#i actually maybe do want to write the novel version One Day?

[rowenabean]

I think I've finished my inklings story! (first draft of the second half, the first half has had a few run throughs)

been a little while but I'm happy to have got here! My brain keeps trying to do the novel version of it to which I am saying a firm Not Yet

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[mistakenot4892]

Disclaimer that this is a post mostly motivated by frustration at a cultural trend, not at any individual people/posters. Vagueing to avoid it seeming like a callout but I know how Tumblr is so we'll see I guess. Putting it after a read-more because I think it's going to spiral out of control.

Recent discourse around obnoxious Linux shills chiming in on posts about how difficult it can be to pick up computer literacy these days has made me feel old and tired. I get that people just want computers to Work and they don't want to have to put any extra effort into getting it to Do The Thing, that's not unreasonable, I want the same!

(I also want obnoxious Linux shills to not chip in on my posts (unless I am posting because my Linux has exploded and I need help) so I sympathise with that angle too, 'just use Linux' is not the catch-all solution you think it is my friend.)

But I keep seeing this broad sense of learned helplessness around having to learn about what the computer is actually doing without having your hand held by a massive faceless corporation, and I just feel like it isn't a healthy relationship to have with your tech.

The industry is getting worse and worse in their lack of respect to the consumer every quarter. Microsoft is comfortable pivoting their entire business to push AI on every part of their infrastructure and in every service, in part because their customers aren't going anywhere and won't push back in the numbers that might make a difference. Windows 11 has hidden even more functionality behind layers of streamlining and obfuscation and integrated even more spyware and telemetry that won't tell you shit about what it's doing and that you can't turn off without violating the EULA. They're going to keep pursuing this kind of shit in more and more obvious ways because that's all they can do in the quest for endless year on year growth.

Unfortunately, switching to Linux will force you to learn how to use it. That sucks when it's being pushed as an immediate solution to a specific problem you're having! Not going to deny that. FOSS folks need to realise that 'just pivot your entire day to day workflow to a new suite of tools designed by hobby engineers with really specific chips on their shoulders' does not work as a method of evangelism. But if you approach it more like learning to understand and control your tech, I think maybe it could be a bit more palatable? It's more like a set of techniques and strategies than learning a specific workflow. Once you pick up the basic patterns, you can apply them to the novel problems that inevitably crop up. It's still painful, particularly if you're messing around with audio or graphics drivers, but importantly, you are always the one in control. You might not know how to drive, and the engine might be on fire, but you're not locked in a burning Tesla.

Now that I write this it sounds more like a set of coping mechanisms, but to be honest I do not have a healthy relationship with xorg.conf and probably should seek therapy.

It's a bit of a stretch but I almost feel like a bit of friction with tech is necessary to develop a good relationship with it? Growing up on MS-DOS and earlier versions of Windows has given me a healthy suspicion of any time my computer does something without me telling it to, and if I can't then see what it did, something's very off. If I can't get at the setting and properties panel for something, my immediate inclination is to uninstall it and do without.

And like yeah as a final note, I too find it frustrating when Linux decides to shit itself and the latest relevant thread I can find on the matter is from 2006 and every participant has been Raptured since, but at least threads exist. At least they're not Microsoft Community hellscapes where every second response is a sales rep telling them to open a support ticket. At least there's some transparency and openness around how the operating system is made and how it works. At least you have alternatives if one doesn't do the job for you.

This is long and meandering and probably misses the point of the discourse I'm dragging but I felt obligated to make it. Ubuntu Noble Numbat is pretty good and I haven't had any issues with it out of the box (compared to EndeavourOS becoming a hellscape whenever I wanted my computer to make a sound or render a graphic) so I recommend it. Yay FOSS.

[sarahreesbrennan]

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

[youraveragenicaddict]

Xavier Thorpe X  GN!Reader - Tied Up

A/N - I was listening to a Deftones playlist, and my mind went to very unholy places, so I decided to write it (I already posted a version of this, but I didn’t like it so I rewrote it) enjoy (if u want me to finish this then submit an ask lol)

Warnings - it gets heated but no actual smut

THE BOOK IS CALLED ‘’JAY WISEMAN’S EROTIC BONDAGE HANDBOOK’’

DEFTONES S3X PLAYLIST (THE PLAYLIST IS NOT MINE, I FOUND IT AND I LOVED IT OK? DON’T JUDGE ME)

Seeing your boyfriend in chains definitely did something to your brain, but given the circumstances it was in, you didn't want to say anything since it could have been a tad bit traumatic, so you decided on dropping a hint about what you wanted. A big hint.

You had ordered a book. The erotic kind, to be precise. Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage handbook to be even more precise. Being an Addams, you already knew the basics to an extent, but decided on reading further into it, so as not to hurt your boyfriend if he decided he was into that.

A week after ordering it, it arrived, and you read it in less than a day. It was pretty interesting, but more importantly, full of tips, how-tos, and safety precautions one had to take.

You couldn't just blatantly give it to him in the middle of the pentagon-shaped courtyard, so you decided to change the covers of the book to those of a poetry book you took from the school library. To be honest, you've never even read the book, but it would have to do.

So on one chilly Friday, when you had bought the ropes and everything you might need, you set out to find Xavier and set your little plan into motion.

While you were walking down the stairs, you ran into your sister, Wednesday, who was probably going to her dorm since it was her writing hour. ''Hey sis, what a lovely afternoon, isn't it?'' You asked her, unusually happy, which made her raise her brow in question. ''Hi, it will be a lovely afternoon when a thunderstorm appears. What has gotten you in such a weird mood? Is it that poetry book you're carrying?'' She said in her usual monotone voice while trying to sneak a peak inside the book. ''Maybe, maybe not, enjoy writing your murder novels, I have shit to do'' You grinned, while walking away, leaving her to question if it was the book or something else, you're not usually THIS cheery.

You found Xavier in the courtyard, painting something on its walls as usual. He didn't notice you standing behind him and jumped a little bit when you wrapped your arms around his torso with a ''hi love'' to accompany your actions. ''Oh hey, what's up?'' he asked, putting one of his hands over yours while continuing his work on the wall. ''What are you painting? Another ''tortured artist'' work?'' You questioned with a small smirk playing on your lips. ''Ha ha, very funny. You're never going to let me live that down, are you?'' He retorted in a mock serious voice, while he was quite obviously grinning as much as you were.

You unwrapped your arms and moved so you were standing next to him before you said in a smug voice, ''I got you something, don't open it in front of people, love. Read it, alright?'' You handed him the book, which he took after cleaning his paint-stained hands with a small towel. ''Poetry? Why can't I open it in front of people? Did you write a murder plan in there or something?'' He joked after taking a look at the book. ''You'll see,'' You stated, and before you left to do your own thing, you gave him a quick kiss on the lips and sent him a wink, walking away. Curious as to what was so important about the book, he opened the first page, in which he found a note in your handwriting, '' When you read this and have decided if you're into it, find me in my dorm :))''. He took off the sticky note and looked at the title, which made him slightly blush since it read ''Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage Handbook''. He quickly shut the book and decided that he'll read it after he finished the painting. Xavier was intrigued, to say the least. Of course, you'd be into that, he thought with a slight chuckle.

It was very convenient since you didn't have a roommate and had a queen-sized bed with a metal headboard. You definitely didn't expect to see Xavier standing in your room that evening, dressed in grey sweatpants and one of your Metallica t-shirts.

''Hey, you.'' You said, walking to him and giving him a hello kiss. He instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist. It looked like he was contemplating something, so you raised your brow in a questioning manner. You didn't even get to ask what was bothering him when he responded with a yes.

You had a confused look on your face when he let go of you and went to your bed to find something he had put there earlier. Xavier raised the disguised handbook and then handed it to you. ''Open it,'' He said. He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on your bed, waiting.

You opened the book and found your note inside, but in addition to the original one, you found a ''yes'' scribbled under your text. You smiled, closed the book, and put it on your desk before going to sit beside him. ''Are you sure?'' You asked while moving strands of hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear. ''Yeah, I thought about it, and since you know what you're doing, at least I hope so,'' he chuckled while you grinned at him, '' I'm open to trying it.'' You didn't need any other confirmation. You smashed your lips onto his in a heated kiss, while he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. Testing the water, you lightly bit down on Xavier's lower lip. You could feel he was fighting against the noises that were creeping their way out of his throat. ''Wait, I forgot to lock the door, shit,'' He exaggeratedly whined when you got up, and let his back fall against the soft mattres of your bed. You quickly locked the door, checked that it was really locked, and turned on some music. Xavier recognized the playlist immediately, and he'd be lying if he said that it didn't turn him on. Before going back to him, you rummaged through your closet and pulled out a box in which the ropes you had previously bought were in. Xavier was watching your every move and you could feel his lustful gaze.

You carelessly dropped the ropes on your bed and got yourself comfortable in Xavier's lap. He raised his body to meet yours and kissed you again, this time it was a lot more passionate. Your mouth slowly opened up, enjoying the feeling of his tongue against yours. He didn’t notice it, but you had placed a hand on his neck, slowly moving it upward to grab a fistful of his hair and roughly pull on it. Xavier couldn't contain himself anymore and let out a low moan.

You smiled into the kiss and let your hands wander lower down his body, to the hem of the shirt, your shirt, that he'd been wearing, and helped him out of it. He let out a groan as the cold night air collided with his naked torso. You instructed him to move up against the headboard. Before you did anything, you reminded him of the safe words, green for go, yellow for pause, and red for immediate stopping.

After making sure he was comfortable, and you had scissors on your nightstand, you began to tie up his hands with the soft rope, carefully, not to restrict blood flow. While you were focused on the task at hand, Xavier began placing kisses on your neck. You yanked his hands back to tie them to the headboard, making his back hit the mattress again. He was slightly panting, his eyes full of want and need. You admired the sight before you, it wasn't a thing you see every day, but you already had the picture engraved in your mind. You lowered your head so you could kiss him again, your lips moving in sync. When you lifted your head, he whined at the loss of contact, but you were already moving lower, starting to attack his neck with hickeys that would be visible for a week at least. Xavier moaned softly when you found that one spot that felt the best and continued your work there. You were so caught up in the moment you almost didn't hear the two knocks on your door. You chose to ignore them, hoping the person would go away, but they didn't and continued knocking. ''For fucks sake,'' you whispered, annoyed at whoever was standing outside your dorm. What made you freeze in your place was the new principal's voice.

''Turn that music down. I have received complaints about the noise from other students,'' She tried to shout over the Deftones song playing in the background. You cleared your throat and yelled '' Sorry, I'll turn it down.'' ''You better, and if I hear another complaint about it, I'll make sure you can't play that music at all.'' She hollered, irritated since it wasn't the first time you'd done this.

You made your way to the speaker and turned the music down a little bit, so it wasn't too loud, but loud enough. ''Now, where were we?'' You turned to Xavier, still tied up on your bed, watching you, lips slightly parted, waiting for your next move.

[it-was-summer]

Come In With The Rain- Part Two (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. I could tell everyone everything that has been going on for the past couple of weeks but I fear that no one cares. I genuinely found solace in writing this, and I really hope everyone likes it! I have not proofread this very throughly, but hey partially proofreading something is better than nothing at all guys. I thought about writing a SFW and NSFW version but I feel like if you don't want to read the smut in this... just scroll down a little more and it'll go away. With so much love and gratitude, Em.

Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain

Part one -> You are on Part Two!

Yee olde masterlist

WARNING: Light cursing, pining, guilt up the wazoo, Spencer Reid being pookie again, death mentioned (its literally a part of Swan Lake don't worry), ballet talk by someone who sucks at ballet (me), SMUT okay?!?!?!?, the words cunt and cock guys!!! (I'm 22 I have free will), unprotected sex (STIs are no joke, believe me), fingering, mention of oral sex, slight dirty talk, female anatomy, dark house mentioned, joke of a heart attack, and a secret final thing (not proofread well enough probably).

Plot: Coping with your break-up was no easy feat. Luckily, Spencer is there to help. Maybe that's why he can't stop thinking about you.

Word Count: 20,043

Day Two Hundred and Five

After week two of the breakup, you decided you couldn’t sit around and cry on Spencer’s couch anymore. You weren’t ready to go out every night or date again by any means; you were still working on some things in the dating area. Dating someone for two years and five months will do that to you.

But you were ready to get back to doing things you enjoyed: reading novels, watching movies, baking, cooking, knitting, and spending time with a man you were grateful to call one of your best friends.

Spencer Reid was a godsend. He wouldn’t accept any money as a thank-you for letting you crash on his couch for a month, so you moved to your next best angle– spoiling the man. If he went to the grocery store, you went with him. You’d take control of the cart and grab items needed for breakfast, lunch, and dinner– you became a hardworking FBI agent’s dream. You’d make breakfast for the two of you, occasionally making lunch with too many leftovers, forcing Spencer to take some before he left for work that day, and then topping it all off with dinners. 

He had tried to get you to stop multiple times. He felt terrible and guilty for having a guest in his kitchen more than he was. You wouldn’t hear it, and the times you did, he would find a book he had mentioned last week on his bed the next day. 

He felt like he was losing his mind over your kindness. You were overcompensating when there was no reason to overcompensate. He kept telling you how happy he was to have you in the apartment, that you were safe, but you would just say a sweet “I know” before you’d be on his couch looking up a recipe for some elaborate jello dessert. 

You sat across from him at his dining room table, humming softly as you ate. Seeing your slightly happy mood made Spencer feel better. He assumed another reason for your ‘attentive’ behavior recently was that it was a coping mechanism for you. Struggling with the loss of a two-year relationship, he knew you were struggling— struggling with quite a bit, actually: your failed relationship, your upcoming move, being cheated on, and, the cherry on top, immense guilt. 

You felt like a burden above all else. You had told Spencer as such after apologizing for nothing for what seemed to be the tenth time two weeks ago. He threatened to find whoever taught you the word and ensure they never saw the light of day again, and that got a smile out of you at the time.

Spencer was starting to wrestle with some guilt of his own. It wasn’t that you had done anything to warrant said guilt. You were the perfect guest—a saint. Even when faced with situations that would leave anyone nearly catatonic for weeks, you were spoiling him. And he was eating it up, literally and figuratively. 

A rational voice inside of his head knew that being around you was a bad idea at the current time. Josh had accused you of cheating on him with Spencer emotionally, that is. It was a terrible time, and it couldn’t be a worse time for him to realize how strong his feelings were for you. It is not necessarily love per se, but perhaps it is an intense infatuation. He kept trying to rationalize his feelings over and over and over again. He knew you were nowhere near ready for that kind of revelation. He had to intellectualize and compartmentalize his emotions into a tiny box in his brain to protect himself and you. That was the right thing to do. 

So, he relished in these little moments while you were still crashing at his apartment, happily eating across from him—all while knowing he could not have you. You’d always take a few bites and then ask him how his day was. The simple ask made a smile appear on his face nearly every time. 

He shrugged a little, a small smile on his lips as he twisted some noodles onto his fork. “It was okay, thankfully, it was slow. Paperwork is a nice break from traveling for cases. Not that I don’t like the cases, they can just get…” He trails off briefly, looking down at the chow mein on his fork. “Overwhelming.” 

When he looks up, his heart nearly melts at the sweet, empathetic look you’re giving him. With you, it was never pity. You always looked at him with soft, compassionate eyes and a look that told him you felt for him. He remembers mentioning his struggles with his mother briefly as the two of you watched a movie earlier that week, a character being paranoid schizophrenic. You briefly expressed sympathy for the character and how hard it must be to live with something like that. Spencer can’t remember what came over him when he said, “It’s hard on a family– hard to watch.” 

You stared at him for a second before you blinked a little and reached for his hand, resting your palm on the back of his hand. You said nothing after that, and Spencer was happy you didn’t pry. 

You were good at listening like that, something he adored about you. You never bombarded him with questions; sometimes, you’d offer a soft “Do you want to talk about it?” but nothing beyond that. 

You knew you could be nosy with Spencer’s job, but sometimes you could look into those hazel eyes and tell when he did or didn’t want to talk about something. It was a superpower you had picked up in the almost seven months of knowing him. 

You poked at a carrot with your chopsticks after Spencer answered your question regarding his day, “Paperwork day for the guy who reads twenty-thousands words per minute has got to go by fast,” 

“You would think so, but sometimes, when I sit down for so long, all my energy leaves me. Has to be all the sleep I’ve been losing lately due to someone’s soft snoring in the living room.” He chuckles softly, a playful look in his eyes as he bites down on his chow mein. 

You gasp and glare at him playfully, “You said it wasn’t that bad!” You’re shaking your head in seeming disbelief as he chews, taking a moment to tease him more. “I can’t believe you, Spencer Walter Reid, would lie to me like this. How am I supposed to trust you?” 

He’s rolling his eyes as he swallows, his mouth opening to reply when a knocking at his door causes the two of you to cease all sounds of laughter and look toward the door. You watch as Spencer walks to the door, looking through the peephole. He sends you a sympathetic look over his shoulder and opens the door. 

