#in the end. that offer of that thing that maybe she actually coveted

[more-complicated]

I want the pain to be gone

To grow away from it

Instead ive grown around it

Like a tree grows around an object

Until it becomes the core of me

And even if the pain gets smaller and smaller

What is going to fill up that space

Or will I just have

A rotted hole

Inside me

[ddollipop]

BITE INTO ME HARDER, SINK YOUR TEETH INTO MY FLESH. . . ! — ( KAEYA ALBERICH. )

#. synopsis! — while rummaging about in kaeya’s office, a first-time petty criminal paid off by the fatui finds herself caught a little too red-handed. a shattered wine bottle leads to the knight’s most coveted secret unweaving, and you quickly realize that the “wine” in that bottle is no alcoholic beverage. it’s blood. kaeya alberich is a vampire, and it’s been quite a while since he last fed from human prey. . . an agreement is reached .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , vampire!kaeya , petty-criminal!reader , begging , oral sex , blowjobs , vaginal sex , office sex , wall sex , bloodsucking , biting , light sub/dom dynamics , cumming on ass , cum eating , cum swallowing , dirty talk , apology sex .

#. word count! — 4.5k .

#. a/n! — this was obviously supposed to go up on halloween, but yk, took the L on that one. hope everyone enjoys anyway, even if it's roughly three days late lol.

Sometimes, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do; for yourself, and at some points, for others. A period of financial hardship recently fell upon your family, and though it’s mostly been resolved by now, the lingering fear that it could happen again has surmounted in you taking a rather. . . Foolish deal. Like most citizens of Mondstadt, you’ve been wary of the Fatui’s presence in the nation. They seem to be up to nefarious things that people like you aren’t privy to, and the prying eyes that sit deep behind their masks always unnerve you as you pass them by. Today, however, you were actually approached by one of them, —one who promised you a small fortune for a devious act.

Initially, you were quick to turn her away. Mora wasn’t worth working with the likes of the Fatui, you thought. . . But sometimes, moral sacrifices have to be made. You thought back to your scrambling family, uncertain of where their next meal would be coming from, thought back to the sleepless nights you spent doing odd jobs around the city that nobody else would touch just to be able to afford a few basic necessities. And then, against your better judgment, you accepted her conditions as long as she promised to keep you anonymous from her allies and request nothing of you ever again going forward.

A part of you wonders, even now that you’re trapped in the thick of it, if she’ll truly hold up her end of the bargain. You can only hope she’ll have enough decency to be true to her word.

With uncertain hands, you rummage about Kaeya’s personal office. All it took was a few minutes of begging and a few mustered up tears for you to be let in, —told that Kaeya was currently returning from a mission and would be back soon enough. You kept up the act; played the guards like a fiddle, and had to admit that there was a certain thrill in doing so that you hadn’t expected to enjoy so much. Sniffling, you thanked them profusely for their kindness, (for their stupidity,) and sat alone in the room until you were sure they’d gone on their ways.

That’s when the search began. Maybe there’s a method to Kaeya’s madness, but you certainly don’t get it. Then again, you’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to be looking for either. It’s possible that the woman had simply approached you to test your limits, see if you’d be willing to commit an act of betrayal against your nation. . . When you think about it like that, it makes you want to run away from it all, offer apologies in advance for something you haven't even officially done yet.

But it’s too late to turn back now, and if the worst comes to pass again, you’ll need the Mora you’ve been promised. At the end of the day, your obligations are first to your family; not to Mondstadt as a whole. So, you continue forth with your rummaging, flicking through useless papers that would likely be of no interest to your commissioner. There were no specific instructions, but the last thing you’d want is to go through all this trouble only to be told that your efforts were in vain. As such, you’re left rifling through documents and letters, stationary items, and other miscellaneous things. Nothing that you would personally consider to be of note, —but maybe the Fatui will have some use for one of Kaeya’s personal letters to someone unnamed about the sweet taste of wine in the fall.

Frustration takes hold, your heart hammering like a drum in your chest as you try to listen for footsteps in the hall. The last thing you need from this is to be caught snooping around in the Cavalry Captain’s office.

With that in mind, —it seems you've jinxed yourself. In your attempt to be swift, you open a drawer much too quickly, and its contents spill out onto the floor. A glass bottle shatters, and with it, your nerves fry themselves into a dish unsuitable for even the wild animals of the forests. The distinct, metallic scent of blood fills your nose, and you reach up, thinking that the fear has left you with a nosebleed. However, you quickly realize. . . That’s not the case.

Rather, the pool of red liquid at your feet emanates the strong odor. You’re no wine connoisseur by any means, —but you’ve never smelled one that reeks of blood. That can’t possibly be normal. . . Right?

You bend down, dabbing the tips of your middle and index fingers into the substance. It clings much too well, feels thinly viscous when you rub it against your thumb, and it stinks of iron. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

You flinch so hard that every cell in your body seems to retract at the sound of Kaeya’s voice suddenly piping up from the corner. He stands nonchalantly, arms crossed over his chest, and that characteristic smirk clinging to the edges of his lips. In long, confident strides, he approaches you from the opposite side of the office, reaching out for you. His lithe fingers wrap around your wrist, —both soft, yet firm in grip.

When he brings your fingers to his mouth, you're stunned by the display he makes of licking the pads of them clean. The red liquid stains his tongue before he swallows it down, sucking on your digits for just a moment in what you can only assume is a gesture of good measure. You're too shocked to even think about pulling away.

"Ah," Kaeya clicks his newly cleaned tongue, "it seems we've run into a bit of a problem here, no?"

You swallow roughly, uncertain of what to say or do. You've been caught red-handed, very literally so, and you're at a loss as to where to go from here. A part of you wonders if turning on the waterworks will play out in your favor with Kaeya the way it did with the guards. Somehow, you doubt it. . .

"I'm sorry," spills past your lips before you have the chance to think it through. "I'm really sorry, just please—"

"You're sorry you got caught," Kaeya interrupts, but he doesn't sound particularly upset by it.

He speaks as if making little more than a casual observation.

"I'm sure you've got a tale to tell," he continues, "probably something sad, —a little sob story about your finances sinking into nothingness and a member of the Fatui approaching you with an offer you just couldn't refuse."

You swallow again, and his grip on your wrist tightens ever so slightly. Kaeya can tell by the look in your eyes that he's hit the nail on the head.

