#i'm going through her blog and you should too bye!

[emedeme]

@nvaderxim me

dedicating our lives to morrigan x warden art

[manonssunset]

"UNWRAP ME"

pairing: huh yunjin x fem!reader

synopsys: yunjin mentioned she has a special christmas surprise waiting for you. when you arrived at home, you were surprised to find out that the special gift was her, seated beneath the christmas tree, ready for you to "unwrap" her.

warnings/tags: language, smut, nsfw content under the cut, established relationship, service top!reader, yunjin is the one giving commands, lingerie, dry humping (thigh riding)

wc: +3,4k

a/n: happy new year, guys! this is my special (super late) gift for you all, also first time posting something like this on the blog. I hope you find it hot, lol. this took me longer than expected, but I’m satisfied with the way it turned out. I reduced the smut part substantially because, honestly, you would have had to wait another 10 days to read it, bye 💀. but I still wrote almost 600 words of just them kissing, so there's that.

working through christmas was always quiet and a bit annoying, with clients constantly bragging about their exotic holiday plans or the luxurious gifts they were preparing to buy. but the truth was, you had no reason to feel envious. after all, you had the most priceless gift of all: yunjin, the kind of girl most could only wish for. 

the sharp ding of your phone’s notification pulled you out of your thoughts. it was a sudden interruption, cutting through the steady rhythm of clicking fingers on keyboards, sounds that were all too familiar in the office. you glanced at the screen, expecting to see an email or maybe a quick reminder from a colleague. instead, your gaze fell on a message from your girlfriend. she often checked in on you while you worked, and you always found it endearing. 

this time, however, the message wasn’t the usual question about how work was going or a casual mention of what she was making for dinner. no, this one felt entirely different.

[jen💋] your special gift is waiting for you under the tree, please get home as soon as you can ;) 

(05:46 p.m.)

[you] 10 minutes and I'm out

(05:48 p.m.)

the message felt playful, almost teasing, and you were thrilled at the thought of what awaited you at home. she had mentioned before that she had something special prepared just for you, a gift that, in her words, you were going to absolutely love, said in that sensual tone of hers that always left your head spinning. to say you were eager to find out what she meant was an understatement.

-♧-

your hand trembled slightly as you gripped the keys to your shared apartment, anticipation rising with every turn of the metal. when the door finally clicked open, the soothing scent of vanilla and wood greeted you, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. as you stepped inside, you were immediately struck by an unexpected darkness in the room, the only light coming from the flickering glow of candles scattered around the space.

the silence was unnerving, an absence that made you pause. the only sound was the occasional crackle of the candles, yet it felt like something, or someone, was missing. yunjin’s presence, which you had so eagerly anticipated, wasn’t there to greet you as you had expected. she had promised to show you the long-awaited gift she’d been teasing you about all week, and yet, there was no sign of her.

your gaze instinctively shifted to the bottom of the christmas tree, and for a moment, you froze. your heart skipped a beat, and it took a second for your mind to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. she was there, wearing a black silk robe, held together with a red rope tied into a bow, like some kind of living present waiting just for you. the light from the candles reflected off the fabric, giving her an almost ethereal glow. she lay on the carpet, looking up at you with an inviting, seductive gaze.

your breath caught up in your throat, and for a brief second, you weren't sure if you should move closer or stay rooted in place. you gulped as you stood still, speechless, completely captivated by the sight before you. “you're finally home, I've been waiting for you” you felt your knees weaken at the tone of her voice, filled with control and sensuality. you couldn’t form a response, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment to be able to articulate anything.

she rose with grace, and, as she closed the distance between you two, each of her steps were accompanied by heels tapping against the floor. It was as though a muse was walking towards you, her hips swaying from side to side with an elegant, almost hypnotic confidence. your heartbeat quickened as she got closer, and instinctively, you started taking steps back, your senses heightened, your mind a mix of conflicting emotions. part of you wanted to ask what was happening, but another part was curious to see where this moment would lead.

the back of your legs collided with the couch, and you suddenly felt cornered, with nowhere to go, no escape from her approaching presence. a sly smirk tugged at her lips as she closed the distance, gently pushing you to sit down. the coldness of the cushions on your skin contrasted sharply with the warmth spreading inside you. your gazes locked, and in that instant, the desire in her eyes was so intense it felt almost magnetic, drawing you in, making you want to lose yourself in her and everything she embodied.

she positioned herself comfortably on your lap, her movements slow, milky legs peeking out from beneath the robe. it was then that you noticed the meticulous attention she had paid to her makeup, each detail enhancing her beauty. she had even chosen your favorite perfume, a sweet vanilla scent that perfectly complemented the fragrance of the candles. it was clear now that she had carefully orchestrated this moment, aiming to give you a show that you were bound to enjoy.

the sudden closeness caused heat to flood your face. the slight pressure of her body pressed against yours sent your mind into overdrive. you could feel every subtle shift of her weight, making it hard to focus on anything else that wasn’t her. your hand instinctively went to her thighs, gently massaging the soft skin that radiated warmth under your fingertips. she gently traced her fingers up your arms, the light touch sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin, before placing them on top of your shoulders. 

you stilled as her face inched closer, her lips just centimetres from your ear. in this proximity, the intoxicating scent of her perfume magnified tenfold, its sweetness filling your senses and clouding your thoughts. her breath was warm against your skin as she whispered “unwrap me”, her voice drenched in the same seductive tone that never failed to unsettle and allure you in. she noticed the subtle tension in your body after her words, the air thickened, growing more charged than before. your hands slowly made their way to the ribbon, fingertips grazing the soft fabric, before you finally gripped its ends. 

you trembled as you undid the knot, the cool, soft fabric of the ribbon slipping smoothly beneath your fingers. the knot was simple but each movement felt agonizingly slow, as though time itself was stretching, drawn out by the weight of her gaze. her eyes, full of expectation, never left you, and the intensity of her look made your breath catch in your throat.

you held your breath as the ribbon finally loosened, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears. all the anticipation that had built from the moment she’d sent that text was unraveling now, piece by piece, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension hang in the air.

your eyes followed the path of her robe as it fell open, slipping off her shoulder to reveal what she had kept hidden until now. you couldn't help it when a gasp escaped your lips as you finally took in the sight before you: yunjin, all dolled up for you, wearing nothing more than a red lace set of lingerie. it accentuated her curves in a way that left your jaw slightly open, yet her elegance remained unmistakable. her set was far from tacky or overly explicit, it clung to her body with a sensuality that balanced provocativeness and sophistication. it revealed just enough, embracing her shape while maintaining a sense of grace and modesty. 

the warm, golden hues of the room bathed her exposed skin, creating a soft, radiant glow. she resembled a living version of venus, as if she had stepped out of a renaissance painting, one that belonged in a museum. arousal swept through you as a tingling sensation began to rise. the tightness that had formed in your stomach spread lower, a pulsing ache that clouded your mind with lust. it was clear that the feeling was mutual. the intensity of her gaze and the way her eyes locked with yours was a telltale sign that she was consumed too by the same need. her restless shifting, searching for the friction she desperately craved, also spoke volume.

she broke the silence with a question, her voice quieter, tinged with an unexpected hint of uncertainty. “do you like it?” despite your obvious reaction, she still sought confirmation, her usual confidence momentarily slipping. “jen, I don't think you understand how much I love it,” you said, almost baffled by her question. it wasn’t just about the lingerie, although it was stunning, it was everything she had done for this moment, all the care and effort she had put into it, just for you. and above all, it was her, the most important person for you. “thank you, baby,” she replied, her seductive tone returning as she cupped your face with both hands and leaned closer. “now, let’s get to the good part.”

her lips crashed against yours with urgency, the relentlessness evident in the way she yanked you closer, her fingers gripping the back of your head, anchoring themselves in your hair. the contact was frantic, as if she couldn't get enough of you. she tilted her head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss as you let your hands roam her body freely, your fingers caressing her skin before resting on her waist. there was a raw desperation in the way she kissed you, as if she was trying to devour you; her longing for you was unmistakable, like she could no longer keep it contained.

the way her lips moved with yours was soothing, the warmth of her skin sinking deep into you, making everything else fade away. your bodies were so close, it was almost as if you were breathing each other in, each subtle movement heightening the feeling of intimacy. the kiss was the physical manifestation of the desire you had both been hiding, the need to feel every part of each other becoming almost overwhelming. it wasn't anymore just about meeting lips, it was about being intertwined, your bodies pressing against each other in perfect harmony. 

you both pulled away briefly, her breath was ragged and shallow, a soft whimper escaping her as you squeezed the flesh of her ass. you both lingered there, a brief pause from the intensity of the session, both of your lips slightly parted as you caught your breath, chest rising and falling in sync. her pupils were dilated, a hint of something in her eyes, an unspoken impulse that was being held back, waiting to be released. you heard her mumble a quiet “fuck it” and before you could even register her words, she tugged you forward by the collar of your shirt, your lips making contact again. 

her tongue ran gently over your lips, applying pressure as a silent invitation to enter. you granted her request, allowing her muscle to invade your mouth, lightly sucking on it. she let out a surprised gasp at the sensation, her fingers tightly gripping the fabric of your button up shirt. as you massaged your tongues together in a gentle but intense dance, teeth clicking and saliva exchanging, your hands returned around her waist, pressing into the softness of her skin. you carefully bit her bottom lip, drawing it between yours as you continued sucking. it was all too much for her, the sensation was overwhelming, and her control slowly slipped away.

she began grinding on your lap as you were still kissing, her body moving effortlessly as she chased her own pleasure. you guided her hips and pressed her down further more, and she let out little, desperate gasps every time your lips parted to allow oxygen in. you couldn't lie and say that yunjin using you as a way to get off didn't turn you on, the sensation was electrifying, and you felt your own desire seep through your panties, soaking them. 

“mmph–ahh, jesus—” her sweet moans were muffled by your lips, creating a delicious symphony that reverberated in the confines of your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. the rough fabric of your work pants against her thin panties generated the ideal friction on her clit, making her mind go fuzzy. her hands roamed aimlessly, grasping and gripping whatever lay within reach: the fabric of your shirt, your arms, the back of your neck, your hair, and so on. she was riding your thigh so desperately it was almost cinematic: erratically moving her hips, grinding down, attempting to rub every time on the same perfect spot that gave her immense pleasure.

the room was starting to feel too hot for you. the heat from the candles, but especially from the union of your two bodies so close together, was becoming unbearable, so you decided to break the kiss to remove some of your clothing. after you delicately pushed yunjin back, allowing her body to rest on your legs, your eyes widened in surprise at the sight before you. it was beautiful; a clear, glassy strand of saliva was still connecting the two of you, a quiet reminder of your closeness. she was about to whine at the loss of contact when she also realized what she was seeing, and a small genuine smile tugged at her lips. 

you took advantage of the quiet moment to finally contemplate your girlfriend’s physical state: her face had a subtle pink flush that still peeped through even under her makeup, her lips were a strong red color that matched her lingerie, and they were quite swollen, an evident consequence of the kissing. her eyes were like a window to the multitude of emotions that pervaded her: delight, confidence, a bit of frustration, and, above all, desire. as your gaze moved lower down her body, you spotted a wet patch on her underwear; the fabric turned a much darker shade of red, and you wanted nothing more than to get a taste of the source of that change.

she noticed your intense stare and turned her head, flustered. “stop staring at me like that,” she said softly, her voice pulling you out of your trance as you felt her left hand brush over the skin of your face, settling on your jaw. in that moment, all your focus was on her. “no, but seriously,” she started, her tone firm like she needed you to be serious with her. “why did you stop?” her question was accompanied by a tiny pout, which made you smile, her frustration evident in her puppy-like features. you let out a slight chuckle in response, placing your hand over hers as a sign of reassurance. 

“I was honestly just too hot and wanted to take my shirt off,” you truthfully replied with a grin, finding the simplicity of your answer pretty amusing. as the words left your mouth, her pout melted away into a smile, mirroring yours. underlying her happiness though, she felt a tingling sensation begin to rise, a silent excitement at seeing you without your shirt. “do that then,” you caught her need by the urgency of her command and by the way she looked at you, as if she had already taken your shirt off with her eyes. you were more than happy to comply, gradually undoing all of your buttons just to tease her.

her whole demeanor was full of anticipation, she had folded her hands diligently on her lap while she watched you do your thing. as you slowly stripped for her, dragging out all of your movements since you knew it would turn her on more, she spotted your sculpted abs and your muscular arms, finally free of your shirt. the sight hit her all at once, causing her thighs to impulsively clench around yours and her hips to buck into the air.

heat flooded her face as she blushed in embarrassment, her reaction an obvious indication of her neediness; her head dropped into the crook of your now fully exposed neck, as if she was trying to hide from you. she took advantage of the closeness to inhale the scent your body. it was a mix of the aquatic and musky fragrance you used at work, one she could never resist whenever you wore it, mingled with the natural, comforting aroma of your skin. this mixture was fatal for yunjin, the scent did unspeakable things to her, her already soaked panties now starting to leave a wet spot on your own pants, and she was growing more desperate with each second that passed.

you were quick to detect it, knowing exactly what she was craving for in that moment, taking the lead for the first time that night. “come on, ride my thigh,” you ordered as you patted your right leg, knowing that having just one of your thighs between her legs would cause her far more friction than simply rocking into your lap. the sudden switch in your tone of voice went straight to yunjin's core as more of her fluids gushed out. she weakly nodded and stood on her trembling knees, holding onto your bare shoulders and submissively following your order. you gripped her waist to keep her stable as she moved over to your thigh, carefully positioning herself. 

“fuck!” she exclaimed when you suddenly pulled her down onto your leg with force, the unexpected contact with her sensitive clit causing her to gasp loudly in response. her face contorted with pleasure as she began riding your thigh, her hips moving like waves, crashing and withdrawing in a rhythmic pattern. “oh–oh my god,” she moaned beautifully, letting out melodic sounds with each movement of her hips. “this feels so good,” the pleasure she was experiencing led her eyes to close tightly and her mouth to open. 

“good girl, keep moving,” you purred into her ear as your hands dragged her back and forth. her brain short-circuited at the name you gave her: she squirmed on top of you, her hips stuttering as a familiar sensation started to build inside her. she mewled in response; the commanding, dominant yunjin who had left you flustered just minutes ago was now a moaning mess under your touch. “ah— god” she threw her head back as she felt your thigh twitch and stiffen beneath her, providing the perfect solidity against her clit. 

as she continued to hump, your hands left her waist and slowly worked their way up to her chest, not without lightly scratching her skin, causing a burning sensation to spread beneath the surface. you began massaging and caressing her tits over her bra, lazily rubbing circles with your thumbs across the fabric. just the light pressure was enough for her to feel pleasure as more lewd sounds left her mouth. so it came as no surprise that, when you exposed her nipples and pinched them with your fingers, she let out a guttural scream. “fu-fuck–please, keep— ahh— keep doing that,” she begged as you twisted and pulled her sensitive buds.

her insides started to burn, a tight knot in her low abdomen indicated that her orgasm was near. “are you close?” you asked as you noticed her movements become sloppier and her moans rising in pitch. “y-yes, I— please— please let me come.” her voice trembled as she pleaded for your permission. as much as you wanted to tease her, to push her just a little further, you couldn’t resist and granted her request. “go ahead baby,” the moment you were done speaking you felt her body still in your hands, her back arched and her head thrown back. her vision faded to black as she reached her climax, a wave of pleasure washing over her as she cried out a mixture of curse words and little “thank you”s.

she collapsed into your arms, her body was now a limp weight pressed against your chest. her head nestled against your neck, her eyes closed as she focused on regaining the stable rhythm of her breath. you gently stroked her hair as a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you, the only sounds being the soft crackle of the candles and her breathing. the warmth of her body pressed against yours was like a gentle caress, a comforting embrace that made you melt into your seat. “can we stay like this for a bit?” she asked softly, her voice hoarse from all the moaning, and her arms tightened around you as she clung to your torso. “of course,” you replied, leaning your head over hers and caressing her back, savoring the closeness. “whatever you want.”

a/n: oof, this one was really long to write, I'm so sorry for the wait, guys, hope you like it!

[push-the-heartbrake]

𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪 (𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙄𝙣 𝙈𝙮 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩) // 𝙎.𝙍

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 ��𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Summary: “I’m not supposed to do this, but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.”  — or the one where Spencer really likes the library for its books, the chess, and the girl working the night shift.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.9k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Cm typical violence, Spencer gets injured but nothing major. Mention of bullying, sick parents, and addiction. Takes place sometime after he got clean, so S4 perhaps? No smut, but talk of sex. Spencer being an insecure virgin and reader having used sex as a coping mechanism in the past.

A/N: Hello!! New blog, new fic. I'm too dumb to write for Spencer, but I tried my best. Reader probably has too much personality and backstory but I stopped caring midway through. No physical descriptors used though, except for some wacky clothing. Tell me what you think? Please? Love ya, bye.

You wouldn’t think it was possible, given how most Americans viewed paying taxes, but for some reason, in some way, a very persistent person at some board meeting somewhere had managed to get through the idea that at least one library in D.C. should be open all hours of the day. 

Spencer, for one, couldn’t be more pleased with that decision. 

He had fond memories of spending long nights in quiet libraries when he was working toward one of his many degrees. Now, his longing for the silence and solitude stemmed from insomnia. He guessed most people his age spent sleepless nights out at nightclubs or in the never-ending search for love or just a one-night stand to suffice some sort of primal need. Spencer wasn’t like that. Never had, nor ever would be.

The library was a better place in every sense. He grew bored out of his mind by being alone in his apartment for too long, but he also got tired of having people around him. His job was social enough. The library was a perfect mixture of the two, requiring silence but still had people in motion so that he didn’t feel entirely isolated. 

