

James and Regulus felt their chests heave at the sight of you, your eyes puffy and reddish, traces of tears on your cheeks and your eyes burning bright with tears.

Your gaze went to your hands, playing with the hem of your sweater, you didn't have the courage to look at them, you felt ridiculous, dramatic, like a little girl.

James was the first to approach, the brown-haired man was about to take you in his arms, wanting to protect you from everything, but for a moment he remembered that you and he were not as close as he would like, and he had seen you pull away a million times when someone tried to hug you.

“What's the wrong, dove?” asked James worriedly, holding back the urge to stretch his arms toward you.

Your chest tightened as you listened to him, why did he have to use those nicknames? Why did he have to be so nice?

“It's nothing, it was just a b-bad day I guess” You said trying to sound disinterested, but the slight cut in your voice gave away that something was wrong.

“This isn't just a bad day, yn, you've been acting weird all week, even with me” Now the one who spoke was Regulus, his voice sounding a little hurt, it was true, you had been pushing Regulus away for the last week, something you had never done before, the boy had been there for you all your life, you would never want to push him away, but this last week it had all become too much, your thoughts were overwhelming you, making you miserable and you didn't want Regulus to deal with you and your problems, you couldn't be a burden, to him or anyone else.

Your gaze lifted slightly, looking at Regulus and James for a moment, you felt your eyes fill with tears almost instantly, Regulus was wearing James' sweater, you didn't know if you hadn't noticed it before or if he had just put it on, but either way it hurt, it made your chest tighten.

Your mind went back to the last few weeks, remembering all the interactions between James and Regulus, the way they both looked at each other and laughed, the hickeys you had tried to ignore on Regulus' neck, the times you accidentally caught them in the hallways in a sweet kissing session, all those memories invaded your mind at once and made you feel miserable, because you were losing the only person you had ever loved, because it wasn't you who they loved, because it was never you who was loved.

Tears came out of your eyes non-stop, making you sob like never before, you felt like a little girl, weak and alone, wishing someone would hold you and tell you that everything would be all right.

Regulus soon came closer, wrapping you in his arms as if he was afraid you were going to fall apart right there, you wanted to cry harder, you felt ridiculous, you would have wanted to walk away, to disappear, but at that moment everything became too much and you could only sink into Regulus' arms, wishing your misery would end.

Regulus felt his chest tighten at seeing you so heartbroken, you had been holding it all in for so long that now you felt as if your own feelings were suffocating you, Regulus felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight of you, feeling terrible for letting you get to this point, for not having cared sooner at seeing you so distant, a pang of guilt appeared in his chest.

James next to you wasn't much better, his face was one of genuine concern, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know you well enough to know what to do, he was afraid of getting so close to you that you would push him away.

“Love, please tell me what's wrong, it hurts me to see you like this” Regulus murmured, lightly stroking your hair, you sank deeper into his arms, wishing for it to be over, for the pain to disappear once and for all.

“I-I am what is wrong, it's a-always me…” You said between sobs, your head was starting to hurt from crying, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

“Dove, there's nothing wrong with you-” James started to say, trying to get closer to you, but you didn't even let him finish, feeling the pain cloud your t,thoughts.

“You don't know anything! Y-You would never understand…” You said painfully, pulling away from Regulus' arms, feeling your own chest tighten, to you James was the perfect boy, who had all of Hogwarts behind him, he would never understand your pain, no one would.

“Let us try, let us try to understand you” Regulus said quietly, trying to get closer to you again.

Your eyes filled with tears again, you felt a pressure in your chest suffocating you, you instantly shook your head, they were not going to understand you, they couldn't, not even you could, at some point they would notice how complicated you were and they would walk away, they couldn't fix you.

“I don't want to be understood, I don't want to be fixed, I don't-” You said in a clipped voice, tears kept coming out of your eyes, blurring your vision, you didn't even notice when James and Regulus had come so close to you.

“There's nothing to fix about you, love, you're not broken or damaged” James said softly, bringing his hand tentatively to your cheek, wondering if you would pull away or not.

But you didn't, you let James reach his hand up and gently touch your cheek, wiping away the tears that came from your eyes, his hand was warm and gentle on your cheek, you couldn't help but soften at his touch, it felt so good.

“I just want to be loved, is that so hard?” You said in barely a whisper, you sounded so vunerable, both boys felt their chests squeeze at hearing you, there was no way you were hard to love, not for them.

“Not at all, we've loved you from the first moment you appeared in our lives” Regulus said warmly, moving closer to you and James, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You felt your breath catch when you heard his words, he didn't mean it, you were misinterpreting things, there was no way…

“You dont mean that, regulus, you dont-” You started to say instantly, pulling away from the touch of both of them defensively, you couldn't believe an illusion, you couldn't deal with the pain of losing them both.

“I don't what?” Regulus interrupted you, not letting you move too far away before gently grabbing one of your wrists. “I don't love you? You're not one to say what I feel or don't feel, I love you, and so does James” Regulus said seriously, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

You felt your breath catch, there was no way, it must have all been a dream, but you could feel Regulus' hand on your wrist, holding you gently, showing you that it was real, this was real.

“I don't know why you seem so surprised, dove, I know Regulus isn't very expressive but I thought we had been too obvious with our feelings for you” James said with obviousness, giving you a small smile, showing you that his words were true.

Your mind seemed to click, the memories of the last few weeks coming back to you, you had spent the last few weeks together with both boys and you had to admit that Regulus was a little more clingy with you than usual, he had looked at you more than usual while you were studying and you even remembered him playing with the bracelets in your hands, but you couldn't believe there were any other feelings with his looks or touches, he was your best friend and you had been so focused on his interactions with James that you hadn't even noticed how he acted with you.

With James the memories made you blush, now it all seemed a little more obvious, James was much more affectionate than Regulus, putting his arm around your shoulder as you walked, or telling you how good your hair looked with waves.

At that moment you couldn't help but shrink in place, feeling embarrassed, had they really been so obvious and you hadn't noticed?

“You really didn't notice anything?” Regulus asked incredulously, though something in his chest ached, you really didn't think they could be in love you?