You’re standing up now, walking away from the small dining room table to peer over who is at the door. You feel your knees become weak at the sight of them together. It’s a blatant attempt to get back at you, and it isn’t exactly subtle as Estelle wraps her arms around Josh’s arm. You watch as his elbow presses into her exposed cleavage, and you feel like laughing wildly. 

Josh is slow to see you behind Spencer, but eventually, his eyes land on you. You want to look away, but his eyes on yours have you frozen. You lick your lips nervously as you wonder why he’s here. Two weeks, almost three, of not even attempting to see you. And now he’s at Spencer’s front door. He’s probably sick with satisfaction at the fact that you’re here– you can see it in the way he smiles at you. 

You used to love seeing him smile, but this one causes your stomach to turn. He’s saying something, but it all sounds like static. You shake your head a little before you hear your voice whisper, “Sorry, what?” 

“I have a box of your things.” He repeats, and you see the cardboard box now. You nod a little and walk toward the door. Your hands are shaking as you take the box away from him. You look at Estelle, who is trying to avoid your gaze, as you take the box. 

“Why didn’t you text me?” 

“I didn’t want to see it anymore,” He maneuvers Estelle’s hand into his as you take the box away from him. “That and we were on our way out tonight. What’s wrong with two lovebirds visiting two other lovebirds.” 

Your tongue feels like sandpaper as you try not to yell, cry, throw up, maybe all at once. Spencer is the one who speaks up for you, “We aren’t in a relationship,” 

“Oh, so you’re just screwing my leftovers?” 

Spencer is trying to keep calm, but his grip on the edge of his door is tightening, and he can hear the anger in his voice as he says, “Have some respect.” 

He feels Josh’s laughter at his comment coarse through his veins like a non-luminescent flame; venom rises on his tongue before he feels a soft hand touching his arm. Your eyes are wide and sorrowful as you silently shake your head at him. It’s enough to make him stand down but not enough to stop him from attempting to kill your ex-boyfriend with a glare. 

“Thank you, Josh. I hope the two of you have a lovely evening.” You say as you motion for Spencer to close the door, and you let out a shaky sigh as he does, the door closing with a light click. “Thought I packed everything,” you whisper as you walk back to the dining room table, setting the box on the floor next to you. As you sit back in your chair to eat, Spencer stands awkwardly next to you for a second, his eyes looking at the box before he tears them away and sits in his seat. 

It is quiet, so quiet and tense that Spencer can hear everything. His senses are attuned to any signs of distress from you, but none do. You look up from your Chinese food after a while and give him a little confused look. He’s sure he’s looking at you strangely, so he decides he can’t handle the silence anymore. “Why are you still nice to him?” 

You look back down at your food as you poke at pieces of broccoli and celery. You sigh gently as your shoulders slump, “What’s the point of being mean? He has Estelle. He thinks he’s won whatever our break-up was. I can’t fight that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Can’t argue with someone who doesn’t think they’re in the wrong, Spence.” 

Spencer draws his lips into a tight line and looks at his food, slowly twirling some soy-covered noodles on his fork. “I guess not, but it still isn’t fair to you.” 

“None of this is fair, but I can’t control it. I can only control myself. He didn’t listen the first time, and he won’t listen the second time. I’d be wasting my breath.” You huff out sharply as you take a bite of soy-covered broccoli. Spencer raises his gaze to meet yours and smiles apologetically, but he doesn’t have to say the words as he watches you chew. You’re already shaking your head with amusement in your eyes. 

After a few more minutes of silent eating, you glance at the box by your feet and playfully ask, “You want to see what we got?” 

Spencer wants to tell you that it’s your stuff. You probably already know what is inside, but he figures you already know that. You’re just trying to make the situation less tense. So, he nods, “Yeah,”

You clap your hands together quickly before leaning down to grab the box. You look up at him and count down slowly, “Three… Two… One!” Your fingers open the box as you laugh. 

Spencer doesn’t need to lean over the table to see what is inside the box as you slowly start pulling items from the box and holding them up proudly. A half-read book, bookmarks, pens, earrings, necklaces, and then your fingers stall. You slowly pull out a photo of Josh’s family with yours, the two of you in the middle. You frown a little as you show Spencer, and he wonders what he should say in an attempt to comfort you. 

But you’re gently turning the photo back to you and tracing the edges. Then you smile, a genuine smile. It’s the last thing Spencer expects from you as you whisper, “It was a great vacation, you know? I kept asking for those cocktails with the little umbrella, and Josh’s mom and I kept talking about–” You cut yourself off.

You look up at Spencer, “Well, it was great.” 

Spencer wanted to grab you by your shoulder and shake you out of it, and he didn’t understand how you could be so happy to remember your time with Josh when the relationship ended so badly. How could you give Josh another one of your smiles? 

“I know it seems dramatic,” you sigh as you set the picture back into the box. “But Monday, I was just at work and felt free… if that makes any sense?” 

Spencer shook his head slightly, indicating he did not understand what you were saying. You bit your lip a little as you tried to suppress a smile, “When I took a second to think about Josh and me. I realized that…he hadn’t been the person I fell in love with for a long time. He hasn’t been that person for a whole year. That’s the funny thing about love: you’re supposed to love a person as they change. I think I’m still holding onto Josh from a year ago. The Josh from right before I moved in.”

Spencer nodded along silently, trying his hardest to relate. As far as he could tell, Spencer had only been in love once. He never got to the part that you were talking about. He barely got to meet her before she died. When you were still dating Josh, you asked Spencer if there was someone, and he told you a little bit about his someone– his Maeve. His headaches, her intelligence, their romance, and how he lost her just when he was about to have her. 

He remembers how you teared up and how easy it felt to hug you. He wasn’t fond of hugging people when he was upset. He wanted to protect himself from showing too much to most people, but you weren’t most people. You were the first person he could dream about again, making him hope for the maybe. 

But that hope for something more with you didn’t matter much when you were right in front of him, telling him you were holding onto a version of Josh long gone. He didn’t know what to say if he was being honest. Matters of the heart always make him stumble around a little, and he always feels like he says the wrong things. 

You shift in your seat before you say a sweet, “I’m going to okay, really okay.” And Spencer believes you. 

Day Two Hundred and Twenty-Five

Spencer helped you move into your new apartment at the beginning of the month. It was ten minutes from your old complex and, according to Spencer, ‘too far away for him to keep an eye on you.’ If you were being honest, you were happy to be alone for the first time since the break-up. 

Spencer was a great friend, the best friend, for letting you crash on his couch for an entire month. You got to see a more intimate version of him, too. You had told him that you’d felt like a burden initially, but by the end, you couldn’t end but feel ashamed of yourself. 

Spencer would come home and try to push you out of the kitchen as you made dinner. If he couldn’t, then he would insist on helping you. He would sit on the couch with you, and if you were interested in something he wasn’t a fan of, he would say, 'This could be the movie that changes my mind.’ He was so sweet, caring, and overwhelmingly supportive that you couldn’t help but develop a soft spot for him. It made you feel sick to think that maybe Josh was right– maybe you did have feelings for Spencer. So, you gave it a few weeks when you moved into your new apartment. 

There was no way Josh was right. You tried to remember all the ways that Spencer Reid was off-limits. He was your best friend. He had seen you sob over Legally Blonde and then critiqued it until you laughed, face raw from tears. He had seen you cry over a burnt roast one stormy evening last week. Even if you did have feelings for Spencer, it was unlikely he reciprocated those feelings. You were too much of a mess. 

Being away from him helped you shove any feelings for him deep into the ridges of your mind and process everything. You didn’t have time to focus on Spencer or men in general. No, you need to focus on yourself for a while. 

You decided to avoid hanging out with Spencer until the ballet in two and a half weeks, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. You could sort through your emotions to see if they were something real or an intense version of friendship—friendly affection and nothing more. 

With no Spencer, no one to come home to at night, and no one to embarrass yourself to, one thing was evident for the weeks ahead. It was going to be an incredibly dull two and a half weeks. 

Day Two Hundred and Forty-Five

You kept glancing at the clock at work. Friday night, tonight at six. The ballet wasn’t until eight, but Spencer and you had dinner plans. You canceled the reservation that was initially intended for Josh and you and changed it to a restaurant you actually enjoyed. And if you were being honest… you were excited to see Spencer, have a nice dinner, and see Swan Lake. 

It seemed like the perfect evening. After spending the past two and a half weeks mulling over your feelings and what they were toward Spencer. You decided you couldn’t do it. Spencer Reid was untouchable. He was your friend, and pridefully, you couldn’t let Josh’s accusations become true. It felt wrong, dirty. So you decided that no matter your feelings for Spencer, they would ultimately calm down and return to the good-natured platonic feelings they once were– if they were ever platonic, you didn’t know. You were still figuring that part out. 

The second you got home, you dove into your closet. Back in college, you used to joke that every location had a theme, and a part of you still believed that. You were careful when choosing your outfit. Black was a classic, and you had debated it against a different dress in a color that looked good against your skin. Ultimately, the elegant black ruched dress you had hanging up in your closet won. You had better shoes for it anyway. 

The way you were getting ready was a little frantic, accompanied by the fact that Spencer insisted on picking you up since you now lived closer to the restaurant. You were scared you didn’t have enough time. 

Primping and preening would have to be cut in half. Ultimately, you still had ten minutes to get ready before Spencer texted you to let you know he was on his way. Your hair was done in a stylish way that framed your face just right, your skin moisturized and glittering, and your makeup done to be clean and slightly romantic. 

You were pulling on a pair of low pumps when you heard his soft knocking at your door. You glanced at your bedroom door and let out a soft groan of frustration as you struggled with a strap on one of the shoes, “It’s open!” You trip a little as you rush across the room for your bag, so the words come out slightly stumbled. 

Nonetheless, Spencer hears it, and you can hear the front door opening. “You know, even if it is for my benefit, you shouldn’t do that.” You hear him call out from your living room, along with the sound of something rustling. 

You smile and shake your head as you try to pick between a pair of earrings, “But, it was for you. You can walk back out, and I’ll lock it again, just for you.” 

“Alright, I can drive home right now.” 

“And leave me all alone tonight? You wouldn’t dare.” You laugh out as you take one last look at yourself in the mirror and slowly smooth out your dress's fabric. A small voice in your head whispers, “Dates always make me nervous.” You feel your cheeks burn at the idea that this is a date–you remind yourself it isn’t. 

This is just two friends hanging out, platonically. You look at yourself in the mirror as you silently convince yourself that friends hang out all the time. You can hear Sabrina’s voice in your head; after you told her that you were going to the ballet with Spencer, she said, “‘Me and my hot friends always go on platonic dates that definitely won’t lead to anything, ever.’” 

You cringe inwardly at the memory, shaking off your anxieties as you open your bedroom door and step out. The first thing you notice is the bouquet of flowers in his hands—your favorite flowers mixed amongst baby’s breath and eucalyptus leaves. You gasp softly and give him a broad smile, “You got me flowers?” 

Spencer's eyes haven’t met yours yet as they trail down your body. He’s trying not to stare at you like a creep, honest. But it’s near impossible to pull his eyes away from how you look in that dress, his gaze meeting yours, hoping you didn’t catch him staring at you like a hungry dog. 

“Yeah. Yes, I did. I saw them at the store and thought you’d like them.” He’s a lousy liar. 

You smile wide as you take them out of his hands and go into the kitchen to find a vase for them. “Now, why did you just lie?” You call him out with a soft laugh. 

Spencer frowns a little, knowing he can’t give you the real reason. Because I haven’t seen you in two weeks and I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone who was only ten minutes away. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I feel like I can actually think clearly when you’re around. Because you make my mind slow to a steady beat that doesn’t scare me… Because… Because… “Flowers can have a long-term and immediate effect on a person’s mood. Most of the moods associated with flowers are joy, empathy, hope, pride, and love, to name a few. I just wanted to make you,” he pauses as his lips form a tight-lipped smile, “feel the associated emotions.” And it is partially truthful. 

You like that answer enough as you cut the stems shorter, fill the vase with water halfway, and carefully slip the bouquet into the vase. “Well, I do feel happy…” You trace one of the stems with a feather touch. “And, I do feel pretty,” you pause as you sing a little, slightly off-key, “and witty, and–” 

“Please, no. I just got that song out of my head!” Spencer says as his hands fly to his ear dramatically. He can recognize that laugh in a pitch-black room; his smile hurts his cheeks. 

As you rearrange the flowers, you glance at Spencer’s outfit and feel something akin to butterflies in your stomach (maybe just a little lower). His look isn’t far off from his work clothes. The same dark plum tie against his light grape button-up long sleeve. Sometimes, he wears a cardigan with it, but he’s sporting a grey blazer right now. Same slacks, different shoes. Same Spencer, neater hair. 

“Did you get a haircut? It looks…” As you slowly leave the rearranged flowers, you trail off and walk to him, staring up at his hair. “Tame." you finish with a smile. 

Spencer looks down into your eyes and shakes his head slowly, “No, haircut. Just had a stroke of luck.” But he can see your hand coming up to his hair, and he’s too slow to stop you as you ruffle his hair lightly and gasp. 

“Gel!” You squeal as he grabs your right hand by the wrist and pulls it away from his hair. You’re giggling too much to notice how intimate this could look to someone on the outside. “Good luck, my ass.” 

“Apologies for wanting to look good next to you. I’ll never try again.” 

“I like your hair as it is.” You say as he drops your wrist and takes a small step back. “And we always look good together, excuse you.” 

He wants to tell you that it sounds wrong when you say it like that, but he doesn’t want to interrupt that smile on your face, so he just wordlessly nods before checking his watch. 

Before he can get the words out, you quickly grab your bag and say, “Reservation is in twenty. We must make haste!” 

The restaurant wasn’t too far, but you had a thing with time, and you didn’t want to be late for the ballet at eight, so when the hostess said your table was already ready when you and Spencer arrived— a wave of relief washed over your anxious bones. 

It was a fine dinner, with delightful conversation– witty banter and laughs. When Spencer left for the bathroom, you watched him as you happily sipped on your water. You felt a soft tap on your shoulder that caused your head to turn, a pretty woman looking at you with stars in her eyes. 

“You and your boyfriend are so sweet,” 

You felt hot all over, “Oh,” you shake your head a little, “He’s n-” 

“You two bounce off each other so well; I’ve never heard anything like it! Honey,” she looks to her girlfriend across the table, “Have you ever heard two people so good– Don’t give me that look. She thinks I’m nosy, never mind her opinion,” A sharp laugh comes from her girlfriend, “I just hope you know that the two of you are adorable!” 

You smile politely and force yourself not to sink into your chair, “Thank you,” you squeak softly. She nods with a large grin as she turns back to her dinner, and you awkwardly do the same, poking gently at your food with your fork. 

Spencer can see how you’re slumped a little in your chair, breathing heavily, as you slowly shake your head. He can’t help but wonder what happened in the five minutes he was away from the table. He places a soft hand on your forearm as he sits down and whispers, “What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes meet his, and you let the caramel color of his eyes bring you back to reality. “Just a bad memory,” You flash him a fake smile, gently pulling your arm away from his grip. You look down at your meal, then at him, “What’s the time?” 

Spencer’s pulling back his sleeve, his eyes holding your gaze before glancing at the time. “7:18.” 

You nod, taking another sip of your water, “It’s only fifteen away,” Your voice sounds off, and Spencer can feel his brows furrowing at the sound. 

“Did I do someth–”

“No,” you say quickly. Your gaze looks uneased, but your touch on his hand is soft with concern. “No, Spence. I’m just in my head, thinking too many things at once. I’ll be okay.” 

Spencer tries to relax over your words, but he knows something is wrong—something you don’t want to discuss with him. He slowly nods and says gently, “Okay,” And lets it slide. 

For a second, there is a beat of palatable silence, and Spencer can feel his skin itch due to the lack of sound at the table. He didn’t mind comfortable silences in rooms with you, but this was hardly comfortable. So he did the best thing he knew how to do, “You know,” your eyes land on his, “Ballet originated during the Italian Renaissance, the fifteenth century actually. However, it wasn’t until the sixteenth century that it was brought to France by Catherine de Medici.” 

You mouthed a soft ‘oh,’ Spencer continued before you could say more. “She showed the first ‘meal fork’ in court too!” Spencer said with a nod, taking his fork in hand and making an excited face at you. 

You smile wide at that and laugh openly at him, “Are you trying to cheer me up by talking about a dead Queen of France right now?” 

“That depends, is it working?” 

You shrug a little, playful and dismissive, “I haven’t decided yet.” 

Spencer liked his lips, and he stared at you for a second, “Catherine De Medici was notoriously Catholic and played a center role in the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, which was a ploy to wipe out Hugo-” 

“Are we ready for the check?” The waiter’s voice interrupted Spencer’s mini-rant. A slight frown appeared on your face as you looked at your almost-finished food and gave the waiter a slight nod.

When he walked away to grab the check, your hands reached for your purse, “Hey! Put the card down.” Spencer snipped at you as he smacked your card with his own, earning a chuckle from you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to pay, Spencer. It’s an expensive me-” 

“View it as a thank you for all the meals you ma-” 

“I’m the one who invited you out-” 

The waiter now stood at the edge of the table as he nervously set down the check, and your hand flew to it. Spencer’s hand is faster than yours as he grabs the check, slides his card in it without glancing at the cost, and hands it back to the waiter. When his gaze met yours again, you’re frowning at him—a playful kind of frown, but a frown. “What?” His voice cracks softly. 