He’d browse the shelves, searching for things he hadn’t read. Quickly getting through many books in an evening with his way of processing words. It got to the point where there weren’t enough books about his usual interests, so he would pick up books about old cars that Rossi mentioned and learn about their engineering or read some wacky poetry that Emily had recommended that she loved as a teenager. 

Sometimes he’d bring whatever knitting project he was working on and join some old ladies who met up at the library to knit and discuss romance novels. Spencer didn’t bring much to the conversation, but he liked hearing them talk. He wasn’t much for gossip, but made-up drama between fictional characters was surprisingly entertaining. 

He would also borrow one of the computers and play online chess for hours until his eyes had grown tired from the bright light and he finally thought he might be able to go home and force himself to sleep. Eric, one of the chess players that he frequently met in a local park, showed up sometimes, when he wasn’t swamped with homework or had a curfew to keep. Maybe he should make some friends his own age that weren’t his colleagues, but Eric, at age fifteen, was also the best chess player that Spencer had ever met. 

So, the quietness, the books, the knitting, and the chess were all perks of spending time at the library. The cute girl sitting at the front desk, working almost every night shift alone, was also somewhat of a perk.

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure how it came about or why he was so enamored by even just the idea of you, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger for a little bit too long whenever he walked past the front desk or saw you organizing books at some shelf in the library. 

That was a lie. Spencer knew exactly how it happened and why. 

It started with simple people-watching. He liked to imagine wild backstories for people he only saw in passing. Probably a result of being a profiler. 

With students he would wonder about what project they were researching late at night in the library and what their majors were and if he could notice patterns in their appearances and behaviors. 

He’d connect the dots with the old women knitting and their opinions about the romance novels to actual experiences in their own lives. One had been cheated on in her youth and found any sort of love triangle to be awful, while another couldn’t understand certain writers fascination with sneaking in unplanned pregnancies because she had never wanted kids herself. 

And while Eric and he played chess in silence most of the time, he still picked up on how Eric didn’t like how strict his mother was on him and how his sisters got treated differently, more easygoing, than him. 

And then there was you, the only other person who would frequent—well, you worked there—the library so often that Spencer could start to piece together your backstory. 

His first impression was that you were cute, in like an objective way. The same way people would look at Garcia with some sort of childlike awe of how uniquely herself she was. You had that same thing about you, with colorful cardigans and ribbons tied in your hair. 

The second thing he noticed was that you probably didn’t work that much. You were sat at that front desk all night, organizing what needed to be organized and helping those who needed help, but then you were left to yourself for the rest of your shift. You read a lot, but Spencer never got close enough to see what exactly. You also had the news playing really quietly on a little radio, perhaps to not go completely insane from the silent nature of the library. 

At first he thought you weren’t too talkative, but then he observed an interaction you had with a student. A young mother who came to the library to study while her child peacefully slept in their stroller. Spencer wasn’t one to judge. If the child got to sleep and the mother got to study, it was a win-win situation, although unconventional. 

When he saw the mother and baby leave, going up to you to check out some books, he saw just how talkative you were, practically spewing out words about the subjects she was researching and cooing at the baby who was then awake, calling it adorable and quickly playing peekaboo. 

Now, as Spencer sat in a chair, not too far from the entrance and the front desk, acting like he was reading a book he had already read through, he observed you inconspicuously. 

You were fronting books on a display shelf that was the first thing you saw when you entered the library. Usually seasonal books, or that followed a current event or a theme. It was Halloween this time around, and you fought with the mess that was fake cobwebs. A garland of little black bats hung over the shelf and plastic jack-o-lanterns acted as bookstands. He could spot certain covers of books he recognized. Goosebumps, for the children. Stephen King, for the horror fanatics. Edgar Allan Poe, for the poetry lovers. 

You quietly cursed under your breath as your fingers got stuck in the cobwebs, and Spencer had to cover his laugh with an unnatural cough. That was when he saw that your nails were painted a pumpkin-like orange and your black cardigan had a little skeleton pattern. You were going all out with the theme, even if you barely saw any people during the night shift, telling Spencer that you were doing it all for your own enjoyment. 

As you stretched to place books on the highest shelf, he noticed your trousers, and Spencer was only a man—granted a little peculiar and different—but still a man, with working eyes and needs. You wore slacks so well-fitting he wondered what tailor you went to or if you could sew yourself. And Converse, always dark red Converse. You dressed like him, but in a more colorful, feminine way. 

He saw you pick up a book and judge it by its cover, then instead of placing it on display, you put it in a tote bag placed on the cart you had to pick books from. He’d seen you use the same tote bag before, when you were organizing the shelves, placing books back or collecting ones loaned online. The album cover for Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside was on it, not because Spencer knew of the album but because the text was printed on it. 

You used it to pick out books for yourself, Spencer noticed in the moment. While rolling the cart around with books for others, if you saw one that you wanted to read during your shift, you’d place it in the tote bag to not lose it in the masses. 

You were filled and covered in idiosyncrasies, making you nothing but enchanting to watch. And cute, in both the aforementioned objective Garcia-esque way and also a subjective Spencer-esque way. Not in the sense that Spencer found himself subjectively cute, but that you were subjectively cute in a way that felt catered to him and his attractions. 

Spencer thought all of this about you, while he had never even spoken a singular word to you. He would fantasize about what your initial interaction would be like, but he never had the courage to actually do something about it. He wouldn’t say that he was shy, and he normally didn’t find it that difficult to speak to someone, but something about your subjective cuteness made you terrifying. 

And it didn’t come naturally. He had a library card; he didn’t need to talk to you to check out a book. And asking for directions to a certain book seemed pointless when he had the shelves memorized. 

Spencer stood up from his chair to place the book he’d pretend to read back on the right shelf, passing by his favorite section of classics translated into their original languages. He was grateful that D.C. was multicultural enough and filled with diplomats and embassies so that the library found it necessary to take in books that weren’t in English. 

He stopped to browse the Russian selection, his finger grazing the spine of Война и мир. 

Wait… Certain rare books had to be checked out at the front desk. 

And while he already had this book at home, annotated and analyzed, you didn’t know that. He could totally loan this to compare to the version he had at home. This was an earlier copy than his own, and maybe certain parts of the Russian language were different. 

Yes. That could work. He was going to talk to you.

With the book in hand, he willed himself to approach the front desk you were now sitting at after finally winning the wrestle match against the cobwebs. 

You looked up from the computer as you noticed him, the soft glow of overhead lights casting shadows over the high points of your face. A welcoming smile, although well-rehearsed in a customer service-like manner, stunned him as he placed the book and his library card on the counter. 

“War and Peace… in Russian?” you asked, raising a brow as you grabbed the book to scan it. The way you viewed it showed that you recognized the book from the cover, but not the Russian language. And then you looked right up at him, not afraid of keeping eye contact. 

Spencer cleared his throat, suddenly hyperaware of how intently you were looking at him. “I’m rereading it to compare to the English version.” 

“Are you by any chance from Russia?” 

“No,” he said with an honest smile. “I’m from Nevada. But I know enough Russian to get by.”

You let out a low hum of appreciation, your fingers quickly typing something down on the keyboard after having scanned his card. Your nails weren’t only pumpkin-colored, but on them were also minuscule little pumpkin faces. 

“To each their own. Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive.” 

“Have you read it?” Spencer asked, his curiosity slipping through. 

“No,” you admitted with a laugh. “I picked Infinite Jest as my designated brick of a book that I’ll never finish but still spew opinions about.” 

The honesty of your response caught him off guard, and a small chuckle escaped before he could stop it. 

“Which is embarrassing to admit to someone who actually can read said bricks,” you added. 

“Even worse as a librarian,” he teased, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess them.

“Hey,” you said, your tone mock defensive. “I mostly recommend things to kids anyway. I know all about Daisy Meadows and Captain Underpants.” 

That Spencer was twelve years old when he discovered Tolstoy was something he kept to himself. He understood that most kids wanted something funny or imaginative to read, like underpants or fairies—not Russian realism. 

“How long until you gave up on Infinite Jest?” he asked instead, leaning slightly on the counter in a way that felt more natural than he anticipated.

“I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.” The quote escaped you easily, like you actually had it memorized, but the way your smile cracked through revealed that you were painfully aware of the ironic implication of it. 

“That’s the opening sentence,” Spencer pointed out, fighting the urge to laugh outright.

“Captivating, right?” you quipped. 

Spencer kept his smile tight as he enjoyed your sarcastic humor. He would’ve never assumed that Infinite Jest was the beast that broke you. Stereotypically, he thought it was stoners and annoying philosophy majors thinking the world was doomed who enjoyed that book. 

You didn’t look like either.

But there was also the huge amount of guys who kept it in their bookshelves and had it on display when they had girls over, as a conversation piece, although they hadn’t read a word from it. Maybe you had fallen victim to one of those guys and decided to give it a try on your own, at least getting further than they ever had. 

“So you’re more into modern literature?” he was quick to ask, keeping the conversation going. 

He wasn’t even sure if David Foster Wallace was considered modern. Contemporary was probably a better word. In comparison to the Russian mellow kind of realism, Wallace was hysterical. Spencer had read it for the sake of saying that he’d read it. After all, it didn’t take him that long. While he was comfortable being the guy who read Tolstoy in Russian, he wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable being the guy who had Infinite Jest as his holy scripture. It made some interesting points about substance abuse and addiction, but that was about it for Spencer, if he was going to give a literary review. 

“Not really, I adore some classics,” you admitted, before pointing to a small stack of books behind the counter. The ones you’d snuck into your tote bag. “Now I mostly read poetry, though. All kinds, as long as it’s short and impactful.”

“Oh, you’d hate this then,” he said, like a realization, meaning War and Peace. 

You scrunched your nose, nodding softly. “Mhm, and Infinite Jest too.”

There was a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but charged with the kind of potential Spencer wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“Alright, Tolstoy,” you said, sliding the book over the counter in his direction. “Enjoy your comparative studies.” 

“Thanks,” he replied shortly. 

As he walked away, book in hand, he couldn’t help but glance back once, catching you fiddling with the edges of your cardigan as you returned your focus to the computer screen. If you wanted to hide your smile from him, you weren’t doing that good of a job. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer wasn’t sure if he had overthought it, read too much into it, to the point where nothing was making sense. A conversation with a person loaning a book at a library that you worked at probably wasn’t that noteworthy to you, even if it left you dumbly smiling after he’d left. 

So, he didn’t dare walk up to you again. He couldn’t justify it in his head. Maybe when his War and Peace loan expired, he’d find an excuse to check it out again, but until then, Spencer didn’t know how to talk to you. 

On one afternoon, when the unit had just finished up a case in rural Virginia, Spencer had taken the train back home to D.C. and gone to the library earlier than usual. It was more crowded, with students cramming in some last-minute studying for their finals and parents taking their kids for a little after-school adventure. 

He sought refuge in a quiet corner—a cluster of armchairs nestled between the history books and autobiographies—where he could read in peace even though it was busy. But on his way, he was stopped in his tracks. Walking past the kids section, a voice he had begun to recognize caught his attention. 

You sat cross-legged on a colorful mat, a worn picture book spread wide in your hands. Your voice carried the story with a mix of humor and animation as you brought the story to life, reading aloud to an audience of tiny faces. Children leaned forward eagerly, their eyes wide with fascination, while a few younger ones had already succumbed to the comforting cadence of your voice, their tiny bodies sprawled across cushions in peaceful slumber. You held the book up for the kids to see the illustrations, pausing occasionally to add exaggerated voices that sent giggles rippling through the group.

Spencer lingered, a faint smile tugging at his lips, before he walked away to not get noticed. 

As time passed, the library emptied out. He saw people leave, tired from a long day. For him it was the opposite. Now was when his favorite time of day began, if he wasn’t stuck in the limbo of trying to get himself to sleep. But he had the day off tomorrow and could spend all of it sleeping if he wanted to, so tonight he wouldn’t be anxious about the lack of sleep he was getting, and instead fully indulge in the quiet sanctuary that was the library. 

Spencer sat in one of the armchairs, a book open on his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in over fifteen minutes. Something heavy about the history of Nobel Prize winners in chemistry. He was lost in thought, the events of the day fading into memory. 

Footsteps broke the silence, rubber soles squeaking against the linoleum floor, growing louder until they stopped just beside him. He looked up to see you standing there, two steaming paper mugs in your hands.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” you began, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.” 

You placed both mugs on the table in front of Spencer before flopping down into an armchair of your own. You had dungarees on and a soft maroon sweater underneath, matching your Converse. Spencer blinked, unable to form a sentence as he watched you get comfortable, picking up a book from the tote bag you always seemed to carry. He didn’t necessarily recognize the cover, but he knew of the author’s name.

“John Cooper Clarke? You’re into punk?” he heard himself ask before he could think twice about it. You didn’t even get the chance to start reading. 

You tilted your head. “You know who he is?” 

“I have a colleague who used to be goth in high school. Full on Siouxsie Sioux. And she has told me about JCC,” Spencer explained. 

Emily. She was the reason he knew about the “punk poet”. He still couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her yearbook photos from high school. Even less so when she would quote the same poem every single time they had to wait for something—the jet to get ready, blood samples and lab reports, Rossi to catch up when they had to run somewhere. Whatever it was, she would quote Evidently Chickentown. 

“Makes sense,” you replied. “He performed on the same bill as a lot of those early post-punk and goth bands.” 

Spencer smiled, quietly reciting, “The fucking train is fucking late. You fucking wait, you fucking wait.” 

“You’re fucking lost and fucking found. Stuck in fucking Chickentown.” You chuckled, picking up the line seamlessly. Spencer sounded like cursing was something alien to him, as if the crude words didn’t belong to his vocabulary. You found it sweet, yet unusual. “That poem is in this book! Along with the weird one about being someone’s vacuum cleaner, do you know that too?” 

“Uhm, no. I don’t think I know that one,” Spencer admitted, silently begging for you to read it to him. He would be just as excited as the children hearing you read aloud earlier. 

“If I’m annoying or distracting,” you said after a moment, “you can tell me to leave. I just sort of go insane spending all night here alone in silence.” 

He’d been sitting by himself, looking like he was reading a book about chemistry breakthroughs, and maybe that didn’t come across as someone who wanted to be talked to. Spencer at least assumed that was your thought process when shyly admitting that you were seeking company. 

“No, uhm, it’s okay. Thank you for the tea,” Spencer was quick to say before grabbing one of the mugs and taking a small sip. He didn’t want you to leave. If you were voluntarily talking to him, that was better than any made-up War and Peace-related plan he could come up with. 

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” he added. 

You told him your name in return, pointing to your name tag—a little yellow one with Winnie-the-Pooh on it—before reaching out your hand to him. He hadn’t noticed the tag before, and maybe that was because he didn’t want to get caught staring at your chest. 

He looked at your hand, the germaphobe in him coming to life as he observed your dainty fingers. At least in comparison to his own. The orange nail polish was gone and replaced by a simple black coat. Even your hands were cute to him, yet covered in bacteria. 

“Oh, I don’t do handshakes,” he said and took in your reaction, your smile fading as you retracted your hand and hid it in your pocket. 

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss,” he felt the need to explain. It was a simple fact, yet he didn’t think of the implications. Spencer’s eyes widened at the sound of his own voice, and he stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, “Uh… not that you and I—I mean, you know what I mean.”

You acted like you didn’t mind, keeping the conversation going without noticing the huge bump in the road that Spencer thought he had created. 

“But doesn’t the other person’s bacteria stay in you forever after you’ve kissed them?” you wondered, a crease forming between your brows as you thought about it. “Don’t quote me on it, but I’ve read that somewhere. It’s like eighty million bacteria exchanged on average in a french kiss, and that some of them stay and colonize, becoming part of your own… what’s it called?” Your voice trailed off, searching for the right word. 

“Microbiome?” he supplied. “The community of microorganisms found living together in one habitat?” 

“That’s the one!” You lit up with realization. “It’s horrifying and poetic that, after you’ve kissed someone, they become part of you forever.” 

He thought of the bacteria, while you thought of the internal battle of someone you’ve kissed staying with you forever. He blamed his background in STEM and his lack of experience with kissing for not seeing the big deal. 

“I’m sure it’s not in any way that’s noticeable to us. It’s modest at worst,” he tried to reassure. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what research you were referencing when mentioning the eighty million bacteria, or if it even was scientific research. Knowing a little bit about you, it could possibly be poetry about clinging to something or someone for too long. But he knew enough about microbiomes and their complexity that one exchange of saliva wouldn’t alter them majorly. Maybe in a constant way, but never majorly. 

“In the sense of bacteria colonizing?” you wondered, seeing Spencer nod. “Well, it’s still psychologically fucked up.” 

Spencer raised his eyebrows at your frankness, urging you to keep talking. 

“I would like to forget the fact that I made out with Cody Parker in ninth grade, but no, he’s stuck in my microbiome. That’s fucked up,” you laughed, gesturing with your hands in frustration. 

“Now, what was so bad about Cody?” 

You huffed before answering. “Captain of the football team. Is that enough of a reason to hate him?” 

Spencer could’ve guessed it from his name. Cody. He could imagine what he looked like and why you would’ve kissed him. Hell, Spencer would’ve probably kissed a guy like him too if given the chance at that delicate age of self-discovery. Just to have it done early, and as a bragging right for the future. His first kiss had been at a college party that he was too young to attend really, with some girl who probably saw him more as a little brother to care for rather than someone she was actually attracted to. 

“Do you also have a deep hatred for anyone that ever played high school football?” Spencer asked with a small, curious smile. 

“You could say that,” you admitted, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “I lost my virginity to Cody the same night, and then he stole my underwear and stuck them to my locker with a note that said I was up for grabs.” 