"Don't look so surprised," he scoffs, "—you're hardly special. I've met you ten, twenty times before. It always ends the same."

He's said so little, but has eluded to so much, and Kaeya loves the way your hand quivers in his hold.

The knight leans closer to whisper to you, warm tufts of breath fanning against the burning shell of your ear: "I will say though. . . You're the prettiest thief I've ever caught in my office."

He takes note of the way you inhale sharply at his compliment, interpreting it as a thank you.

"Now it's just a matter of how to punish you," Kaeya states. "I could always hand you over to someone else and have them deal with you, but where's the fun in that?"

Fun? Celestia knows that's the last thing on your mind right now as Kaeya's fingers tighten around your wrist again, further cementing his silent point of having no intentions of letting you go any time soon.

"That stuff on the floor," you say in a voice barely above a whimper, "—is it blood?"

He laughs. It's straight from the chest, so genuine and raw that it sends shivers up the length of your spine. To you, this is anything but funny. To him, it seems that he's more amused by you than anything else.

"You couldn't figure that out from the scent?" He questions. "Of course it is. But don't look so frightened. It's not from a human; it's the blood of a boar."

It’s as if he thought that anecdote would make having a bottle of the stuff in his office any easier to swallow, no matter where it originated. 

"And you just. . . Drink it?" You question.

"That's what Vampires do," he nods. "We drink blood. It's in our nature, one might say."

Vampires?

You've long heard rumors about them across Teyvat, but had always chalked them up to superstition and the imagination of parents trying to keep their children in line. Every once in a while, you'd catch wind of a forest animal found somewhere off outside the city with its body drained of blood, —but again, you'd chalk that up to little more than gossip and idle chatter.

"It's been quite a while since I've dranken straight from a human, though."

He could practically smell the surge of anxiety that rippled through your body like the evening tide to the jutting rocks just off Starsnatch Cliff. 

"I-I can fix that," you stammer. "If you agree to let me go, I'll let you drink my blood, and I promise you'll never see me anywhere near your office ever again."

Kaeya laughs again, and it's no less sinister than the first.

"You think you're in any position to be driving bargains?" He snickers.

Even so, it seems to you that he's weighing the options.

"Still," he muses, "I'll admit that I admire your ability to adapt so quickly. So just for that, —lean back against the wall and tilt your head to the side. I'll consider letting you go after I've had a good taste."

You oblige, against your better judgment, knowing that if your family were to find out about any of this, you'd never have the nerve to go home again. It would be bad enough if they knew you'd been speaking with a member of the Fatui, —but to have been driven to steal from a pillar of Mondstadt's community? Completely and utterly unheard of. Just like the real, genuine existence of Vampires is completely unheard of, —but here you are, about to have your blood sucked by one. Today’s been weird, —not that you really have the time to dwell on that right now.

"Don't make any sudden movements," Kaeya warns, brushing some loose strands of hair out of the way to have complete access to your neck. "The pain subsides faster if you keep your muscles relaxed."

Funnily enough, you hadn't considered the pain aspect of it up until now, but there was definitely no turning back. You glance at him, gulping nervously at the brief glint you catch of his fangs that have come out to feed.

"Do it," you whisper breathily, voice quivering as Kaeya's pupil seems to blow, his single iris beginning to swim with a bright, scarlet red color, replacing the striking blue that once resided there.

You barely have half the mind to register the quick breath that graces your skin before he’s sunken his fangs into your flesh. The initial puncture is the worst of it, —something akin to agonizing. It leaves you whimpering, barely able to keep yourself together to remain still. Your back is pressed against the wall, barely able to stabilize you as your knees begin to quake under the pressure and the pain.

Kaeya is quick about the ordeal, no hesitation to be found in his bite. It's been a long while since he's fed directly from a human, and you can feel the eagerness of his mouth when he laps at the puncture wounds on your neck. The rake of his tongue across your newfound injuries soothes you down swiftly enough.

Your blood tastes much better than any forest creature. It's sweet and dulcet, —so velvety as it flows into his mouth and plays on his tongue. Pain soon turns to a sick sense of pleasure, one so intense that it has your eyes rolling around in your skull. Arousal swims in your veins, blood pumping faster and your body in ruins. The wet, warm heat of Kaeya's mouth drowns out all reason and rationale, spreading across your skin like wildfire. 

Pleasure and pain meld together, becoming indistinguishable from one another. A blissful sense of devastation lingers in the wake of it all. The Vampire feeds, getting his fill of you as he listens to the soft moans that fall from your lips every so often. He doesn't need to pull away to see the arousal written across your face, to see the hollow expression of dream-like ecstasy you’re wearing, —although the option is certainly available. Kaeya can smell the surge of hormones running rampant inside you, along with the rampant thump of your quickening pulse. 

Arousal is normal during times of feeding. It’s encouraged by the bite of a Vampire, allowing them to feed faster as blood pumps more rapidly through the heart. 

With your back pressed firmly against a wall in the Cavalry Captain's office, you close your eyes and listen to the silent story of rushing fluid as your blood spills into Kaeya's desperate mouth. He could have easily drained you dry of every last drop, but managed to stop himself before the possibility was even on the horizon. When he pulls away, the corners of his mouth stained red, you watch with half-lidded eyes as he licks it up, making sure that none of your glorious crimson fluid would go to waste.

Lazily, Kaeya looks at you and inquires; “You okay?”

With glazed eyes and a pit burning deep within your stomach, your legs quiver as your back slips down the wall until you're sitting on the floor. They’re practically useless for the time being, thrumming with. . . Something. Whatever this feeling is, you’re wildly unfamiliar with it, and you don’t have the strength to question it. 

"Fine," you answer dreamily, thighs squeezing together irritably.

So fine, in fact, that your clit is throbbing against the soft material of your panties.

Kaeya has seen this before. It’s why he prefers to sustain himself on animal blood, and why he avoids feeding from humans, even when the taste is far superior to the staleness that often lingers in blood that comes from a bottle. Lust after a feeding session is both common and normal; almost to be expected. Some are worse off than others, with people like you being particularly sensitive to the rush of hormones a Vampire’s bite releases.

Moreover, Kaeya rarely indulges in sex. Attractive as he may be, with many suitors ready and willing to rip the clothes off his body and give him the ride of a lifetime, the knight has always preferred to take care of his needs himself. Occasionally, he’ll seek the assistance of a young woman from the city, but even those little rendezvous are few and far between (and never do they entail drinking anyone’s blood.)