“Curse you and your long, attractive fingers, Dr. Reid. I could have paid. I was happy too, you know?” 

“I know, I know, but I just couldn’t help but think about how kind you’ve been to me, and I– you think my fingers are attractive?” 

Your cheeks flush a little, suck in a breath, and shake your head. “I think you’re imagining things, Spencer. I said ‘hyperactive’.” 

He raises an eyebrow as you try to gaslight someone with an eidetic memory, but when he thought about teasing you further, all he could think about was your sad, distant face just moments ago. So, he decides that maybe he should keep his mouth shut– this time. “Hyperactive it is.” 

You know he’s being nice; he definitely heard you say his hands were attractive. But he’s a saint. He let you crash on his couch for a month and never expected any money out of it. He let you cry on his shoulder and monopolize his television—not to mention his free time. He was so compassionate and kind that he made it hard for you to deny the fluttering feeling in your chest as you look at him in the restaurant's dim light. “Thank you,” 

“Happy to do it,” His voice is soft as the waiter slowly returns with his card, but his eyes are glued to your face. The look in your eyes can only be described as appetency… no, tenderness, or maybe endearment. All he knows is that you’re looking around the restaurant with eyes shining with sweet and loving emotion, barely meeting his. 

The drive to the theatre wasn’t too long, and the two of you had managed to get a nice parking spot, considering the traffic. The seats were in the lower mezzanine section, a selection that was mostly for you when you originally booked it. You could still hear Josh’s voice as he questioned why you weren’t going for the closer, more intimate orchestra section. You liked seeing the dancers, yes, but you loved the stage work too. In your opinion, the view of all the dancers on stage, with the props complimenting their movements, made the show more enjoyable. 

You glance over nervously at Spencer as he sits down next to you. You shift in your seat a little as you whisper. “I’m sorry the seats aren’t closer. I like seeing the whole stage.” You motion to the stage with your hand. 

Spencer smiles and shakes his head before tilting his head a little lower to whisper back, “The seats are perfect.” Then he’s taking your hand in his and giving it a little squeeze, and you think you might explode. 

You feel a little nauseous, a twisting feeling slowly forming into a giddy excitement in your stomach. The theater's lights start to dim, but Spencer doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he maneuvers your hand to the armrest between the two of you and gently lays his palm upon the back of yours. 

You struggle for a second as you move your head to look at the stage. Your eyes are glued to the stage now, watching intently as the Prologue begins. 

The tension is almost forgotten about halfway through the pas de trois, but you can feel his breath softly against your ear before he even speaks, “Most ballet companies in America follow the 1895 revival. The choreographer’s, Marius Petipa, pas de trois remains nearly unchanged in most Swan Lake productions today.” 

You glance at him to see that his face is closer to yours than you’d like it to be, but you give him a soft sound of interest as your heart thumps in your chest. He seems grateful for the sound as he leans away from you, his eyes lingering on yours, and he reluctantly turns his gaze back to the stage. 

Slowly, you follow suit, replicating his movements, but not before you find your eyes dipping down to his hand on your still. You smile softly as you watch one ballerina get lifted off the ground for a second. 

During the first intermission between Acts, you told Spencer you wanted to get some fresh air. You felt hot all over during the scene of Odette’s reveal as Spencer went from placing his palm on top of yours to gently lacing his fingers through yours. When the first intermission started, you decided you needed to get outside and breathe. 

And it hit you. 

When you were with Josh for the last few months, you would feel an itch to get away, to run a floor down. When he missed the point of a joke, you’d make a mental note to repeat it to Spencer later. All the dates should have been with Josh: the foreign movies, the painting, poetry readings, this ballet. You felt a twisting in your gut as you realized that Josh was right. You had stopped wanting him a long time ago. You stopped seeking him out in a crowd. Instead, your eyes had started looking for a tall brunette with the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. Spencer was suddenly the person you thought about when you heard a lovely song, saw something interesting at the store, or had a bad day— not Josh. 

When did that happen? You felt like crying, breathing hard against the theater's outside wall. You felt thousands of questions racing through your mind, but one reverberated loudly: Does Spencer know?

You felt your mouth turn to cotton at the idea of Spencer Reid knowing you’re helplessly in love with him. Oh my god, you’re in love with Spencer Reid. 

When did you stop loving Josh? Did you stop loving him the second you ran up to Spencer in the apartment’s parking lot? Maybe it was when he saw that your shoelace was untied one rare late-night walk in the park together, and he stooped down to tie it for you? Or when he annotated Jane Austen’s Persuasion as a random ‘just because’ gift? When did your love for Josh stop and your love for Spencer begin? The answer didn’t matter much now because now you know. 

You’re in love with Spencer Reid, but he can’t know.

It was too risky a move. He was your friend above all else. Then, there was the matter of your pride and dignity. Josh was right, and you didn’t want him to be. You had unintentionally destroyed a two-year relationship; how could you let yourself be happy after that? How could you be happy after broken promises of marriage, growing old together? 

The lights flickered to signify the end of the intermission, and you slipped back into the theatre with a calm smile. Your cheeks were red when you caught sight of him again, and there he was, reading the program. As you got closer, it was like he could feel you in the air. His head lifted toward your direction, and his eyes met yours instantaneously. But how could you not love those eyes? Honey-filled irises that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Wild, wavy, brown hair that curled around the edges of his face. You feel like crying again. 

He could tell. His expression shifted to concern as you took your seat next to him, “Everything alright?” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Forcing a smile, you nod and gently whisper, “Allergies,” as your weak excuse. 

Nonetheless, it worked for Spencer as he gave you a nod. At least he let you think it worked. His eyes drifted over to you occasionally as the next act started. Sometimes, his eyes would meet yours, and he would give you a sweet smile before staring intensely at the stage. 

He was sure he had done something wrong. He was sure it was how he held your hand during the previous act. He knew he shouldn't have pushed that boundary, but when you didn’t move your hand away from him the whole act, he felt ecstatic— shamelessly so.

Spencer tried to keep his hand busy when you left during intermission. He wanted to trace his thumb against your knuckles, feel the size of your palm against his, and know the lines of your palm forevermore. He was being selfish. So, the paper program was the best way for him to pass the time. 

But these feelings for you that he had just kept getting in the way. When you moved to your new apartment, he knew you were avoiding him. The why was the part Spencer couldn’t figure out. He wondered what he could have done wrong so often that he was sure he would grovel at your feet the next time he saw you. Then he saw you tonight, and he couldn’t understand why he ever let you leave his apartment in the first place. 

When he saw you step out of your bedroom, his heart sank, and he knew. He knew he couldn’t intellectualize these feelings away– couldn’t deny them any longer. His hands yearned to touch you like they yearned to turn the page of a good book. His eyes searched for you in every crowd. He thought of roaming through stores near your apartment, hoping he might run into you, though he talked himself out of it multiple times. You were the only thing on his mind these days. Last week, when the team was in Detroit, he saw someone who looked like you and almost grabbed their hand in the middle of the precinct. 

Spencer's eyes drifted to you again near the end of the second to last act. Two intermissions, almost three acts and you still seemed off. You still gave him a sweet smile and let him whisper little facts to you here and there, but you didn’t seem like yourself. It seemed like you were hiding something from him. 

During the last act, he was practically lost in thought as he watched the dramatic scenes of Swan Lake play out in front of him. He was sure his eyebrows were pinched together as his fingers rubbed circles on the armrest, eyes darting around the stage with the Swan Queen’s movements. 

That was until the final scene. Every ballet company was different, but this one decided they liked a tragic ending better. As Odette begins to throw herself into the lake, he feels your hands grab his. Spencer jumps at the feeling, his eyes darting over to you with a concerned expression, but you’re staring straight at the stage. 

Your hand held onto his tight as the lovers killed themselves, and you were tearing up. He couldn’t look away; you were so enraptured. Spencer felt guilty for not being as enthralled as you had been all night. He was so busy silently panicking over what was different with you that he forgot to be in the moment with you. He squeezes your hand gently as the music hits its crescendo. He could feel the music taking hold of him, grabbing him just as tight as you had moments prior. It wasn’t just Siegfried following Odette off a ledge. Spencer felt he would, too, if you asked him. Was this the caress of love?

He had to force himself to watch the stage as the lovers reunited in the afterlife, and then you’re letting go of his hand and clapping with a brilliant smile on your face. He claps, too, but he’s only looking at you– throwing silent praises to you. 

When the rows start to clear out, you feel better. The performance successfully gets your mind off your worries concerning Spencer, and as the two of you walk to his car, you’re linking your arm with him. “Can I share a fun fact?” 

You can feel the soft shake of Spencer’s diaphragm against your forearm as he chuckles, “When have I ever turned that down?” 

You shrug a little in response to his rhetorical question, “When Soviet leaders died in the eighties, the government would play recorded performances of Swan Lake on television broadcasts, unintentionally making the public associate the ballet with the deaths of their leaders and political instability.” You give him a silly little face of mock surprise at the end of it, and he’s laughing. 

Spencer leans closer to you under the parking lot street lamps, his car coming into view. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

You frown as you pull away slightly to look up at him, your feet slowing slightly, “You already knew that?” 

Spencer lets out a faux sigh of disappointment as he gives you a solemn nod of confirmation. You shake your head in disbelief as you let go of his arm and walk toward the passenger seat. Spencer follows you, intending to open your door for you, but you don’t seem to notice how close he is as you pull on the locked car door. “Move for me,” When Spencer says it, you feel your legs unintentionally becoming jelly at the tone of his voice: soft, deep, and cracking slightly. 

You step aside for him as he unlocks his car and opens the door for you. You give him an affectionate grin as you slide into the passenger seat and watch Spencer round the front of his car to the driver’s side. You had to give him credit where credit was due; Spencer Reid could be damn charming when he wanted to be. 

On the ride home, he continues with his persistent pursuit of unconscious charm, “Maybe we should go see Sleeping Beauty, or maybe Coppéila if you want to watch something comical?” 

You giggle softly at his suggestions as you give him a skeptical glance to the side, “I didn’t know you liked ballet so much,” 

Spencer’s cheeks feel hot, “I don’t,” he admits in a raw voice. 

You turn your head to stare at him with a gentle expression as Spencer’s hands tighten around the wheel, knuckles turning white. You observe him carefully as his bottom lip is nervously drawn into his mouth for a second, his eyes flickering over to you as he flashes you a meek smile. It feels like a sick joke, Spencer being in love with you. It was exhilarating, euphoric, excruciating, and unbearable all at once. You had already made the self-declaration that you would keep your feelings to yourself and decided that you couldn’t let yourself be happy with Spencer– not after what you had done to Josh. The guilt ate away at you as you stared at him, a lame ‘oh’ falling from your lips as you swallowed hard. 

“I just,” he began, “I mean–” he sighs out with frustration, “I just like going places with you.” He settles as he glances from the road to you, his grip on the wheel relaxing. You smile and nod in agreement. 

“Me too,” you whisper, and the conversation dies off for a second. 

Spencer rectifies the situation the only way he knows how "Coppélia was actually based on a dark fantasy about a man’s disastrous infatuation with a life-like doll called Der Sandmann, quite literally translated as The Sandman, by E.T.A Hoffman.” 

“Oh, so Pygmalion and Galatea.” 

“Yes! And Pinocchio, Frankenstein, Herbert West-Reanimator, My Fair Lady-” 

You hold up a hand, “Wait, My Fair Lady?” You question with delighted interest. 

“The play it was based on is called Pygmalion. Henry Higgins shapes Eliza Doolittle into a lady, and he falls in love with her.” 

The way Spencer says it sounds so direct, never demeaning or snobbish, you nod a little at the connection. “You ever listen to My Fair Lady?” 

Spencer opens his mouth to affirm that he has, but he falters. It seems like something his mother would have liked him to listen to with her, but they never have. “No,” his voice was quiet. 

You gasp and point over to him teasingly, “Uncultured,” 

“It’s one thing! I’m plenty cultured! The play Pygmalion covers-” 

“I know, but you haven’t heard of Julie Andrews!” 

“I have! Penelope made me watch all of The Sound of Music-” He’s cut off by the sound of you giggling softly in the passenger seat. “You’re messing with me.” 

“Just a little,” You snicker beside him, relaxing as you watch Spencer take the familiar turns toward your apartment. You stare at the passing streets as you let out a content sigh, eyes closing slowly. Silently reflecting on the night, pushing mini-panic attacks aside, it’s the first time you’ve felt so serene in a long time. “Thank you for tonight, Spence.” 

He beams at your thanks and mutters a sweet, “Thank you for allowing me to take you out,” 

You roll your head against the seat as he pulls into a spot, “As if I’d ever say no to you.” You whisper back to him, catching a love-struck look from him that has you sitting up straight, grabbing your bag, and opening your car door. 

You shouldn’t be surprised when Spencer gets out of his car and locks it. “Let me walk you up,” he insists gently. 

“I’m okay-” 

“Please,” His words are accompanied by his hazel eyes, both begging you so sweetly that you find yourself nodding wordlessly. 

This time, the silence sticks as Spencer walks by your side to your apartment complex. It’s a short walk from the parking lot to the second floor, and soon, the two of you stand outside apartment 240. You fidget with your keys slowly as you turn around to face him; you watch him awkwardly shuffle on his feet– seemingly unsure of what to do with himself, you were sure. 

“Well, this is me.” You feel stupid saying it, but you can’t stop yourself. You knew this wasn’t a date, so why does it feel like the end of one? 

Spencer licks his lips nervously and softly says, “Yeah, it is.” 

You give him a faint smile but can’t find the strength to step back from him and open your door. You should get inside. A voice in you is screaming Go inside! Don’t you dare! But you don’t seem to listen as you tilt your head to the side. “I had a great time,” 

Spencer grins and nods, his eyes looking at your door for a second before gazing back into yours. “Any notable moments?” 

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. “Holding your hand through the first act was lovely,” Fuck you!

Spencer seems to perk up slightly, his heart beating faster as he takes a small step closer to you. “It was lovely?” He questions you carefully, noticing how your pupils dilate a little under his gaze. 

“I thought so. It was very” You swallow as you search for some smidgen of confidence “Charming. You’ve been charming all night, actually.” 

“I think you’re the only person in the world who thinks that,” He teases softly, a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he takes another step closer. 

You shake your head, a giddy grin spreading on your face. “No, a lady at the restaurant thought we made a pretty charming couple.” 

“Ah,” He holds up two fingers, “So two people.” 

You give him a sweet chuckle and hold two fingers with him. “And your mom, maybe, " you say as you hold up three fingers. 

“I should make a list,” 

“Your favorite hobby.” You say in a joking whisper. His body was close enough to touch now, and you were frozen– stuck between wanting to get inside and wanting to touch him in any way he’d let you. Your eyes kept trekking down to his feet, watching as they took careful steps closer before looking up at his eyes again. And for the first time all night, you let them dip down to his lips. 

Spencer feels his breath catch in his throat, his body already hyper-aware of your presence. He’s silently debating over closing the gap between the two of you, and he fears that seeing that– a physical sign that you want him the way he wants you, confirms that he should. Only, there's the matter of how. He wants to be romantic and bold. He just wants to grab your waist and pull you in, but he can’t. 

It’s you that initiates something, “The longest kiss ever recorded was fifty-eight hours,” 

Spencer feels like laughing, and he does—a small chuckle escapes his lips as he finds the courage to reach for your waist. When his fingers wrap around it, he gently pulls you toward him, his chest bumping against yours for a second. “Let’s not compete with that,” He whispers to you gently as one of his hands cups the side of your face, his nose bumping against yours slightly as you smile wide. The witty comeback that attempts to leave your lips doesn’t stand a chance as Spencer’s lips capture yours. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up to get a better angle in the kiss. His lips are soft and smooth as they press against yours. He pulls away a little, but you reconnect your lips quickly. Spencer slowly presses into you, the hand on your waist pressing down in a way that sends electricity up your spine. 

Your hands reach for his tie, pulling him closer with a soft motion. The kiss deepens at that. A shaky breath can be heard from Spencer as he moves the hand that was cupping your cheek to the nape of your neck, his fingertips grazing your hair. 

You let out a soft hum as you pull at his bottom lip, pulling away momentarily just to kiss him again. Your breathing gets slightly heavier as you tentatively trace your tongue against his bottom lip. As Spencer slowly invites your tongue into his mouth, a door slams shut down the hall, and you pull away. 

Your eyes open as your hands leave Spencer’s tie and fly to your lips. You stutter gently as Spencer slowly pulls his hands away from you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he whispers, “Did I-”

You shake your head before he can finish, and you remember the keys still in your hand, holding them up, “No, I-” You stutter over your words gently as you turn to unlock the door, “I- I have to, I can’t,” you manage a shaky sigh, glancing over your shoulder at him, “Goodnight.” 