You laughed after you said it, but Spencer couldn’t help but wince. He understood why you laughed, a response to make something uncomfortable feel less serious, but he couldn’t believe that someone had done that to you. 

He was an annoying, know-it-all, little boy when he was in high school and had internally justified the bullying he had gone through by telling himself that football players and cheerleaders were just jealous and stupid, probably still stuck in their cliques, in Vegas working dead-end jobs. But you, you shone like light itself, and someone had still found a reason to humiliate you. It didn’t make sense. 

“The football team at my school tied me to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of a girl I had a crush on,” Spencer shared softly. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing. Not to make it seem like he’d had it worse, but to show that you had similarities. 

Your head turned sharply to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Not that we’re competing, but I think you win the bully-off we just had.” You straightened up in your seat, lifting your legs to sit criss-cross. “But you’re cute, though. Was the girl at least nice to you?”

Spencer looked down at his hands, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. You’d called him cute.He thought you were cute. It shouldn’t be the other way around. 

You stared at him like you were questioning his sanity while he reacted to the compliment.  It wasn’t him you were questioning, but the eyesight of all the people Spencer had around him, because why wasn’t he used to being complimented? It didn’t even necessarily need to be about their eyesight. They had to be deaf too, because just from hearing him talk, you were fascinated by the way his brain worked. 

“I graduated high school at the age of twelve, and she was like sixteen, so no, she didn’t care much,” he answered slowly, keeping his cool. He knew now that he never had a chance with the girl anyway, but twelve-year-old Spencer had been heartbroken, and, of course, humiliated. 

Your eyes turned even wider as he spoke. “Huh? Is that legal? Are you some kind of genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory,” Spencer admitted matter-of-factly. He didn’t know why it felt like a secret to tell people just how smart he was. In an academic sense, that is. 

“Certified genius,” you declared with a grin. 

“And I do introduce myself as Dr. Spencer Reid when I’m at work,” he added, emphasizing his name.

“You’ve got a PhD?” you asked. The crease between your brows seemed permanent at this point. 

“A few.” 

“More than one?” 

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. BAs in psychology and sociology,” Spencer rattled off, glancing at you cautiously to gauge your reaction.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “I would’ve hated you just as much as those football players.” 

“Not in the sense that I would’ve tied you to a goalpost,” you added quickly, “but more so that I would’ve been insanely jealous. I might still be jealous; the jury is out on that until you explain further.” 

Spencer gave a soft laugh, believing that you wouldn’t have been a mean girl. “Do you want to get into the reasons why certain people are smarter than others?” 

“No, I just…” Your voice trailed off, and you paused to take a sip of your tea. “Do you ever get freaked out over how people’s lives are vastly different even though they’ve spent the same amount of time on earth?” 

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“Like, we look similar in age but probably have very few shared experiences because you were born a genius and I was born…” you gestured vaguely, searching for the right words, coming up with nothing in the end. 

You were born… how exactly? Spencer tried to fill in the blank, but his guesses seemed almost offensive. “You don’t appear to be dumb,” Spencer countered gently. “You seem to be socially smarter than I am.” 

“Because I’m sat here oversharing high school stories with virtually a stranger?” you teased, almost self-deprecatingly, like your easy way of talking was a fault. 

And maybe that was true. Spencer knew what it was like to say too much at the wrong time, or have people turn uninterested mid-sentence when he was speaking. But he thought that stemmed from how bad he actually was at talking with people. And you were good at it, with a fluidity and humor to your speech that not many people had. 

“I’m not good with words, and you obviously are,” he settled on saying, earnestly. 

“No, not really. I was never good at anything. Always a straight B-student. It’s a damn mystery how I managed to get this job without a master’s degree,” you said with a shrug. “When I realized my own mediocrity in high school, I stopped trying. I thought it was much more fun to do drugs and get railed in the back of some college boy’s car. Spoiler alert, it’s not.” 

“R-railed?” Spencer stammered, nearly choking on his tea.

“Too crude of a word for you?” 

“No, I just would’ve never assumed—” 

“That I was a slut in my youth?” you retorted, staring him down. “I’m only messing with you, Spencer. Now I’m sober, and boring, and in on a three-year-long dry spell.”  

“We’re more similar than you think, so you don’t have to be freaked out about our lack of shared experiences,” Spencer said softly as realization struck him. 

“You also got railed by college boys?” you quipped, and Spencer let out an unexpected laugh, his cheeks reddening.

“No, uhm, I meant being sober from drugs, and the dry spell too,” he clarified quickly.

As the conversation stilled, Spencer noticed he still had the book on Nobel Prize winners opened in his lap. He shut it quietly and placed it on the table, carefully looking at you as you sipped your tea. Your own book was long forgotten too, sliding down the side of your seat. You ran your fingers over your knees, still sitting cross-legged, nails rasping against your denim dungarees. You weren’t scared to look right back at him, not scared to be with him in silence for a moment. He watched as your eyes drifted to his book, struggling to read the title upside down.  

“What does an actual genius do for a living? And why can he spend so much time at a library in the middle of the night?” you asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, turning the book to see. 

“Do you want to guess?” he asked, not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because he sensed you were about to guess anyway. 

“You’re probably some sort of professor, teaching and researching something I couldn’t even begin to fathom,” you speculated, resting your chin on your hand, flipping through the pages. “You’re also away for like a week at a time and then back here for a week, so you must travel. Maybe you go to conventions and guest lectures. Have you ever done a TED talk?” 

You noticed his patterns. That he had noticed yours was no surprise. He noticed everyone’s. But you had noticed his, meaning that you cared enough to mind when he was at the library multiple nights a week and when he wasn’t. What did that tell Spencer? Absolutely nothing he could make sense of. 

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not a professor, though I have done a couple guest lectures,” he explained, waiting for you to continue guessing. 

“Do you work for some tech company then? Are you secretly a billionaire?” 

“Nope, I make a humble living compared to the work I put in.” 

“So, the public sector then,” you deduced at the same time as a bell could be heard. 

You quickly whipped your head around, straining to see the front desk, where an awfully stressed-out student could be found, holding some heavy book on human anatomy that Spencer knew had to be checked out manually. 

“Oh, fuck—” you muttered, quickly standing up, momentarily lost. “I should probably get back to work.” 

“Don’t forget your bag,” Spencer hurried to say before you could leave without it. The Kick Inside. Was that a reference to pregnancy? Maybe Spencer should look into Kate Bush to have another thing to talk to you about. 

You picked up your book and paper mug, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and gave him one last smile. “Do you know you have the face of a genius?” 

“W-what?” he questioned, unsure of why you’d said that. 

“It’s a lyric from a song on this album. It made me think of you,” you said, pointing to the bag, before walking away to the front desk to do what you were paid to do. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The next time Spencer talked to you was exactly two weeks and one day later. They’d been on a case in California, which naturally led to him not seeing you. But then when he was back, you weren’t working. He spent three days filling out reports at the office, waiting for time to go so that he could take the train home and go to the library, and when he showed up, you weren’t even there. 

Two weeks he planned what to say to you. The last three days of those felt like torture, not knowing where you were. On the fourth day, you were finally back. And Spencer wasn’t shy. And he could justify his reason for talking to you. Two weeks and one day ago, you had talked to him first. 

It was early December, and the first snow fell softly outside as he walked into the warmth of the library. He knew immediately that you were back working because you were the first thing he saw. Perched on a small stool near the front desk and the display shelf of seasonal books, you were stacking books into a makeshift Christmas tree. Carefully selected covers in colors of red and green were stacked into circles, narrowing as you built upward, creating somewhat of a tree shape.

You hummed softly as you worked, occasionally glancing down at the growing stack with concentration. As you reached for another book, you were stopped in your tracks by the telltale sound of footsteps against the library’s linoleum floor. Footsteps that could only be made by a pair of Converse. 

“I listened to The Kick Inside.” 

Looking over your shoulder, you found him standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a small smile on his face. Your hands paused mid-placement as you looked down at him, brows lifting in surprise. “You did?” 

“Creative use of resources, by the way,” Spencer mentioned, picking up a book from the pile and handing it to you, his long fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. “Did a song about incest really make you think of me?” 

“Oh, no. Just that singular lyric.” You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s inspired by some old English folklore, I think.” Balancing on the stool, you placed the book carefully onto the stack, leaning back to eye the structure.

“A murder ballad called Lizie Wan. Her brother got her pregnant, and then he killed her.” Spencer supplied, his tone instinctively slipping into lecture mode. He stepped closer and shed his coat to drape it over a nearby chair as he continued to hand you books. 

You made a face. “Well, did you like it? The album, I mean. Not the incest.” 

“I understand why youlike it. It’s very… you,” Spencer explained, hoping it made sense. It was theatrical and wacky. Feminine too, in a brutal way, only archivable in lyrics written by an adolescent girl. Spencer wasn’t a music lover by any means, but even he could hear that it was undeniably good, just not his taste. “Is Wuthering Heights perhaps your favorite classic novel?” 

“No, not at all. I think it’s a stupid book and a stupid song,” you said. 

Spencer handed you another book, his eyes darting between the growing tree and your face. The grin you put on betrayed your monotone voice. 

“Okay, no. I adore it,” you admitted. “It’s a nightmare to read, and I fully believe Emily was clinically insane, but I can’t help but love dark and twisted women. One review at the time when it was first published questioned how she could’ve finished writing it without committing suicide. That’s badass.” 

“Do you know that Kate hadn’t even read the book when she wrote the song? She just watched some TV adaptation, which is why the names are all messed up,” you continued as you perfectly balanced the book he gave you onto the others. You’d soon be done at this pace. 

“I did notice that she sang Cathy instead of Catherine, and Cathy is the daughter, right?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “So if you know the book, the song totally reads like a love song between Heathcliff and his dead lover’s daughter.” 

“That’s disturbing,” Spencer concluded. “I can’t help but think that Brontë would’ve loved it.” 

Your lips twitched into a smile, but you didn’t comment further, too focused on your Christmas tree. He handed you another book in silence and saw how your nails were now painted red with little white snowflakes on some of them. He wondered if you painted them yourself. You were back to wearing your usual slacks and cardigan. This time a white one that looked terribly comfortable and wintery. In your hair you had a red ribbon tied into a bow, matching, as always, your red Converse. 

After a moment, you spoke. “You were gone for a while, again. Who in the public sector travels that much? I hope you’re not a politician.” 

“No, I’m not,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’m with the FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

You blinked, looking down at him in mild shock. “You’re a profiler?”

He nodded.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. And it’s scary as hell. No wonder you’ve got insomnia, probably messed up from all the murders you’ve solved.” 

“I’m not making fun of you,” you added quickly. “I’ve obviously got it too; I wouldn’t be working the night shift voluntarily otherwise.”

Spencer handed you the final book for the top tier, his gaze steady on you. “You weren’t here for a couple of days either. I had to talk to Omar, and he’s not as good of a conversationalist.” 

You snorted. “Period cramps from hell,” you said casually, knowing it was the fastest way to end questions. 

Spencer also knew that it was a common lie told by women to men. And he wasn’t the kind of person to be grossed out by basic biology. He might have issues with pathogens and handshakes, but he had no issues talking about the human body. 

“Bold move to lie to a profiler,” he remarked, tilting his head slightly.

“I didn’t necessarily lie—” 

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth.” 

He waited, silent and expectant.

You sighed, and for once your gaze was scared to meet his. “I’m kind of…depressed. Probably just seasonal, I fucking hate the winter. Spent three days on my living room floor, in some sort of verbal shutdown, just staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’m even human.”  

Spencer’s brows knit together, concern flickering across his face. “Do you feel better now?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you said, forcing a small smile.

Before Spencer could respond, the precarious stack of books wobbled. You tried to steady it, but the entire top layer you’d just finished collapsed in a cascade of covers and pages, books tumbling to the floor in a loud crash. You stepped down from the stool quickly, and Spencer instinctively grabbed you by the hand so that you wouldn’t fall. He didn’t even have time to think about germs. 

“You’re legally allowed to shoot me in the head,” you said with a disbelieving sigh. 

“You can’t consent to murder,” Spencer replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“But you can consent to bodily harm, right? So maybe you can shoot me in the foot at least?”

“That’s more reserved for sports and medical procedures. Shooting you would still be a crime even if you coerced me,” he explained. 

“Sadomasochism too, right? You can consent to sexually inflicted pain?” 

“Ehm—” Spencer mouth got dry, and his cheeks flushed red. “Well yes, technically.” 

“So you really can’t figure out a way for me to not have to work another day this year?” you asked, leaning down to pick up one of the fallen books.

Now, if Spencer was as socially smart as you were, he’d notice you were flirting. Maybe even insinuating that you’d be okay with a sexual injury that resulted in you staying home from work the rest of December. But Spencer was surprisingly dumb for having such a high IQ. And his ears sort of started ringing as soon as you mentioned sex, so he wasn’t sure he’d even heard you correctly. 

“Not if you need the money, no,” he replied, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips.

“Some kind of genius you are, Spence,” you teased, shoving the book in his hands before crouching to start rebuilding the tree. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

After that conversation, Spencer helped you rebuild the Christmas tree. He’d handed you book after book with a quiet determination, his brow furrowing slightly as if the arrangement were a problem he needed to solve. Occasionally, he would pause to ask you a question about your favorite winter-themed books or share an anecdote about an obscure author. All throughout December, Spencer became a constant presence during your night shifts.

You found him fascinating to listen to, even if he seemed to doubt himself midway through every tangent. His voice would falter, and he’d look up at you with a quick, “Is this boring?” or “Am I rambling?” as if he needed reassurance that you were still interested.

You always were. At this point, he could probably recite the yellow pages, and you’d still find it captivating. Knowing him and his eidetic memory, he most likely could do it on the spot if you asked him.

December always moved slowly for you. Students crammed into every corner, poring over their textbooks and laptops as they prepared for finals. The library was busy, but there was a strange liminal quality to your evenings, the dark winter nights stretching endlessly as you walked the halls, organizing books and straightening shelves.

You wouldn’t admit it to yourself just yet, but because of this heavy feeling, you found yourself sat at the front desk, waiting for Spencer to walk through those doors. You now knew that he was a busy man—a brilliant, busy man with a job more important than yours, so you stopped expecting him to show up, getting positively surprised every time he did instead. 

On the 23rd of December, Spencer walked through the entrance at exactly 9:32 p.m. You knew the time because you’d been watching the seconds tick by on the digital clock of the computer’s screensaver.

You straightened your back, softly smiling as he made his way up to you. Sometimes, you had to go on little treasure hunts to find him in the library, but today, he didn’t appear to be shy to approach you first.

With a soft thud he placed a heavy book on the counter, one you immediately recognized as War and Peace, in Russian. Your heart lifted slightly. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been waiting for the day the loan would expire, so that he either had to return it or extend it. 

“Have you finished comparing them now?” you asked, eyeing the book.

“No, uhm,” Spencer hesitated, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Is it possible to extend it?” 

“I’ll have to check,” you replied, tapping at the keyboard. “It’s quite a popular book. A lot of Russian diplomats in D.C.”

You pretended to eye the screen, searching for whatever you were searching for, when you already knew that it wouldn’t be an issue to extend the loan. He didn’t have to know that, though. 

“Are you doing anything special for the holidays, Spencer?” you asked, to make it appear like small talk while you were tapping away at the keyboard, mindlessly clicking between pages of the software you used.  

“I might make it to Las Vegas to see my mom. I don’t know if I’ll have the time, though.” Spencer’s lips quirked in a small smile. “What about you? How will you celebrate Christmas?”

You knew by now that it was a dumb question to ask if he had a lot of work to do. He didn’t have a normal schedule, sometimes getting called in the middle of the night to fly across the country. 

“I’ll probably be here,” you admitted. “We’re closed for two days, and then over New Year’s, but otherwise I’ll be working. Might go see my dad if I have the time and he’s feeling up for it. Nothing major. Do you have plans for New Year’s, Spence?”

He opened his mouth to respond but paused, tilting his head slightly. “I, uh— Sorry, what’s that on the radio?”

You cocked your head, listening to the faint news broadcast filtering in from the staff break room that had caught his attention. You always had it on to not go insane from the silence. All afternoon it had been occupied with the same emergency broadcast. “Oh, you haven’t heard about it? I honestly thought you’d be working the case.”

“What case?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Some senator was kidnapped, and another one was shot. Apparently no one heard or saw a thing, but they can’t figure out how since the neighborhood has, like, crazy good security.” 

“Kidnapped in his own home?” 

“Mhm. I think they used the helipad, but Janice and Charlotte didn’t believe me.” You gestured toward the corner where the two older women usually sat knitting and reading romance novels. “Y’know, the regulars?”

“You think the kidnappers used a helicopter, without being heard or seen?” Spencer asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. “How would they even get access to a helicopter?” 

“If you know how to find and operate one, certain helicopters are easier to steal than cars. No locks in the way or keys needed,” you explained as if it were common knowledge. 

Usually, this was the point in a conversation where you would shut up, thinking that you’d crossed into boring territory. But by the look on Spencer’s face, he just wanted to hear more about it. 

“And if the security guards are all at the entrance to the gated community, I think you could go unnoticed. It’s close to the air force base, there are probably aircraft flying there on the daily.” You shrugged, a little self-conscious. “This job gives me a lot of free time to overthink things.” 

Spencer smiled in slight disbelief. “How do you know how to steal a helicopter?” 

“My dad was in the air force,” you explained. “From Fork Union to Master Sergeant. With today’s standards he’d probably be diagnosed with autism, but back when he was working, he was mostly just known as the guy who knew everything about every type of aircraft.” 

You scrunched your face at the thought of your dad. You adored him, you really did, but he hadn’t given you the easiest of childhoods. That meaning being stuck with your mother because he was away a lot for work. 