Ah, but you. . . There was something special, —something different about you in a way Kaeya couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d known that the moment you bared your neck to him, offering your blood in exchange for his silence mere moments after learning that Vampires aren’t just mythical creatures of legend. The once clever young woman he’d caught in his office, snooping around through his things, is now sitting on the floor with a pair of puncture wounds on her pretty throat, her eyes staring off at nothing in particular. Far off and dreamy, your legs squeeze together, seeking friction from the little twists your hips make.

Call it instinct or gentlemanly obligation, Kaeya felt it was only appropriate to clean up a mess he had more than a fair hand in creating, —so he gets down on a single knee beside you, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“You’ve got two options,” he says. “You can take care of. . . All this,” looking up and down your languid body, “—by yourself, or you can ask politely for help and apologize for rummaging around my office without permission. Which’ll it be, darling?”

Your insides ripple at the thought of it alone. It’s absolutely incredible what a Vampire’s bite can do to a lowly human being; one oh so susceptible to the want and need of it all in the fallout.

“I’m sorry,” you all but whimper, mustering up your best pair of puppy-dog eyes in hopes that it would hit any sweet spots the Cavalry Captain could have buried within.

Admittedly, he’s more intrigued by the glaze of lust that hangs over your stare.

“What was that?” He mocks, feigning ignorance as he rises to his feet and takes a few strides back. “I didn’t quite catch what you said there.”

You swallow, ignoring the bitter pricks of pain that have begun to jolt about along your neck.

“I’m sorry—”

“Wrong,” he interjects, clicking his tongue disapprovingly once again. “It’s basic manners to know that one should grovel on their knees when begging for forgiveness.”

The breath that follows his subtle command is shaky as it passes your lips. You give a quick nod before pulling your body forward, suddenly feeling much heavier than before without the weight of the wall to support you. Hands smoothing their way across the hardwood floor and knees trailing behind, you approach him like a scolded pet ready to beg for attention from your master after making a mistake.

“I shouldn’t have come into your office without permission,” you admit, attempting to tune out the incessant thrum of your arousal. “And I shouldn’t have touched your things without permission either.”

“Mhm,” he hums, reaching down to grab your chin.

Kaeya forces you to look up at him from your place just before the space between his long, slender legs.

“And?”

“And I’m very sorry that I did.”

You’re less sorry now than you were five minutes ago. Right now, the only thing you can manage to think about is the heat from the tips of his fingers scorching at your skin, —sending shockwaves through your body that you desperately need to feel alight inside you.

He smirks, a small scoff bursting forth as he studies your pretty face.

“You’re sorry?” He inquires sarcastically.

“Yes,” you reply in a small, needy voice, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“That so?” His hands fall away from your face to tug at his pants, allowing his half-hard cock to spring free. “Then go ahead and show me just how sorry you are.”

You glance between his sizable length and his one visible eye. Kaeya takes himself into a loose grip, before snapping another command as you move back to sit on your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth up and let me see your lying little tongue.”

He slaps the warm head against your exposed tongue once, twice, thrice, —then smoothes himself over the wetness, cock sliding with your saliva. It’s not long before he bores of this, however, instead ordering you to put in some extra effort.

“Put your lips around it,” he instructs, sighing softly in relief when you do as he says.

With your mouth suctioned loosely around him, you offer a few sloppy licks to the tip. His hand comes down to rest with the flat of his palm against the crown of your head, encouraging you to continue on; to take him in deeper and let him feel all the dips and grooves of your throat. As he relaxes into you, you go off script and follow the beat of your own drum, so to speak. Kaeya barely stifles a moan as you lick a solid stripe from the bottom of his shaft to the leaking tip of his cock.

“Look at me,” he says simply; to which you comply, staring up at him with the best doe-eyed stare you can muster up with a cock stuffed in your jowls.

Even as the effects of his bite wear off and your neck begins to ache, the lust remains hot and heavy, pooled deep within your gut. The burning embers are stoked further the moment you take him into your mouth again, wrapping your lips around his member before sinking down slowly. A tempo rises from the ashes, a sigh escapes past Kaeya’s lips, and you begin the melody: shallow and easy. As the pressure builds within you both, your sluggish, almost lazy movements become much more fervent, and Kaeya’s hand returns to the crown of your head once more. His long fingers press against your hair, the other cupping the side of your face, encouraging you onward.

You establish a steady rhythm, —one that wracks your lover to the core. Kaeya feels his insides quiver as you bob up and down on him, your mouth nearly ghosting the base of his long cock accompanied by tiny gags that leave your throat contracting around him. He gets louder, groaning and whispering filthy words, mumbling sweet nothings about how pretty you are when he’s buried in your maw. Still, the knight seems to be holding onto a small sliver of self-control; one that you’re determined to strip him bare of before this little escapade comes to a close.

The rest is nothing but messy enthusiasm. You feel him twitch against your tongue, only to solidly press your nose against his naval, swallowing around him to tip him over the edge. It works like a charm.

As you pull away, Kaeya leaves you with a mouthful of hot cum. It’s thick, mild in flavor, and all too easy to drink down.

You make a show of swallowing it, and then of wiping your bottom lip clean. He could likely cum again just watching you in the aftermath.

“Good,” he says simply.

Kaeya then removes his shirt and is halfway through stepping out of his pants before he stops to pause, glancing down at you as if to ask “what do you think you’re waiting for?” Suffice to say, you get the hint.

As you stand naked before him, Kaeya’s lips meet yours for the first time. He moves the both of you back until your ass is pressed to the wall again, offering you stability as he attacks your lips in bruising kisses and laps at the insides of your mouth with little care. He’s like a starved lion; fervent in every move he makes and all too desperate, but somehow composed enough to control the situation with ease.

“Turn around,” he growls against your lips, wasting little time in smoothing his lithe fingers over the plane of your shoulders.

His arm encircles your throat, pulling you close to him as he reaches out with the other hand, demanding that you spit into it. He uses your saliva to slick himself up, then presses your shoulders toward the wall, barely offering you any time to find your bearings before his fingers prod at your entrance.

“You’re dripping,” he laughs.

If you had enough humility in the moment to be embarrassed, maybe you would have been; —but this isn’t exactly the type of situation for that. Rather, you arch your back a little further, hoping it might offer him better access (and thus encourage him to fuck you faster.)