Spencer watches your eyes look away from his, slipping into your apartment before he can get a word in. He stares at the numbers on your door for a second, feeling a dreadful pit forming in his stomach. “Goodnight.” His voice is timid as he speaks to the closed door and turns, walking back to his car alone. 

Day Two Hundred and Fifty

Spencer has been out of it all week. He isn’t sleeping much or reading as much, and now, he’s lagging with this geographical profile. He excelled in this area, and he needed to focus on it. He needed to stop worrying about why you haven’t returned his calls all week—well, for the past four days, thirty-seven minutes—Focus!

He sighed as he traced a street with his fingers, a marker in the other, and focused on the previous dump sights. He mutters quietly as he outlines a district on the map, leaning back slightly as he lets himself get lost in his work. This feels good—almost calming. 

JJ touches his arm, indicating that she is talking to him, and he hasn’t heard a single word. “I’m sorry,” He sighs as he looks at her.

JJ shakes her head a little, a silent way of letting him know that she doesn’t take offense. “Rossi and Morgan just found another victim.” Her fingers point to a location inside the outlined area on the map, and Spencer makes a note. If he can focus on this case, he feels they might have a profile before the UnSub’s next kill. 

Day Two Hundred and Fifty-Nine 

It had been two weeks since Spencer last saw you. Since you last spoke to him, touched him, or kissed him. He felt like he was losing one of his best friends and someone who could be the love of his life all at once. It was devastating. He had occasionally been short with the team, always quick with his apology and briefly explaining that he was going through something personal.

He didn’t want to be this tall, awkward ball of misery. He hated this feeling. At the moment, fourteen days ago, you seemed to be happy to kiss him. It seemed like the fatal mistake that was killing his relationship with you. He had tried to keep his calls maxed out one a day, three a week. Instead, he called you seven times in two weeks. He was starting to feel desperate as he listened to your voicemail message for the seventh time. He sighed as he looked around the BAU break room. 

“Hey, uh, it’s me. I was just wondering if you wanted to talk… again.” He repeated parts of his last message as he groaned softly before whispering a gentle “I’m really sorry” into the phone. He hangs up in a hurry, seeing Derek rounding the corner. 

His phone clatters on the table as Derek gives Spencer an odd stare. It’s a stare that says, ‘To-talk-to-pretty-boy-to-not-talk-to-pretty-boy-that-is-the-question.’

Derek decides that he should talk to Pretty Boy after all. “Does the boy genius have any plans for the weekend?” He decides that casual conversation might be the best way to get Spencer to open up. 

Spencer shakes his head, dragging his gaze from Derek back to his phone on the table. Derek lets out a hum as he stares at Spencer’s phone. “Waiting on a call from someone?” 

“No, yes, I-” Spencer sighs as he slumps a little in the chair, “I don’t know.”

“Is that what’s been bugging you for the past two weeks? Expecting an important call?” Derek asks as he fills his coffee mug up. Spencer gives him a little annoyed look that slowly melts into one of uncertainty. “Reid,” Derek says his name with a grin, taking the seat across from Spencer. “JJ caught you mumbling something about some ballet two weeks ago in Seattle, and you got defensive when she asked why you were talking about the ballet. Then, when Hotch asked you what was happening in Tampa, you got defensive again.” 

He stares at Spencer with a kind smile, “If you need to get something off your chest, I’m happy to listen.” 

Spencer finds himself chewing on his bottom lip as he slowly nods, “I know. I’ve been avoiding talking about it with the team because I,” he pauses, looking at Derek. “I think I messed up.” It’s the best he can manage. He doesn’t feel like opening up when he knows he should, and he wants to be patient with his feelings. He wanted you to reach out on your own time, but he didn’t want to keep with this silent torture he kept experiencing day after day. 

Derek gave him a slightly concerned look, “Messed up how? Something with a case or worse?” Spencer stares at him for a second as he tries to read between the lines of Derek’s question. Once it comes to him, he quickly shakes his head ‘no,’ which makes Derek smile. “Is it..” He trails off for a second, his eyes trailing to Spencer’s phone on the table, and it clicks, “No…” 

Spencer feels his cheeks flush as he frowns at Derek’s Cheshire grin. He’s ready for some mandatory teasing when he hears JJ’s voice, “No, what?” She questions Derek with interest as she grabs a bottle of water. 

Spencer desperately shakes his head at Derek, but he’s already spilling what he thinks he knows, “I believe that Mr. Pretty Boy has found a Pretty Girl.” 

JJ releases an excited gasp and walks over to the table. “No way,” She mutters as she stares down at Spencer’s slightly red face, “Is this why you’ve been so weird lately? Trouble in paradise?” 

“It’s not like that,” Spencer retorts softly as he pulls at a loose thread on his button-up. 

“How’d you mess up?” Derek cuts to the chase as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Spencer looks between JJ and Derek as he struggles to find the right words. His problems surrounding romance are sparse and, previously, tragic. He’s not sure how to go about this. “I, Uhm, might have kissed her.” 

“Kissed who?” JJ presses. 

Spencer looks at Derek, “Do you remember that friend of mine? The one Penelope and you met-” 

“In the bar, yeah. I thought she had a boyfriend?” Derek’s brows furrow. 

Spencer scrunches up his nose a little at the mention of Josh and sighs, “They broke up, and she had plans to see Swan Lake with him two weeks ago as an early anniversary date. She was going to cancel, but I offered to go with her so she didn’t miss out on it.” He continued slowly, looking at both of their faces for some show of emotion. “And at the end of the night, we kissed.” 

Derek sighs, glancing at JJ, who seems to be just as confused as he is. “Kid, that’s a great thing. How is that a mess up?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer groans, “It all happened so fast, and she looked… perturbed. I think I messed up, and I’ve been trying to get a hold of her ever since, but..” His eyes look at his phone. 

“Maybe she wasn’t ready for it,” JJ offers with a sad smile. 

Derek nods, pointing a little at JJ, “Could be, but you should have seen her with him. All smiles and heart eyes for Reid.” 

Spencer frowns at Derek before looking at JJ pleadingly, “What do I do to fix it?” 

JJ winces a little, twisting her lips, “Spence, it's not something you can control.” 

“I know, I just can’t,” Spencer pauses for a second, looking away. “I thought she wanted to kiss me.” 

Derek laughs a little, earring a slight glare from JJ before he holds up his hands. “Okay, describe it for us.” 

Spencer snaps his head toward Derek. “What?” His voice sounds slightly higher than usual. “No.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Just the lead-up,” he explains further, moving his fingers in a circle through the air. 

“No,” Spencer insists again. 

JJ joins this time, “Maybe he’s onto something, come on.” 

Spencer hesitates as he considers it, ultimately deciding it’s worth a shot despite being humiliated. “I walked her up to her door,” JJ nods along, silently giving Spencer some points for being a gentleman in her books. “She said she had a great time, so I asked if any notable moments in the evening stood out to her.” 

Spencer didn’t want to say that he had held your hand through the first act of Swan Lake, but “She said that holding my hand through the first act was lovely.” Derek’s eyebrows raise at that, not expecting something like that from Spencer. 

“And she said I was charming. We briefly joked back and forth, and then it got quiet.” Spencer avoids eye contact, staring holes into the table beneath his fidgeting hands. 

After a beat of silence, JJ whispers, “And then?” 

“She said,” he smiles a little, his eyes still downcast. “That, well, the longest kiss ever recorded was fifty-eight hours long.” 

“Not what you said, what she said.” Derek jokes softly, Spencer’s eyes flicking up to him with a confused gaze. 

“That is what she said,” 

“Oh my god,” JJ covers her lips feebly to hide her smile. 

Spencer can feel the heat reaching the tips of his ears as Derek laughs. “She did!” Spencer whines. He rolls his eyes a little as the laughter continues. “I said that we shouldn’t compete with that, and we kissed. Happy?” 

JJ smiles openly now and nods, her hands moving as she talks. “I think that’s promising.” Spencer sends her a glare, thinking that she is joking at first, but after seeing the earnest look on JJ’s face, he calms down. “Maybe she’s just surprised,” JJ suggests with a convinced nod. 

“It doesn’t make sense, though. Why be so forward with wanting to kiss you just to ignore you after?” Derek's eyes narrow. 

JJ scoffs softly, “She’s scared of her own feelings, Derek.” 

Spencer repeats his question from earlier now, “So what can I do to fix it?” 

Derek and JJ are quiet for a second before JJ says, “We should talk to Penelope.” 

Spencer wasn’t exactly thrilled as two of his closest friends dragged him down the halls to Penelope’s office. Nor was he thrilled to repeat what he had said in the breakroom to JJ and Derek a second time. Now he’s stuck in an office chair with three of his closest friends throwing suggestions on what he should do on the clock when they should all be doing paperwork. 

“Send her a gift basket!” 

“I’m not trying to bribe her into being my girlfriend, Penelope.” 

Penelope coos softly, “You want her to be your girlfriend?” 

Spencer lets his head fall into his hands, leaving her question unanswered as JJ jumps onto the suggestion train. “Write her a love letter.” 

Derek lets out a breathy chuckle, “Just go to her apartment,” 

Penelope squeals in agreement, “Yes! A big declaration of love.” 

Spencer was sure that big declarations of love weren’t his thing, and he thought he fell into the range of quiet love. Whispers of adoration? Maybe. Annotated novels? Absolutely. Watching movies out of his comfort zone? Done. Acting out of his comfort zone? He could hardly imagine holding a boombox over his head and screaming your name. But he was running out of options. He had stuck in his comfort zone, and you were ignoring him. “How big of a declaration?” 

It was late. There was so much to do. You were pacing back and forth in your apartment with a book in hand, fingers thumbing at the pages occasionally. Soft music played from your laptop speakers as you ended the second week of ignoring one, Doctor Spencer Reid. 

You had listened to all of his voicemails, some multiple times, but had managed to resist the urge to call him back for two weeks. When your heart got the best of you, you did what you were doing now–listening to variations of dad rock, pop, indie, oldies, classical, anything to drown out the urge to call him back. 

The books were a new addition, as you had given up on making online private playlists last Sunday. 

After holding a conference call with Molly, Sabrina, Christina, and anyone else who would listen, you made a joint decision to keep your feelings to yourself. And by joint decision, you meant ignoring their advice. Sabrina brought up the point that if Josh could physically cheat on you and be happy, you could be happy, too. The rest of your friends agreed in one form or another with that, but you just… couldn’t. You were terrified. 

Josh had left his mark on you. He had cut deep gashes in your self-esteem. In the moments where you weren’t struggling with thinking you were too much, burdensome, or taxing to those you love, you were fretting over the idea that you were a terrible person. Sometimes, in moments of respite, you would reminisce on your time spent with Spencer. 

You wanted to know his opinion, and in another life, you would seek him out and ask for it—the phantom pains of past love gone wrong ghosted over your heart and cursed you. 

Maybe you could be happy with someone else who wasn’t Spencer. Is there anyone dead or alive as good as Spencer Reid? Your thumbs falter on the edge of the page as the thought crosses your mind, your eyes glancing over at the time. 

Setting your book face down on your coffee table, you glide across the room to the lights– you can read and ignore Spencer in bed. As you switch off the kitchen light, a soft knock on your door startles you. Tilting your head around the wall to stare at your front door skeptically, you wait for another knock. 

Two more knocks make you rush to your front door, leaning in to look into the peephole. Your breath catches your throat as you see Spencer Reid rocking back and forth on his heels on the other side. “Go away, Spencer!” You yell through the door, hand holding the locked doorknob cautiously. 

You watch as his face falls into a heartbreaking expression, “Let me just talk to you,” 

“We have nothing to talk about.” 

“Please,” His eyes travel up to the peephole, his eyes somehow managing to make you breathless through the door. “I miss my best friend.” 

You don’t say anything to that, because you miss him too. You watch him silently. His maroon tie against that white button-up reminds you of how you grabbed him two weeks ago– hungry, desperate, starved. 

His eyes cast down to his hands for a second, his mouth opening and closing multiple times until he manages to get out, “Do you remember the first day we met? I helped you carry your groceries, and you asked me if I believed in fate.” His voice sounds shaky and muffled as your fingers play with the lock silently. 

“I told you I don’t, I still don’t.” He stammers softly, a hand combing through his curls roughly. You give up on watching him through the peephole, listening with your forehead pressed against the door. 

After a few seconds of fumbling with his words, he steadies himself. “What I’m trying to say is,” he stares at the door, scared to death you aren’t listening. He gingerly continues, “I don’t care if you need me to believe in fate, love at first sight, soulmates, or predetermined endings– if you need me to, I will.” His legs feel weak at the knees, “If Zeus split my soul in two, please be the other half. If there is a god, if someone created me for anyone, let it be you. If it was fate for me to meet you two-hundred and fifty-nine days ago, let it be fate. If it means I get to love you, I’ll believe in any theology, ideology, or philosophy you need me to.” 

He couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. “If you don’t want me, or if you don’t feel the same, I’ll never bring it up again. I’ll go back to being nothing more than your friend, no questions asked, and I’ll be happy to do it.” His chest rises and falls heavily as he finishes, staring holes at your door. He’s sure you’ll ignore him further, make him walk back to his car alone again, or worse, open the door and laugh at his confession. He feels all of his anxieties rising in his throat as he goes to say something else when he hears the rattle of the chain on your door. 

A few more clicks, and the door is swinging open. Spencer sucks in a breath as he catches the sight of you in your pajamas, staring at him a little tongue-tied. How were you supposed to follow that? You stare up at him in silent awe as deep, honeyed eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks. As you stare into his eyes, you realize he meant every word. 

Your eyes fall from his and take the rest of him in, looking from his head to his shoes and back up again. “How many times did you practice that on the way here?” 

“Three,” 

You crack a slow smile at that and nod slowly, not knowing what to say next. You do the only thing you can think of, act. Your left hand reaches up slowly, your feet moving in tandem as you hook your fingers in Spencer’s collar carefully. Your gaze locks on his as you slowly pull him closer to your height, pulling him inches from your face. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to believe in anything you, he didn’t need fate or soulmates, none of it mattered anymore, not with him right here in front of you. You focus on how his nose brushes awkwardly against yours for a second and how you can hear his breathing coming out quicker. 

You close your eyes before kissing him, pressing your lips to his softly, timidly. Despite his confession– his begging– you can’t help but feel like it’s all too good to be true. But then, he’s kissing you back. His lips move against yours with the same nervousness, his hands reaching up to cup your face. 

You smile into the kiss as you feel his large palms on your face, making Spencer pull away with a slightly concerned expression for a second, wondering if he’d done something to make you laugh at him. As he stares at your blissful smile, he quickly realizes that you aren’t laughing at him at all. You’re happy, effervescent even, shaking your head at him pulling away. 

He doesn’t make you wait long as he kisses you again, this time with a slight increase in force. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine as he hears the way you hum into the kiss, the sound making him feel desperate to hear more. 

The two of you stand in your doorway like that for a second, kisses getting deeper and feverish as you pull Spencer to walk with you into your apartment blind. You stumble for a second as you walk backward into your apartment, your lips still locked with his. He pulls away a little at that, tilting your head up with his hands on your cheeks as his thumbs gently rub a single circle against the soft skin. 

“Are you real?” He whispers, inches away from your face. 

You give him a breathless laugh and nod, hands moving to his wrist, your fingers gently tracing the veins on his wrists absentmindedly. Spencer’s foot searches for the edge of the door to kick it closed, but he slips a little and looks at you with soft, doe eyes of apology. 

Pulling away from him carefully, you shut your front door and lock it. You don’t know where to go from here. You hadn’t thought about what you’d do once you had him inside. Music is still playing on your phone, and you can hear a soft, raspy chuckle behind you as Spencer playfully asks. “Is this Brahms?” 

When did this even come on? You sigh as you walk over to your phone to turn the music off, “I missed you too, you know.” You admit into the silent room, your eyes avoiding his. 

“I know,” He replies, and you can hear his footsteps getting closer. Your gaze stays fixed on the floor, looking up in surprise at the feeling of his hands grabbing your waist tentatively. Turning your body to look up, you give him a nervous smile. Spencer’s nerves are shot all over the place as he swallows down his anxieties. “I don’t mind waiting. If you aren’t ready or need more time, I’ve waited for you so long, what’s-” 

“No,” Your voice comes out louder than intended before you clear your throat. “No, I don’t need more time. I’m tired of not forgiving myself. I deserve to be happy, too. I’ve already spent so much time denying myself that.” Your body relaxes in his hands, your chest squeezing pleasantly as you move to be chest to chest with him again. “No more wasting time.” 

Spencer studies your eyes as you speak, searching for some hint of uncertainty, but finds none. He licks his lips nervously, eyes dipping to your lips quickly, “Did you know that men initiate more than seventy percent of kisses?” 

Taking this as an obvious sign that Spencer wants to kiss you again, you move your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Don’t have the exact number?”

“Seventy-nine point seventeen percent.” His voice raises an octave at the feeling of your hands holding onto his shoulders, your body pressing against his gently. 

You nod, half-listening, as you look at his lips, one of your hands sliding up the front of his neck as you hold his chin. The feather-like touch of your thumb on his bottom lip makes him feel dizzy as you whisper, “That’s nice.” 