“What was that look for?” Spencer asked, because of course he realized stuff like that. 

“I have tried so hard all my life to not be like my mother that I unconsciously picked up my father’s personality instead,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Spencer’s expression softened. “I despise my father, so I’m doing the opposite. Turning into my schizophrenic mother.” 

“My dad got sick too,” you said quietly. “That’s why he stopped working. And why my mother divorced him. He lives at a care facility by the coast now.” 

Before Spencer could respond, a buzzing noise came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

“Duty calling?” you asked. 

Spencer hesitated before nodding.

“I don’t think I can extend this, by the way,” you said, picking up the copy of War and Peace, placing it behind you on a shelf with other returned books. 

“That’s fine—” he began, but you cut him off.

“I do, however, have another solution,” you said, standing up from your chair to go into the staff room. With quick steps, you grabbed your tote bag, the one with the Kate Bush album on it, and walked back out. Spencer stared at you in confusion as you pulled out a book, not wrapped in paper or anything special, but there was a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around it. 

Spencer recognized it immediately as the same type of fabric you often wore in your hair.

“I have no one else to buy gifts for, so I thought I might as well. You won’t have to keep loaning it over and over again,” you said with a shy smile, handing it to him. 

Spencer stared at it, his hands hesitating before taking it. A Russian copy of War and Peace. A nice one too. Hardcover with gold leaf embossment. “Thank you…” he said softly. “I feel bad now. I don’t have anything to give to you.”

“You’ve made my night shifts a lot less depressing these last months,” you replied. “That’s enough of a gift to me, Spencer.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue but closed it again, nodding instead. “You know I’m not good with words,” he said after a pause, “or sometimes I think I might be too good with them. I say too much too quickly—”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you interrupted, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “A d-date?” 

“Y’know, we go somewhere, maybe get some food, and then we talk. And if it leads somewhere, it leads somewhere.” You hesitated, your confidence wavering. “If I misread this entirely, that’s fine. You don’t have to say yes. But I’d like to keep your company during my night shifts, if I haven’t ruined that completely now by admitting that I find you attractive.”

“No, no, uhm—” Spencer stammered, his cheeks now fully pink. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked out this directly before.” 

You held your breath as he gathered himself. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

A grin broke across your face. “Good, so how about those New Year’s Eve plans?” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The D.C. police office buzzed with activity despite the late hour. Phones rang, officers rushed past with files in hand, and the muted hum of fluorescent lights filled the air. Spencer stepped into the building, his scarf still loosely draped around his neck and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold December air. From the side of his messenger bag, a red ribbon could be seen peeking out. 

“Spencer, where the hell have you been?” Morgan’s voice rang out from across the room. He strode toward Spencer, his brow furrowed with equal parts concern and frustration.

“At the library,” Spencer replied, unwinding his scarf as he spoke. His tone was calm, almost as if the answer were obvious. “I came as soon as I heard.” 

Morgan crossed his arms. “At ten at night?” 

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze darting briefly to the floor before meeting Morgan’s eyes again. “There’s one open all hours of the day.” 

Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Spencer’s lips twitched as if suppressing the grin threatening to break through. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat in an effort to sound composed.

Morgan tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. “Uh-huh. Sure it is. Library must’ve gotten a whole lot more interesting since the last time I was there.”

Spencer ignored the comment, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We should look into stolen helicopters in the area. I think that’s how they got in.” 

Morgan’s smirk faded as his professional demeanor returned. “Helicopters? That’s a hell of a theory. What makes you think that?”

Spencer adjusted the strap of his bag, his fingers fidgeting slightly. “The location of the kidnapping is close to an air force base. Certain small helicopters are relatively easy to steal—no locks or keys required. If the neighborhood security was focused on the main entrance, a helicopter could bypass them entirely. Given the proximity to the base, it’s plausible they used the airspace to their advantage.”

Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, genius, I’ll get Garcia to pull up any reports of stolen aircraft in the area. Nice ribbon, by the way, really pulls your outfit together.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––

If December in general was slow for you, the holidays were fucking dreadful. Your dad had a cold and could not receive visitors, so you ended up spending Christmas Eve at a party—two hours sober between drunk friends, and then you had enough. Christmas Day was spent on your couch, watching all five hours of Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander, eating your body weight in Chinese takeout. 

You did get a postcard from your dad, a pretty coastal view on it that was of the beach he lived by. He also sent a pair of hand-knitted socks, a hobby you knew had been forced upon him by the older ladies he lived with at the care facility. His squiggly writing was harder and harder to decipher with every year that passed, but it still filled you with immense joy that his mind seemed to be bright even if his body wasn’t. 

From your mother you also got a postcard. A pretty coastal view was on it too, from Bali, where she was spending Christmas with her new partner. Hers wasn’t handwritten, instead only printed with a generic Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. No thought put behind it. 

You placed your father’s on the fridge, hung with a magnet you knew he’d gotten you when he was abroad for work in England. Your mother’s ended up being a perfect makeshift and temporary coaster on your living room table. Within days you had to throw it out because the paper had been ruined by tea stains. 

When you were back at work, the library was even quieter than normal, which honestly was to be expected. Janice came by to borrow some new romance novels to have over New Years. Some poor students had deadlines due first thing in January. But still, so calm you might even call it boring. And you loved this job. 

You sat at the front desk, flipping through a worn-out copy of a poetry collection by Patti Smith. You’d fallen down a hole of punk literature ever since you talked about JCC with Spencer. He didn’t seem like the kind to like said literature, but he had talked with you about it anyway. It was a tradeoff maybe, quid pro quo; he got to geek out about Tolstoy and Nobel Prize winners, and you got to talk about British bands and Vivienne Westwood. He’d actually really seemed to enjoy the irony of her bringing French 18th-century aristocracy into clothing worn by the most alternative and radical people in punk-era London.  

Deep down in thought, you barely heard when the entrance door opened. It was a gust of freezing cold wind that made you look up from your slouched position. In walked a man, obviously bothered by the weather, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room as he walked forward. He was followed by… 

“Spencer?” you wondered, standing. “You should be in Vegas.”

Spencer didn’t even have time to answer before his companion did. “Serial killers don’t care about the holidays, miss,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “SSA Derek Morgan.”

“You’re working the senator case, aren’t you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. “It’s turned into a serial case?” you rambled before shaking your head. “You probably can’t tell me the details anyway.”

Morgan gave a tight smile. “Not exactly.” He gestured toward Spencer. “We need your help with a quote. Spencer said you were the only person he could think of who might know it.”

“I didn’t say that—” Spencer tried to explain. 

“Don’t you have search engines and databases for things like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We do, but nothing came up,” Spencer replied. “And I don’t recognize it for the life of me.” 

“Must suck to be a genius, Spence,” you chuckled. “What’s the quote?” 

Morgan pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter. Written in bold, smeared letters that looked disturbingly like blood were the words: Whoever is strong must also be good. 

“Jeez, give a girl a warning,” you muttered, grimacing slightly as you studied the photo.

It answered your question about whether or not it had turned into a serial case, because this was a place where someone had been murdered, and it wasn’t some fancy senator mansion this time, but more what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

“Ehm… I honestly don’t know. I mean, it’s a very simple quote. I could come up with that.” You tilted your head thoughtfully. You weren’t sure why Spencer had thought of coming to you when faced with this problem. You knew of a bunch of books and quotes, sure, but you were honestly mostly known around your workplace as the one who knew all about children’s bo— 

“Oh, oh! It’s sort of similar to a quote from a children’s book, but very badly paraphrased in that case.” 

Morgan straightened. “Can you show us?” 

You were already walking out from behind your desk when he asked, making your way to the children’s section with quick steps. The two taller men following. “Ever heard of Pippi Longstocking?” you questioned over your shoulder as you walked. 

Morgan looked skeptical and Spencer for once, too, like he didn’t recognize the name at all. 

“I would assume that you had a more refined taste in literature as a child and did not waste your time with translated Swedish fairytales about the strongest girl in the world,” you added, finally reaching the right shelf, filled with thin books with bright yellow covers.

As you ducked down, you practically disappeared out of view for the two of them, squatting on the floor while picking out the right book. 

Spencer perked up, smiling gently. “My mother is a professor in 15th-century literature. She used to read to me a lot.” 

“That’ll do it,” you concluded, flipping through the pages. “We use it sometimes for kids’ reading hours, that’s why I recognize it. Popular with bilingual and immigrant children too since it’s been translated to over 70 languages.” 

Spencer knelt down beside you, reading over your shoulder. You knew he was a quick reader, but when you knew what you were looking for, you were quicker. 

“Here!” you pointed out on a page, disturbed by the look of your chipped red nail polish. “The quote in English is ’If you are very strong, you must also be very kind’.” 

“That’s oddly similar,” Spencer agreed. 

“It might be translated. I can look into our non-English books.” 

You didn’t even wait for an answer before you started walking again, forcing Spencer and Morgan to follow suit. Down a corridor of shelves with children’s books, around a corner, to a new shelf, and then you ducked down on the floor, quickly scanning the spines. It was all children’s books divided into different languages. You picked whatever yellow spine you could see, collecting them in your arms before you sat down right on the floor. You knew the cleaning lady, she was great at her job. 

“The story is from the 1940s but still relevant. Pippi is an orphan living in a big yellow house with her horse and monkey, and has to fight with adults and authorities, saying that she can’t survive on her own. Honestly quite progressive,” you explained as you gave Spencer a copy in Russian, trying to hand a different one to Morgan before realizing that not all agents had the skills of Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“How’d she get the house?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms.

“Her dad is a sea captain and a king over some fictive island. She’s rich,” you replied matter-of-factly.

As you sat there on the floor, books spread around you, searching and comparing to the English version, talking about the pure feminism and boldness of a female author creating such a character during that time period, Spencer found you fascinating. Like a dancer, you had moved through the rows of shelves, with a grace and a crazy smile, firing you up. 

He had sensed it as soon as the unit stumbled upon the issue with finding the quote, that if someone was going to know this simple, moral-of-the-story quote to feed down the throats of children, it’d be you. 

“I don’t think it’s Russian,” Spencer said after finding the right page. ‘Kind’ didn’t turn into ‘good’ like it had in whatever way the unsub had paraphrased it. 

Morgan gave Spencer a sidelong glance. “Do you even need me here for this conversation?”

You ignored the comment, pulling out a book and flipping through its pages. “The missing senator has a German surname, right?”

Both Spencer and Morgan turned to you with confused faces. 

You shrugged. “I watch the news, okay? I’m alone here all night!”

With the German version in your hand, you scanned the pages for the quote. “Oh, look! My high school German might finally be paying off.” You read aloud, “‘Wer stark ist, muss auch gut sein.’”

You stood up and showed the book to Spencer, pointing to the quote. “‘Kind’ turns into ‘gut’, which can translate back to ‘good’,” you explained, even if you felt like he probably didn’t need it. Morgan might’ve found it useful at least. “Whoever is strong must also be good, right? That make sense?”

Morgan leaned against the shelf, rubbing his chin. “So, the quote is from a Swedish children’s book, translated into German, and then badly paraphrased into English? What do we do with that?”

You shrugged, closing the book. “I just know what it says. I don’t know what it means.” 

Spencer paced as he thought out loud. “The unsub has to be a woman.” 

 “Who speaks German?” Morgan added, mostly out of confusion. 

“And she most likely identifies with the abandonment issues of the girl in the book, and having to be independent at a young age,” Spencer added, a light in his eyes shone like the stereotypical picture of a lightbulb turning on when an idea was formed.  

Morgan glanced at Spencer. “Reid, didn’t the senator have a daughter?” 

You watched them as they spoke, unsure if this was even new information to them or something they were reciting to jog their own memories of the case. 

“So, wait, was I helpful?” you asked a little self-consciously, looking around, seeing the mess of bright yellow children's books on the floor. 

Spencer nodded, his excitement bubbling over. “Yes, yes, your brain is unbelievable! Thank you so much.” Without thinking, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you in a brief but firm hug. You felt him stiffen slightly, his germaphobe instincts clearly battling his enthusiasm, but he didn’t pull away immediately. You knew he didn’t do handshakes, so the thought of him hugging you felt even more abnormal. His voice was soft as he added, “I mean it.”

Before you could respond, Morgan cleared his throat, a teasing grin on his face. “Alright, Romeo, we’ve got to get moving.”

Spencer stepped back quickly, fumbling with his feet. “Right, of course.”

You hesitated, looking up at Spencer’s flushed face, before softly hurrying to ask, “Are our plans for New Year’s Eve still on?” 

He grinned, walking away. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer did miss it. Or in thirty-two minutes he would. He watched the clock on the wall in his hospital room with an anxious feeling. The fragments from a bullet had just been removed from his arm, and yet his biggest worry wasn’t the lingering ache in his arm—it was you.

“Your first date with her was supposed to be in a park at midnight? Do you realize how creepy that sounds?” Prentiss’s voice broke through his thoughts as Morgan had just explained why the first word they heard from Spencer as they had been allowed to enter his hospital room was your name. 

“Could you stop yelling at me while I’m literally in a hospital bed?” Spencer shot back. He wasn’t one to complain, and he could hear the humor in her voice, but if he were to complain, now wouldn’t be an awful time. 

Morgan leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smile playing on his lips. “They’re both insomniacs and were going to watch the fireworks. It’s sort of sweet.”

They hadn’t been able to just get the unsub when they figured out who it was. It had taken them days to plan their attack, knowing that the daughter would kill her father if they ambushed the place. A senator being killed because they had rushed their strategy wasn’t a defense that would hold up in any internal investigation. 

So they waited and waited, mapping out the place where he had been taken, trying to get the daughter to leave. But she persisted, and an ambush was in the end the best choice anyway. Spencer hadn’t been shot directly. The daughter’s boyfriend had fired a shot, landing in the wall behind him, which left fragments flying all over. Some grazing his right arm, leaving it now fully bandaged. He’d also managed to hit his head on a beam while being lead out of the building afterwards, so he had three stitches on his forehead and blood in his hair. 

It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He’d been through worse. Which was why he now felt restless in the hospital bed, just waiting to be discharged. He wouldn’t make it in time to see you anyway, but maybe he could at least call you and tell you what had happened so that you didn’t wait outside in the cold for him. 

He didn’t even have his phone on him, now that he thought of it. Or your number. 

Restless and impossible, the situation was. 

He had Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Garcia all in his room. Just restlessly waiting too. Hotch was somewhere talking to a nurse about getting him out of here. Garcia was anxiously knitting. Rossi was half asleep while standing. Prentiss and Morgan were bickering about whether or not his date plans were cute or creepy. There was a radio in his room playing some sort of New Year’s program, almost taunting him by mentioning how time was closing up on the clock striking midnight. Some sort of reverse Cinderella, that was what he felt like. 

With a slow knock on the doorframe, Hotch announced that he was back. “They don’t know when they can release you, and, uhm…” he began, poised as usual, though he was fighting a smile. “Look who I stumbled upon in the reception,” he continued, stepping aside as you appeared in the doorway.

It was probably all over the news that the senator case had been solved and that officers and agents had been harmed in the process. And you listened to the news, like religiously. 

“You got shot…” you whispered, your voice trailing off as you took in the sight of him, pale but upright in the hospital bed.

“Oh, oh, is this her?” Prentiss asked as the entire unit watched as you entered the room.

They already knew your name. Now they knew what you looked like too. 

You were all done up. Date ready. For Spencer. You had on a black coat, covered in little snowflakes from being outside, but underneath he could spot a dress that sparkled like diamonds. You had red ribbons in your hair like usual and your Converse, squeaking from being wet against the hospital floors. No tights, and while Spencer worried you might be cold, he also knew from Garcia that you just couldn’t wear tights with certain dresses. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Garcia said, practically swooning. She nudged Spencer playfully. “Spencer, she’s gorgeous.”

Rossi stepped forward, clapping a hand on Garcia’s shoulder. “Maybe we should give them some time alone.”

Hotch, ever the professional and hopeless romantic, nodded. “We’ll be down the hall if you need anything, Reid.”

“Or pressed up against the door to eavesdrop,” Garcia added, earning a pointed look from Hotch as they all filed out, leaving you and Spencer alone.

The door shut with a click behind you as you stood flat on your feet in the middle of the room. You looked almost scared to move. 

“We were supposed to go on a date, and you got shot, Spencer.” 

The words left your mouth in nothing but shock. You didn’t even have time to be embarrassed over his colleagues being there and almost making fun of the situation because all you had in your head was the ringing sound of a gun firing and Spencer being the target. 

“I’m okay, I promise,” he reassured gently, reaching out his unharmed arm to you. 

You tentatively moved forward, almost in an inspective manner, seeing where he was hurt and not. With his hand reached out in your direction, you assumed he was fine with you touching it. You grabbed it gently, and Spencer spotted that your nails were just as sparkly as your dress. 

“You. Got. Shot.” You emphasized every word, scooting to sit on the side of his bed. “Like a bullet penetrating your skin kind of shot. That’s insane.” 

“It didn’t actually penetrate the skin, more like grazed me with fragments after it hit the wall behind me,” Spencer tried to explain. The bandage looked dramatic but all that was under it were scratches, basically. 

“But still—” you began, but he cut you off.

“You look very pretty.” 

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Don’t change the subject.” 

“But you do. I like you in red,” he insisted, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I always wear red,” you pointed out.

“And I guess I always like you then,” he replied simply. 

You tilted your head, a teasing grin forming. “Did they give you something strong for the pain? What kind of smooth talking is this?” 

“I, uh— I got nothing for the pain, y’know—” He gestured vaguely.

“Drugs and that?” you filled in. 

“Yeah.” 