It works easily enough.

Kaeya pushes his saliva ridden cock inside your sopping cunt, presses further into your insides all the way to the hilt. He bottoms out, leaving you gasping as your pussy clenches around the thick of him. Maybe it’s all part of a Vampire’s impact; but you’re seeing stars even before he makes any attempt to move, viewing galaxies behind your fluttering eyelids as he digs his fingernails into your hip. Your head’s up in the clouds again. . .

“Fuck,” he groans, —and you love the breathless twinge that ghosts along your spine when his head falls closer to his chest.

It’s all too good the way your cunt moves around him, welcoming him deep inside. He thought your blood was good, —great—, but this is like stuffing his cock into the gates of Celestia itself. You’re obnoxiously proud of the way Kaeya loses himself inside you, as if abandoning his status as Cavalry Captain just to get a taste of what it’s like to be truly human.

He pulls out slowly, as if to tease you even in his blissed out state, before slamming back in with reckless abandon. It’s so intense that it makes your insides quake, —unbearably intense and much too pleasurable, perhaps in a masochistic sense of the word.

The tempo rises once again. It begins as something quick and frantic, but evolves into something much more desperate, sharper and harsher. The distinct sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, likely seeping from his office and into the halls; but you’re too lost in the moment to care, especially when Kaeya picks up the pace. When he angles his thrusts just right, hitting all the sweet spots inside you, the both of you are reduced to little more than loud moans and desperate pants.

The air inside his office is no longer tempered. It might as well have been suffocating, but even breathing itself seemed to pale in comparison as a necessity when pitted against the pounding of Kaeya’s cock. 

A sob works its way up your throat, spilling past your lips excitedly. Your core is thrumming, pussy convulsing around him, —loving the way he fills you up as if his very life depends on it. His every move makes your body weaker by the second, pumping you full of adrenaline and ecstasy. It’s all so overwhelming in a way you simply cannot get enough of. You even love the way Kaeya leaves you struggling for breath, gasping for air in between the hammerings he offers right to your g-spot. 

At the edge, Kaeya reaches between your legs to play with your neglected clit, and without warning sinks his fangs into your neck once more. This time, he drinks nothing more than what spills up to the surface, breathing heavily against the skin of your throat. You’re left trembling underneath him, eyes rolling back into your skull as ecstasy explodes from within. He leaves you mewling, cumming on and clenching around him. 

It’s not long before Kaeya follows in suit, pulling out just in the nick of time to spill his seed along your ass. Your knees give way immediately, forcing you to the ground. It was, frankly, a miracle you’d been able to stand the entire time without collapsing before. His bite and the rippling impact of your orgasm have knocked all the wind from your sails, and you haven’t a clue how Kaeya is still standing tall after all of that.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, smoothing his hair back with a single hand, “—I’d say that apology suffices.”

You don’t even need to look his way to know that he’s got an annoying smirk plastered across his face.

[ghoulorghost]

I think the main difference between the Antari lies in the way they perceive both themselves as people and themselves in relation to their magical ability.

Delilah Bard found out she was Antari when she was 19 years old, a period of time in which her character had time to develop. She was her own person, with desires and a purpose, long before she made this discovery. She defined herself as a thief and wannabe pirate, before anything else, and this new talent certainly didn't make a difference , her choice being to wield it the same she would a blade.

Holland Vosijk acquired the title of Antari when he was 8 years old. At that point in time, in spite of or maybe because of the way he was brought up, he already viewed his existence as important, his conflict with both his brother Athos and later his first lover Talya proving that.

His encounters with Ros Vortalis strengthened the care he held for White London, but also gave him the purpose of bettering it's fate.

His time spent bound to the Danes did not diminish his sense of self and his desires, but actually fostered them.

And while Holland did seem to consider his position as an Antari a curse, due to the way others sought to use him, I feel like he did not intend to die, just favored it over the alternative.He also recognised the magic's usefulness as a means to an end.

Delilah and Holland are alike in that sense. Both of them view their magic as a component to what they perceive their own person to be.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have Kell, whose memories begin from the moment he was discovered as an Antari.

He didn't have the chance to separate himself from this label, he was essentially the label, first and foremost.

Kell was valued and forced into certain predicaments as a consequence of receiving it.

He's grown up learning to associate his worth to his magic, all the while resenting what he was given as a result of it, which he perceived as unfair. I'm convinced he also subconsciously resented the people who viewed him this way and taught him to view himself this way. He felt and was told he was being ungrateful, and ended up feeling guilty and resenting himself for even thinking such thoughts and experiencing such emotions in the first place.

Instead of it being a talent he could make use of, it became something he was used because of, feared because of and coveted because of. It's become his defining trait.

Both his biological mother and father elected to give him up in exchange for his mother's freedom and a sum of money.  They didn't value him as a person, they saw value in this specific characteristic he had, and used it to their advantage.

His adoptive parents, the king and queen, viewed him as means to keep their enemies at a safe distance, as a method of communication with other Londons, and as prince Rhy's protector.

Rhy must've been the only person who saw Kell as something else, as a brother, as an individual, and even he had his flaws, not willing to recognise what the people he loved did.

The times Kell did attempt to exteriorize other attributes and desires, ended with him being punished. He desires to have more to himself than his magic.

Feeling stuck is what caused him to act recklessly, to do things he wasn't supposed to, and to keep them to himself.

The arrogance he displayed seemed like a front, a way to feel less inadequate.

He won both the coat and a multitude of baubles through gambling, and while it's not specified for how long he'd been doing this, he was wearing a red coat, the coat?, the first time Holland met him, at 13 years old.

He smuggled, traded and collected trinkets, to feel like he had something of his own for once, something he wasn't offered just because of his status, his magic. He'd tried to define himself through the objects he gathered.

This habit of his, which frankly sounds more like an addiction, was the cause of his encounter with the Black Stone. The Black Night, Rhy's death, Holland's death and consequent return, and Osaron, all occurrences that followed.

This series of events ended with him shattering his magic beyond repair, losing what he and most others thought of as himself. Suddenly he became nothing, useless, and everything attributed to him because of it didn't fit anymore.

He's displayed a carelessness in regard to his life, multiple times across the years, his tie to Rhy being the main thing keeping him alive.

He'd have been willing to go to Black London, was resigned to the idea for most of the first book, but his binding to Rhy made him reconsider. I think he also really believed Holland so close to death he wouldn't have survived the trip and wouldn't have suffered.