“I, I d-didn't think…” The words didn't come out of your mouth, you felt embarrassed and a bit stupid, you wanted to believe their words but something in you still felt that it was all a bad joke, how could they notice you?

James noticed how your mind seemed to go too fast, overwhelming you with thoughts and ideas that weren't even true, so without thinking he approached you, taking your cheek again.

“We really like you, both of us, we love listening to you talk for hours about your books and hearing you laugh, I love when you insult me because I don't keep quiet in the library, I love how you and Regulus seem to get lost in your own world when you're together, I love how smart and kind you are, I love you, all of you.” James said sincerely, looking at you with those sparkling eyes that left you in no doubt that what he said was true.

You felt a new warmth in your chest, something you hadn't felt before, and it felt so…. nice

“I know that maybe now everything is too much and we'll go slow if that's the way you want it, we care about you, more than anything in this world, and I know that sometimes I'm an idiot who doesn't know what he wants, but if there's one thing I'm sure of is that I love you, and nothing will change my feelings for you” Regulus said, his cheeks were slightly flushed, you knew how hard it was for him to express himself, so every word meant too much to you.

Your mind was still thinking too much, a thousand ideas and emotions running through your mind, so many that they could overwhelm you, but for a moment a new feeling appeared in you and silenced everything else, it was love.

Your mind went blank, all the fear disappeared when you saw their looks, they were genuine, so for the first time you decided to believe, you decided that maybe this was for the best, you deserved it, for once, for the first time, it was you.

You were loved.

“I love you too” You mumbled in barely a whisper looking at both boys “I'm sorry for…for how I acted… I thought you guys were leaving me out and I-” You started to explain, feeling your chest hurt as you remembered how you yelled at James and walked away from Regulus, but they didn't let the pain last too long.

“It's okay dove, we didn't know you felt this way, we should have been more direct with you” James murmured warmly, with that tone that made you feel so safe.

“James is right, it was me who wanted to give you space when I saw you a bit discouraged, I should have asked what was wrong, I'm sorry, love” Regulus added with some pain in his voice, to which you immediately shook your head.

“No, no, it's not your fault, I preferred to isolate myself than to talk to you…I always do” You said without looking at them, the last thing in just a whisper, isolating yourself was something you couldn't avoid, you preferred to sink in your pain and misery than to let others carry it.

“You don't have to keep doing it, we're here and we're not leaving” Regulus said sweetly, taking your chin and lifting your gaze, “If you want space just tell us and we'll wait for you, love, but we'll always be there for you, you have us now, you don't have to go through your pain alone, you don't have to let your thoughts consume you, you're not alone.”

You felt your heart squeeze at Regulus' words, you were not alone, you had them, if this was a dream you never wanted to wake up.

Without thinking about it you approached Regulus, hugging him tightly and sinking into his arms, not without first taking James' hand so that he would also come closer, he didn't hesitate for a minute to hug you both.

“I love you, so much” You said softly, you wanted to say a million things, but at that moment you couldn't, you just wanted to sink into their arms and make everything else disappear, they knew it, they didn't move away for a moment, they didn't need words to know that you loved them.

“We love you more, dove, you have no idea” James said affectionately, running a hand through your hair in an loving gesture.

From your position you could hear the heartbeat in Regulus' chest, it was the best melody you had ever heard.

You wanted to stay like this forever, with them, they were everything you had ever dreamed of, you loved them.

Regulus carefully took your chin, lifting your face, his eyes were full of love, they were looking at you as if you were a dream.

“ May I?” murmured Regulus softly, his eyes fixed on your lips, he was asking for your permission, Regulus was asking for your permission to kiss you, and you felt like you would melt right there.

Almost instantly you nodded, there was no doubt in your mind that you wanted him to kiss you, even if you had never kissed anyone before, you wanted him to be the first, there was no doubt in your mind.

James was totally gawking at the sight of them, his heart was pounding in his chest.

Regulus didn't think too much before he gently cupped your cheek, bringing his face close to yours and pressing his lips to yours, you felt like you were in a dream, his lips were sweet and decisive on yours.

You felt all his love released in that kiss, it was as if he was pouring out all the love he had kept for you during all these years.

Your hands went to his hair, holding him close, your lips moved inexpertly over his, you wished it would never end.

Regulus seemed to feel the same, because it wasn't until you pulled away for air that he let you go, still holding your cheek.

Your lips were slightly puffy and your cheeks flushed, you were trying to catch your breath, and to James and Regulus you were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

“You've been waiting for this for a long time, haven't you?” James said to Regulus with some amusement, Regulus was in the same state as you, trying to catch his breath.

Regulus rolled his eyes slightly, before moving closer and leaving another kiss on your lips, this time a shorter one but with the same love, the boy had definitely become addicted to your lips.

When you pulled away you didn't know what to say, your cheeks were flushed, the smile on James' face didn't make you feel any less embarrassed, even in that state he looked at you as if you were a work of art.

“Damn I really want to kiss you” James gasped softly, bringing his hand to your jaw.

You didn't let James say anything else, you brought your lips to his and kissed him, to say you were scared was an understatement, but the moment your lips touched James' everything vanished.

James kissed you with such desire, his hand went from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you close, his kiss was desperate but sweet, very different from Regulus, one of his hands went to your waist, pulling you closer to him and groaning in between the kiss.

James seemed to have been waiting for this moment all his life, at one point he lightly bit your lip, making you open your mouth and thrusting his tongue in, turning the kiss more heated, you felt your cheeks flush and you could barely keep up with him.

“James” Regulus called as a warning, making James pull away slightly, still keeping his grip on your waist.

“You'll have plenty of time for that later, let her process all of this first” Regulus said with amusement though there was some seriousness in his voice.

You were grateful to Regulus, sure the kiss with James was a dream, but your mind was still trying to process all of this, so you definitely needed to slow down a bit, this was all new to you.

James didn't look disappointed at all, he simply nodded slightly at Regulus, his face somewhat guilty, feeling that perhaps he had gone too far, he was much bolder than the black haired boy clearly, but if you needed to go slow he would wait as long as you needed to.