Spencer’s lips are parted slightly as he gives you a weak-sounding ‘uh-huh’ as he participates in a statistic, gently brushing your thumb away to kiss you again. 

The start of this kiss isn’t nearly as tentative or timid as the last one. His head tilts to the side as he presses his lips against yours, a little needy now as your hands move to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the feeling, how you so readily deepen the kiss, how intense this feels. 

Your movements sync with Spencer’s as you kiss each other with fervor. Your knees feel a little weak from a mix of anxiety, excitement, and arousal. The feeling makes your hands hold the back of Spencer’s neck tighter. Your body flush against his as the two of you kiss in the middle of your living room. 

An experimental movement from Spencer earns a sharp inhale from you as his tongue slowly brushes against your bottom lip. Your lips part into the kiss as he slides his tongue into the kiss with surprising skill. It doesn’t feel messy; instead, it’s incredibly controlled. You silently wonder how much practice Spencer has with French kissing and with who? 

The thought is secondary to a terrifyingly primal feeling of arousal that zips up and across your spine as you feel him start to suck your tongue lightly into his mouth. You press against him a little harder, causing the poor man to stumble and lose focus, his skilled lips stopping for a second—a slight pull away to check if you’re alright before he kisses you again. 

Now it's messy—an excellent messy. Not a slobbering mess that you want to pull away from, but a slightly erratic move against your lips that lets you know that he’s just as hungry for you as you are for him. 

Your feet stumble backward, the familiar route to your bedroom in the back of your mind as you try to pull Spencer with you. He follows but reluctantly pulls away, breathless, as he stops short of the doorway to your bedroom. His lips open and close nervously as he catches his breath. “It's not that I don’t, I want to, not that I’m expecting us, I just,” He closes his mouth, swallowing hard as he tries to make head or tails of the situation. “I don’t want you to think I’m only here for…” He trails off, his cheeks growing red as he flicks his hazel eyes over to your bedroom and then back to you. “Sex.” 

It’s terrible because you want to laugh. Spencer has been nervous around you before, but never like this. You’d seen him trip over his words countless times, but this time, watching him explain his intentions toward you, how sweet he looked as he explained himself. How did you go this long in your friendship with him without jumping his bones?

You press a reassuring hand to his arm, “I didn’t think you were.” You watch his shoulders relax a little, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, just at the moment, I th-” 

“No!” he almost yells, the tips of his ears turning a little pink now. “No, I want to.” He reiterates, “I, well, I, Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Staring up into his eyes, you realize what he’s asking: Is this just a rebound from Josh? Is this the hormones talking? Will this mean anything after tonight? There was unspoken communication, but you had mulled over those questions for the past two weeks. 

Their answers were what scared you the most. It frightened you how ready you were to leave all your memories of Josh in the gutter and start something with one of your best friends. The scary part was how easy it was to want, care for, and miss him. You gave him a slow nod, “I’m not going anywhere you can’t follow.” 

Spencer’s worried gaze softened as the edges of his lips quirked up into a slight smile, leaning closer, “Stuck with you? Forever?” He sucks in air through his teeth dramatically, his eyes flicking around your face cautiously. 

You roll your eyes at his playful tone, “M’tired of talking,” Your lips close the gap before he can say anything back. 

Spencer doesn’t protest as he kisses you back—soft, slow, sensual movements against your lips. Pulling away here and there just to kiss you again, his lips gently pulling your bottom lip whenever he pulls away. You graze your teeth against his bottom lip, careful not to bite him as you cup his face, his large hands holding onto your waist. 

His hands press down on your hips, firmly keeping you in place as he pushes against you slowly. His chest presses against yours, his hands start to pull your hips closer to his. A soft groan can be heard, and you can’t pinpoint who makes the sound as your mind becomes hazy from the way he kisses you. 

You almost don’t register that he’s led you towards your bed. The feeling of your bed hitting the back of your legs makes you register that you walked with him to your bed. You pull away, inching back onto your bed carefully as soft panting fills the dimly lit room, staring up at him from your bed. 

You watch as he kicks off his shoes before crawling onto the bed, looming above you as you slowly slide your body up the bed. He’s pressing a hand near your head as the other brushes a stray hair from your eyes, his lips leaving fleeting kisses across your face, slowly trailing down to your neck. 

His kisses start to get deeper once he passes the area of your jaw, gently sucking on the area just below your ear before letting the sensitive skin go and dragging his lips lower to repeat the act. 

Soft, pleasured sighs escape your lips as he kisses and lightly sucks on the sensitive skin that is your neck. One of your hands reaches for his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls as he sucks on your collarbone. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight on the bed is trailing down your chest slowly, reaching the hem of your shirt as he tentatively slips the tips of his fingers under it carefully. “That okay?” he pulls away from your collarbone to look down at you. 

You let out a sweet ‘mhm’ before you smile up at him. Spencer smiles back as he leans in to kiss your lips again. Your lips part almost immediately so he can slip his skilled tongue into your mouth, and he does just that. 

His tongue carefully traces yours as his hand slowly starts to trail up your stomach, his touch making you shiver as his slightly cold hands inch toward your unsupported breasts, gasping softly against his lips at the feeling of his fingers slowly cupping your right breast. The movement of his tongue against yours slows for a second as his thumb traces around the taut bud of your nipple, gently rubbing and circling patterns until he earns a little whine from you, 

His lips pull away from yours, but he stays close, brushing against yours as he speaks. “Good?” 

You let out a breathless “Very.” before he repeats the pattern, his index finger joining now as he gently pinches the aroused bud. A shaky sigh escapes your lips, your lips trembling lightly against Spencer’s as he watches you, pulling his head back to get a better look. 

His eyes study your face—the way your nose sometimes scrunches up in pleasure, how dilated your pupils are when you look at him, and his favorite, how you gently pull your bottom into your mouth with your teeth in a vain attempt to hold in your quiet moans.

He watches as you give him an embarrassed expression. “You’re staring,” your voice is a sweet whisper, eliciting a shiver that crawls up his spine. 

He looks away with a mutter of an apology, giving you a quick smile. His fingers slip away from your chest to slide down to the hem of your shirt. He looks into your eyes as he fiddles with the fabrics. “Can I see you?” 

A quick nod from you gives him your answer as he quickly pulls your shirt over your head, his eyes quick to trail over your face down to your exposed chest. He watches the way your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as he slowly moves his head down to place gentle kisses on your collarbone. 

Kissing a trail down to the valley between your breasts, he slowly makes his way over to your left breast, his eyes looking up at you as he gently places his lips around the bud of your nipple. 

Your eyes watch him as he gently flicks his tongue against the sensitive peak before sucking on it lightly. Your mouth falls open as you watch him, breathing heavily as you feel his free hand reaching up to play with your other nipple. 

Quiet, breathy sounds are all Spencer can hear now– a gasp here, a shaky sigh there, and occasionally a closed-mouth moan. He likes watching the way your head falls back as he adds a little more pressure with his tongue, rubbing wet circles around your erect nipples. 

He feels like he’s moving too fast and taking too long simultaneously. He wants to hear you, he wants you to relax under his touch, and he wants to take his time with you. On the other hand, he’s dreamt about this moment more times than he can count. He wants to tell you that it’s even better than what he imagined, but the idea sounds stupid, given he’s only sucking on your nipples right now. He hasn’t even been inside you, and he doesn't want to risk sounding inexperienced right now. 

He decides that pleasing you further speaks louder than words as he slides his hand on your other breast down your chest slowly, creeping toward the waistband of your pajama pants. His fingers trace along the edge of your pants as his lips keep sucking. 

You squirm under him as you move your hands down to start pulling your bottoms off as fast as you can manage, accidentally forcing Spencer’s lips off your chest in the process. He watches you briefly, laughing softly as he helps you out of your pajama pants before tossing them to the side.  

Spencer’s eyes focus on your thighs, his fingers tracing slow paths from your outer right thigh to your inner thigh. He is trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, testing out areas with his fingers to see which one excited you the most based on the hitching of your breath when he touches it. 

“Higher,” Your voice makes him jump a little, a small smile forming on your face as he does so. He swallows and grins, moving his fingers higher now inches from the edge of your underwear. 

“Higher?” He questions playfully, his deep caramel eyes looking into yours as he watches you nod. His fingers glide over to your underwear, pressing against the center, his fingers touching your folds through the fabric. 

You sigh softly as his fingers rub up and down the fabric, pressing in harder with each stroke. “You’re so pretty,” Spencer’s voice sounds strained, earning him a weak smile from you. 

“Just pretty?” You moan quietly as he slips his hand into your underwear suddenly, the feeling making you gasp. 

Spencer’s index and middle fingers do most of the exploring as he stares at you, “No, not just pretty. Gorgeous, beautiful, captivating, astounding.” His fingers find your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves teasingly slow. 

You’re breathing heavily through your nose now as you move your hips against his fingers to let him know it feels good. “Is,” you relax your shoulders carefully. “Is astounding a look I pull off well?” 

“Very well,” he answers honestly, even though he knows you’re joking. His fingers begin to rub slow, tight circles as he leans in to kiss you again. The kiss swallows up any moans you start to let out as Spencer’s fingers make electric arousal build up in your lower abdomen, your legs feeling weak as you spread them further. 

Spencer hums against your lips as he quickly deepens the kiss, his hips absentmindedly grinding against your thigh as his fingers move away from your clit to yank your underwear down. You help him, kicking them away with your eyes closed, your tongue dragging along Spencer’s. 

His middle finger teasingly drags your wetness down to your entrance, pressing against the area quickly before hesitating. He pulls away slightly from your lips, but you’re already answering his question before he can ask it. “Yes,” You whisper against his lips, moving your hips down against his finger. 

He lets out a breathy laugh as he slowly pushes his index finger into you, his own eyes almost rolling back into his head as he hears the shaky moan you let out. He’s quick to chase that high as his fingers curl inside of you, searching for that spot that will make you let out more sounds for him to enjoy. 

Your brows furrow as your eyes flutter closed, chasing the needy feeling inside of you that is too desperate to wait for him to find your g-spot on his own. Your hips grind down, guiding him slightly until his fingers curl against the slightly rough patch of nerves inside you. A sharp gasp, followed by a breathy chuckle, leaves your lips as you open your eyes to look at Spencer. “Right there,” 

He’s always been so good at following instructions, so he knows not to change much regarding his fingers, curling and dragging against that sweet spot inside of you slowly. His lips kiss your collarbone softly, kissing up to your ear. “Wanna hear you,”

How could you deny such a sweet voice? Especially when that sweet voice belongs to the man you’ve been pining over for weeks. It also helps when he has his fingers inside of you. Your lips parted as you let out a soft groan, followed by a shaky gasp of air.

Spencer’s finger picks up the pace gradually, going faster and rougher with every sound from your lips. A cry of pleasure? Faster. A loud moan? Rougher. You wondered what sound you needed to make for him to add a second finger. 

It wasn’t a sound so much as simply having to tell him, “Add another finger,” You breathe out between moans, and Spencer is quick to push his index finger into the waves of pleasure he’s causing throughout your body. 

It’s not long before your hips are raising slightly, loud whines and groans escaping your lips as he brings you closer to your release with every curl and drag of his fingers. You could feel Spencer’s breath hot against the shell of your ear now as your eyebrows furrowed tightly, focusing on every feeling he gave you. 

He’s relentless, listening to how your breathing hitches and moans increase with specific tempos, learning the kind of pressure you like simply based on sound. Has a man ever done that before? You weren’t sure; all you knew was that you were getting closer to an orgasm. You wanted to be hopeful and think it would be the first of many.

Short gasps were escaping your lips as your head tilted back into the mattress, “That’s it.” Spencer’s lips are on your exposed neck now, gently sucking, kissing sweetly against your pulse point as you inch closer to your climax. “Sound so good.” His voice is a little muffled, not to mention hard to hear over the sounds of your moans, but it’s making your hips stutter as they grind against his fingers. 

Then you’re crashing hard. Your body tenses, shaking under him, you cry out as your orgasm rips through you. Small whimpers and moans are spilling from your lips as your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping them until your knuckles turn white.

A groan leaves his lips as he watches you. It's a sight he wants to commit to memory. He wants to close his eyes and draw it if he can, memorize every shudder, every stutter of your hips, the way your eyes open to look at him afterward– pupils’ dilated and shimmering under a haze of lust. 

You whine a little when he pulls his fingers out of you, and Spencer wonders how he has so much self-control. He’s about to ask you how you’re feeling, to check in on you, but then you're grabbing his wrist.

You’re dragging his hand to your lips terribly slow, and Spencer feels his breathing stop for a second as he watches you drag his index and middle fingers into your mouth to suck yourself off them. His next breath comes out as a stuttering mess, watching as your tongue slides between his fingers, your eyes staring into his before fluttering closed. 

It’s his turn to whine when you’re done sucking his fingers clean. He was already painfully hard while he was fingering you, but now he feels like he might burst into flames if he cannot have you. “Please,” He whispers, his hips grinding against your outer thigh timidly. 

A part of you almost feels bad for him; he feels so hard against your outer thigh, and he still has all his clothes on. He has to be desperate– the thought makes your mouth water. 

Your hands are quick to help him out of his pants, undoing his button and zipper. As he pulls the pants down his legs, you’re sliding your hands under his shirt. You hum with soft desire as you feel the curves and dips of muscles on his surprisingly toned chest. He shivers at the feeling of your fingers dragging along his chest, inching closer to the waistband of his boxers. 

Your fingers stop before reaching his boxers, slipping out from under his shirt, and going for his tie. A tie already loose and halfway forgotten. You slip your fingers around the maroon tie, pulling it off quickly and with no complaint from Spencer as you do so. Your eyes trail up to meet his, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Spencer could feel your fingers thumbing at the buttons on his shirt, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from your eyes. He’s so captivated by your eyes on his that he completely misses what you say. “What?” His voice comes out breathy as you undo the second button on his shirt. 

You let out a soft chuckle, looking away from his eyes to peak at his partially exposed chest. “I asked if it would be okay to leave some hickeys on your chest,” 

Spencer’s breathing hitches in his throat as he lets out a bashful “Yes.” He can hear another laugh leave your lips as his eyes trail down to your fingers working on the last button on his shirt, how they hook around the edge and pull the material away to expose his chest fully. He’s enraptured, caught in a trance as he watches you lean your head down to his chest, soft kisses sending electric shivers down his spine. 

You kiss down his sternum, trailing off to the left of his chest and sucking lightly. A breath is ripped away from him at the feeling, and he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to whine. He fights the urge as he sighs again, your lips slowly sucking and kissing down his chest, leaving some light and dark purple spots in your wake. 

It’s hard to pull his eyes away from your work. Each time you leave a mark on his lower chest, Spencer’s eyes linger on it before they follow you to your next location. He feels sensitive all over, his body humming–tingling–with desire. He wonders if you’d think he’s pathetic if he begs for something more. 

But you catch on before he embarrasses himself.

You sit up straight as your hands rest on his lower stomach, looking down at his crotch before looking up into his eyes curiously. “May I?” You ask with a half-hearted chuckle like it’s funny. 

He knows you aren’t laughing at him; you’re laughing because you already know his answer. A soft whine is pulled from his throat as he says, “Yes,” 

Your eyes leave his, trailing down his body slowly as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and start to pull them down. Spencer’s eyebrows knit together at the feeling, the material dragging against his hard cock slowly. 

As he kicks his boxers away, he is pleasantly surprised when you straddle his lap. Your hips hover inches from his as you lean down towards him slowly, your hands pressing against his chest for stability. Your hair falls in your face as you whisper a slow, seductive, “Does this work for you?” 

Spencer can feel his heart stutter lightly against his chest as he nods like a madman, cheeks flushed as he stammers out a little, “Ab-absolutely, anything you want, we don’t– I mean– we can do anything you want, I won’t mind.” 

His nervous rambling is cut off with a hiss of pleasure as he feels you wrap your hand around his cock, guiding it to your entrance carefully. The slow drag of his head against your folds has him letting out a stuttering sigh, his hands instinctively moving to your hips. His eyes shut tight as you sink down on him, a soft sigh falling from your lips as you slowly take every inch. He feels the urge to beg again. 

You’re watching him from his lap, a little smile gracing your face as you watch the way his mouth falls open as you adjust your knees slightly to fully sit down on his cock. A slight muffled whine can be heard from Spencer as his eyes slowly open to take in the sight of you bare and preparing to ride him– it makes him feel dizzy. 

It's your turn for your lips to part, a shaky sound of pleasure leaving your lips as you start to move your hips up slowly. He’s so hard inside of you that you’re sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you as you slowly move up and down. 

You can feel the way his slender fingers start to grip your hips tighter, gently digging into your skin at the tortuous pace you’re beginning to set. It’s building, that’s for sure. You’re panting lightly as soft moans fill the room. 

You let out a soft yelp, feeling Spencer’s hips chase yours when you slow down slightly, looking down at him with a surprised expression. He sends you an apologetic look and whispers, “I’m sorry, I just need– I’m sorry.” His voice sounds strained like you’re putting him through the worst torture imaginable. 