The same could be said about him planning to offer himself as bait to Osaron. If Holland hadn't taken over the role and his brother wasn't in danger of dying, he wouldn't have thought twice about doing it.

Kell confirmed he would have taken his life the moment he came to the conclusion that his magic wasn't coming back, had he not considered Rhy's life more important than this inclination.

He doesn't see value his life beyond it benefiting others.

It also seems as if he becomes someone else everytime he's redefined. He's been Kastion Laros, K.L., Kell Maresh, Kell, Kamerov Loste, Kay, and multiple other people over the course of his life. I do think they're all sides of him.

Now, with his magic mostly healed, he's back to playing Kell Maresh.

But I'm not convinced he's learned to value himself yet, just reverted to a state he views himself valuable in. Though I hope by the end of the series he'll figure himself out.

[ishipgenfics]

You and Your Human: Part 2

Part 1

You let yourself fall apart with your human for a few more moments before pulling yourself up. You are not helpless. You have your own ship now. You can keep yourself and your human safe. But you need a new crew. Loyal ones, who are good at their jobs and don't mind humans. Which... isn't so easy to find.

Luckily, you and your human are at one of the largest trading posts this side of the Starry Abyss. If there's anywhere you can find someone who won't much mind working with a human, it's here.

You do not actually end up finding your first crew member, they find you. In fact, they run up to you, beaming.

"Pronouns?" they say, speaking to you in your native language. You are stunned.

"Er... she/her variance?" you say.

They nod and keep speaking, words tumbling out, accent like that of a native speaker. But unless the setup of the trading posts has very much changed since your last visit, they cannot be a native speaker. They are tall, with feathered wings and puffy gray-white hair. They wear flowing white robes and their beak makes a satisfying clicking noise as they speak.

"Oh my gosh thank you so much, I'm not sure why they sent you as opposed to one of my superiors... are you working for one of the ambassadors? You know what, it doesn't really matter. Anyway, thank you for reconsidering I swear I won't let you down--"

You puff your tail up and step in front of your human. "Pronouns?"

"They/them variant."

You nod. "Excuse me, but who are you and what do you want?"

The Equilian backed up. They looked genuinely remorseful, which made you feel a bit bad.

"Oh my gosh I am so sorry," they say. They chuckle nervously, teeth retracted into their beak. "I didn't-- I have been a mess today, Saints. I'll just tangle my way out of here then...?"

They start to walk away, but you let out a high-pitched squeak, a signal to wait. You aren't sure why. Your human squeaks at you, but it has the pitch wrong and you can't tell what it's trying to say. You pat its ankle reassuringly and then turn back to the Equilian.

"How do you know Pyricese so well?" you ask. Most people do not know more than their standard language, and maybe a second one they learned at school. It is the reason why most ships are only one species, why the United Galactic Council failed so badly, and why translators are one of the most coveted resources in the Abyss. Someone like you-- who speaks nearly every language a person might need-- well, everybody wants you. It's why you have to be careful.

"I spent five years as part of an aid program, for the alliance between our two planets." Their head bounces up and down, almost like a nod, and you notice your human copying the motion. "I'm essentially fluent!"

"Aid?" you say. There is a cold spiral of dread in your stomach. You feel sick. "What happened?"

"Oh. Oh Saints you don't know."

"What. Happened." Your human is babbling comforting nonsense in the background. Normally you would be happy to hear it speaking its native language, but you are too hopped up on adrenaline right now. When you get back to your ship, you are going to have a nice hot bath and a long lie down. This much adrenaline cannot be healthy.

"It was a sandstorm," the Equilian says. "A bad one. A lot of things were destroyed, pretty soon after the alliance was formed. So they sent over aid groups to help."

"You were one of them?" you clarify. You are starting to have an idea.

"Yeah." The Equilians wings slump. Their feathers are messy, they must not have preened in a while. "Was. My contract ran out and I wasn't a citizen so... I wasn't allowed to stay."

You realize that you are leaning forward, tail perked up. You look too invested in this, you don't even know this person. You're always emotional after a breakdown. "What I am hearing," you say, recovering magnificently if you do say so yourself, "is that you are in need of a job."

"Are you offering?" the Equilian says.

Your tail shakes upwards. "I am. What can you do?"

"I'm a builder, or have been for a while, but I've always liked to think that I'm a good pilot," the Equilian says.

You smile. "It just so happens that I have acquired a new ship. And I'm not a particuarly good pilot."

The Equilians wings flap in and out. "That's-- that's great! Are you ready to go, or do you have any other business? Is there somewhere I should meet you?"

Your human is making soft muttering noises. From what you can parse, although it is difficult to follow two languages at once, it is trying to figure out what you are saying. It does not seem to be having much luck, which makes sense, you've only taught it it/its variance and this whole conversation has been in she/her and they/them variance.

"Meet me at the docks, in the crow section," you say. "I'll show you where the ship is once I get there." You do not think your pilot would steal the ship, but it is standard procedure, and you do not want to risk getting stranded, especially not now that you have a human to protect.

The Equilian nods, and flutter-walks away. You grab your human by the hand, and head off into the crowd. You have more crew members to find.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @somethingclevermahogony, @elsie-writes, and @frostedlemonwriter!

Find the Word Tag

I'll do all these in one, why the fuck not?

My words: laugh, cozy, answer, entire, brown, fish, run, screech, down, drumming, intense, swallow, inspire

Your words: dwell, thick, circus, berry

Ok, Honor's Outcasts, let's do this. I just checked and I've got fish in there a total of 74 times, this is gonna be fun

. . . .

<Today's the first day of Jasartra Eim, so I planned on doing some meditation around the fifteenth hour. If you care to join me, we can check the traps afterwards.>

<It's not that long a ritual,> he added as Izjik grimaced.

It wasn't that she was opposed to religion. Hell, she found it beyond impressive that Sepo had kept his faith throughout the conflagration that was his life, even if it was a faith that had a history of drowning innocent people. But her record when it came to gods was... messy.

<I take it you'll pass. Sorry....> Sepo was well aware of what had landed her in the highest security oubliette Illaros had to offer.

"It's fine." She forced a laugh. "Meditation's just not really my thing."

.

Izjik now knew why Sepo always complained about their cozy tenement. He'd grown up in a place like this, hadn't he? In luxury. A single damn rug here made their rooms seem like a sty!