Even though your heart was still beating too hard in your chest you still wanted to prove to James that he had done nothing wrong, so you took his face and left a kiss on his lips, taking a moment to pull away.

“I love your kisses ” You said sweetly for James, showing him that all was fine, to which the boy's eyes lit up, giving you a small smile, god how you adored that smile.

That day all your fears vanished, you could feel a mess, a chaos, but among all the noise, there they were.

Finally the prophecy had changed for you.

I hope you liked this, I think it's a bit long but I think it's worth it, I hope all my Prophecy girls enjoyed it, your turn will come, don't forget i xoxo.

[lilylushes]

Luigi Mangione - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): I already did h/c’s for this, but he’s amazing. He cuddles with you, praising you and leaving you kisses. Things like, “you were so good for me,” “you’re so pretty,” “I love you so much, baby.” He would get you water, put on a bath or shower and join you. He would be reading up on how to make you feel good after sex too and why it’s important for you and your relationship.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): his PhD I think his abs or shoulders. He said himself that he got his six pack because he had to change his workout routine due to an injury. He adapted and worked through his hardships. And I think he probably likes his shoulders as well. On you, I think he would love your eyes. This is a soulful man, imo. He knows that eyes are the windows to the soul and I think he would get lost in them all the time, sometimes even zoning out haha. Even when you’re just cuddling, he asks you to look at him, just so he can look into your eyes and tell you you’re beautiful. But when you’re intimate, he loves eye contact. LOVES it. It cannot be understated. He wants to see you come undone for him while he stares into your soul and you stare into his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): We all knew this but he has a BREEDING KINK. He didn’t talk about low birth rates for nothing, and he comes from a big family. He loves the idea of cumming inside of you to make you his. When you first said, “fill my pussy up, please,” something in him changed. He almost went feral, finishing right after the words came out of your month. His dirty talk will always include things like, “gonna breed this pretty little pussy,” “want me to fill up this tight pussy of yours,” “wanna fill you up with my babies, hm.” And speaking of, when you guys start trying for kids, you’re fucking like rabbits, even though you did before as well. You’re going at it multiple times a day in every room.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Before you talked about having kids and before you got off the pill, he told himself he wouldn’t be mad if you did get pregnant. He knew he wanted to be with you forever and believed in divine timing. The two of you wanted to settle down, but weren’t fussed about getting married and then having kids or having a certain timeline. He often thought of what they would look like and sometimes he would mention to you a name that he liked just to see your reaction.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): This is a tough one because I think he could be experienced but maybe not. I’m actually leaning towards him not being that experienced due to his injury and seemingly not being that into dating casually and being a nerd. I would say body count under 10 for sure, potentially less than 5. Still, he DEFINITELY knows what he’s doing. He had a book about female pleasure on his GoodReads for god’s sake. He gets off on you feeling good and finishing. He knows all the female anatomy and is always reading about new ways to please you whether it be a new pussy eating technique or a way to please your erogenous zones. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): MISSIONARY. In this sense, he’s a traditional kind of guy. He loves all sex and all positions, but missionary is his favourite because he’s dominant and can see you coming undone beneath him. He has access to your clit, boobs, hips, neck, mouth, everywhere. He can also look deeply into your eyes the entire time which he loves doing. Eye contact is CRITICAL to this man. Oh, and he can lower himself down to whisper dirty shit into your ear. His favourite things about missionary overall are seeing the effect he has on you and being able to look into your eyes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): He can be goofy sometimes, but not all the time. I think goofiness would mostly happen in bed, rather than any quickies, where he’s rougher and more serious. He’ll laugh if you’re fucking at his or your parents’ place and you can’t keep quiet, or if something falls over. It puts you both at ease and make you feel safe and connected. You love when he laughs right against your lips or face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): We’ve seen how fast the hair on his head grows, so I’d imagine down there is similar. I’m thinking that he keeps things neat and trimmed, but not fully bare. As for you, I don’t think he’d have a preference at all.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): I think that Luigi really sees all intimacy as something that is almost spiritual for your connection. It’s an important part of the relationship, but he doesn’t think that in a selfish way. He knows it’s so important for your partnership and relationship. Luckily, you’re both horny freaks so there have never been any issues there. I think sexually, he’s pretty traditional in the way that he loves missionary, eye contact, etc. He wants to feel as close to you as possible physically, emotionally, spiritually. But not in such a serious or intense way. He watches you closely, knows what makes you get closer to your release, and is always praising you and dirty talking.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He doesn’t masturbate often because, as I said, you’re both horny freaks

If he does, it’s because you’re away or maybe after you had a baby (and he probably asked permission before lol)

For him, jacking off could NEVER beat having sex with you, EVER, so he almost never wants to do it because it’s just not that arousing

You have tried both touching yourselves in bed together, but your hands quickly wander to the other person