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head a little as you brace yourself on your knees a little more, “Greedy boy,” you tease him lightly as you press down harder on his chest with your palms, giving him a taste of the pace he so desperately craved. 

Spencer lets out a shaky laugh that dies away into a groan as your hips move at a slightly faster pace, his hands beginning to guide you down onto his cock. He’s trying to be respectful of the pace you’re setting every time– honest! This feels too much like a fantasy, like a wet dream he’s sure he’s had many times before, one that has every instinct in his bones telling him to go as hard and fast as possible. 

It's an incredibly tempting stupid instinct. He knows that the faster you ride him, the faster this moment is over, but it feels so good. The drag of his painfully hard cock against your walls– add to that the lewd sounds that keep escaping your lips whenever you give him an experimental roll of your hips. He’s panting when he feels you picking up the pace again, his fingers flexing against your hips. It’s still not enough. He’s not sure he’ll ever have enough of you. 

You’re breathing heavily as you flick your head to the side to get a better look at him. He’s starting to sweat a little as his eyes trail down your body. Whenever his eyes catch a slight of his cock disappearing inside of you, he licks his lips, dragging his bottom lip into his lip for a second as his eyes move back up to your face. 

You give him a quick, breathless smile as you whisper a saccharine, “You like that?” You begin, dragging your hips forward slightly on your way down his length. “ You like watching your cock disappear inside me?” 

Spencer’s eyes widen for a second as he gives you a quick nod, “Yes-” He lets out a whine, his hips chasing yours again as you slow down quickly, teasingly dragging your hips against his, driving him crazy. 

As you experimentally roll your hips, you can feel his head brushing against your g-spot, and you’re quick to ignore his pleasure to chase your own. You aim for the feeling again, your hands leaving his chest as you move them back to his knees, causing you to lean back slightly. 

The sight is intimate and extremely erotic as Spencer watches the way you grind your hips against his cock, gasping out harshly whenever it hits the rough patch of nerves inside of you. He elevates his hips slightly for you, his mouth falling open as he looks at you, completely starstruck. 

You give him another flash of a smile as you move faster down on him, friction wise it doesn’t feel as good as when you were riding him, but just seeing the way you’re getting yourself off on his cock has him feeling like he’s about to burst. 

He wants you to cum around his cock more than so desperately that he gives up on caring about embarrassing himself, stammering out dirty talk as fast as he can, “You look so good, so fucking good.” He gasps out, watching as your eyes close. 

The sound of his voice helps you chase that high as wanton moans accompany your movements, leaving him feeling encouraged. “Wish I could record you like this. I need to remember how you look right now. Would you let me?” He stammers out between his shaky moans. 

Your head is nodding before you can genuinely process what he’s saying. Your fingers digging into his skin lightly, “Feels so good, Spencer.” 

He’s sure that’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard as he lets out a shaky, “Ye-Yeah? Do you want me to rub your clit? You want me to make you cum right now?” 

He’s asking for direction, but it doubles as dirty talk for you as your eyes open and meet his. You’re sure you’re saying the words ‘yes’ repeatedly, but you don’t actually hear the sound coming from your lips. The only thing you can focus on now is the way one of Spencer’s hands is sliding from your hip to your clit. His thumb dragging fast, tight circles on your clit. 

Spencer watches as your eyebrows crinkle together and gasps of air leave your lips. He feels your walls flutter around him. He’s careful to raise his hips to push deeper into you as you reach your second orgasm of the night with his cock deep inside you. 

Your walls squeeze around him so tight that he feels weak in the knees as you let out a high-pitched cry of pleasure, your body shaking on top of him. He’s happy to keep moving his thumb against your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm to your heart's content. 

Eventually, the shaking on your thighs calms, and you’re hissing out with overstimulation, whispering gently, “Wait, wait, wait.” You relax briefly, your hips still stuck against Spencer’s as he stops moving his thumb. Your eyes meet his, and your heart squeezes at the look he’s giving you. Something that was a mix of complete adoration and desire. 

His eyes flicker over your face nervously as he licks his lips slowly, his eyes still occasionally dipping down to your hips flush against his. You tilt your head slightly as you watch him, a small smile on your face as you lean forward, your chest pressing against his gently as you give him a soft kiss. 

It’s a short kiss, but Spencer still ends up following your lips by the end of it. “Should we switch positions?” Your voice is curiously sweet, and Spencer immediately nods at the idea. 

You lift your hips off of him and slide off his lap slowly, your legs only feeling a slight sting from riding him. You lay on the bed and watch as Spencer moves to hover over you. His eyes stare directly at your dripping cunt, and he looks like he’s lost in thought, something that earns a soft laugh from you as you shake your head at him a little. “Something on your mind?” 

It was a good-natured tease, but he answers honestly nonetheless, “Can’t decide if I want to eat you out or go back to fucking you.”  His eyes leave the dripping wet area between your legs to look into your eyes. 

It almost sounds strange coming from his mouth, you could probably count on your fingers the number of times he’s cursed in front of you. Nor did you expect something so… erotic. Then again, he did say some rather dirty things just moments prior. It didn’t phase you then because you had other things on your mind, i.e., cumming on his cock. 

You gave him a playful smile, his eyebrows raising slightly with interest, “Spencer Reid, are you… sexy?” 

He chuckles as he moves his body closer, slotting his body between your spread legs, “You tell me.” 

You laugh a little at that, and your eyes take him in—how he looks with his hands on your knees, gently pushing them to get you to spread them wider. With a wide grin, you whisper, “You are.” 

One of his hands is pressing into the bed to the left of you as he hovers over you, his other moving to your face to brush a stray hair out of your face gently. You can tell he’s trying not to feel embarrassed at the compliment as you gently move a hand up to his hair– fingers raking through his curls. “I vote you go back to fucking me.” 

Your words cause a slight shiver to roll down his spine as he lets out a soft “Mhm,” his hand leaving your face to guide his cock back inside of you slowly. He lets out a soft sigh as he presses into you, his gaze scanning your face for any sign of pain. 

He sees none as he watches your head tilt back onto the bed slightly, eyes closing for a second. The pace he starts is timid and gentle. He knows a slow build to a fast pace is better, wiser, and he’ll last longer. But it’s getting hard to remember with the way you feel around him, how deliciously you squeeze around him whenever he thrusts into you a little deeper than the time before. 

“Move your hips faster,” You mutter softly as your hips grind on his cock slowly, the slow pace making you feel embarrassingly impatient. 

He doesn’t mind, of course. He’s all too happy to start moving his hips faster. Soft moans fall from his lips as he picks up the pace, his hands moving from bracing himself up on the bed to the area behind your knees, gently lifting your legs up and apart, leaving them slightly bent in his hands. 

It happens so fast that you stare at him in awe for a split second as he readjusts himself to drive his hips into you again, and with the way he has you now, you can feel him thrusting deeper inside. You whine loudly at the feeling and nod quickly, a wordless attempt to let him know how good it feels. 

He shows you a half smile as he takes that as a sign to go deeper, grunts falling in time with his pace– seemingly becoming slightly ruthless. Your mouth fell open at the feeling of his cock reaching deeper inside you, quivers of pleasure racing through your body, your legs, everywhere. You’re sure you’re being too loud now, your cunt starting to squelch with every drag of his hips. 

Spencer feels like he’s in heaven, listening to your body respond to his, feeling your legs tremble under his touch, and watching how your eyebrows knit together when he picks up the pace slightly. He’s sure there is nobody, dead or alive, that makes him feel the way you’re making him feel right now. 

It’s exhilarating, intoxicating, and it’s making his orgasm get closer. Panting heavily, he moves your legs to wrap around his waist as he braces himself on the bed again, and he starts to roll his hips into you quickly. He lets out a breathless laugh when you yell a little, “Oh!” Pride fills his senses, knowing how good he can make you feel. 

“I’m getting close,” He rasps out with another sharp, fast roll of his hips. 

You nod quickly as you mouth a silent ‘yes’ to his warning. You’re not sure you can speak in coherent sentences with the way his cock keeps brushing against that spot inside you that has you gushing around him effortlessly. 

“Do you want me to pull out?” he stubbles out sweetly between his moans. 

You shake your head at that, “No!” You cry out, eyes locking on his as you moan out, “Inside.” 

He looks at you for a second, his hips slowing to a frustrating stop, “Are you sure, because missionary-” He heaves out a soft sigh, looking at the way you’re lust-filled eyes stare up at him, “Are you sure?” 

A gentle smile appears on your face, and Spencer feels like he’s staring at an angel. The feeling grows as you move your hands to pull his face to yours, brushing a light kiss on his lips with the soft, reassuring answer he needs to hear, “I’m sure,” 

Spencer grins against your lips, kissing you deeper as he starts to thrust his hips into you again. Your eyes roll back slightly at the rough feeling of his lips on yours and his hips snapping into you over and over again. 

Muffled moans came from both of you as you gently slipped your tongue into the kiss, eliciting a growl from the man thrusting into you. He pulls away to press his forehead against yours. Physical intimacy for Spencer always fell second to emotional. Now, feeling how your hands hold his shoulders and hearing you whisper strings of soft praise to him, he realizes that combined, they turn into the most ethereal experience he’s ever felt. 

Guttural-sounding moans are escaping his throat as he chases his climax like a madman, “You feel so good, so good.” Is all he can manage to gasp out between moans as your nails dig into his shoulders. 

You mewl under him as he gasps out a short, “I’m- god, fuck, I’m cu-” his erratic hips stutters against yours, thrusting as deep as he can into you as he reaches his climax. His breathing stutters as he lazily drags his hips in and out with his orgasm, doing his best to make it last longer for the both of you. With a final sharp thrust, he empties into you. 

Sometime after, he’s slowly pulling out and disappearing into your bathroom to get something to clean you up. You laugh as he insists on cleaning you up himself, his hands gentle as he drags the towel against your cum soaked folds. 

Once you fall asleep, Spencer finds him playing with the ends of your hair, watching how your chest rises with each deep breath. He smiles into the dark as he leans into your ear, not caring if you hear it in your sleep, “I’m going to marry you the first chance I get.” 

Day One Thousand Thirty-Three

“Spencer,” Your voice carries across the BAU bullpen, an unmistakable smile of amusement on your face as you approach his desk. “Spencer Reid,” 

After two years of being with him, he’s not sure he’s ever gotten sick of that smile. Dazzling, patient, sweet, and almost always constant when you’re around him– a permanent fixture on your face now that you live with him.  

“You are late, Doctor Reid. Hop to it!” You tap against his desk playfully. You’re already dressed for dinner tonight at Rossi’s– or that’s what you think it is anyway– and you look stunning. Even under the harsh lights of the bullpen, you look glowing, so gorgeous that Spencer feels like spoiling the surprise right now. 

“It’s barely past five. We’re fine.” 

“He’s gone already,” You move your hand dramatically towards Rossi’s empty office… most of the bullpen is empty now that you think about it. Why was your boyfriend the only one staying fifteen minutes after five? To be fair, he was waiting for you, and you were the one running late, so you feel a little guilty as you watch Spencer pack up his things. 

He looked especially good this morning, wearing one of his light brown suit combos that always had you messing up his tie before he left for work that day. You hum softly as you and Spencer walk side-by-side toward the elevators. “Do you know why Rossi said to dress up a little this time? Last time, everyone seemed pretty casual.” 

Spencer offers you a little tight-lip smile with a slight shake of his head, “No, he does have a flare for the dramatic sometimes.” He’s praying to whatever deity listening that you don’t catch on to the lie. 

You scoffed out a soft laugh, looking at him with a raised brow, “And you don’t?” 

“I’d like to think I’m more grounded in facts and reason than dramatics,” He defends himself with a laugh, hitting the button for the first floor. “Living with you has made me more dramatic. If anything, I’m mirroring you when I,” he does air quotations with his finger as he finishes, “Am being dramatic.”  

“You are so lucky you’re a federal agent,” 

“I am pretty hard to kill.” He says with a serious-looking nod, but the smile growing on his face as you walk through the parking lot to your car is telling. 

Your smile falls slightly as you nudge his shoulder softly. “Don’t remind me,” you tease him in a melancholy tone. More than two years ago, if someone had asked you if you’d be sad if Josh died tragically, you would have simply said yes. Now, with Spencer, if someone asked you that same question, you know you would start crying on the spot at the idea of the man next to you dying. 

It’s funny how people can affect other people. Through all his challenges, Spencer Reid was incredibly patient, kind, and devoted to his loved ones—including you. He was the air you breathed, and you were his. Every look he gave you, every smile he showed, and every touch confirmed it– you were going to grow old with him, one way or another. 

Spencer headed into Rossi’s villa first, and you grabbed some wine and the charcuterie board, something that the host himself requested. You were happy to help, considering he was cooking for everyone, but the lack of direction with the wine threw you slightly. Rossi loved food, loved hosting these team meals, and was… to put it bluntly, a control freak. 

You picked up a label you vaguely remembered him talking about once as you headed in after Spencer. The house looks… dark? You open the door, peeking your head in slightly. “Spencer?” A dark front room greets you. Your eyes quickly adjust as you close the front door behind you. 

You hear something moving from the kitchen, the hairs on your neck standing up as you tip-toe towards it. “Rossi?” you call out in a whisper. It definitely smells like food—chicken piccata. 

More darkness, you blink and mouth a silent “What the fuck?” Then, you catch a glimpse of some light from outside. You quietly set the board and wine on the granite countertop and head for the back door. 

From what you can see, the lanterns are on in the backyard, but more twinkling lights have been added along some trees. If you weren’t so terrified, you’re sure you would find it beautiful. But considering the team’s line of work, you were always afraid of something like this– well, whatever this was anyway. All you knew was that you no longer trusted dark houses at night. 

You made sure not to turn your back to the outside, carefully looking around and closing the door behind you. Now you knew they were out here. You could hear shushing. 

Then there he was, a big smile on his face, and everything clicked. Oh.

Oh.

“Spencer Reid, this better not be what I think it is.” 

He’s standing in the center of the backyard on a patch of patio tile, candles and flowers leading up to him. He laughs a little as you approach him. He can see tears forming in your eyes, and he hasn’t even started with the proposal. “I’m afraid it is,” he mutters as his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, red velvet box. 

He bends down on one knee, staring up at you as you smile through tears, “I’ve had the pleasure of being with you for seven hundred and seventy-four days, but if someone asked me how many days I’ve been in love with you, I would have to tell them that I have been in love with you for one thousand thirty-three days.” His fingers are shaking as he opens the ring box, his eyes scanning your face carefully to see your reaction to the ring. 

Garcia and you often scrolled through Pinterest board together, an app that Spencer didn’t quite understand. Which explains why he asked Garcia to go with him to get the ring, because she didn’t want him to quote ‘mess it up, Aidan from Sex and the City style’ —whatever that meant. 

He was so calm when he bought it, but on the way home, he recalls looking over at Penelope in the car and asking, ‘What if she doesn’t like this one?’ in a terrified tone. 

Seeing your face now– the way your eyes light up as you wipe away falling tears and how you’re laughing through them, he knows he’s made the right choice. “I want to love you for twenty thousand more.  I want to love you through every wrinkle, every laugh, every bad day, indefinitely. I want to love you when our hair turns grey. I want you to be the rest of my life, and, at the end of it, I know I’ll see you flash before my eyes.” 

He’s watching the way you hike up your dress to your shins and get on both knees, cupping his face gently as you sniffle through happy tears. His eyes soften slightly as he becomes level with you, moving to sit on his knees. “My question is, will you let me? Will you marry me?” 

You let out a scoff, nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, in a thousand different languages, yes!” You laugh out sweetly as you kiss him. He smiles into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your middle tightly. 

The two of you only pull away when the sound of confetti starts popping on either side of you. You laugh as you watch Penelope step out from her hiding place with half the team following behind her. Moving your head to the other side, you can see Rossi clapping softly with the other half. 

You try to dry your eyes again as small strands of confetti reach your head, Spencer’s arms slipping away from you to carefully slip the ring on your left hand. He then looks over at Penelope, “You didn’t say anything about confetti poppers.” He says in a playfully stern voice, standing up slowly before extending a hand to you. 

She simply shrugs and squeals, “She said yes!” 

Then they’re all on you like a pack of wolves, hugging, kissing cheeks, laughing as you gather your composure. After a few moments of congratulations, all you can think to say is, “I almost had a heart attack.”  

The night begins and ends with laughter. On the drive home with Spencer, you can’t help but think that there are twenty thousand more nights to come and how none of them will ever measure up to this one. It’s one of those nights that linger in the air after everyone’s already said goodbye, and it’s perfect.

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Five [And Grayson Hawthorne's Very Scandalous Self]

note: i am honestly so sorry for forgetting about this fic and everything T-T. i did have some personal issues, and family troubles, but it's all well now, so expect much better updates in the future! one last part after this!!! also, content warning: a tiny bit of smut taglist: @f4iry-bell, @never-enough-novels, @reminiscentreader, @dahliawarner, @lanterns-and-daydreams,

@welcometomyblog

Sunday– I’ve begun to contemplate on what we are. I mean, you don’t kiss someone just for fun, do you? There’s got to be some feeling in there, because damn it, that kiss was everything I could ever want in a kiss. Slow and rough and honestly? I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

After that kiss, you didn’t get the whiskey.