You didn’t press further. He figured you understood. Not that you had talked about it more than briefly. But you were sober, and he was sober, and breaking a sober streak even in a hospital setting was nothing easy. The pain from the fragments being removed was only temporary. The aftermath of any sort of prescription painkiller was a long-term thing for people like him. And maybe you. 

In silence, Spencer moved to the side of the bed, a way of notifying you that you could come sit higher up beside him. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you grabbed his, and when you scooted to sit so that your right arm touched his left one, he felt himself tense up at the closeness. While you still had your coat on, it was like a fire spread through it to his hospital gown and in turn his skin. 

You toed off your shoes, kicking them on the floor, as you lifted your legs to place them alongside his. “So, was it the daughter? Did she shoot you?” you asked, turning to look at him with wonder in your eyes. 

“Her boyfriend did. Helicopter pilot, by the way,” Spencer answered, gaze stuck on how your hand held his, perched in his lap over a thin blanket. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “No fucking way. I was right?” 

“You’re smarter than you realize,” he replied, his tone earnest.

You looked like a child on Christmas with the way happiness spread across your face. A happiness of being right, not over the situation. That was a given.

“It was the same old tale about a rich man abandoning his child and them later seeking financial compensation for it, thinking they’re entitled to their parents wealth after they’ve practically been left to live on the streets,” Spencer explained. Journalists would’ve figured out the motive as soon as it was public that is was the daughter, so he didn’t think he was breaking any protocol by telling you. 

“And those are the good kind of senators,” you quipped, earning a small laugh from Spencer. You could see that his tired body didn’t react particularly well to the sudden vibration in his chest. 

Your hand dropped his, only momentarily to soothingly caress his chest. He moved to hold yours again, keeping his held against his ticking heartbeat. You were so close. 

The second he could think that, you whipped your head around at the sound of a thud. It was outside, a flashing light coming through the window. 

“Oh my god, you can see the fireworks from here too,” you whispered, jaw dropped. 

Spencer turned his head, following your gaze. Bright colors lit up the night sky, faint booms audible even through the thick hospital walls. Both hands on the clock were on twelve. 

“It’s also a lot warmer in here than the park would’ve been,” Spencer mused, squeezing your hand in his. 

He could almost feel you relax as you watched the colorful explosions go off in the night sky. You leaned into his side, the side of your face carefully placed on his shoulder. In this cold, sterile hospital room, you filled him with tepidity. He glanced down at your face; cute was the only word that came to mind. The subjective Spencer-esque way of defining it. You had silver glitter on your eyelids that twinkled whenever you blinked. Your lips had been glossy but were now mostly bitten raw from being anxious. 

Spencer could only think of one thing as he took you in. 

“Would you mind me becoming part of your microbiome?” he whispered. 

You blinked, startled by the question, looking right up at him. He hadn’t even wanted to shake your hand when he introduced himself that first time. But kissing was, according to him, more sanitary anyway. You hadn’t been nervous for a kiss since you were in high school, yet this paralyzed you. It was terrifying, looking at him, feeling an invisible force pulling you towards him, towards his face, towards his lips. 

“W-what if some bacteria from Cody Parker becomes a part of you now?” you joked, buying time to collect yourself.  

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied easily, his face now dangerously close to yours. 

Your breath caught as he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours. You were both tentative at first, his hand still holding yours clasped over his chest. With your other hand, you pushed his hair from the side of his face, cradling his cheek as you deepened the kiss, touch by touch. 

Spencer had never had a New Year’s kiss before. He wasn’t sure this was considered one either. The clock was probably 12:07 if he were to estimate. 

From the hallway, Garcia’s voice could be heard through the door. “Oh my god, he kissed her.”

“Shut up, Garcia, I’m trying to see,” Prentiss whispered harshly.

You pulled back, laughter bubbling up as Spencer’s cheeks flushed deep red. Despite his embarrassment, a shy smile lingered on his face. The fireworks outside continued, unnoticed by the two of you, as you leaned in to kiss him again. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The apartment was quiet as you stepped inside, the muffled hum of the city beyond the windows the only sound accompanying your footsteps. Spencer moved carefully, his movements stiff and hesitant from the pain radiating from his arm. Two pairs of Converse stood on his doormat. One pair of simple black ones. Another pair of smaller, red ones. 

“You need to shower, Spencer. There’s coagulated blood in your hair,” you said, setting his bag down on the floor before reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, it all sticking together in a knot. 

He groaned softly, glancing toward the bathroom, then at the inviting sight of his bed just a little bit further down the hallway. “When I, for once, feel like I could fall asleep just looking at a bed?” 

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. 

“No, you’re right. I just—” He hesitated. “How am I going to do it with this on my arm?” 

“I’ll help you,” you offered immediately, then Spencer could see the realization hit you. “O-or maybe we can call Morgan, or someone else that you trust—”

His face twisted in mock horror. “I’d rather die than have Morgan wash my hair.” 

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, firmer than intended. 

“You don’t have to pretend around me.” Your expression softened. “When was the last time you were naked in front of someone?” 

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Ehm, I—” 

“Never?” you asked, far from in the teasing manner he was used to. 

“Do doctors count?” he muttered, his face flushed.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands together, stepping back slightly. “We’ll work around this to make you comfortable. Do you have swim shorts?” 

“Yeah, that could work.” 

Spencer retreated into his bedroom while he saw you go into the bathroom. It wasn’t easy for him to get out of his clothes and into the shorts, but he managed in the end. He spotted himself in his full-length mirror just as he was about to exit the bedroom. Tall and scrawny. Bandaged all over his right arm. Dressed in light blue shorts with flamingoes on them that Garcia had gotten him, as a joke he thought or she could have been completely serious. You never knew. 

This was about to be the closest he’d been to another person while wearing so little clothing. And that was terrifying. No other word for it. It didn’t matter that you had kissed. Twice at the hospital. Once in the taxi home. Another small one as you helped him unlock his front door. Still terrifying. 

It wouldn’t get easier the longer he waited, so he stepped out of his bedroom, too self-conscious to look at you, already rambling before you even noticed him.  

“Don’t laugh, Garcia bought them for me when we had a case in Florida—”  

“They’re cute,” you simply said, sat on the edge of his bathtub. 

When he lifted his gaze to see you, you’d also changed. Or maybe undressed was a better word. Your dress was gone, and left were a pair of spandex shorts he imagined you had on under for comfort and warmth, maybe? And your bra. A simple black bra. 

“You—” Spencer couldn’t form a sentence. 

“I thought I’d make it even,” you shrugged, standing up. “Can you get in the tub without hurting yourself further?” 

Spencer pressed his lips together to keep his posture. He nodded, as he at least though he’d be able to sit down on his own. But no. His balance betrayed him as he had both feet down on the porcelain, trying to lower himself down into a cross-legged position. 

You were there within seconds, your hands trying to help him from falling. With an ungracious thud, he was sat down. 

You sat halfway on the edge of the tub, turning the water on, waiting for it to get warm. As you did, you reached to comb through his hair with your fingers, but he stopped you before you got the chance. 

“Just wait,” he said quickly, putting his hands up so that you couldn’t touch him. “For a second, will you?” 

“Cause you’ll pop a boner if I touch you now?” you teased, shockingly how easy dirty words fell from your mouth. 

A baffled laugh escaped him. “You’re so…” 

“Rude?” 

“Honest,” he replied. “I’ve been having a hard time keeping it together since you kissed me.” 

“Nuh-uh, you kissed me,” you shot back with a grin. “You’re a good kisser, by the way.” 

Spencer didn’t say another word as you started to wash his hair. Feeling slightly pathetic, he sat there in the bathtub, water falling from his head like a wet dog. He didn’t know how to make the situation less awkward, so he just accepted the way it was. 

At least it was comfortable, having your fingers untangle his hair and massage his scalp with shampoo. When you were done, you helped him stand up, handing him a towel, but not before quite obviously eyeing his body up and down. 

“You’ve turned pink all the way to your stomach,” you pointed out, and before Spencer could react, you added, “Don’t worry, it’s hot,” like that would make it any easier for him to process. 

Later, Spencer was sitting on the edge of his bed, his damp curls sticking to his forehead as you helped him dry his hair. You moved gently, careful not to jostle his injured arm. 

He’d been able to change into a t-shirt and pajama pants on his own, with you trying to hold in your laughter from the other side of his bedroom door when he would stumble and hit his shin on his bed frame due to the lack of balance he had with only one working arm. 

“I can sleep here, right?” you said, tossing the towel into his hamper of dirty laundry. “It’s like 3 a.m. and I totally get if you wanna throw me out—” 

“I want you to sleep here,” he said softly, looking up at you. “With me.” 

No words left your mouth, but the smile that cracked through was unmistakable. He gave you a t-shirt to sleep in, something with an old college logo on it, and then he watched as you swiftly removed your bra from underneath it, like magic. 

He settled under the covers, making room for you on the side where he didn’t have his injured arm. Spencer hadn’t shared a bed like this with anyone before, so to say he was surprised when you laid beside him, snuggling into his side like you’d done it a million times before, would be an understatement. 

“Am I hurting you?” you mumbled, your head resting in the crook of his neck. 

“No, not at all,” Spencer squeaked out, trying to find a natural spot for his hand under your body. 

As you took in his room, your gaze landed on his nightstand, and your breath caught. Sitting neatly on the surface were three copies of War and Peace. One was pristine, the Russian copy you’d gifted him. Beside it was a well-worn English version, its pages annotated and creased. And then there was… another Russian copy, similarly worn and filled with notes.

Your hand rested lightly on his chest as you began to laugh. “You—” you started, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “You only loaned it from the library to talk to me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered between you and the nightstand as he realized that you had realized. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a smile. 

You chuckled a little, reaching up to kiss his cheek before relaxing back down again. He’d been so tired before, as were you. But now it was like he could feel every nerve in his body, running through him like electricity. Just because you were here with him. 

“Is it—” Spencer whispered, unsure where his words would lead him. “Is it weird to sleep in the same bed as someone without having experienced the sexual aspect that is usually the reason couples share a bed for the first time?”  

Shit, he’d called you a couple. Maybe not directly, but definitely indirectly— 

“No, not at all,” you hummed against him. “Do you think it’s weird?” 

“I haven’t exactly done this before, so everything feels new and weird.” 

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, makeup-free and squeaky clean. “Most men that I’ve been with never made me feel like a woman—like a ladylike presence they cherished. I’d sleep with them too quickly and they’d get bored, or I wouldn’t put up with it, and they’d call me a prude.” 

Your voice sounded fragile in a way he’d never heard before. He’d picked up on little things where he assumed you weren’t exactly inexperienced, but the fact that experience could be something bad wasn’t necessarily something he’d thought about before. 

“Whatever this is, whatever weird order we are doing stuff in, feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before when it comes to love,” you continued, stuffing your face back in his neck to hide. 

Shit, you’d said the word love. Not even indirectly, like fully pronounced it, no mumbles. 

“It’s not a dry spell if you’ve never done it, by the way,” you joked, and he melted at the sound even though you were trying to embarrass him. “You’ve never gotten it wet for it to become dry.” 

Spencer stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip. “Can you not make fun of me?” 

“I’ve used sex as a coping mechanism all my life, allow me to be a little amused about someone going over 25 years without it.” You gently laughed again. “It’s sort of sweet.” 

On the side of your body, you found his unarmed arm placed all limp. With a bold move, you intertwined your fingers with his, taking both of them up to place against your chest. He was now embracing you, and he couldn’t even begin to think about the soft, ample flesh that could be found under your t-shirt. 

He let out a faint groan, mumbling, “You’re not making it any better.” 

Your expression softened further as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “We’ll get to it,” you said, your voice low and steady, “when or if we both feel like it. Don’t stress about it, okay? I don’t care.”

Spencer swallowed, his eyes darting to yours before quickly flickering away. His voice came out quiet, uncertain. “That’s something—” He hesitated, his brows furrowing as he searched for the words. “Is that something you’d want to do with me?”

You smiled, kissing his cheek again. “You just indirectly called us a couple, and I mentioned the word love, so don’t act clueless. I know you’re not.”  

His face turned a deeper shade of pink, and he ducked his head, letting it rest on his pillow as the ceiling yet again became very interesting. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt warm. He felt at home in your presence, no matter how foreign it was. His hand was still grasping yours, tucked against your chest. He could feel you fiddling with his fingers. 

“Can’t sleep?” Spencer asked after a long moment of silence. 

“I like ’em,” you murmured, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles. 

“My hands?” he wondered tiredly. 

“I like everything about you,” you answered simply before closing your eyes. 

Can we all pretend I posted this on New Years? Yes? Thank you. And thank you for reading. Title and beginning quote is from Purple by Wunderhorse btw <3

[sleepymothafterhours]

Rough day made rougher

Inspired by @indiewritesxoxo! (hi this is my side blog!) I love her cyberbully!sukuna series so much and i think everyone should go read all her works right now(that is your homework)

Divider Credits: @cafekitsune

Synopsis: After a rough day at work you just wanna wind down by playing your favorite game with your favorite guy, but hwat happens when he gets a little too mean and drives you over the edge :(

Warnings: mean Kuna, Bully!Sukuna, lmk if theres anything else

Word Count: 1080 Full fic under the cut, check sleepy moths after thoughts at the end for more <3

Thirty more minutes. That's what you kept telling yourself at least. Thirty more minutes and you could get in your car and speed home, get in your pajamas(and away from this cold, wet, and stupid drive thru window). you could make hot chocolate and sit at your desk and play your game to get your mind off it.

Though playing alone is never that much fun, you wonder if Sukuna will log on tonight when he always does. After months of him helping you learn the mechanics, you could finally get through a match without him raging(very much) at you.

Your thirty years minutes of torture ended with a screaming customer, you biting back a few tears and your boss telling you could leave. You grabbed your bag leaving with a quick "Bye!" not saying much else as you walked out to your car. On your phone were a few messages, none really that important until you got to a text from Sukuna asking if you were gonna be on tonight.

The drive home was loud, your playlist from work screaming in your ears but it was nice. And as you finally pulled into your driveway you sat for a moment to collect yourself before going inside and getting ready for sleep. Your cat was in your business like she always was whenever you got home from work, but in the end after a few pats and holding her for a few minutes she let you go free. Comfy in your pajamas you could finally sit down to play, in your haze getting home you had neglected to text him back and when you got on found an invite sitting in your games almost immediately. "Eager much?" You teased when you joined, it was just you, you adjusted his volume so that you could hear him just fine when he spoke, but so he wouldn't blow your eardrums out whenever he inevitably raged at the game. You'd come to enjoy the little ritual you had, so it did sting a little whenever Sukuna responded with a sharp, "Please. Figured you'd need my help again. As usual."

You gave him a witty, "What was that about needing your help?" When you got the first few kills in your first match.

"Yeah yeah your okay. You're welcome." He grumbled into his headset. It was almost enough to get your mind off of what a shit day you had at work, at least now you could do something right. Round after round you seemed to just get worse. Just an off day you could've guessed but Sukuna's constant teasing and yelling was starting to get you. "DUDE. Fucking seriously what is this guy doing." His yelling made you flinch and you realized he was talking about you but hadn't realized it was you. "Jesus fuck dude needs to uninstall." He grumbled. "Sukuna." you snipped as your character got hit. "That was me." You said a little hurt edging into your tone. He gave you a shit excuse and moved on. Once the match ended you couldn't help how you were feeling.

"Sorry you're bad tonight." He said before the next match started.

"Jesus asshole. I know I'm the fuckin' worst. " Thoughts of work flooded your mind, and you just wanted to curl up in bed and forget it. Alt-f4. Without thinking you left the game, you'd get penalized for going afk mid round but you just couldn't handle him tonight. your phone buzzed almost immediately, bombarded by texts from him.

Kuna 💖👹: Dude? Where tf r u?

You: WiFi shut out. Prob wont get back on 2nite, its been shit lately.

Kuna💖👹: Great maybe you'll quit fuckin up my rr.

You put your phone on do not disturb right after that, your computer was on, the mouse hovering right over the delete button. You thought it was stupid to delete a game over some guy. You went to sleep shortly after logging off. You ignored Sukuna for days after that, he hardly reached out really unless it was to see if you'd be on tonight, you gave him a shit excuse every time, "working", "busy", "Don't feel good." the last one wasn't necessarily a lie, you had caught the stomach flu in your two months of silence, and you had been working a lot but not enough for this much silence. After awhile he'd started checking up on you a lot more, asking if you felt better before asking if you were down to game. You kept telling him no until he called you on the way home from work one day.

"Why haven't you been playing?" He growled into the phone. "I've been busy. Don't you have someone better to be playing with?" You said, "Dude I'm driving call me back."

"Promise you're getting on tonight." He said

"Unlike you I have a life outside this game which means homework. I can't play."

"Come on! I'm sorry okay! Whatever you're mad about 'm sorry." He said, his tone changing from that harsh one he normally used to something softer, maybe he had missed you.

"You get 30 minutes." You said before hanging up.

You gave him his 30 and he was almost pleasant, he was definitely containing himself but he was pleasant. You stayed in the call when the thirty was up, your body on autopilot after another long day.

"I am sorry ya know." He said, cutting you off after a moment.

"What?" You asked,

"What I said was mean. I might have missed playing with you. You're the only one who actually matches me." You chuckled.

"Well I had a good teacher." You said softly as you adjusted your headphones. "I should go do homework. I'll be on tomorrow 'kay?"

"Does that mean I'm forgiven." He said

You were quiet for moment, so quiet he almost thought you had left already.

"Buy the new skin bundle for me and I'll consider forgiving you." You said, it was a long shot and you fully expected him to say not before the exact amount of credits you needed was being gifted to you by one "Kingofcurses". "Holy shit. Can I have this new vandal skin to-"

"Okay brat don't fucking push it." He said hanging up on you before you could ask for anything else.