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): Like I said, breeding and praise kink!!! He wants to give you his babies like yesterday. To him, making a baby together is the most intimate thing he can think of. It’s really the two of you committing to one another forever and going through something incredibly special together. I’m just also going to add that while he enjoys MAKING the baby, he’d really have that attitude throughout your pregnancy and postpartum. And yes, praise kink. Since day 1, he’s been calling you a good girl and saying how beautiful you were taking his cock. Oh, and size kink! He loves the thought of his PhD hitting your cervix and stomach. He gets hard just thinking about how you have to adjust for a second after he enters you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): I think he likes the bed. It’s your safe place where you can try new things and be as close as possible. The bed also makes missionary more comfortable as there’s ample space for the two of you. He would like the couch too. Many of your makeout sessions during movie night turn to more and you don’t feel the need to go to the bedroom. Sometimes when you have a bath together, you’ll ride him nice and slow, which he loves. That being said, it’s not like your kitchen countertop, car, and several public places haven’t been sites for your sexcapades.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): He loves seeing you get turned on. He is all about giving you pleasure. If you even moan during a perfectly innocent kiss, the blood rushes downward. Seeing and hearing you beg for him, eye contact, and dirty talk work on him too. Even if he’s not in the mood himself, if you are, he’ll get in the mood. He knows he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, and he loves nothing more than seeing you taking his cock and talking you through your orgasm.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Scat and piss for sure. I also think he would never be down for a threesome, like, ever. You’re his and he’s yours, in this life, and the rest. He’s not going to do anything super violent. He’ll slap your ass of course (and maybe your face idk on this one), but he’s not going to be violent with you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Like I’ve said, he gets off on getting you off. Watching you come undone on his fingers or his mouth could make him cum in his pants. Our little bookworm is always reading about new ways and techniques to make you cum. That being said, he loves the sight of you on your knees, taking him in your mouth, licking the tip, or sucking his balls while pumping his length. He will ask you for BJs on occasion. You two communicate all of your needs well, including sexually. If either of you asked for or received oral, you always reciprocate, or at least offer.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): A mix! There are times when he’s slow and gentle, and times when he’s rough and fast. You both enjoy both A LOT. And you seem to be able to read each other’s mind on what you want or need on that day. Slower, gentler sex makes you both feel incredibly connected to one another emotionally, while rougher sex brings out your primal sides. Both are essential for a good relationship, so you VERY happily take part in both often. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): You two usually have sex at home because you like to be free to make noise and let your guards down, not worrying about someone hearing or walking in. Being at home lets you really focus on the other person and how they’re feeling. But you do engage in quickies. And because you’re both perpetually horny, it’s decently often. Typically, it’ll be in your car, on a secluded beach, or in a bathroom. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): He will if you demonstrate to him that you’re comfortable and feel safe. A lot of things are your suggestion and he’s happy to try. You’ll try things like sensation play, some light BDSM, but overall you keep things pretty tame.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): With his back, he can’t go for as many rounds as he’d like, but the ones you do have pack a punch. Two or three rounds and you’re both exhausted, opting for a cuddle session or a bath to rest up before you’re ready for more. As for how long he lasts, it depends I think. Sometimes he will be fighting for his life not to cum in his pants while you’re grinding on him, and other times, he lasts quite a long time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You’ll occasionally use a vibrator, restraints, blindfolds, butt plugs, and whips or ticklers, but it’s not often. You both prefer to focus on getting the other off all on your own. You like to bring in toys sometimes to change things up and heighten sensations.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He loves to tease. LOVES it. And he wears a big grin on his face while doing it, saying, “how bad do you need my cock, baby,” “beg for it,” “patience,” “good girls wait,” or “you want me to give it to you.” Sometimes he’ll really make you work for it. Your begging gets him off. He knows it’s a bit cruel, but it makes your orgasm even more powerful, so it’s a win-win. He’ll also tease you in public. You’ve had to leave a few family dinners early.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He’s LOUD. A moaner, groaner, whiner, occasional whimperer, and ALWAYS dirty talking and praising. When he comes, he groans and moans your name. When you tease him and grind on him, he whines and whimpers. He’s a vocal guy and sees making noise as a part of being intimate and letting your guard down with the other person.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): Luigi has asked you a few times to suck him off from under his desk while he’s in meetings. Once he heard whimpering and saw you rubbing your clit while you were sucking him off. He looked under his desk for one second and had to mute his mic and go off camera for a second because it made him cum right then and there.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): He said he has a PhD and I believe it. Also in one of his pics where he’s painted at Penn during his freshman year, his bulge is very visible and looks pretty big.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): It’s always there. Luigi is in touch with his body, including his sex drive. It’s increased so much with you, and luckily for him, you’ve got a high sex drive to match.

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): He couldn’t fall asleep without making sure you’ve been taken care of. Cuddling is essential for both of you. He praises you after as well, and if you’re in the mood to talk, he will listen or talk with you. Sex involves aftercare for him, and he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and ready to rest before he can think of sleeping.

[bookloover35]

No more hiding/ Eddie Munson x fem reader.

The sound of the school bell echoed through the halls of Hawkins High, signaling the end of another grueling day. You hurriedly stuffed your textbooks into your backpack, eager to leave before the rush of students flooded the corridors. But just as you were about to slip away, you noticed a familiar mop of dark curls near the lockers at the far end of the hallway.

It was Eddie Munson.

Your heart gave its usual flutter at the sight of him, that strange mix of excitement and nerves that had become all too familiar whenever he was around. You couldn't help it—there was something about his defiant attitude, his refusal to conform to the town's small-minded expectations, that you admired deeply. Even if it meant he was often the target of people's cruelty.

And today was no different.

Jason Carver, the star athlete and self-proclaimed king of Hawkins High, stood in front of Eddie, flanked by his group of sycophantic followers. You couldn't hear their conversation over the noise of passing students, but the mocking tone in Jason's voice was unmistakable. Eddie, of course, was trying to brush it off with that casual, devil-may-care grin he always wore, but you could see the tension in his shoulders.

You clenched your fists. It was always the same—Jason picking on anyone he deemed unworthy of his time, and today, Eddie was the unlucky victim.

Without thinking, you found yourself walking straight towards the group. Your pulse quickened, and you could feel eyes turning in your direction. As you got closer, Jason's voice became clearer.

"Hey, Freakshow," Jason sneered, flicking one of Eddie's Dungeon & Dragons books onto the floor. "Maybe if you stopped playing with your little nerd toys, people would actually take you seriously."

Eddie laughed it off, bending to pick up his book. "Wow, Jason, you really got me there," he said with mock enthusiasm. "Do you come up with these zingers all by yourself or do you have a team?"

Jason's smile faltered, and you could see that familiar flash of anger in his eyes. He took a step closer, shoving Eddie against the lockers. That was the final straw.

"Back off, Jason!" you shouted, your voice ringing louder than you'd intended. The crowd that had gathered to watch the drama turned to look at you, their eyes widening in surprise.

Jason paused, taken aback. He hadn't expected anyone—especially not you—to intervene. You were usually the quiet, stay-in-the-background kind of student, and for a moment, even Eddie seemed stunned.