Where they weren't coveted with strange, gorgeous curtains, the marble blocks were a furor of swirling gold and white. Their steps echoed around the vast room, bouncing off of carved columns, only to be absorbed by the weird image-bearing cloths. The whole place smelled like the first breeze of a honeysuckle summer.

.

Undeta swept her hand back and forth, as if bored, though no such emotion showed in her eyes. "Yes, you've sung this song a hundred times. From the moment we picked you up at that dingy hovel you thought you could lie low in, you've been singing away like a little canary. Tell me, Tyche, did you think it would save you?"

Tyche looked away, not bothering to answer. She'd been a fool trying to play both sides. A greedy, grasping fool. She'd thought herself, if not able to play the game exactly, then able to at least cheat off of those who knew the rules. But little did she know, she'd never even realized what pieces the powers of the world were using.

.

Maybe Izjik should've been more curious about the occult cloud that had shaded her entire life, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to it. Never once had she wanted to learn more about End and what made her its flesh exactly. She'd get those answers, to find out what the sirens wanted with her at least, but damn if she wasn't scared of what they'd be.

.

Sepo had always been one of those people who looked like shit no matter how much they slept or ate, but under the gilded light, Izjik failed to hold in her shock at how wasted he seemed.

The man had practically aged ten years in three months - quite the feat for someone whose golk could live well over three centuries and not look a day over twenty-five. Sepo’s cheeks were nearly as sunked as they'd been when the pair had first met, and his eyes were ringed with shadow. At his temples, Izjik noticed several streaks of gray shining amidst the brown.

With a chuckle, Izjik poked at the side of his head.

"We match," she smiled, ruffling her own head of silver.

<Actually, this whole thing was just a plan to steal your look,> Sepo signed with a smirk. <I've decided gray is going to be my color from now on.>

.

Upon making his way over to the rest of the gaggle, Djek discovered them to be in full scheming mode. Which meant Sepo was plotting with Twenari in rapid-fire handsigns, while Izjik interjected with the occasional observation or revelation that something was stupid or the plan was terrible.

Surprisingly enough, the fish seemed to be acting perfectly civil around each other. They weren't back to their full swing, sibling-level banter, but they were at least speaking. Djek figured the pair wouldn't have lasted long in the Trench if they didn't know how to act professional in a time of crisis. Thank the gods for small mercies.

.

Fear now accompanying pain, the woman tore off a strip of her shirtsleeve and jammed it desperately against the wound, fresh needles of pain cropping up with the pressure.

How could she fix a gut wound? Panic mounting, Izjik recalled an instance from her childhood.

In her eleventh year, one of the hunters had run afoul of a tusked water deer during a patrol. It hadn't been a deep wound, the buck not being more than a little thing, but the puncture had been pretty close to where hers was now. Everyone had been sure brawny Raluheh would pull through. Five agonizing, rot-fulled days later, the enclave had been proven wrong.

.

"You- you're sparing me?" the siren coughed out.

Sepo gestured for him to go with a jerk of his chin.

"But what about our deal?" he whined. "You have no idea what I-"

Sepo cut off his complaints by shoving him towards the alley's exit.

"You little ingrate! You can't just expect me to leave without an answer!" Cintillios screeched.

Sepo shrugged, then brandished his dagger as if weighing it against the priest's freedom.

"You will give me an answer, you mute abomination! Even if I have to force it from your lips!"

.

Slipped inbetween Izjik’s arguments was a hard, dead silence.

"That doesn't mean I can't make my own calls!"

There was a hissed breath in response, then more silence.

"Like you would've done any different? Be honest!"

Breathe, breathe. In and out.

Twenari sighed, moving over to plop down onto their raggedy little settee. It wasn't like an argument was uncommon for the pair. Hell, she's heard them argue over the color of a woman's hat once. A woman, she might add, who'd been standing right next to then in a bank queue, and whose blushing face had perfectly complimented her obviously blue hat.

There'd been more serious discussions too, but when those had coma along, both seafolk seemed to rein it in a bit. Izjik’s voice lost its fiery indignation while Sepo toned down his typical vitriol.

That balance wasn't happening now. In fact, from what she could hear and deduce, the two were pulling out all the nasty, petty stops.

.

Twenari pawed at her eyes, knowing her life may depend on clearing them more quickly than her opponent. She spied a hazy shape before her, unrecognizable for a moment with its golden locks singed an ashen black. Tyche clawed at her own face, muscles tensed in pain. Twenari guessed the Ekektan was screaming. Only guessed though - all the girl could hear was an intense ringing.

.

A moment of silence followed in both rooms, the sort that felt painful to maintain, yet too awkward to break. However, Twenari hadn't gotten to where she was in life by listening to social cues. Swallowing, she screwed up her courage and stammered the question.

"Um, Djek, are you holding up ok?"

For a second, the Amaranthi's gap-toothed smile seemed frozen in place, shocked into a state of preservation while any happiness drained from his eyes.

"I, uh, I'm doing great. What are you talking about?" He chuckled unconvincingly. "You know me, heart of nails and all that."

Twenari didn't dignify that last part with any response more than a deadpan stare.

. . . .

And that's a wrap! Open tag because I'm tired :)

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Gorgeous - Part 2

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: There’s a lot of words in the English language to describe beautiful things. There’s only one that Bucky would use to describe you: gorgeous. Gorgeous and completely and totally infuriating.

Bucky POV

It had already been a long night. A terrible, dreadful night. 

Not only because you looked gorgeous, done up for the evening with a red lip and little black dress that he's certain he's never been lucky enough to see before. It was the kind of gorgeous that was out of Bucky's league and completely unattainable.

But also because from the moment he walked in and saw you consistently surrounded with all kinds of people, both people he knew and some only distantly familiar, he knew that it was going to be that kind of night, a night filled with silent, one-sided pining, looking but always from afar. A rough night.

You should really think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong.

He wasn't used to being drunk anymore. But tonight, courtesy of the weird Asgardian liquor he kept drinking, Drunk Bucky was resurrected. And now his head was fuzzy, swimming with the Asgardian mead he couldn't stop drinking. 

So he watched.

He let the bartender flirt with him, not shutting it down like he normally would. He'd engaged in pleasant, if not a little excessively long, conversations all night, all the while barely acknowledging you.

Sam.

Steve. 

Natasha. 

Even Wanda.