Your phone dinged as you started working.

Kuna💖👹: for the record I had that leftover and didn't want the bundle.

You: Yeah yeah love you too Kuna

Sleepy Moths After thoughts: GAWD I LOVE CYBER BULLY SUKUNA ‼️‼️‼️

ALL MY HOMIES LOVE THE CYBER BULLY SUKUNA SERIES

Go give @indiewritesxoxo some love her series is to die for 💋🫶🏻

uhhhhh Idk what else I just had a lot of fun writing this out

also in my head they played Valorant (cus im a loser) together but I tried to keep it obscure enough so you can all imagine what game they're planning yourselves

night!

-Sleepy Moth

Pretty Please don't repost anywhere else <3

[captainlunaxmen]

Be My Queen

Chapter 1

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: When Vecna takes Nancy to show her his plan, he takes y/n as well to show her he already knows her or some version of her. For the gang, then it's time to come up with a good plan, and a trip to the War Zone is due.

Chapter warnings: spoiler season 4, blood, non-con touching, violence, Jason being an asshole.

What the hell is happening?

One minute, I hear Steve's panicked voice calling Nancy, and the next I'm in... a laboratory?

My friends and I finally got back from the UpsideDown after being stuck there, and now I'm trapped again... it's terrifying.

I look around, trying to calm down by taking a big deep breath. The walls are clean and white, just like a hospital. A shiver runs down my spine when I notice a girl walking out of a room with papers in her hands.

What the fuck?

She looks exactly like me... how?

I decide to follow her, seeing that I have no other option.

As I follow her... me... I see some other people, who look like doctors and nurses. Some of them are followed by kids. Shaved head, all of them.

I quickly take a closer look and notice they have a number tattooed on their arm.

Could it be where El lived?

Oh fuck. I'm in Hawkins' Lab. Why? Why is there a girl who looks exactly like me?

I keep following her around, but before I could follow her into a room I hear a voice calling my name.

I turn around finding a blonde man, looking directly at me.

"Yes?"

I turn around after my "clone" answered him. Her demeanour changes right away when her eyes spot the man. From calm, almost bored to nervous, on edge.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, love." the blonde man says with a sweet, yet intimidating tone.

"I... I was fixing some things... for today's tests." The girl tells him in a small voice.

As the man walks towards her, I notice the girl taking a small step back, but stops, almost holding back.

"You always work so hard. You should rest for a while" he's now in front of her and she doesn't look comfortable.

"I don't mind it, Henry, I'm not even tired," she says letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Take a break, c'mon. Ten minutes won't hurt anyone" the man named Henry insists, moving his hand to caress her arm so slightly.

"Maybe later. I have to drop off these files and check on the kids" she explains calmly.

"What about I check on the kids so we can have some... alone time?" He asks, inching closer and closer to the girl, who looks around the corridor to probably check if someone's coming.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she says, trying to remain calm "Brenner asked me to personally check on the kids."

Henry just looks at her, almost admiring her.

"Then give me a kiss so I can go on with my day without missing you too much"

He doesn't give her time to respond, his lips are already on hers, moving the hand that was caressing her arm to her hips holding her.

The girl's eyes are open, she doesn't exactly kiss him back, she just lets him and he doesn't seem to notice it.

"I'll see you later, love," he says after pulling away.

"Bye," she says and quickly walks into a room, I follow her just as quickly, however when I enter the room I find "me" attending to the same blonde man, Henry.

He looks bad, like he was beaten up or something, the girl's checking his head.

"Do you feel nauseous, dizzy, or..?" She asks.

"No.. just a little stunned" he answers, holding his head.

"That's good... at least a bit."

They stay silent for a moment, the girl looks at him with sorrow, I think, someone must've put this Henry through something really bad for her to feel sorry for a man she was quite intimidated by.

"I'm sorry, Henry," she says.

"Don't be." He replies looking up at her and grabbing her hand, the action makes her tense immediately, still he doesn't notice it, instead, he goes on "It was not your fault and you don't need to worry about me, angel, I'm gonna get us out of here."

"What?" She's confused.

"Eleven has a huge power. Her powers have the potential to become something great... she could help me build a new world. A world for us. Then we could finally be together" he explains and now the girl looks alarmed.

"What are you talking about?" She asks.

"Don't think about it, my love, I'll fix everything soon?" he tells her and kiss her hand.

What the hell is going on here?

I feel myself shaking, and breathing becomes hard so I turn around to get out of the room.

As I walk through the door I'm back in the corridor, but now the walls aren't white and clean... they're covered in blood.

I look around, on the ground laying with broken limbs and bleeding eyes there are the same people I saw walking earlier... the children too... all dead.

I feel myself getting sick when a scream catches my attention.

"Stop!" It's the girl again.

I run towards her voice and enter a wide room, a rainbow fantasy on the walls, lots of kids' toys on the floor... there's blood on them too, the children's. I see them laying on the ground blood all over them.

Fuck.

"Please, Henry, you need to stop" I turn to see the girl standing in front of a mad Henry.

He takes a step toward her and she takes a big step back. I don't think she cares anymore if he feels hurt by her actions or not.

"Why are you scared, my angel?" He asks, he doesn't realise she doesn't feel the same and he doesn't realise what he did wrong. It makes me sick.

"You... fuck... look at what you did! They're... they're kids.." she tells him in between sobs.

Suddenly he walks to her cupping her face in his hands, preventing her from moving away. She still tries though.

"Don't you understand? Don't you understand why I'm doing this?" He asks her, rather harshly.

"What's there to understand? You... you fucking kill them" she replies, voice breaking at the end.

Before he could answer her there was a noise coming from near the wall.

I look back seeing a boy standing up.

Henry's eyes darken as he notices him, he lets go of the girl and turns his attention to the boy.

"No, please... Henry... please" she tries to stop him, trying to stop his arm from slowly raising. "Please... fuck... don't!"

Henry nods towards the door and the girl flies across the room hitting the doors and Henry goes back to killing the boy.

He lifts him into the air and using his power he breaks his bones and his eyes.

The boy looked so young...

As soon as Henry killed the poor thing he looks for the girl, but she's nowhere to be seen.

She must've escaped while he was distracted.

I want to do just that so I run out of the room.

When I go to open the door I find myself face to face with Eddie's worried face.

"Oh, Jesus!" He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Fucking thank god" Steve exclaims.

"What... what happened?" I ask sitting up.

"We thought Vecna took you and Nancy," Dustin says from beside me so I look at him, caressing his arm to assure him I was okay.

I look at the others, all with worried faces. Nancy's beside Robin who got an arm around her reassuringly.

"Did he let you go too?" She asks and I nod "did he show you what he showed me?"

"I... I don't know"

-----------

We all moved to Max's trailer where Nancy started telling us about what Vecna showed her.

His plan of bringing a sort of army to Hawkins, to let the UpsideDown expand completely into our world through some gates.

They keep talking, but I can't pay attention, I hear them, but I can't listen.

I'm too focused on whatever the fuck he showed me.

"I was there" I suddenly say from my place on the ground, head in my head thinking.

"So was I. It was... so real I- " Nancy starts, but I interrupt her.

"No. Not that. I mean, I was there, at the lab. Or some copy of me, a clone or... I don't know." I take a deep breath "this... Vecna, one... Henry, he was, like, in love with this girl, or better, obsessed with her. Delusional. I saw... I saw him killing a little kid... the same way Eddie described... with no sign of regret or even sorrow."

"What... what if he just showed those things to scare you?" Steve suggests, evidently trying not to think of the worst.

"He didn't. I... I don't know what the hell was that, but I know it was very much real... and it's freaking me the fuck out, okay? I don't want to believe it, but... there's no denying it." I tell him. "For some reason, I, or another girl who looks exactly like me, was there and he feels like he found her again."

"Why doing all this just for... a girl though?" Robin asks "don't get me wrong, you're a wonderful girl, I'd gladly do that too. But why be so obsessed?"

"He needs a queen" Dustin answers her like it was obvious.

"Fuck..." I mutter hiding my head in my hands once again.

"Shit...Try 'em again. Try 'em again" Steve tells Max, who immediately goes to the phone.

We've been trying to contact El, Will and Mike, with no results.

"Anything?" Dustin asks.

"No. Rang a few times, then went to a busy signal." Max answers.

"Maybe you punched it wrong. Try again" Steve says.

"I didn't punch it in wrong" Max replies, rightly annoyed.

"Well, I don't know" Steve tries.

"I think she knows how to use a phone" Dustin defends Max, who's trying once again.

"I'm just saying, she could've typed it in wrong." Steve insists.

Max hangs up the phone again "same shit"

"How is that possible?" Lucas asks confused.

"I told you, Joyce has this telemarketer job. She's always on the phone. Mike won't stop whining about it." Dustin explains.

"That can't be three days straight busy, Dustin," I say.

"Yeah, something must be wrong" Max agrees with me.

"They're right. It can't be just a coincidence. It can't be" Nancy to agree."Whatever is happening in Lenora is connected to all of this. I'm sure of it. But Vecna can't hurt them nor take Y/n. Not if he's dead. We have to go back in there. Back to the Upside Down."

"Whoa. No, no, no. What?" Steve complains.

"Nope." Eddie too shakes his head.

"She's right," I say standing next to Nancy. "I don't know about you, but I don't exactly like the idea of being some teen-killing monster's mistress or whatever. So we either kill the bastard or... we kill the bastard" I say matter-of-factly

"We barely made it out of there in one piece" Steve points out.

"Yeah. That's because we weren't prepared, Steve." I tell him. "We just need a plan"

"A good one. Then we'll go through the gate, we'll find his lair, and we'll kill him" Nancy supports me.

"Or he'll kill us" Steve replies, agitated "the only reason you survived is that he wanted you to. He's not scared of us."

"And for good reason" Robin finally speaks "we were wrong about Vecna. Henry. One. Sorry, what are we calling him now?" She asks.

"One" Dustin and Lucas choose.

"Vecna," says Erica.

"Henry," Nancy says.

"Piece of shit?" I suggest, noticing a nod from Eddie.

"Right. We've learned something new about Vecna/Henry/one... uh... piece of shit. He's a number like Eleven, only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering version of her with really bad skin. But my... my point is, he's super powerful. He could turn us inside out with a snap of his fingers. It's not a fair fight."

"Then why fight fair?" Dustin asks, simply "you're right. He's like Eleven. But that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven's strengths and weaknesses" he explains.

Genius.

"Weaknesses?" Erica's quite confused now.

"There is one thing we can use," I say.

"Exactly, when El remote-travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like state. I bet the same is true for Vecna" Dustin keeps talking.

"That would explain what he was doing in that attic" Lucas points out.

"Exactly. When he attacks his next victim, I'll bet you he's back in that attic, physical body defenceless." He declares.

"Defenseless? What about the army of bats?" Steve rhetorically asks, pointing at his injured neck.

"Right, true. We'll have to find a way past them. Distract them somehow." Dustin answers.

"And, uh, how do we do that, exactly?" Eddie asks, about to stand up.

"No idea" Dustin replies and Eddie sits back down defeated. "But once they're gone, he doesn't stand a chance. It'll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin"

"That sounds good in theory, but there is no pattern in Vecna's killings. I mean, at least not one that I can decipher." Robin notes. "We don't know when he's going to attack next. We don't even know who he's going to attack"

"We don't need another victim," I say, looking down.

"What are you talking about?" Nancy asks, worry clear in her voice.

"I can be the bait."

"No," Steve and Eddie say at the same time.

"I will" Max speaks up. "I can still feel him. I survived before I can do it again"

"No." I firmly say "we don't know if the music thing will work again. He will kill you if he gets another chance. But he will not kill me"

"We... we don't know that Y/n" Steve walks in front of me.

"Yes, we do! You didn't see what I saw. How he was with her. He looked at her like she was the reason the sun goes up every morning." I look him in the eyes, and my voice gets softer "he won't kill me, Steve"

"Are you sure about this?" Lucas asks.

"Positive," I say letting out a big sigh "just... please kill him"

"We need supplies" Nancy declares.

-----------

After stealing an RV we head to the War Zone that, according to Eddie, has everything we might need for killing things.

The plan is to buy weapons and then find an open space to get ready and be away from unwanted attention.

I sit in the back with Dustin while the others are scattered around and Steve's driving.

"Are you worried?" Dustin suddenly asks.

I look up at him, then I look around to avoid his worried stare and find Eddie's, instead. I smile at him, to let him know everything is alright.

"Scared shitless" I then say to Dustin.

"You don't have to do this. You can back down and we can think of a new plan together" Dustin tells me, he tries to both reassure me and make me change my mind.

"I know, I know. But the only other valid option is for Max to be the bait and, in all honesty, that scares me even more" As I speak I play with my fingers and when I sense someone's presence with us I look up seeing Eddie.

"Hi" he softly says.

"Hey" I reply.

"I'll leave you two" Dustin smiles at us and gets up to join Lucas and Max.

"You okay?" He asks and I softly laugh. "Stupid question, I know. I'm sorry"

"Nah, don't worry about it. You can ask all the stupid questions you want" I smile at him.

"I wish you wouldn't have to do this" he gently holds my hand.

"Me too. But better me than Max, or anyone else" I say laying my head on his shoulder, I always found comfort in this. We've been friends since I started driving the kids back and forth when they had Hellfire, so we got closer. Sometimes I feel like there's more, but whenever anything could happen he backs down so I'm never sure how he feels.

"It would be better to send Harrington. Maybe he could distract him with his hair, make good use of it for once" he jokes.

"Don't be mean," I say with a chuckle. He always knows how to cheer me up. "He might give him lessons on how to style it properly" I joke too.

I look at Steve driving.

Steve...

Steve, on the other hand, I met him when he and Nancy started dating, so of course he was always in the way. I didn't mind it honestly, he turned out to be not that much of a dick. Then he just got better, especially thanks to Dustin's friendship, but here things get complicated. When he worked at Scoops Ahoy with Robin he always flirted with me as I went to visit Robin during my breaks at the music store at Starcourt, at first I thought he was his way of joking. The moment I realised he wasn't joking I also realised I didn't mind it at all. I wanted him to flirt and I wanted to flirt back.

So... I realised I like, have some sort of feeling for two guys... at the same time.

Complicated.

"We're here" Steve announces parking the van in a secluded area to keep Eddie, Dustin and Lucas away from the people of Hawkins.

-----------

The store is huge.

"So much for avoiding angry hicks" Robin comments.

"Let's be... fast" Nancy suggests and we all agree.

Nancy and I go check out the shotguns they sell.

"How much?" Nancy asks the seller.

"$120.99, but I'll throw in 20 rounds of buckshot for ya," he tells us and I just nod at Nancy.

"Not bad," I whisper to her and she agrees.

While we keep looking Nancy hands me the weapon, but then I hear a familiar voice.

"Hey, can I see this real pretty .357, please?"

"Oh shit" I comment and Nancy quickly looks behind me and turns around just as quickly.

"You go. I got this" I tell her.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, just try to warn the other to keep an eye out for his goons. They must be around here too" I nod and she walks away, but that must've caught Jason's eyes because he then speaks directly at me.

"Look at that... What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Oh you know" I start turning around to face him, "they say there's a killer on the loose... gotta be prepared."

"Aren't you the freak's bitch?" He harshly asks.

"It's really sad you can't recognise what a friend looks like" I mock him, keeping a serious expression.

I see his jaw clenching hard, my words hit the target. He relaxes his face and takes a breath and just looks at me, in a way that makes a shiver run down my spine.

"It's a real pity" he then says.

"Yeah, it is. It means you never had an actual friend in your life" I say with a fake pout on my face.

He just laughs humourless.

"No, babe. A real pity is how you ruined yourself by hanging out with the freak" he walks closer.

"Oh no... you think I ruined myself?" I ask with fake shock, then I just smile "thank god. If having good friends instead of assholes like you ruined me... glad to be ruined, sir"

"You were really pretty, you know. I mean, you kind of still are... I'd gladly help you find the right way back." He... flirts..?

Oh now I'm gonna get sick

"Wow... your girlfriend died not long ago and you're already harassing another girl... just wow." I laugh sarcastically "see? That's what makes Eddie so much better than you"

"What would your father say, uh? I don't think Hopper would be happy about it" he suddenly says.

Oh... he didn't just mention my father, did he?

Now it's my turn to clench my jaw, he notices and smiles proudly.

"You wash that fucking mouth before talking about my father because you. Know. Shit." I tell him, walking up to him.

"Want my advice?" He asks completely ignoring me.

"No"

"Shotguns are not good for much of anything past killing small birds," he tells me, eyes focused on mine "I mean, they got power, sure, but not much range. And that's just gonna force you into close-range combat, then someone can easily redirect it by grabbing that barrel, like this.."

He suddenly moves to grab the barrel, but I'm faster, stepping back and moving the shotgun out of his reach earning a surprised expression from him.

"Keep talking about shit you clearly know nothing about and I might just show you what my father would say" I warn him and walk away.

I go pay for the stuff I got and reunite with the others as we walk back to the van.

"Remind me, please, not to make you angry?" Robin tells me with a proud smirk.

"You could never"

"That was... I gotta say... quite hot" Steve tells me pleasantly surprised.

I just wink at him, and we all hurry to get in the vehicle and just rush off before anyone could see us.

We quickly rush into the RV.

"What happened?" Lucas immediately asks.

"We gotta go" Steve cuts him off.

"Your old friends are here" Erica informs her brother.

Steve starts the vehicle, immediately driving away as soon as the last of us get in.

I move to the back with Dustin and Lucas.

"So.." Dustin starts.

I look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Yes?" I urge him on.

"When are you gonna talk to them?" He asks.