"What's the matter, Carver?" you continued, stepping between him and Eddie. "Is bullying the only way you can feel important?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Stay out of this, princess," he spat, clearly annoyed by your interference. "This is between me and the freak."

You didn't back down. "I'm not going anywhere. And if you keep this up, I'll make sure Principal Higgins hears all about it." You shot him a glare, daring him to test you.

Jason's jaw clenched, but after a tense moment, he seemed to decide it wasn't worth the trouble. "Whatever," he muttered, turning to his lackeys. "Let's go. This freak isn't worth it."

As the jocks slinked away, the tension in the air finally broke. The other students, sensing that the show was over, began to disperse, whispering among themselves.

You turned back to Eddie, who was staring at you with wide eyes. "You okay?" you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

"Uh, yeah," Eddie replied, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something softer, almost... awed? "Didn't know you had that in you."

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way your heart was racing. "Well, someone had to do something. I'm tired of watching them treat you like crap."

Eddie's smile returned, but this time it was genuine. "I appreciate it. Seriously. Most people just pretend I don't exist, let alone stick their neck out for me." He paused, his eyes flickering to yours. "Guess I owe you one, huh?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you don't owe me anything, Eddie." But before you could stop yourself, you added, "I just... I hate seeing people hurt you. You don't deserve it."

For a moment, you both stood there, the bustling noise of the school fading into the background. Eddie's gaze softened, and he tilted his head as if seeing you for the first time.

"Hey," he said quietly, taking a small step closer. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared about me, sweetheart."

You let out a breathy laugh, trying to hide the way your heart skipped at the pet name. "Maybe I do," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn under his intense gaze.

Eddie's eyes widened slightly, but then his expression shifted into that trademark grin. "Well, that's interesting," he said, leaning against the lockers with a newfound swagger. "Because, if you haven't noticed, I might be a bit interested in you too."

You blinked, not quite believing your ears. Was he serious? The Eddie Munson, the boy who made your heart race, was actually interested in you?

"Tell you what," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "how about I make it up to you for saving my ass today? There's a new horror flick playing at the drive-in this weekend. Maybe you and I could... you know, check it out?"

You couldn't stop the grin that spread across your face. "Yeah," you said, trying to keep your voice steady You could feel your heart beating faster as you looked at Eddie, still trying to make sense of what was happening. He was smiling at you, his dark eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of mischief and warmth. You had always been drawn to him, but to hear him admit he was interested in you? It felt like a dream.

You nodded quickly, unable to hide the smile that stretched across your face. "I'd like that," you replied, your voice softer now. You could feel a flutter in your chest at the thought of spending time with him outside of school—just the two of you.

Eddie's grin widened. "Great," he said, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity. "It's a date then."

Your heart did a little flip at the word. "Yeah," you whispered, "a date."

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Most of the students had already left, but you and Eddie stood there for a moment longer, both of you smiling like you had all the time in the world.

"You know," Eddie said, breaking the silence, "I think I might owe you more than just a movie night. You really saved me from Jason today."

You shook your head. "You don't owe me anything, Eddie. I just... didn't want to see you get hurt."

Eddie's expression softened, and for a moment, the usual sarcasm and bravado melted away. He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, more earnest than you'd ever heard it. "I don't think I've ever had anyone really stand up for me before. Not like that."

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth between you grow stronger. "Well, maybe you deserve someone who does," you said, your words almost a whisper.

Eddie seemed to be lost in your eyes for a moment, his smile turning into something deeper. "Maybe I do," he said, his voice barely audible. "And maybe that someone is you."

Your heart fluttered again, and this time, you didn't try to hide it. You both knew what was happening—there was a spark, something undeniable. You'd been drawn to Eddie for so long, and now, it seemed he felt the same way.

"Well, Eddie Munson," you said with a teasing smile, "I guess we'll see where this goes."

Eddie grinned, his usual confident self returning. "Oh, I think it's going to go somewhere pretty damn good," he said, his eyes shining with excitement.

As the two of you finally made your way out of the school together, you felt like you were walking on air. No more hiding your feelings, no more watching him from the sidelines. Today, you'd stood up for him—and in doing so, you'd found something even more meaningful in return.

The beginning of something real.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: spider-man! midoriya because it makes sense. not proofread!! sorry for mistakes . also i want to specify that izuku really reminds me of tom hollands portrayal of peter parker, literally two puppy eyed losers, so obvi that movie is more of an inspiration than tasm.

spider-man! midoriya, who’s been called useless and felt the same thing his entire life only for it to change when a curious spider bit into his arm. now, he can at least do something and even if it mostly goes unnoticed by civilians and stuff — he doesn’t care because the sense of justice and duty in him is too strong. but he does dream of his favourite hero, all might, noticing him one day.

spider-man! midoriya, who has to get a new school uniform because not only is he taller than he was before, but he is also wider and overall bigger, which needs to be hidden, obviously. although, kacchan does notice the fact that he’s the same height as him now, even a little bit taller, which becomes something everyone likes to tease the blond about. bakugou on the other hand is fucking furious, demanding izuku tell him how he got so tall right fucking now, or i’ll kill ya, nerd.

spider-man! midoriya, who hides his proud grin whenever he overhears people being impressed with his abilities as they watch videos that other civilians took. videos of him flying around, hanging from his self-made webs and apprehending bad guys he encounters, and it’s a nice feeling until someone starts to bash him for stealing police’s work. police could never be like him tho!!

spider-man! midoriya, who sleeps for 2-3 hours every night and comes to school with cuts and bruises and spends his time thinking of how he can improve and be a better hero. he does hours of research and spends all of his scholarship on different materials and stuff that could make his suit more durable and resistant to all kinds of things: tears, rips, rain and all that.

spider-man! midoriya, who thinks he’s so slick with everything and he’s got everything under control. little does he know about you, silently watching him from afar.

spider-man! midoriya, who despite being gifted with an amazing eyesight, is blind to your surveillance of his behaviour. how you notice every time he disappears in the middle of a lesson after taking a brief look at his phone, how he forces himself to slow down when p.e. classes come around and pretends to not be able to pull himself up more than 4-5 times, which only gets a delighted howl from katsuki, the self-proclaimed “best”. you notice how he winces sometimes, bracing a hand against the table as the other clutches his side or his ribcage and how he stays late after chemistry classes. maybe it’s just that you like him so much that it makes you be so observant of him, however there’s something off about izuku midoriya.