But you should really take it as a compliment that he's talking to everyone here but you. 

Still, he kept an eye on you. His eyes flickering to you all the way at the other end of the bar. He knew he could probably just go over there, sit in the empty bar stool that he'd coveted all night, but he was drunk and Drunk Bucky was apparently a little immature.

Wasn't alcohol supposed to be liquid courage?

Evidently not. 

Because he watched. And that's all he did. He watched, gritted his teeth and felt the hatred and fury simmer beneath his skin.

He watched the endless rotary of people that approached you. Random Compound employees make passes at you. Or the really bold ones that touched your back while flagging down the bartender and offered to buy you drinks.

He also watched the first whiskey on ice. 

Then the second.

And the third.

And fourth.

He sees you flag down the bartender for your fifth, and that's when he decides enough is enough. 

He stumbles out of his seat. He actually stumbles. And that's probably the first real sign that he's definitely not sober anymore and he should just call it a night. Still, he determinedly trudges over to the other end of the bar. 

"Hey, maybe we've had enough for tonight?" he suddenly interrupts, pulling the drink you're about to down away from you. 

"Maybe we've had enough for tonight?" you repeat. Are you mocking him? It certainly sounds like it. Your slurred words and poor imitation do nothing to change his mind: you've definitely had enough for tonight. You turn away from Bucky, ignoring the fact that he just stole your drink and simply order another one. "Can I get another whiskey on ice?"

"I think she's good," Bucky insists, his scowl deepening at the bartender.

He almost lets a chuckle slip when the bartender frightfully nods and scurries away.

Drunk Bucky really was being a jerk tonight.

"I think she's good," you imitate again. And he has to wonder why you're like this tonight? You don't drink and when you do you certainly don't get drunk. And you definitely don't get drunk and make fun of the way he talks. He also shouldn't care. He should go back over there and leave you alone. But damn, he was furious at you for making him feel this way. Then you touch his hand. The touch is only in passing, a fleeting moment that he's certain you don't even notice, just to get your confiscated drink out of his hand. But you should really think about the consequence of you touching his hand in a darkened room. Anger flickers across his face when he reminds himself that you're off-limits. You're not his. "I'm not. Go back to flirting with the bartender."

"Where's your boyfriend?" Bucky asks, mostly to keep reminding himself that you have a boyfriend. And it's definitely not him. "He needs to take you home."

"He's over there," you grumble, swatting your hand in the general direction of the dance floor as though you couldn't care less about him. "Doing...I don't know what."

"You want me to get him over here?" Bucky grits, his metal hand curling in jealousy-fueled anger.

He's jealous, he finally admits to himself, he can feel the envy coursing through his veins and he can't help but think that if he were your boyfriend, he wouldn't have left you sitting here alone all night. 

Because there's nothing he hates more than what he can't have. And he can't have you. But your boyfriend must be a shitty one if he's left you here all alone all night. Simply letting people flirt with you.

Then you sharply turn back to him, "And he's not even my boyfriend. We went on a date. Once."

"Good," Bucky grunts, trying his very best to tame the smirk on his face. He grabs onto the bar top, holding onto it to ground himself from this emotional rollercoaster. Because now he doesn't have another guy to compete with, he's happy that you're single. But that's honestly a little worse, because there's no one to compete with. And he still can't have you. "He's too old for you."

He also ignores the fact that he's also too old for you. He's technically in his mid-30's, but he's 106 so there's no real reconciling that age gap. At least sober Bucky couldn't. Drunk Bucky definitely could. 

"He's like 45."

He scoffs, sliding into the stool right beside you, He wondered why all night it was empty. In spite of the many people that came and talked to you, flirted with you, the stool remained completely, glaringly vacant the entire party. "Yeah, too old for you."

"Hah," you drunkenly laugh, the drink sloshing around in your hand, only a few drops spilling onto the bar. "What are you doing here? Go back to flirting. Or ignoring me."

He pries the drink out of your hand again. "I'm not ignoring you."

That was a lie. A bold faced lie even. He was ignoring you. He was ignoring you all night. He just couldn't bring himself to say anything to your face. Because look at your face. 

"God," you groan loudly, though not loudly enough for anyone else to hear you over the thumping music in the background. "You ruined my life."

And for this first time tonight, he catches your eye. And you pause the drunken insults and he just looks at you for a quick, fleeting moment. For a moment, it's like you're both sober. The eye contact hitting him like ice-cold water. 

Then you tear your eyes away. 

"Because I took your drink?" he chuckles, his first real laugh of the night. 

"Because I hate what I can't have," you easily reply, the words just roll off your tongue. 

The drink, he thinks. You're just talking about the drink. 

"And what can't you have?" he prompts, resting his elbow on the bar to lean further into you, a clear challenge forming on his expression. 

But that wasn't what he meant to say. And there was the liquid courage he was looking for an hour ago making its ill-timed appearance. But what was that saying about a drunk person's word speaking sober thoughts? 

"You're gorgeous," you blurt.

He chortles, the rollercoaster of emotions finally hitting its peak causing his adrenaline to surge. And he's not sure if it's the liquor or the compliment, but he feels his face warming, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. "And you're a flirt."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"You know, there's consequences to your actions, should quit while you're ahead."

"Make me," you taunt. 

Instead of saying anything, he stands up off the barstool, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Where are you going?" you ask, your words crisp and clear, your voice low enough for only Bucky to hear. 

"I'm gonna stumble home to Alpine. Alone," he sighs, a mischievous smirk on his face. The liquid courage now seeping into every single one of his flirtatious words, he lowers himself down to your eye-line, so close he can feel your breath stutter before him. He whispers against your lips, "Unless you want to come along?" 

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

[victoriousscarf]

Also these from the "2023 in review" fic writer asks would be awesome!! 🙏 (I know these are too many questions again so like no need to answer them all... I can't help it lol you talking about your writing is just interesting)

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

4. What piece of media inspired you the most?

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

16. What were you go-to writing songs?

17. What were your go-to writing snacks?

18. What was the hardest fic to title?

19. Share your favorite opening line

20. Share your favorite ending line

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

24. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

30. What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

1. I'm really sitting here like man did I try anything new this year?? But uh, even moths get caught in avalanches maybe? Trying to write in that sort of mindset and circular narrative was different. In fact possibly trying to really figure out the differences between POV after writing Mahanon for so goshdarn long. For example Thorin is insane in that one, but also in Covet and Forget Together, Fili's POV tends to use a lot more repetition than Mahanon who is very prosaic and sparse even in his own head. He's straightforward in his thoughts, and Fili is a bit more poetic.