You couldn’t have been expected to, obviously. A hot guy kissed you, and you didn’t really comprehend it until you went home (which was quite literally immediately after–you don’t think you ever saw Xander that confused).

It’s a day after, and you’re writing like your life depends on it. You need to get that kiss off of your mind, but for some reason, you can’t.

Pathetically, you’re not even sad about it.

You’re just happy, and you feel a little bit deranged because you now have the sudden urge to scribble Mrs. Hawthorne all over your journal.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Mrs. *first name* Hawthorne does have a nice ring to it though. Or maybe I’m just delusional. Could be both. Definitely couldn’t be none. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Unknown: Hopefully, this isn’t the wrong number. I wouldn’t put it past Xander to pull this sort of prank.

You’ve been raised to block unknown numbers, but this number? Yeah, you know this number.

You: Unless you’re looking for Sabrina Carpenter, this isn’t the wrong number.

Grayson: Amusing. Xander was telling me about how you know a bit of Economics.

You: Is this your version of flirting?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Then this guy goes and texts me, and I think he can’t flirt. Economics. Really? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson: Maybe.

You: If you want me to come over and help with your accounting, you just have to ask, Davenport.

Grayson: I do not ask for help.

You: Do you want to meet me today or not?

Grayson: You are going to make me ask, aren’t you?

You: Yes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I like to imagine that he let out a very deep exhale, and maybe even one of those sexy chuckles. What? Don’t judge me. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson: Would you like to come over and help with the accounts, madam?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Fuuuuuuck.  How pathetic am I for finding one text hot?? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Twenty minutes later, you’re in his office in Hawthorne House. You met Xander downstairs, for a brief second.

A brief second in which he gave you a wink.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually need help with the accounts. I’m too tired to do this.”

Grayson smiles, and you see dimples. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Dimples. DIMPLES. HE’S BEEN HIDING DIMPLES. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter.

“You’re doing that thing again.” He says, half smirk on his face. “Where you say your thoughts out loud.”

You act unaffected, and shrug. “Some truths cannot be hidden, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Some truths,” he begins to agree, “cannot be hidden.” His eyes come to fully meet yours, and you feel your lips part of their own accord.

His eyes briefly drop to your lips before they meet your eyes again, cold and hot and the same time.

“Some truths,” he gets up from his seat, and walks to yours, which is right opposite his desk. He turns the chair, and kneels in front of you. “Some truths, like how I might be in love with you. Does that count?”

You were the one saying it before, but he’s saying it now. He’s kneeling in front of you, and all you want to do is kiss him.

His hands move away from where they were hanging from his knee, one securing the soft office chair you’re sitting on while the other goes to your feet. Slowly, he removes your heel.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He says.

No, whispers.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Grayson Hawthorne knows what to do with his hands. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His fingers travel up your leg, and you don’t even register that you’re wearing just a skirt and stockings until his fingers come close to that one place. They rest on your thigh, tapping it with four of his fingers.

“Do you want me to? Stop?”

“No.”

You don’t recognise your voice.

His hand moves further up and further within until he touches you right there, and you’re waiting, because all you want is more. His fingers are slow and languorous as they run up and down your length. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Everything about him is slow. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

They move upwards, teasing the band of your underwear and pulling it down, towards your knees and he lets go, letting it fall to your ankles.

You’re breathless. And you don’t mind.

His fingers go back to where they can torment you better, and slowly, he pushes one finger in. 

You gasp. 

“Hush, love. You can’t let anyone hear you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── His voice is soft. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leisurely, he brings his finger out, adding another and he pushes back in. Your heart is racing and you feel your eyes burning up, but you can’t stop looking at him below you, with his head tilted as he looks at you, slow smile and full eyes. 

Your breathing turns ragged after a while, and any longer and you feel like you might forget to breathe.

“Please.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He’s gentle. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His fingers move faster at your plea.

You can’t breathe anymore, and you feel like you’re reaching a high.

You’re running up a hill, waiting to go back down but you don’t want to. Not just yet.

You’re addicted to this feeling.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Grayson Hawthorne is the perfect gentleman. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Let go, love.” He whispers.

With a cry, you fall from the hill. 

You both stay still for a while, you regaining your breath and he caressing your thigh. 

It feels loving.

Slowly, he helps you up, and kneels down again to raise your underwear up to your hips again.

“I’m usually more of a gentleman.” He says, apologetically. “Bedrooms and blinds, not an office chair. But you were there, looking so beautiful, I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” You say, bringing your forehead to his. They meet in the middle. 

You laugh. “I liked it, actually. Better than bedrooms and blinds.”

He chuckles, and he kisses you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Journal Entry Four

[bunnybird-afk]

AAAAAAAAA NOVELIST PHRAESTO MY BELOVED!!! okay i do have an idea about that one.

Phraesto's a really popular novelist, but he at first he went by a pen name cuz he didn't really like all the attention and popularity... even to this day. He moved to the small town that Merlin was in so he could continue writing in peace. At first, people only really knew him by pen name, but eventually his identity was revealed which made him want to move.

Some would say the decision was pretty pointless, considering how people already know his name as a famous writer, but to him it doesn't really matter. The town is small, he's new, no one knows who he is. It gives him a better chance to rewind, even if that chance is short lived

I love this so much. Poor guy is an absolute introvert at heart. He just wants to be left alone to write his novels in peace and not be bothered by his hoards of annoying adoring fans.

If we're shipping him with Merlin, I can imagine Phraesto being absolutely fascinated with this random small town professor who seems to be the only person on the frikkin planet to actually understand his writing. He sees/overhears a recording one of Merlin's students took of them discussing the novel and unpacking it's themes and he's immediately enamored. Cue Phraesto deciding to audit Merlin's class just so he can get to know more about them as a person. Maybe Merlin becomes his muse, maybe they're just a fun person to discuss ideas with. Either way, he's starting to think this small town might not be that bad after all.

If we're shipping him with Dionel though! Dura above, Phraesto would be absolutely livid. Especially if we're working with the Dionel that @meepinmeat mentioned in the comments of the last post.

Poor Phraesto moves to this empty little town in the middle of nowhere to get away from his rabid fan base and all the stupid big wigs in Holiwood who are trying to bastardise his work into some shitty film, only for fucking Dionel to show up. The last thing Phraesto wants or needs is another stupid movie producer attempting to profit off his work without understanding a damn thing about it. Except Dionel swears that he's also just there to take a break from the industry and that he really isn't interested in adapting Phraesto's work at all. Cue one passive-aggressive conversation where they begrudgingly decide they can both stay as long as they keep out of each other's face, them soon realizing that that's impossible in such a small town, and them eventually deciding to atleast be civil for the sake of both their peace. I'm thinking enemies to begrudgingly respectful to purely casual hookups with no possibility of them ever falling in love because that would be dumb and it happened already didn't it? Dionel definetly becomes Phraesto's muse, and Phraesto hates it.

Also, I've decided that Dionel has a white Persian cat who hates Phraesto's guts at first which is weird because Phraesto loves cats. (@meepinmeat, would you be mad if I decided that the cat is this universes version of Celestino?)

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Short Note on Diversity in novels...

During a certain writing event that starts with N, I often tried to research and find ways to write more diversity.

So there were ten rounds of people on both sides saying, "Don't include it for clout" and "don't do it to be token."

For me, these days, I add diversity because it's my lived experience and often it solves plot issues. No, really. Sometimes the character just shows up and I'm thinking, you're not acting how I thought, you're not acting NT. Could you be ND? If so, what type are you?

And then doing to research to lean into it rather than spending time taking it out is a lot more helpful to the story because how they act is rooted into the basis of the story.

People tend to think that adding diversity "adds more problems". But I kinda think adding historical accuracy or race diversity to NYC or off-hand mentioning that Rromani exist in a Europe setting solves issues like "Hey, here is an entire group that is dedicated to trading! You no longer have to question how Silk got to Europe." might give a richness and feel more accurate?

The fact that people couldn't figure out during that event that PoCs have relatives was wild to me. lol "I couldn't possibly write more than one Black person." Wha—where do you think Black people come from? Also Queer people would attract Queer people too? NDs attract NDs? So the idea of the lone gay (usually Black if they are going Intersectional) dude being the ONLY one in the entire world, is wild to me. You don't think the Black dude has a Black friends and maybe other PoC friends, because ya know, Black people have to hang around only white people and never know other Black people? You don't think the lone gay dude might want to do more than "fashion", "hair", "crafts" and actually date another gay guy? Just asking.

So usually, for me, it helps solve dilemmas. Like hey, if this group of people have known what it is like to handle horses for thousands of years, maybe they can help solve this plot dilemma with a horse. Let's research their group and how they handle horses because my characters don't come from a nomadic horse tribe.

This character doesn't seem to want to date anyone. Why? Could they be... ace aro? If so, what kind? If they aren't, why haven't they? or are they really aro/ace but haven't faced it yet and thus are being unintentionally destructive (BTW, this was me at one point when I didn't understand I was aro/ace and yeah, not my finest hour...)

It doesn't have to be a big deal, the big deal is to make sure to back it up with research even if you belong to that label.

For me, being NB, I had to research trans (binary) people better. Also wrap my head around the European version of trans rep, which I still don't always understand fully. The whole, you must when transitioning a character, make it painful? Why??? Like isn't there Queer and trans joy in transitioning and not all of it is surgery? Yeah. But understanding other perspectives than your own can help shake loose your story to give different flavor to your characters so they aren't "Token" and you can rep various PoVs, even if they aren't center stage. (Some of the you musts also didn't make sense to me... but I've posted those.)

But yeah, sometimes adding diversity helps save you having to rewrite the whole thing. And it solves plot issues—like having the Harfoots kinda like Rromani/traveling Jews solves how to get Gandalf safely from Point A to Point B. Having the elves being various skin colors solves why the spawning place for elves is roughly 30 degrees north which, BTW, lines up with the races on Earth at that latitude. Sometimes making the person Jewish explains why they are so good at inane arguments. lol (Saying this as a Jew... I can list the inane arguments my family has had). So yes, sometimes adding diversity helps rather than hinders and gives you more events you can add.

Your characters are meeting their grandmother coming from India while in Regency England! Well, you've just opened discussions on imperialism, food, language issues, generational wealth, clothing and questions about immigration and heritage. Plot bunnies galore. Are you stuck still? (BTW, this is accurate too).

[genericpuff]

https://www.instagram.com/p/CvO2Fo1vbJU/?igshid=NjZiM2M3MzIxNA==

I don't know if you have seen the last thing RS posted on instagram, and I don't wanna sound mean or like I'm criticizing every single thing she does, but, why does this feels a bit off? Like, I know every author needs money, and that's why they sell books, special editions and merch from those books. But seeing how some people who went to that last "book signing" now want to order or buy ANOTHER lo book just to get an autograph or that "exclusive doodle" feels a bit... Idk, bad? Like, the fans have to spend more money than other fans just to get this stuff? It feels a bit like what happened with that Persephone + Ares book that had a special edition that was all black, but costed more than the regular edition so the fans had to spend more money if they wanted their lo novels to look good together. Idk, maybe i'm just seeing too much into it, but I still wanted to ask your opinion on the matter.

Love your work, btw. Lo rekindled is so good, and your art is beautiful!

OKAY SO

I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THIS INSTAGRAM POST LOL

so I looked into it and yeah! it's off! it's super off!

story time, but there's this band I'm really into where, 1-2 years ago, they had released two new separate EP's, and they were selling them individually as special editions, only for them to then SELL THEM ALL OVER AGAIN AS BUNDLED VERSIONS AND THIS JUST LIKE

IT FEELS VERY SIMILAR LOL

there was also a time where this Youtuber musician my husband was really into was selling vinyls, and we managed to snag a copy in the hour that they were available, only for them to start selling SIGNED copies the week after they had sold out of the original prints

it's just an overall "ech" move because it really screws over your audience for paying attention/getting in first, y'know? That's what's such a big deal about being in a fandom, a lot of people like being "first" so to sell something under the precedent that it's "limited edition" just to print more with an even COOLER thing attached feels like such a fuck you. They're literally just trying to gouge more money out of people who have already bought the thing and "need" the exclusive copy.

This just goes to show btw there was nothing stopping her from signing books personally at SDCC. That feels like such a middle finger to the people who paid money to go to and be at SDCC (travel costs AND attendance costs) esp the people who cosplayed as LO characters and were clearly specifically there for Rachel just to be given a stamp and shooed away with zero conversation (as I talked about in a previous post) and then find out later after you've already gone home days later that you can get a PERSONALLY SIGNED AND DOODLED COPY if you go and buy a brand new book in one specific bookstore. That's so lame man, I can't even.

Just to add btw, not related to your ask really, but it really goes in conjunction with it, there was a tweet recently from Rachel advertising some new t-shirts.

But people who bought the shirts reported that they're INCREDIBLY cheaply made and don't look anything like the products listed. You can even see the low ratings on them but when you actually view them-

I do not feel the need to say it any louder for the people in the back, it's being spoken clearly at this point - WT and Rachel are cashing out on what little merit they have left, they do not care.

AND Y'KNOW WHAT I FOUND OUT WHILE WRITING THIS POST ????

THEY CHANGED THE FUCKING THUMBNAIL!!!

THAT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE 2 DAYS AGO, I CHECKED IT MYSELF BACK WHEN IT WAS FIRST POSTED TO REDDIT AND IT WAS THE GREEN VERSION.

THEY'RE LITERALLY CHANGING THE THUMBNAILS AND ADS TO DISCREDIT THE REVIEWS BEING LEFT.

DO NOT FALL FOR IT. BUYER BEWARE.

[strangersatellites]

maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for four

a cute little steddie dads ditty based on this tweet

Steve chuckles under his breath and flips the page. 

He’s got his back against the headboard in the low lamp light. It’s late and he’s reading some goofy romance novel that Max left for him last time she was over. Something about people on vacation. He doesn’t really know or care but it’s kept his mind occupied long enough.

Eddie’s sat at the other end of the bed, taking breaks from lightly strumming his guitar to jot down melodies or lyrics or whatever it is he writes in that notebook of his that he carries everywhere.

When Steve tries to start the next page the words stop being about the shitty hotel the characters are at and they start being measurements, instructions. 

He slams the book closed in his lap and tugs off his glasses, gets Eddie’s attention and meets his eyes, curious.

“Do you think we should’ve gotten chocolate chip instead?”

Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile and sits his guitar beside him. Huffs a laugh under his breath as he crawls up to wrap both long arms around Steve’s waist.

“Well,” he drags it out, dramatic as always, “Since both of the girls said they liked blueberry better, I’m putting my money on blueberry being the better option.”

Steve’s weighing the options in his head, nodding because he knows Eddie’s right.

“I know, Robbie flips out every time we have regular pancakes but,” he huffs, runs a hand through his hair, “It's pancake day. It has to be perfect. Do we even have syrup?”

Eddie pulls his head back from where he’d rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, his eyes now less amused and more confused.

“Okay, I thought we were stressing because it’s her first sleepover, what in the world is pancake day?”

Now Steve’s the one who looks confused, down-right offended.

“Uh, hello? Didn’t you have pancakes on Saturday morning after every sleepover growing up?”

Eddie wrinkles his eyebrows up. “No? Uncle Wayne woke us up and took us to the diner.”

And, well. Steve can forgive that. 

“Oh. That sounds pretty fun actually.”

Eddie snorts. 

“Yeah it was. It was probably just an excuse for him to go see his lady friend but I wasn’t gonna turn it down.”

Steve laughs and smiles at the thought of a grumpy Wayne trying to hit on the waitress and a child version of Eddie flicking eggs across the table.

“I wish I could’ve seen that.” He drops a kiss to Eddie’s temple before he continues. “When I was a kid, my mom always made a big pancake breakfast with syrup and whipped cream and sprinkles and it was the best part of the sleepover. I’ve always wanted to do that for Robbie.”

Eddie’s smile is soft and he’s tangling their fingers together over his lap. 

“Aaaaaand now that she’s old enough it has to be perfect. That right?”

Steve nods, lets out the breath he was holding in, lets some of the tension seep right out of his own skin and lets Eddie carry it for a while.

Eddie shifts and tugs Steve so that his head is tucked just near where his guitar pick sits in the hollow of his throat.

“Well, lucky for you, when I took the girls to Rob’s room for bed earlier, when I kissed her good night she told me this was the best day ever.” He tightens his arms around Steve and he can hear the smile in his voice. “I think you could feed them cereal and they’d think it was Christmas morning.”

Steve can’t help the smile on his face at the happiness that his daughter brings him. At the idea that letting her friend spend the night is the best day she’s had in the six years of her little life. Thinks that it might be top five days in his own thirty-two.

He snuggles down further into Eddie’s arms and laughs when the man huffs and reaches to turn off the light.

He kisses his chest and closes his eyes.

“Good night, Eds.”

“Good night, baby.”

He falls asleep to the sound of Eddie’s breathing and the hushed giggles down the hall, more excited than he’s maybe ever been.

Eddie’s set an early alarm to go check for syrup.