spider-man! midoriya, who thought he was a magnet for trouble, but you seem to wear that title just as easily as him.

spider-man! midoriya, who saves you because for some reason you attract trouble like no one else does. someone tries to pickpocket when you lean down to feed a stray kitten, you nearly walk into a pole when you’re too immersed in whatever you’re watching on your phone, or someone almost runs you over when you’re crossing the road — izuku really doesn’t understand how it happens so many times.

spider-man! midoriya, who is pleasantly surprised by the newfound connection between the two of you. he doesn’t mind spending unnecessary amounts of time walking you home through the long path so he can continue rambling and dodge your silly questions about his abilities and how did he get them, thoroughly enjoying the frustration that covers your features. you don’t even know it’s him, your classmate of two years now — izuku midoriya, who is the proclaimed nerd of the said class.

spider-man! midoriya, who didn’t even know you were this talkative since he always hangs out with the same people and the only reminder of your presence in class is when the teacher is checking the attendance. you’re always somewhere in the background yet you always seem to know what they’re talking about. maybe it’s because mina seems to be friends with you and since her mouth is like a unstoppable force once opened you slide into the conversation very easily, and no one seems to mind. after meeting you one too many times as spider-man, izuku’s attention always somehow drifts to you yet he doesn’t notice the familiarity that sometimes fogs your gaze as you listen to his replies attentively.

spider-man! midoriya, who has to cover his face so no one notices how red it is when he accidentally catches you doodling spiders in your notebook.

spider-man! midoriya, who is delighted to be paired with you for a project. you offer to study at his place, referring to your house as ‘too loud’, and izuku is totally fine with it. he has no idea that you’re already sitting in his room by the time he’s done with his usual patrol routine.

spider-man! midoriya, who slides into his room through the window and when he turns the lights on, the last thing he expects to see is your shocked face: brows nearly disappearing into your hairline, eyes wide open, mouth ajar and ready to scream.

[tanoraqui]

Theory: Elrond effectively wears headlamps like a Dad(TM)

Proof:

Elrond, at least on semi-formal occasions, wears “a star upon his forehead” (RotK book 6, ch.9)—that is, presumably, a pale glowing gem on some sort of coronet. This comes across as very classically Elvish (light, jewelry, star imagery), and a nigh-explicit reference to his father Eärendil. However…

Elrond’s children don’t see as well as Elves, as cited here. If his children don’t, then Elrond, even less Elvish by blood, certainly doesn’t. Now, I will admit that I forget if “Elves can see in the dark” is canon or very popular, D&D-enabled fanon, but it certainly makes sense considering that Elves flourished for centuries or millennia under just starlight, before daylight even existed…and it’s equally reasonable to assume that half-elven night vision is as relatively “weak” as their cited distance vision.

Elrond is the proud father of three, and exhibits traditional Dadly behaviors such as being a little bit of a nerd (loremaster) but also one of the most reliable guys you know, adopting any child left in his presence for a sufficient amount of time (Aragorn), and telling his daughter’s aspiring bf that he won’t be good enough for her until he has a steady job (also Aragorn).

My dad irl, who I promise is a pretty typical Dad, was positively delighted when he discovered casual-use head-mounted flashlights about a decade ago, and has self-satisfiedly worn them on every camping trip and nighttime dog walk ever since.

CONCLUSION: Elrond regularly wears glowing, star-evocative gems on his brow, especially while traveling or at fancy evening parties, and he looks great and it make people respectfully murmur Eärendilion (whether he likes it or not)… But really, it’s not a fashion statement or implicit political position or whatever; it’s because if he doesn’t have some sort of flashlight, he will trip on torchlit steps or walk into low-hanging tree branches in the dark. And it’s so much easier if it’s hands-free! (Especially when he’s spelunking for lost texts!)

His kids all go through a phase of thinking he’s mortifyingly dorky about this, then begrudgingly come to accept that it is really convenient to have a hands-free light for dark nights, caves, etc, and start wearing one themselves.

[fratttymatty]

The Card That Changed Everything

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Novak had always been the quintessential "nerd" in high school. At 18, he was just a few weeks away from graduating, a proud member of the debate team, the editor of the school newspaper, and a staunch liberal in a town that was a bit more on the conservative side. With thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder, he had always felt a little out of place. His friends, a small but close-knit group of fellow "outsiders," often joked that if the high school hierarchy were a pyramid, he’d be firmly planted at the bottom, right next to the chess club.

Elliot had been expecting a quiet, uneventful Friday night. But when his best friend, Max, invited him over for a game night, he reluctantly agreed. It was nothing too out of the ordinary—just a few games of Uno and maybe some pizza. What he didn’t expect was that this seemingly innocent night would change his life forever.

It started innocently enough. The group—Max, his girlfriend Lily, and Sarah from the drama club—sat around Max’s living room, laughing and talking as they shuffled the colorful cards. The first few rounds of Uno passed without incident. Elliot was his usual self: sarcastic, quick-witted, and, as always, a little too passionate about winning.

Then came the final game of the night. For some reason, the cards seemed to fall differently. He felt a strange energy in the room, a kind of buzz that seemed to hum in his ears. It was Max who had drawn the last card, and as he placed it down, there was a sudden flash of light, so brief that no one noticed—except Elliot.

The world seemed to tilt.

He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake the odd feeling of vertigo. The room appeared the same, but everything felt… different. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly larger, more muscular, the knuckles rougher. His clothes felt tighter, almost too tight. As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his glasses, but they weren’t there.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice coming out deeper, rougher than usual.

Max, still grinning from winning the last round, glanced over. “You okay, man?”

Elliot’s heart started to race as he realized something was wrong. He glanced at the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His once lean, skinny body had transformed into something broader, more defined—his arms, his chest, his jawline—all of it seemed so different. His short, curly brown hair was now dark and tousled in thick, messy curls, and his face, still familiar in shape, had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by the sharp angles of a confident, athletic young man.