"To who?" Lucas asks, suddenly interested.

"Eddie and Steve" Dustin immediately answers and I roll my eyes "C'mon! It's clear as the day you feel something for them, the both of them and they feel the same."

"It's more complicated than you think, Dusty," I tell him softly.

"It's not." Lucas interjects "I mean, Eddie kept worrying about you the whole time you all were in there. I mean very worried. Very."

"Yeah. And you didn't see the look Steve had when you volunteered to bait Vecna" Dustin adds.

"Yeah... I told you. Complicated" I tell them to drop the subject, so I just lean my head back and try to think of something else.

I have no idea what will happen.

I keep thinking about how this is real. I was there. I saw myself there in that lab, with Vecna, Henry or whoever the fuck he is. How is that possible? Is it some kind of trap?

What scares me the most is that I have this feeling it's not a trap. It's all true.

[silversoul-goldenheart]

(Hello, mod Loupy Mongoose here! I decided that it could be fun to try a "Pokemon IRL" blog, centered around Jamie! ^w^ Special shoutout to Moddy--They run their own Pokemon IRL blog, @riggspath, and inspired me to attempt my own. Go check it out!)

Blog Rules:

1: I'm treating this blog as if Jamie and Cody are interacting through a computer/Tumblr ("Rotomblr"?). As such, I am uncomfortable doing "face-to-face" interactions. (They will be available for that kind of thing later on ToVaJ)

More to come as I continue, lol

~~~~~~

Um. Hi. I'm Jamie Wild Rennard, a 27 year old woman. I have been told that trying a blog could help me get better socially. Not that I really care to be better socially. Pokemon have always been my friends, not people. But whatever, I'm curious. I'm not great with words and stuff, but my lovely husband Cody has agreed to help me with editing and learning the ropes, so I'm sure he'll make it pretty! (Cody here! When I get the chance, I'll get or make a header for her as well! ^-^)

Uh... What should I say? I'm not great with people. Maybe that will be different behind a screen, but It's hard to know right now.

That's all I got for now. Uh. Bye.

~~~~~~

Cody here! Jamie has reluctantly agreed to accept questions! Just respect that she might not give straight answers. She tends to keep to herself around strangers. I can answer too, but I won't answer for her in respect of her privacy, most of the time. ^^ (All answers will be run by her before posting. This is her blog, so her comfort matters most here!)

Oh, and we'll try to get to all of the questions, but I can't guarantee it. Apologies in advance to those that go unanswered! Also some of our life details are... not fun... so please understand we may be sensitive about some stuff. <3

And to keep things clear, I'll be talking in green, like you see here!