[areyougonnabe]

How would you suggest people get started learning about polar expeditions? I read Frozen in Time but I'm at a loss of where to go now 😭 any suggestions?

Hi!!! It depends on which era you're interested in!!

For Victorian exploration including the FE, I always recommend Erebus by Michael Palin, William Battersby's Fitzjames biography, and Barrow's Boys by Fergus Fleming. Now, all of those books have their flaws as many nerds (like me) will tell you, but they are all great starting points and will introduce you to the cast of characters/run of events of that era. Once you've advanced a bit, you could check out Dave Woodman's Unraveling the Franklin Mystery for an intensely detailed look at Inuit testimony; The Spectral Arctic by Shane McCorristine for an academic exploration of ghosts and clairvoyance in Victorian exploration; or Finding Franklin by Russell Potter for an overview of the search expeditions up to the present day. Michael Smith's Crozier biography is also a solid read. (EDIT: I forgot The Man Who Ate His Boots by Anthony Brandt if you want to know more about Franklin himself and his earlier expeditions!)

If you're more interested in the late Victorian/Edwardian era, commonly referred to under the "Heroic Age" umbrella, you have a lot of potential starting points....

That era could be said to have begun in 1897 with the Belgica expedition, one of the most chaotic and insane expeditions of all time. Madhouse at the End of the Earth by Julian Sancton is a RIDE of a book (more like FRATHOUSE at the end of the earth, amirite) and will get you started with two of my favorite figures of the age: it was the polar origin story of Roald Amundsen, and where he met a pre-pole controversy Frederick Cook (HIS SOULMATE).

For more Amundsen after the Belgica, I really liked The Last Viking by Stephen Brown. You could also check out Roland Huntford's biography buuut this blog is a No Roland Zone so I am hesitant to recommend him, even though re: Amundsen he's more legit than elsewhere.

The Worst Journey In The World is a classic for a reason: a really beautiful and detailed first-person account of Scott's last expedition that is a pillar of travel writing and the foundation for much of the historiography that came after. However, you could also start with A First Rate Tragedy by Diana Preston (which I haven't read yet but comes highly recommended) or even Cherry's biography by Sara Wheeler which is really excellent. OH and the graphic novel version of Worst Journey just released its first volume which is a WONDERFUL introduction to the story! Buy it here and support the artist!

I've also really enjoyed all of the other first-person accounts I've read, many of which are free & in the public domain: With Scott: The Silver Lining by T. Griffith Taylor and The Great White South by Herbert Ponting are super interesting and give you a taste of what it was like to really be there.

For Shackleton, definitely start with Endurance by Alfred Lansing and go from there. Shackleton's Forgotten Expedition is a good second step & will get you background on him and Scott (& Wilson). I have had Shackleton: A Life In Poetry by Jim Mayer recommended to me as well but haven't read it yet. After that, Frank Worsley (captain of the Endurance) wrote two books which are great supplements: Shackleton's Boat Journey and another one just called Endurance. And Caroline Alexander's The Endurance is really good too but it's a coffee table book with nice pictures, so grab a hard copy!

And last but CERTAINLY not least, I May Be Some Time by Francis Spufford is the be-all and end-all of polar exploration nonfiction, IMO. I'm just finishing a reread right now actually—I first read it post-Franklin obsession but pre-Scott obsession and honestly, it's an entirely different book once you're crazy about the Heroic Age, so while I have recommended it in the past for people just getting started, and still do, at this point I also kind of want to tell people to maybe wait until you've already reached a certain level of derangement to dive into it.

[made-by-marlow]

The Pomegranate Tree [sdv Elliott x male farmer oc] Part Five: The Poet

A slightly crumpled dandelion sat on Elliott's desk surrounded by hundreds of fully crumbled papers with the boy's messy handwriting.

Random pieces of Elliott's hair were twisted into braids to keep his hands busy as he thought. The space had grown to be an organized mess. Chaos, but he knew exactly where to locate everything. The only mess that mattered was the mess of papers in front of him. Trying to bring a fictional human being to life like a mad scientist. To create a fictional life.

He thought about a love interest for the protagonist he inserted himself into. He thought about a girl with long brunette hair, and hazel green eyes. Brown overalls like the new farmer wore on occasion. Now that he thought of it, the character simply seemed to be a feminine version of the new farmer.

The girl needs a name. Hazel. Hazel is a name for both genders, right? The name felt nice and poetic when he learned the name of the farmer. The kind of name that a love interest in a romance novel would have.

Why not allow the love interest to be a man?

What would the readers think?

What would Hazel think of having a character based off him in his story?

It's creepy. Yet it was the perfect set up for a story. Something straight from a Hallmark movie. A young college drop out from the city, moving away from hustle culture to take a step into the small town. There, he meets the charming young poet Elliott projected himself onto, and falls in love.

He scratched the idea, ripping the paper out of his typewriter and tossing it in with the collection of other scraps. Hazel stained his mind. His dorky nervous smile. Soft looking hair that touched his shoulders. He needed to talk to him more before he meets again with Leah day after tomorrow. Who knows if she talked to Abigail. 

Memories of Hazel made him smile. Few adults besides Abigail participate in the yearly egg hunt, yet there he was. Elliott was happy to stand back and watch as the farmer ran around the town, gathering eggs, racing the kids and Abby with a smile on his face. A child at heart.

In the end, Hazel was more deserving of that sunhat than Abigail was. What was she going to use it for, anyway. Year after year.

Hazel was a positive change to the town. A change that brightened his life. More than he wanted the stranger to.

You can't write Hazel into your book.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door of his cabin. A rare occurrence. In a swift motion, all of the crumbled papers were swiped onto the floor, only a few of them falling in the small metal basket beside the desk. As the door creaked open, Hazel stepped inside.

"Hazel!" He can't see the writing. Please. Please do not look at the writing.

"Hey," Hazel smiled. A charming, soft smile. Young and genuine. "I got your letter. That I can come in anytime."

"Yeah, of course," Elliott smiled. "I'm just.... Writing."

The mess was obvious. Elliott prayed to whatever is out there that Hazel doesn't believe this is how he always lives, even if it's true. Papers scattered, bed unmade. Maybe Hazel's cabin was the same mess.

"Writing?"

"Yeah, a novel." It finally felt like he was bragging rather than coming off as nerdy. "Well, I'm still in the brainstorming phase."

"Need a muse?" Hazel jokes. The joke made Elliott pause. Because really, he did. And he wanted Hazel. 

"Actually... yeah. I-" He tripped over his own words. "I'm trying to come up with everything from scratch." 

"Well everyone loves a good rom-com," Hazel says. Elliott imagines him reading some dorky rom-com alone in the living room. A peaceful moment as he smiles at words on paper. Funny how a good book can do that. Push you so deep into a new world that you forget all you're doing is looking at printed words on paper. 

"I was thinking that too." Elliott is embarrassed that Hazel has no place to sit besides the unmade bed. A collection of smaller red and gray blankets rather than one big comforter. Some host he is to leave this sort of mess for Hazel to come into. "Pardon the mess. I can clear the bed if you would like." 

"You should see the cabin," he jokes. Surprisingly relaxed, he takes a seat. His round face and brunette curls foreground wooden walls and red blankets. An image that Elliott would paint if he knew how. He tries not to think about it too much. "It turns out cats can make quite a mess if you don't give them every moment of your attention."

Elliott smiles at the thought of a cat running around that house. A small gray cat resting on Hazel's lap as he reads that rom-com. Adorable. A cute boy and a cute cat.

"A kitten?"   

"Her name is Doodlebug," Hazel says. "My grandfather's nickname for me growing up." Elliott considered Doodlebug a possible excuse to see the farmer's cabin sometime and meet this small creature. An excuse to see Hazel again. An excuse to indulge in the dopamine of petting a kitten. 

"Cute." He meant it. 

"So about this rom-com," Hazel changed the subject. "Do you have characters?" Elliott gets excited the moment someone expresses interest in his story. He wants to dump everything he has in his mind, but there's nothing. Nothing but the vague idea of a setting and protagonist. 

The two talk for hours until Elliott has pages full of romantic scenarios. Maybe one day, the ideas would become reality.

[pardonmydelays]

There hasn't been much news about him [LMM] lately for a while now until this month, so it's understandable to lose interest (I guess is the right term) in him and his projects. Warriors is definitely a huge step back for him! If he really is collaborating with Taylor Swift on this like we all began to speculate in April, then I would have rather it been some extended version of her song from TTPD featuring him. He is extremely capable of writing songs and creating characters for original musicals (even if they are based on a film or novel), and it just disappoints me that he went this route instead of spend his time and energy on a new original musical. Give me a reason to go to New York! I'm still going to to try and go next year anyway because there's a musical I really want to see (and because I am in dire need of going back), but I'm trying to get into musicals more and Lin just kinda ✨ threw away his shot ✨ with this one. As for Disney, yeah, I'm not entirely excited about that too, especially seeing that he probably chose Mufasa: The Lion King over Moana 2. I love "We Know the Way" and "An Innocent Warrior" the most! And "You're Welcome" and "How Far I'll Go". Bro really could've given us more songs like those in Moana 2... I'm sure the music will be good regardless, but it just lowkey sucks that he didn't write any of them.

I hope he has more, EXCITING projects coming up that he's been keeping a secret...

literally all of this - i agree with every single one of your words and i'm glad someone who's also a fan of his work has pretty much the same opinion about all of this (the warriors, collab with taylor, moana 2). there's really nothing more to say about this. we just have to wait and see what happens.

i don't think losing interest would be the right term in my case tho... it's actually more than that and i don't even know if i want to talk about it, but maybe i should. this fandom fucking destroyed my mental health to the point i don't want to be a member of this community anymore. i'm still a fan. i still follow him and i still love his work. i'm trying to keep up with all the updates. i know everyone here probably thinks i just found myself a new obsession and this is the reason i don't talk about lin anymore. trust me, i listened to in the heights the other day and i started sobbing like a goddamn clown. i still love him and i always will. i think it all went down when i created my musical theatre instagram account and started being more active in the fandom... the energy there is slightly different than here. people are actually fighting for his attention. his birthday was like a fucking shit show of who would do more just to be noticed by him. i kinda started feeling like maybe i am worth nothing because i've never met him, never been to new york (simply because i cannot afford it at the moment) or never been noticed, or maybe i haven't been here long enough, well, i also don't have a motherfucking role in this fandom - i'm not a writer, i don't make art, no talents at all, i'm just here to admire and enjoy his work. it all went too far and i was even too fucking tired to keep answering all the asks i was getting about him (and there was a lot of them at some point, probably because i was the most active member of this community on tumblr and someone who was always defending him and people started treating me like a person who knows fucking everything about him and that's just not true). i enjoyed it for a while. then i stopped. who the fuck even am i to be treated like a goddamn leader of the fandom or whatever the case was. i don't know. all i know is that it was just too much. i appreciate the fact that i was getting so many nice messages from all those people but ugh... i was once asked about discord server for his fans and i decided to create one with a huge help of my mutuals. then i fucking left. my own discord server. i don't even think anyone noticed. lmao. nobody actually asked me why, so that's what i assume. i was exhausted and drained. i just think people are taking all of it too seriously??? it was actually my mistake that i ever let myself think i was worth less than others because of all those stupid things. anyway. i don't want any of this. i hope no one in this fandom even remembers me now, maybe except those people i still talk to. the rest is history.

you may think i am making the same mistake now, but no. it's different. i am just here to have a good time, reblog silly pictures with my silly little tags and maybe make some of my mutuals laugh. i also want the new members of the fandom to feel loved and safe and to know that they are all equally important, doesn't matter if they were here years ago or joined last week. it's all just so fucking stupid. i don't have a role and i don't want one. i'm just here to enjoy it, it's way more fun this way - tumblr is actually great for me again.

i have no idea why i decided to use your ask as an opportunity to tell all of this. i don't know. i'm sorry. it just had to be said i fear.

one last thing, if you really want to get into musicals more, i can recommend you some of my favourites. i have a good taste actually!

[ask-ikepriemma]

TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE WORSE BOOKS YOU HAD READ!

Did you… just… awaken my deepest rage?

(forgive me for being a bit ooc, but I simply must for things like this)

A LIST OF TERRIBLE BOOKS I READ:

Handbook for Mortals by Lani Sarem was one of the first bad books I wanted to read so long ago simply because it was the number one thing people in the book community were talking about. It got taken off the Bestsellers list within 24 hours because the company behind the book was buying bulk copies to make it number one. The writing is cheesy, and there are too many characters you will not care about, plus the protagonist is unrelatable and annoying.

All of the Onision books. Well, specifically, I heard someone read them since I did not want to actually own those dreaded books. I cannot fathom how these three books of his clearly reflect the twisted author. They all boil down to being about a male character believing the world is out to get them when, in actuality, it is just the author’s strange power fantasy ranging from beating up and/or killing characters who wronged him to having sex with women because it is a man’s human nature to breed? It’s all very strange and it’s only scratching the surface.

The “poetry books” of Gabbie Hanna. Critiques of the author aside, her poetry is essentially the equivalent of what I would have written at the age of 12. I bought used versions of the books because my brother and I wanted to read, laugh, and cry at just how unfinished and empty the poetry is. I remade two of them, and maybe someday I want to recreate all of them as a little writing challenge, hehe. Not to say these books were bad, but they were such wasted potential of what could have been.

Lastly, The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku, a light novel adaptation of an iconic Hatsune Miku song…

I CANNOT FATHOM THE DISAPPOINTMENT AND BITTER HATRED I HAVE WITH HIS BOOK! This needs to be a separate post because THIS BOOK is why look at reviews before buying them now. Long story short, it is a strange “love story” with unlikable and boring characters and a very broken plot, and the only one you will care for is Miku, who doesn't deserve to be in this story.

I even made annotations on it. I only do that with books I need to write an essay on…

If you were to, i dunno, send me an ask about why I hate this book so much, you can do that ( -3-)/ *puts ask box where everyone can see it*

Honorable mention:

After by Anna Todd. I read the original version of it soooooo long ago and was uninterested in reading the rest of it. Finding out it became and actually published work shocks me because somehow, I heard it was a lot worse than I thought. I refuse to read the rest of it to this day.

[ciaossu-imagines]

No offence but why should people have to pay for stuff from you when 99% of creators on here would post the same things for free

Well, I really debated just deleting this. I really did. Or plain out blocking this anon. Because I really do try to ignore negativity in the inbox, truly, and normally do delete it. But I'll answer this one, in a mo', after I first say...putting no offense in front of an ask that is meant to be rude, to either hurt my feelings or make me feel bad, doesn't suddenly make it inoffensive. In fact, pretty much guaranteed that if you feel the need stick 'no offense' in front of something, you know it'll be offensive, or at the very least, rude, and you're trying to excuse a dick move. Question too...are you sending this ask to every fanartist accepting commissions too, or just the writers? My guess is a solid no, but hey, maybe you can prove me wrong.

Next point - nobody should be paying me anything right now. My commissions are temporarily closed. I'm not really accepting any at the moment because I'm on day 10 of a stretch of 12 days at work before I have one day off, after which I pull another 12 days before I get 2 whole days off. I'm struggling to find time to finish the two commissions I do have and to write to build up the queue on here again so I can continue to put out things on here again. I'm pulling at least one all-nighter a week just to make progress on those two things.

Again - free stuff. Because I definitely do offer lots of that. Commissions are done on top of me writing plenty for free, not instead of. It's simply not as long, or as detailed, and has rules around what I'll comfortably write.

Now onto actual commissions. All but two of the commissions I've handled have been incredibly personalized, either match ups for the actual person on the other side of the screen or working with people's self-inserts or OCs. The two that weren't were for incredibly rare pairs that don't have a lot of people writing for them (ShouheixYata from K Project and Sherlock Holmes (novel version) x Hiruma Yoichi from Eyeshield 21. Please show me even 5% of tumblr routinely putting out content for those pairings because I would enjoy reading anything from them.

For my match ups, smutty ones are at least 5 pages, while romantic and platonic ones have never gone below 7 pages and have, at times, gone as long as 15 pages and include intensely thought out explanations of why they're compatible with that character, what the relationship would be like, how the commissioner fits into the Canon universe, and at least 3, usually more other characters they could be compatible with, how those characters would know the commissioner and fit into their story and why the relationship might not work. I struggle to find blogs willing to do matchups even half that length and intricacy so please, direct me to the 95% of writers that will do that for free.

For my stories, the shortest I've done was 10 pages where I made a whole $1 per page. The longest has been 65 pages where I made $50. They all also come with a music mix and a storyboard with alternate ways the story could have gone and at least 5 new headcanons about the OC and the ship. Please, again, direct me to the 95% of tumblr writers willing to do that for someone else's self-insert ship or OC ship for free, of that length, with the extras. Most writers I know might occasionally write a friend's OC but not just anyone's and usually not 30-60 pages for them.

Long story short, I don't force anyone to commission me. If you don't want to and just want to enjoy the free stuff, that's perfectly cool with me! If you don't like that I take commissions, block me. If you feel everything I write is so generic and boring that 95% of other writers have wrote the exact same thing, my blog isn't for you, block me.