He was no longer the bookish Elliot Novak. In the mirror, staring back at him, was someone new.

“Max, I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay,” Elliot’s—no, his new voice—sounded unfamiliar, confident in a way it had never been before.

“Dude, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” Max asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I… I feel different,” Elliot murmured. But as he spoke, he didn’t feel the anxiety or the usual sense of out-of-place-ness he had grown accustomed to. Instead, there was something else—a surge of confidence, a sense of power. A feeling of certainty.

He was no longer Elliot Novak. He was Ethan Cole.

Ethan ran his fingers through his new head of tousled, dark brown curls, noticing how it felt different, more natural than his old look ever had. He straightened his back, feeling the strength in his spine, the ease of standing tall. He had always been awkward about his body, but now it was as if he had been molded into something new, something purposeful.

Max looked him up and down, his eyes widening. “Holy crap, Elliot, what the hell happened to you?”

The name Elliot felt wrong in Ethan's mouth. "It’s Ethan, man. You know, like… the name that suits me," he said with an easy smirk, not understanding why he was suddenly so at ease with himself. A new sense of self-assurance flooded his veins, and he felt an overwhelming desire to flex his muscles, to show off this newfound strength.

"You're acting weird," Max muttered, unsure what to make of this transformation. But Ethan was already adjusting to his new life.

He looked at the game of Uno, now discarded on the floor, and the realization hit him. It was the game, the card. It had changed everything, even his very identity. But rather than panic, he felt a strange sense of… relief.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't miss being the old Elliot. Being Ethan felt right. His thoughts began to align with his new persona—no more arguing about social justice issues, no more complicated liberal viewpoints. No, now he saw things clearly. The world was about competition, dominance, and personal achievement. It made sense. Everything made sense.

And the people around him? They weren’t so different from him anymore. He gave Max a friendly clap on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro. But we should hit the gym sometime, huh?”

Max blinked in surprise. “Uh… sure, man. That actually sounds good.”

But something in Max had shifted too. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed with sudden focus, and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use a solid workout. We should start lifting.”

As if by magic, Max’s transformation mirrored Ethan’s. His body began to tighten and firm up, his once lean frame now more muscular, shoulders broader, chest more defined. His hair, always scruffy, seemed to grow thicker, more styled—almost like it had a purpose now. He gave Ethan a playful shove. “Maybe I’ll even beat you at this gym thing.”

Ethan grinned. “You can try.”

The two exchanged a knowing look, as if they were already bonding over something bigger than just physical strength. It was a new world, one where power and confidence ruled. For Ethan, it felt like a natural fit.

As the evening wore on, Ethan felt something else—something different in the air. Kassie, Max’s girlfriend, had been sitting on the couch, watching their interactions. She was the type of girl who didn’t usually give Ethan much attention. But now, there was something new about him—something magnetic, something that drew her in.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the way his new curls framed his face. She smiled slowly. “Ethan, right? I’ve gotta say, you’re looking good.”

Ethan felt his chest puff with pride. “Thanks, Kassie. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She laughed lightly, a flirtatious edge to her tone. “How about we grab a coffee sometime? You and me?”

Ethan smirked, feeling the newfound confidence flood his veins. “Sounds like a date.”

By the end of the night, Ethan had fully embraced his new life. He wasn’t just a jock in body; he was a jock in spirit. His new persona felt like home. Kassie was his girlfriend now, Max was a jock too, and together they would rule the school.

The old Elliot, with his liberal ideals, his anxiousness, his nerdy quirks—was nothing more than a distant memory.

Ethan Cole was here to stay.

[fuctacles]

<< 14 | 0 | 16 >>

looking for dog-themed songs for the fic playlist

They sit facing each other on the warmed up concrete, having given away the lawn chairs to the girls. Steve is sliding every piece of onion off his skewer and onto Eddie's plate, which sits right next to his for easy sharing. It reminds him of cafeteria meals and swapping snacks with friends, something he never had with Steve, because of how different they were in high school. It makes him wonder if what he's feeling could really be mutual. 

"Are you staying for the movie?"

His eyes snap back up to meet Steve's, waiting for an answer. 

"I guess so. What are we watching?" It might not be the wisest to keep around while figuring himself out, but what is he going to do? Not spend time with his friends? 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"The jury is still out," he answers dryly. "But I can guess some nerd shit will get majorly outvoted."

Eddie snorts.

"What would you pick? A baseball game?" he asks, chewing on a piece of meat. His fingers are getting greasy, but they forgot to grab napkins and standing up sounds like too much exercise. 

Steve moves the grilled bits on his plate with the now empty skewer. 

"Not really..." he says, all quiet and shy, which immediately grabs Eddie's attention. Wary of the food and drinks between them, he leans in conspiratorially. 

"You can tell me, I ain't a snitch," he reassures, and when Steve looks up, he adds a wink. Steve huffs out an amused breath.

"I like romantic comedies," he admits, watching Eddie warily, like he's awaiting judgement. 

"Huh." He sits back to properly take him in. "That kinda makes sense."

"Yeah?" Steve raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah." Eddie shrugs, and now he's feeling self-conscious. "It suits you. We could watch something one day, your pick."

Ohmygodsohmygodsohmygods, do not invite Steve for one-on-one romcom watching—!

Steve's face lights up with a wide smile. 

"Oh, I'm going to hold you to that one, Munson," he teases, but it's obvious he's genuinely excited by the offer. 

"Already regretting I said it," Eddie teases back, but offers Steve a strip of bacon so he knows he doesn't mean it. 

Without thinking, he starts licking the grease off his fingers, and it takes him a moment to realize Steve stopped moving. He looks up with a questioning hum, fingertip in his mouth.

"You need a napkin?" Steve asks with a raise of his eyebrows. 