We'll keep this updated! Have a wonderful day~!

~~~~~~

MOD NOTES

-Depending on how deep into their stories I get, there may be mentions, discussions, and depictions of violence and blood in the future. Jamie's story is much more physically trying than Randy's.

TAGS -#JCart = Artworks "done" by Jamie or Cody -#JCphoto = Photos "taken" by Jamie or Cody

Modded by @loupy-mongoose

[starsomens]

Helloooo :)

I have a deep question, I think

I'm new in the Fandom, so hello. But I recently discovered that noah doesn't have any blood family anymore.i think.

Which makes me really sad.

Because, even though family can be an ass, for me, they've helped me go through a lot of tough times, and I'm very grateful for them.

I've seen that he used to live with ruffilo and I assume they are like family and Nick's family is Noah's family too, now at least. And he also has the boys he lives with and his band mates who probably support him in every way he needs.

But my question to you is: do you think, when he gets a girlfriend ( that he pictures his future with, marry and blah blah) he'll be emotionally dependent on her? Because in a way, and on his head, she'll be his only family....

I feel like he had to become super tough and strong emotionally because he had to grew up super fast and for the family members he lost, and he had to also protect his heart from the outside world.

But do you think once he gets that girlfriend, he'd become more "free" and dependent emotionally on her? More vulnerable for sure ( they'd be dating after all ahaha) but more care free, put his whole trust and heart on her hands ?

Sorry for the deep feelings ,so heavy I know ahahaha

But yeah, bye now, love your blog :)

So for starters welcome!!!! I hope you have fun here and don’t be shy to ask questions! I love deep convos! Again welcome!

So no, it tends to be very private about his life so I did to learn some information when I was new to phantom and how he kind of doesn’t have any blood related family at least that we know of, but he would still rather have that kept private and kind of separated from the fandom so I like “Stopped trying to find out more about him”

But I believe in some interviews he has said that he’s going to therapy to help deal with his emotions more so I think personally that he tends to be a little emotionally distant due to his past, and what he has been through, but in a way, I think he will have some kind of attachment to whoever he is with in some way shape or form. There should be other people on here that know more than me since I got into them around last August or so. Kinda looking for information and kind of just focused on whatever he from his own mouth because it’s coming from him you know what I mean

[the-one-and-only-043]

Hello, I'm Agent Phoenix, formerly known as Agent 043.

Roxy told me I should make a blog, so here I am. I guess I should put some stuff about me here? I don't know how this site works

Uhhh

Well, I'm 38, I'll be 39 in November, and I like cats. And Roxana, of course. She's like, the coolest ever, and also my fiancée :)

I think I'm kinda sorta like a step...parent??? To Right and Robutler??? Idk I'll ask Roxy about that tho

I use any pronouns, so get creative

My first handler was a piece of shit, so feel free to talk shit with me haha

Same with Agent Slimeball Sliver. He's a ball of eugh.

Roxy says I should put some boundaries, like stuff I don't like to talk about, so, um. Here you go, I guess.

I don't like talking about my past with Zoraxis in detail, so try to refrain from asking about that. Same with how Handler 043 treated me. Don't be a dick about my scars. The basics, don't be a homophobe, or a racist, or a creep here. I am a liberal user of the block button, and if necessary, I'll report you. Don't be a shithead in general.

Uh

Idk what else to put here so bye

______________END TRANSMISSION______________

Hello! Leo here, this blog's moderator and the power behind the throne, so to speak. This is a side blog for my main, @eight-cats-in-a-box, purely for IEYTD and 043! Phoenix!

043 is dating married to Roxana! 043 loves the scientist very dearly, and they're quite attached to her. They have a very healthy relationship, and they finally managed to propose, aided by none other than...

043 is besties with Reggie!! Their handler is one of the ones closest to their cold, dead heart. :) He's also just recently started dating John Juniper!

Edit: They're married now :D

Their murder bestie, John Juniper! He owes being alive today to Phoenix, who dragged him out of the wreckage after Operation: Rising Phoenix. These two are very protective of each other, despite constantly fighting. They've also hooked up before Codename: Agent Clover. Recently, his romantic feelings for Reginald came to light, and they've been in a relationship ever since!

Other notable figures are:

Agent Knockout and his husband, Breakdown! Also known as Damien and Jack Woodworth, this dynamic duo are infamous for their brains-and-brawn mindset. Quite literally, since Breakdown doesn't have a TK implant due to the complications it would cause.

Chief Medical Officer/Lead Field Medic, Doctor Robert "Ratchet" Greaves. Also known as the Hatchet, Greaves is sick of it. 043's nonsense, but also the bullshit the rest of the Agency puts him through. Grouch with a heart of gold. Married to Drift.

Field Medic Support Agent Drift! A very long title indeed, one created to keep him by Robert's side. No one knows his real name- not even Drift himself. Married to Robert.

R&D Lead Scientist Percy James Janssen! He has to deal with all of 043's nonsense, not to mention all the bullshit he gets put through just trying to make stuff. He's married to Brian Gunnings, R&D's resident problem.

Reality Breaker and General Shenanigan-Causer Brian "Storm" Gunnings! This maniac makes too many guns, too many time-travelling briefcases, and...probably too many explosions. Has a habit of flirting with Percy when he's holding chemicals. This is not malicious (somehow) he just really likes his hubby. :)

Magnus Bates, Esq.! 043's fraternal twin and younger-by-ten-minutes brother, he's gotten them off of death row! Don't ask. He's a stickler for the rules, but he's a sucker when it comes to his big sis. He's also gay as hell for his fiancée, Winston Farr (who belongs to the lovely @phoenix-and-found-family)

Agent Hot Rod! This flamboyant character drives everyone up the wall, especially when him and 043 team up. He's also got crippling self-doubt, but that's besides the point. Acts like he's hot shit. This agent is a total lover boy, and an absolutely massive sap when it comes to his hubby, Tyson (who ALSO belongs to Taffy, lol).

...Whirl. This absolute madman of a chopper pilot probably shouldn't be allowed to fly, but he's also the best there is, so who's gonna stop him?

Ex-Operative Megatronus! Don't let that title fool you, this grouch has a massive soft spot for anything small and cute. Like his cat. Or his husband. Formerly the co-leader of Zoraxis, he turned himself around for Orion.

Rung! 043's therapist, kindest soul you'll ever meet, and probably as old as the Earth itself! Kidding. He likes model planes.

Orion Pax! This librarian/archivist has a heart of gold and a strong sense of justice, and will not hesitate to throw a punch for the greater good, much to Megatronus's chagrin. Formerly the Lead Field Agent, heed his team on over 200 successful missions during his career.

043 is also the parental/fraternal figure to several agents, including ones in alternate dimensions, as well as Prism's kids! Right Robot and Robutler both think they're pretty neat, and their rookies have never been safer :)

TAGS

#043 rambles

Talk tag! Inchar posts, chats, etc

#043 reblogs

Self-explanatory

#043 lore

Phoenix lore!!!

#043 family unit

Specific to those Phoenix has "adopted"

#043 answers

Self-explanatory

#043 flashbacks

RP tag!

#agent duo knockdown

Anything pertaining to Agents Knockout and/or Breakdown!

#cmo dr robert greaves

Anything about 043's favourite grouch :)

#support agent drift

Anything about the infamous ex-Zoraxis Operative Drift. Most know him better as Greaves's husband :)

#lead scientist percy janssen

All the things about one of Drift's dearest friends, and the Agency's deadliest sniper/scientist!

#reality breaker brian gunnings

Anything about Percy's issue annoyance lab partner husband! He does not care about laws. Any laws. This includes the laws of physics/spacetime/reality/etc. This drives Percy up the wall. Has successfully time-traveled. Don't ask.

#magnus bates esq

Anything to do with 043's little brother!

#agent hot rod

Our favourite fashion disaster :)

#lone pilot whirl

This absolute madman really does care. He just sucks at showing it.

#rung the therapist

He's old as dirt.

#archivist orion

Our favourite dumbass

#ex operative megatronus

Don't let that glare fool you. He calls his cat Ravvy.

[lea-hi]

Lea! Hi! How? Why?

//Howdy! It's BackSet here and I finally gave in and made a Faller blog. Well, technically. She doesn't actually fit the criteria for being a Faller since there were no Ultra Wormholes involved (the definition of Faller is "Someone who's been through Ultra Wormholes" not "Someone from an alternate universe/different time" and I am very pedantic about this) but I'll call her that for simplicity's sake.

First off, Lea has been dropped in Hoenn cause I have brainrot. Also this is Lea after the main campaign of CrossCode but before The Way Home DLC. At the moment, she is of the belief that the world she's found herself in is simply a new section of CrossWorlds she hasn't seen yet.

Second, off, Lea is only capable of saying a select few words for reasons that will be explained soon. I'll list them here, mostly for my own benefit:

Hi

Lea

Bye

Wait

How

Why

Sorry

Meet

Thanks

All Numbers (in the game she can't say numbers and has to use her fingers but I couldn't figure out a way to effectively translate that to text)

For the purposes of this blog she also gets access to two emojis ✅ and ❌, cause she can't nod or shake her head over the internet.

Now for an explanation of who Lea is. But first, an explanation of the core concept and plot setup of CrossCode:

CrossCode takes place in the popular MMORPG CrossWorlds which is unique I'm the fact that the world (called the "Playground") is actually real and is built on a small moon that Instatainment, the company behind CrossWorlds, purchased. Yes, really. So everything within CrossWorlds is actually there and could be interacted with by a real human person. The NPCs, monsters, and player Avatars are made of Instant Matter. What's Instant Matter? Don't worry about it. Players enter the game via vr headsets. The future is now. Actually the future is in the future.

Lea is a player who has lost her memory and has been put into CrossWorlds in hopes that it will help her regain it. Unlike other players she cannot leave the game, instead entering an unconscious state when she logs out. Additionally, her Speech Synchronizer is broken so she can only say a few words that have been hardcoded into her Avatar (this also extends to writing and her fine motor control isn't too good so writing what she wants to say and using sign language aren't options either, I'm operating on the assumption that the words hardcoded into her avatar can be written in addition to spoken but that's it, no other words available).

Now we get into spoiler territory. These spoilers are not necessary to interact with the blog but they are necessary if you want to follow its story. If you haven't played CrossCode yet, stop right now and go play it. It's really good and your first play through is best done blind. If you're still reading then I assume you either don't plan on playing CrossCode (sad), don't care about spoilers (you really should in this case), or have already played it (you have impeccable taste). Ready? Spoiler time!

Everything I said in paragraph six was a lie!

Lea is not a player but an Evotar, essentially an AI based upon a person's neural map and memories. She can't speak, write, or sign cause she's an early prototype. She has been put in CrossWorlds to regain the memories of the person she's based on in hopes of finding said person. As the Lea of this blog has gone through the main campaign of CrossCode, she is fully aware of and at peace with this fact.

And that's all you need to know. So, yeah.

[youremyheaven]

Dear non 🍑 eater anon.

No one asked. Your tone isn't giving the kindness and love a feminist should have (& do have) for women enjoying themselves when repression is the norm in many societies still. She'll handle her chakras and followers as she sees fit. You go have a wonderful aligned life. She and us will be fine. Thank you & Bye~

Also pookie what sorta crowd attracts when the label is used, wanna know your experience as someone on tumblr with a thriving blog (idk if you'd call your blog women and the feminine oriented, I would) and moots. You know now a days people use the word like they are spitting galiya, so I avoid the topic and also try not to bring up anything that seems feminist-aligned (which is most things around me it seems. Like: Oh, you think men are given leeway for eve-teasing because of the attitude ‘men just be like that’ and reflects a flaw in society? Yah okay feminazi manhating jobstealing alimonytaking whore who doesn't take responsibility!)

AJJAJSJS u tell em!!!!

Yeah I hate how "feminist" has basically become a cuss word in India 😭

On my old blog (it was a kpop tarot blog 😮‍💨😮‍💨) I got into several arguments simply bc I said I don't think it's right to ask if an idol's FS is a virgin when they meet 💀🙄 bc it was kinda sexist??? Like not all people in Asia are waiting for marriage and the odds of a kpop idol marrying a virgin who has never been touched is so 🙂🙂 and the anons popped off and said it's bc I'm a "feminist" that I respect a "ran through woman with a high body count" over someone who's "pure" 💀💀💀💀 and lots of other arguments too about random shit 😤😤 simply bc I had mentioned I was a feminist.

Funny thing is, back then I felt like all those anons were definitely Indian 😭😭😭😭from the way they text or reference things 😤😤 and the deep rooted misogyny that Indians, esp Indian women have is 🤮🤮🤮🤮

Everybody's a feminist so long as the woman's making choices that align with their values and principles. The minute a woman does what she wants to do (which is what feminism should be) she's suddenly not worthy of equality or respect 😞

If only we subjected men to the same standards that we subject women too 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Like why do we only encourage and support women who are fighting battles and trying to climb the economic ladder or whatever 😔 where's the harm in a woman having fun 🥹 life is long, not every day is going to be about conventional feminist struggles, because life isn't a struggle??? it's okay to enjoy yourself and it's okay to not feel shame for it 🫶

I don't use the word feminist as much anymore simply because it has kinda lost all meaning to me rn. I went to a veryyy political college where absolutely everybody man and woman called themselves a feminist and yet treated other women horribly for making certain choices that didn't align with them or slut shaming them at the drop of a hat as a comeback rhetoric 🙄🙄🙄

Actions matter more than words. If you can be a respectful, tolerant, kind human being, that's more important that name dropping labels to fit into some woke liberal agenda ESP since identifying as one clearly makes absolutely no difference in how u actually treat women 🤐🤐🤐

[natalynsie]

Basically Everything to Know.

Hi! I'm Natie, I use she/her pronouns. I post mostly fanfiction but I occasionally post other things too. My AO3 and Writing Feedback Form (if you've read any of my fics, I would appreciate you taking the form) are both liked in my bio, along with my sideblog where I reblog stuff! and talk a lot!

Requests are allowed! Send me a request with a prompt and a ship! If If you don't know a prompt, you can just ask for a ship. I'll write a oneshot for you! Use the SEND ME A REQUEST to send anything (questions are also allowed). I won't write everything I get asked, only what I have motivation and interest for.

My sideblog is for reblogs and shitposts. This blog is for fanfiction, polls, and reblogging stuff that's important (like spreading awareness). Although my old posts probably have some dumb shitposts on them. SEND ME FIC REQUESTS ON MAIN! SEND ME DUMB ASKS ON MY SIDEBLOG! I'll probably still answer them if you send them on the wrong account, but if you can try submitting to the correct blog that will help me out. Thank you!

Fanfic lengths -> Ficlet -> less than 1000 word oneshot Oneshot -> 1000-5000 word oneshot. Oneshot with a preview and link to read in full on AO3 -> greater than 5000 word oneshot Multi-chapter stories will only have the links.

Right now, I'm pretty much only posting Total Drama stuff. If you followed me for TOH or SVTFOE or DT, you should probably unfollow. I doubt I'm going to talk about them for a long time.

On my AO3, it's clear I have series for every total drama fic I write. Certain fics are connected through that series. On Tumblr, I tag everything under the series name. I have two currently, so theres a tag for each series:

"natie wawanakwa high school fics" - Wawanakwa High School series, Noah/Cody. Complete.

"natie hometown fics" - Hometown series, being rewritten currently only Alejandro/Tyler. Incomplete.

and of course "natie old hometown fics" is the original series with Cody/Trent and Courtney/Gwen. Marked as complete because I won't be writing any more for it.

Anyways, bye!

[raycrystaldragons]

i really like your oc idea so here!!

“Mom, I’m going to hang out with Esko!” Odelia called, tucking her sketchbook under her arm and pulling open the great golden doors of the palace. She waited for a response.

“Have fun!” Mayla finally called back, and Odelia smiled, closing the door behind her and stepping out onto the steps in front of the palace. The familiar weight of her sword strapped to her back balanced her easily, since it hadn’t been easy to regain her balance after her wings had been torn off.

She crossed the crater, tossing a wave to Xolana and Shiva, both of whom were engrossed in a high-stakes game of Ladybug Leap.

The secret tunnels out of the crater were lit gently by glowworm cocoons, runes etched along the walls like street signs, leading Odelia out to the unicorn meadow.

She walked the well-worn path past Onchao’s favorite waterfall, shouldering her way through the brush. As she walked, she gathered fistfuls of small flowers, white and red and purple, so many that both her hands were full as she stepped into the open air of the meadow.

The Ferngrass Herd was grazing in the center, a gentle breeze whisking over the field. Odelia raised her voice.

“Esko!”

Esko snorted and poked his head up, whinnying in delight. He cantered over to her, nosing at the flowers clasped in her hands.

“These aren’t for eating, silly!” she teased, then stuck one behind his ear. “They’re for decoration!”

Esko nickered joyfully. Odelia couldn’t speak Unicorn like Mia could, but she had gotten pretty good at guessing body language. She did spend a lot of time with them, anyway.

Sinette cantered over. “Hi!” Odelia said. “Would you like some flowers in your mane, too?”

Sinette bowed her head and Odelia stuck a purple flower in her long blue locks easily. “Looks beautiful,” she said kindly. “I think tomorrow, we should go to Blackwood Forest and see if Sato wants any flowers!”

Esko trotted around her and nudged her sword sheath.

“Practicing?” Odelia asked. “I was gonna draw today, but if you wanna spar-?”

She reached over her head and grasped the hilt of her sword.

It shimmered as she unsheathed it, the crystals set in the pommel causing flecks of light to dance in the grass around her feet.

“Ready?” she asked Esko.

He snorted.

“Begin!”

Odelia lunged at him, careful to only touch him with the flat of her blade. Esko, too, only poked her gently with his horn when he could manage, dodging out of reach of the sword.

Finally, she managed to knock Esko over. He huffed, then snorted approvingly.

“Thanks!” she said. “I think I’ve gotten better. Yuko’s been teaching me.”

The ring on her finger began to glow, and she frowned. “Oh, my brother’s calling for dinner,” she said, then eyed the sky and the setting sun. When had it got so late? “I’ll see you later, Esko! Bye!”

She stashed her sword away in the sheath and gathered up her sketchbook, facing away from the setting sun and heading home.

i hope you liked it!! always good to have more people in the fandom! this is my main blog but my mia and me one is @yumomia

(OMG I LOVE IT )

Arriving at the castle, She climbs the golden stairs to the dining room, where her parents and brother were.

"I'm back."

She announces and then removes her sword and places it on the table. Mayla smiles and approaches her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You're finally back! How was it with the unicorns?"

Odelia nods and sits at the table, looking at her mother and then putting food on her plate.

"Yes, everything went well. Esko and I-"

Her father, King Raynor, clears his throat and looks at the gleaming, sharp sword on the table.

"The sword."

Odelia looks at her father and then at her sword.

"What about- Ah, I see."

She takes the sword off the table and places it on the floor. Sitting down at the table she looks at her father, who nods and goes back to eating his dinner. Mo then looks at his sister, a curious look in his eyes.

"Has there been any sign of the Gargona or the Munculus?"

Odelia takes a forkful of her food and drinks the juice in her glass, as soon as she puts the glass back on the table she looks at her brother.

"Well, as far as I know, no."

Raynor's eyes widen and he almost chokes on his drink, but speaks sarcastically.

"NO? Well, looks like Panthea is giving up on having unicorn horns."

The family laughs and then Odelia finishes eating her food, standing up and puts the plate in the sink, washing it and placing it in the dish drainer. She picks up her sword and goes to his mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek and then goes to the door.

"I'm going to bed, have a good night."

She closes the large golden doors and leaves.

(Remember, if there is something wrong in the writing, forgive me because English is not my original language)

[thaleleah]

omg tal i relate sm with you on struggling to read noncon. i rmr these assholes making me feel so guilty and they made me feel like there was something actually wrong with me for liking it. but i am so glad i got over something that i had nothing to be ashamed of in the first place and these fuckers can honestly kiss my ass 💋

The way my curiosity is shooting through the fucking roof. You should send me a separate ask with her tumblr name so I can know who this person is. I don't think I interact with anyone on my other blog that's said this but now I'm nervous.

not me forgetting her username 😂 i do rmr she wrote for multi fandoms tho. i use to follow her last year until i saw her uncalled post. imma go search and try to find her again.

ohhh… i also forgot to mention this! someone asked her if she would write for coryo… this bitch replied saying “ew” …i should have seen the red flags from her when she said that 😂 jk everyone is entitled to who they find hot to not lol… but not really...

Ooo okay so i have been watching season 2 of the new pretty little lairs! if you like murder mysteries then you would like it! i’ve also been watching a ton of british historical shows! lmk if you like that genre and i can rec you some 🥰

poor jack had to film every scene twice? 😭

also… i have some good news… my dad is officially divorcing my shitty step mom and she is fuming 🥰 bye bitch.

🍯🐝

I'm so sorry about the late reply, hun! I've been having a Time™

omg tal i relate sm with you on struggling to read noncon. i rmr these assholes making me feel so guilty and they made me feel like there was something actually wrong with me for liking it. but i am so glad i got over something that i had nothing to be ashamed of in the first place and these fuckers can honestly kiss my ass

Exactly! There is nothing to be ashamed of. People like what they like and that's okay. No need to put people down for it. At the end of the day, it's all for fun and our enjoyment. Just let people read their porn in peace 😩

not me forgetting her username 😂

Totally okay lmaooo. Maybe its better that she doesn't get put on my radar anyway. The more we can stay away from negativity like that, the better. Especially negativity in the form of saying "ew" when talking about Coryo. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions except when their opinion is WRONG lollll

lmk if you like that genre and i can rec you some

Yessssss give me all the recs! It honestly just really depends on the show and my mood at that moment to determine if I'll like it or not, but in general yes, i do like historical shows. And I'll check out the new Pretty Little Liars too cause I've been seeing it around but haven't actually started watching it yet so its good to know that someone can vouch that its worth the watch

my dad is officially divorcing my shitty step mom and she is fuming

AHHHHHHH THIS IS GREAT NEWS!!!! I'm so glad he finally came to his senses. At least now you won't have to deal with her dumb ass anymore. Or at least not as much - idk how they're going to handle having a kid together post divorce. Now if ur dad can keep his shit in his pants, all will be well lol

How have you been? 🧡

[smallerplaces]

Bye bye, Barn Buddies Eva!

When I dealt with my mother's collection of roughly 1000 dolls, I did a final weed-down of dolls I was keeping (some from my own much smaller collection). The "final" result was 19 fashion dolls of characters with canonical ages from late childhood to adulthood, plus a few 4" small girls. And the deal was that while 20 was not a firm limit, it's a good estimate on how many dolls I'm able to manage happily, so anyone coming in means evaluating whether someone should go out.

Well. I bought two fashion dolls at Family Dollar last week, both of them massively on-target for my interests. (These will be unboxed in a later post.) These are the first dolls I've bought since late 2019, so it's not like I'm bingeing, but it meant someone marginal needs to go.

When I'd done the final cut, I'd thought "wow, a 1:9 articulated doll, I remember when ToyBoxPhilosopher featured a couple and they seemed so cool." My mother was obsessed by TBP and kind of hated her by the time TBP took her break from blogging, so of course when TBP talked about this size, Mom had to buy one (probably around 2017).

Having a ton of points of articulation in a 1:9 doll is genuinely cool. In the late 2010s, there was a period after the first enthusiasm for Barbie Fashionista and before the introduction of Made to Move Barbie when getting articulation in a fashion doll meant you were either (a) collecting Monster High [which was at its peak of cleverness and popularity] or (b) going on a treasure hunt for wild and varied alternatives.

This doll has extraordinary amounts of articulation, especially for her size. She's got wrists and ankles! She's got thigh rotation!

As a result, she can not only sort of touch her head, as the top pic shows: she can sit and kneel with stability.

At this point, I was still assuming she was a Breyer riding doll, because I remembered TBP reviewing the "Let's Go Riding Western" set in 2014. But no! There was, around the same time, a review of Paradise Horse's "Barn Buddies," and that's what Mom bought.

That makes a substantial difference in resale value, as there's a secondary market for Breyer riding dolls in good condition, but sales of Paradise riding dolls on eBay are sparse.

I even waffled a little, as 1:9 dollhouse furniture finds often entice me, but those can be used as standalone display pieces for Skipper and Stacie, or as Barbie furniture if we're not too picky. But... I don't want a second one of these, and in posing her for pics, I realized I just wasn't that into her.

She's an awkward size for making friends. Although she's only a little taller than Stacie, she's clearly meant to be more mature. (Yes, Skipper is going through an awkward period. I need to sew her some outfits.)

Eva is way too big to party with the taller dollhouse dolls, Britney and Unidentified Tenant of Britney. (Yes, that's a Britney Spears 7" doll, another of Mom's finds. I do love this one. She lives in a mansard mansion with a rental unit on the top floor. More on that later.)

I was going to list Eva for $5.99 on eBay and see what happened, but while taking her tasteful nude shots, I discovered that her arm joints are so loose that she can't hold a pose. On a super-rare antique doll, you can risk selling that way with a lot of disclaimers, but on a low-cost play doll, that is standing in the middle of the highway and asking to get negged. So into the donation bag she goes, since the condition is acceptable for a $2 play doll.

Goodbye Eva. Trust your rebel heart, take the road less traveled.

[sukiloves]

𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 '𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭' <3

characters ! FUSHIGURO TOJI, GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU, RYŌMEN SUKUNA, & NANAMI KENTO.

warnings ! sub!reader, bottom!reader, finger sucking, oral (m & f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, making out, v. fingering, praise, lil bit of degradation, oral fixation, slight dumbification in toji's, ddlg, bit of grinding, mirror sex, guided blowjob, use of petnames i guess cause i love those, cussing.

notes ! this was sitting in my drafts for too long and i decided to make another blog and post it here. these are just things that are a turn on for me sfshsh likes and reblogs are appreciated !! ok bye :))

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

FUSHIGURO TOJI . . . loves it when you go absolutely dumb over his fat cock abusing your pussy, making creamy rings and slick threads connecting you both. he adores it even more when you loll your head to the side and your eyes go hazy from the pleasure he can't help but hold your pretty face, letting you suck on his thumb like how you do with his cock, whimpering and moaning around it making toji groan from the feeling and vibrations.

“that's it, princess...suck on it like the good cocksucker you are. fuck — daddy's fucking you so good you can't think straight, huh? don't worry, baby. daddy's cock is all yours once i'm done with you.”

GETO SUGURU . . . prefers holding hands with you while you're deepthroating his cock, spit rolling down his length as you messily stroke him with your free hand. he will let out the prettiest moans if you sucked hard on his tip, hand tightening their hold on yours and it's so intimate, so romantic to hold hands with him while you choke on his cock. the same thing happens when he eats you out, intertwines your fingers together so you'll have something to hold on to when he loses himself in your juices.

“god, i love you so much, baby. sucking me so good. might just put a ring on you if you keep sucking me like that – mmm, fuck! just like that, baby. you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

GOJO SATORU . . . likes it when he's taking you from the back, the both of you against a mirror as his iron grip on your chin kept you in your place — ordering you to ‘keep watching’. he'll enjoy every minute, every tear, every moan from you. slowing his thrusts before speeding up and slowing down again just to rile you up. he dares you to close your eyes, look somewhere else, anything but him. but you never did, and he can't look away with how your eyebrows are pinched together, cute lips parted as your eyes rolled to the back of your head – screaming nothing but his name as you made a mess on the both of you.

“you like this, pretty girl? like watching me fuck you in front a mirror? should have known a dirty girl like you loves to watch herself getting fucked and making a mess on her boyfriend's cock, hmm? squeezing me real tight, too. you practically have hearts in your eyes from how fucked out you are! come on, keep watching, pretty girl.”

RYŌMEN SUKUNA . . . adores you sitting on his lap. it is your throne, as he said. he especially adores it when he can easily have access to your pretty pussy — spreading your legs wide with his muscular thighs, the points of his fingernails sending tingles through you as he glides them on your skin. he loves to devour you whole, but he enjoys it more when he can play with your wet pussy - always ready for him – rubbing your cute little clit and sinking his thick fingers in your dripping heat the same time he puts his tongue in your mouth. he'd be lying if he didn't find it hot, what with his hard cock grinding under your ass.

“i can play with your perfect pussy all day, doll. mmmh, i can't wait to put my cocks inside you. think you can handle it? shit, your cunt's sucking my fingers so fucking well, doll. moan for me, make the whole world know who's making you feel good.”

NANAMI KENTO . . . sighs out praises and gentle instructions whenever you go down on him after a hard day at work. he knows you'll be good for him, treating him so well with your mouth that felt like heaven to him. you can see the tension and knots ease from his body the more you pay attention to his needs. he'll stroke your hair while you go down on him, telling you in a deep voice to stroke his cock the way he likes it, the speed you're bobbing your head up and down on his shaft. he wants to take his time – after all he's home and he's got you to relieve some stress for him.

“yeah, just like that, angel. ah fuck — go a bit slower. that's a good girl. you gonna be a good girl for daddy and make me cum? yeah? go ahead, angel, make daddy feel good. ah, right there...”

[juanarc-thethird]

An Opportunity Has Arrive V2

Blake walks into her bedroom with a fancy box full of sushi.

Ruby: Wow! Where did you get that? Can I have some?

Blake: I'm sorry, but this is a deluxe box of sushi that was given to me as a gift. It is almost impossible to get one of these. So I don't plan on giving it away.

Ruby: *Sad* Aww

Yang: Who give you that? *teasing* Was it Sun?

Blake: Jaune actually.

Yang: Why would Jaune give you that?

Blake: I help him get a part time job with my mom.

Ruby: Doing what?

Blake: I don't know all the details, but my mom explained to me that it is a company involved in the entertainment business. They try to get models and drive them through different parts of the city.

Yang: Like one of those blogs where they take road trips? Do they promote businesses in the city?

Blake: I do not know. I did not ask. To be honest, I wasn't interested. I'm not into that kind of entertainment. I prefer for books.

Meanwhile.

Jaune is waiting on the street to be picked up. Until a white van appears.

A woman on the drivers seat call him out.

Kali: You are Jaune, correct? Blakes friend

Jaune: Oh yes that’s me. I’m guessing you are her mom, Mrs. belladonna.

Kali: That’s me and call me kali. Hop in, let’s get down to business.

Jaune gets inside the van and sees a beautiful girl in the back seat. Nothing weird about it but Jaune has a strange feeling.

Kali: Everything alright?

Jaune: I just had a feeling of deja vu, like I seen this before.

Kali: *Giggles* I don’t doubt it. We are pretty popular. You may have seen us from time to time. Now let me introduce you to your partner of the day, Sienna khan.

Sienna: *Smiling and licking her lips* Hello handsome.

Jaune: *Smiling innocently* Nice to meet you. *He turns to kali* So what do you need me to… do? *Sees kali setting a camera on the ground in front of him* What is the camera for?

Kali: Is to record the trip. Now just act natural and have fun. *She smiles and press the record button* Part 2 by @darkvaga -------------------

Sometime later

Blake is casually reading one of his "artistic" novels. Suddenly she hears the door open very quietly. Blake: Hello Jaune, how was mother's job for you? Not too stressful I hope

Jaune: oh no..very simple....though you forgot that your mother loves to talk & flirt......alot

Blake: *chuckles not looking from her book* oops, i guess i forgot about that 😅

Jaune: yeah you did.....also asked if i was interested in giving her grand babies with her rebel daughter

Blake: *shrinking into her book* d..d..dang it mom!

Jaune: *chuckled* don't worry i stuttered too much to answer

Blake: still embarrassing.....*sniffes the air* hey...do you smell something.....musky?

Jaune:..*stuttering* oh...umm..uh..yeah...its me...phew, i should go shower....bye! *rushes to the bathroom door*

Blake: hey jaune?

Jaune: yeah!?

Blake:....nvm....thanks for helping my mom

Jaune:...sure...*closes the door*

In the bathroom, jaune strippes out his clothes revealing his body once more ccovered in lipstick stains...rather sloppy ones mind you as well as claw marks

Jaune: holy cow.....faunus are wild....i think I'm down a few gallons....i didn't even know i could shot that much......thankfully blake didnt notice....

After a nice shower in jaune's bedroom

Jaune *staring at his scroll*

Kali: "can't wait to play again~"

Jaune:....definitely......though i need a break for a bit....

Kali: "Great!...see you tomorrow stud~~..."

Jaune: *gulping* i barely survived.the first time.......but my dad didnt raise a quiter "Sure thing my lady"

His scroll rings a second time

Jaune: from...Blake?

Blake: "i know what you guys did~ ready for round 10?"

"Nobody's home but us~~~"

Blake got her answer when Jaune burst through her door like an animal