"Nah, I'm good," Eddie mumbles around his finger just to be difficult, and pushes it deeper, sucking with gusto. For once, Steve doesn't look into his eyes, too focused on his mouth. His cheeks are colored the faintest shade of pink, and Eddie finally realizes what he's been doing. He slides his finger out with a wet smack and smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Want me to lick yours too?" he offers, like the good friend that he is. 

Someone nearby chokes, but he's too focused on the bit to check who. Their fault for listening in, right?

Meanwhile, Steve's face turns tomato red. 

"Uh, I'll manage myself. I'm good at licking," he cringes as soon as the worlds leave his mouth, and Eddie almost chokes himself with how hard he laughs.

After the party, comes more cleaning. This time, as there's more people and everyone gets forced into using their two hands and opposable thumbs, it goes faster, though with much more complaining.

Sometime in the middle of filling the trash bags, Robin has changed the music. Steve sighs, when the first song plays, but by the next two, his head is nodding to the beat. On the chorus, his hips sway, and Eddie almost drops the plate he's holding. 

"Your song, dingus!" Robin yells when the next song starts, making Steve roll his eyes. But he's shimmying his shoulders and mouthing along to all the lyrics. 

They tie away their bags at the same time, which gives Eddie the misfortune of watching him free his hands and make a silly little dance.

"Well, you ain't never caught no rabbit, you ain't no friend of mine!" he mouths along, and when he catches Eddie staring, he gives him a sheepish smile and a wink.

"Should I find you more dog themed songs to dance to?" he raises his eyebrow with a smile.

"No—"

"Yes!" Robin pops out from behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. "I'm constantly on the look out, but there aren't many good songs. I want to make a playlist." She grins. 

"Oh, I'm in." Eddie smiles back, extending his hand. Their palms slap together, and Steve shakes his head.

"Wow. Traitors." 

"Oh, I'd never betray you, Hound Dog," Eddie declares with a hand to his heart. Steve flips him off.

They pick The Battle for Endor, which Steve accepts with a sigh and a quiet "At least it has teddies," something probably only Eddie can hear, since he's sitting right next to him. He starts dozing off halfway through anyway, but Eddie doesn't wake him up until the movie ends and they have to plan how to get the younger lot home. It was a busy day, after all. 

"I'm going home anyway, so I can take them," Nancy offers. 

"Don't be stupid," Steve mumbles in his half-asleep state. "You won't fit them in your car."

"I can get Max and Super Twins," Eddie says, and the grasp around his arm tightens. He looks down at Steve, suddenly awake and frowning.

"You're not staying?" he asks, audibly upset. 

"I'll come back," Eddie reassures him quickly, patting his hand. "Okay! Mad Max, Wonder Twins, grab your shit. The sooner we leave, the closer I am to getting wasted," he commands, gently prying himself out of Steve's grasp. He scratches behind his ear as a consolation. "Should I grab anything while I'm out?"

"No," Steve says quickly, even though Jonathan has already opened his mouth, most probably with a request.

Something twists in Eddie's chest.

"Okay, buddy, I'll be back as soon as I can, no detours," he reassures again, with another scratch. 

"Okay, thanks." Steve closes his eyes briefly, but then blinks them open and pushes at his thigh, like his mind has suddenly cleared from the remnants of sleep. "Be quick, but without breaking the law." He smiles up at Eddie.

"Ugh, fine." He rolls his eyes. "Be right back," he nudges Steve's head before motioning the kids to follow him outside. 

It's suddenly silent, with the movie over and most of the people gone from the room. Steve clears his throat, watching Robin crawl over the carpet to rewind the tape. 

"So only Nancy isn't staying?" he asks, looking around the room. 

"I already told my parents I'm sleeping over." Robin shrugs. 

Jonathan and Argyle look at each other, like they are communicating in a way not dissimilar to Steve and Robin.

"It's good vibes here, man," Argyle says, his hair swaying as he nods. 

"Eddie promised we'll compare the goods," Jonathan adds. 

"Oh, right!" his friend perks up, his eyes sparkling. "Almost forgot about that."

Robin makes a face. 

"God, I really hope you mean the weed," she says. "You think I can still persuade Nancy to come back?"

The boys start snickering, but Steve quickly collects himself to answer her question, no matter how unserious it is. 

"I think she wouldn't be comfortable," he winces, because they all know why. "But I could drive you to hers if you want to?" he offers instead. 

She shakes her head. 

"Nah, just give me a beer and I'll lower my joke standards to yours."

"Okay, you don't have to be mean, Robs," Steve rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. On his way to the kitchen, he tugs on her hair. "Beers for everyone?" He turns to look at each of his remaining guests.

Jonathan nods, but Argyle shakes his head. 

"I don't mix my substances," he says, pulling out a joint out of his pocket instead. 

When Eddie comes back, he makes a beeline upstairs, hoping he hasn't been spotted. He doubts his van hasn't been heard, her old-lady coughs being a part of her charm, but maybe he was stealthy enough inside not to be traced. 

But once he's back down he realizes how foolish that thought was. Because somehow, Steve is ridiculously attuned to him and has his eyes on Eddie immediately, like he's been expecting him. A cold bottle of beer is pressed into his hand when he sits back in the seat that's been waiting for him. 

"Dropped some stuff upstairs, since I'm sleeping over again," he explains quietly without prompting, his nervousness making him yap unnecessarily, as usual. "Uh, are we bunking together too, or...?" It was probably stupid of him to assume, considering there are more people in the house today that need a place to sleep. 

Considering his own freak out this morning. 

"Of course," Steve says with a smile that tells him no other option had crossed his mind. "Unless you don't want to?" he cocks his head, almost like he's tilting curious, pointed ears. "I promise to wear pants this time." 

Jonathan chokes on his beer, and when Eddie snaps his head that way, Argyle gives him a supportive smile and that weird surfer gesture, while patting Jon on the back.

He hopes the dim light of the room hides the flush of embarrassment on his face. 

"Well, since you promise to be decent, how could I say no?" he says, rolling his head back to Steve. 

Steve, who gives him a relieved, dazzling smile, and presses their thighs together, flooding his whole body with warmth.

It's terrifying, how good it feels. 

tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight @eyehartart