4. The Hobbit probably but runner up on Charmed

9. Probably Smoke in Your Eyes and Stars in Your Heart because I'd had the idea turning around in my head since 2016 and finally sat down and committed to writing it. It was hard though, because I had the shocking idea of writing it ~non-linear~ and nothing that makes you want to pull your hair out more than trying to keep track of which years went where. But also to be like a mediation on loyalty and love and what you do when duty and love are diametrically opposed but you're still trying to have it both ways. Plus I got to use a lot of weird history knowledge lmao. My favorite footnote was probably the one about the carrier pigeons in their little bra jackets because I think everyone should know about that. [for reference]

10. It feels really wrong somehow to say Covet, but it was Covet. That fic got me through some stuff this year and it got me chatting with some new people which I really appreciate.

16. I always have a lot of different songs for different verses, but one I listened to a lot for a couple different verses was Blood Upon the Snow by Hozier.

17. Cinnamon bears and mentos. These are not the good writing snacks lol but I always crave sugar for some reason.

18. I didn't actually write very many brand new fics this year but the Covet verse titles took me a hot second because I wanted them to have a really specific vibe and rhythm.

19. "Thorin did not mean to do it (and wasn't that the story of his life, of late)."

20. "Above them he heard the ravens sing, the sound bouncing off the walls of Erebor all around them, the cold sun on their shoulders."

21. For totally different reasons:

“It is good,” she said. “To realize some things change for the better.”

“Have you thought I not changed for the better,” he said, teasing.

“I think you changed for the sadder,” she said and Mahanon froze. and

“Because if I kiss you, it's not going to end there,” Wyatt said. “You know that too, don't you? If you offer yourself on a platter like this, I'm not going to stop there. I'm going to want to take everything.”

Chris felt the breath punch out of him. His eyes flickered down to Wyatt's mouth again and then up to meet his eyes before he asked, “Promise?”

(The mostly wildly different vibes lol)

22. “I don't blame you,” Bofur said, and Fíli still hand his palm pressed against the back of Bofur's hand, shifting it so wrap around his wrist, where he could feel his pulse too, the warmth of the fragile skin there. Dwarrow skin was not so thin as human's, even there, but it was still a point of vulnerability, of weakness, and Bofur didn't even twitch when he put his hand there.

Fíli would have twitched, he thought distantly, remembering Thorin breaking the bones there, back before he realized how bad things would become.

“Don't you?” Fíli rasped.

“You aren't the one who locked the door,” Bofur said.

23. Okay so I'm not actually sharing a line from it lol but the beginning of chapter 20 of Covet was the worst scene to write. I'd write a few words and then be like... I don't want to write this. How can I write this without actually having to write it?? It took me for-freaking-ever.

24. ... Yeah Wyatt and Chris managed to destroy my entire timeline lmao. Like just, tear that up and toss it away and come up with something else lol. But then again, I tend to try and be pretty flexible to where stories are taking me, and only really drag them in one direction if I really, really have to. My hope is to not end up in a situation where I've already written the ending and then get too attached to it and fuck up my own plot trying to get there (like some people we can all probably name). My endings feel more like the center of a dart board and I'm just seeing how close I can get and have it make sense. Though Nori coming out with SO MANY strong feelings in Covet also threw me. Surprise, that bitch is gonna cause trouble for everyone now.

26. Chapter 19 of be careful what you wish for because you might get your way because as someone pointed out in the comments we'd all been waiting something like 4 years for that one lol. Also I spent so fucking long writing that one y'all, so long. That got way more attention than usual because after 4 years I wanted it to like. Work.

30. My goal is to finish Starlight from the Gutter which admittedly I did a bunch of work for this year, but still haven't gotten back to. So that ending is what I want to write most this year lol.

[krisennifer]

We’ve. We’ve got to listen to it. It sends his brain into overdrive and he can feel all functions shutting down like butter melting on toast. Because that’s what he is. He’s fucking toast. He’s been into Jennifer since he can remember. He watches her routines on game days from under the bleachers out of sight (he’s still got a reputation to maintain), he wonders about her opinion on things, what she’s done, what she wants to do, what she likes, what she hates. Sometimes, in particularly down and out and desperate moments, he thinks about her at night… He knows she’s not like the others jocks she hangs out with. He can tell the girl has layers and since 8th grade he’s fantasized about peeling them back and memorizing every single one. But, that’s always what it’s been. A fantasy, so, actually speaking with her is a whole other monster. Because now he knows that it doesn’t all have to be in his head. He’s actually capable of making the most coveted girl in school laugh and smile, can recommend her music. Maybe even hang out and listen to said music? If she’s not just letting him down easy, means what she says, if he’s not reading too much into this, then a line has been crossed. His made-up world she holds the center of has been breached. He stutters and runs a hand along the back of his neck which is quickly growing warm and red. “Yeah, yeah. You, uh- you should totally give it a listen and let me know what you think. I recommend the vinyl on your first listen. To get the full effect, y’know?” He suddenly feels very shy as he offers her the record. He has so many other things he wants to show her but if this is the last time he ever speaks to her in reality, showing her Siouxie and the Banshees and she, putting him on the receiving end of that winning smile, that’s an exchange he’ll think about until he dies.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[damonjuicyscock]

To the end (chapter 10: Bank Holiday)

Pairing: 90's Damon Albarn x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, smut (p in v sex), maybe some spelling mistakes.

Summary: You are Damon Albarn's girlfriend. You're both living good moments in Paris. Things get complicated for you because you are the object of covetousness.

Words: 1671

A/N: Hey everyone ! Chapter 10 is a longer, there's a few action in it. There is a scene that might tell you something, because it really happened. I advice the following video, because it's funny, but also because it belongs to the said scene. Yeah so reader replaces Justine (I love you Justine) but the effect will be the same, or at least I hope so.

Enjoy !

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KMUpPHHmm5k

“Bank holiday comes six times a year Days of enjoyment to which everyone cheers Bank holiday comes with a six pack of beer And then it's back to work A-G-A-I-N”

October 25th 1994:

- Do we have time to go to the Eiffel tower?

- No, it’s too far love, but we can go in front of another beautiful monument. He answered

- Which one?

- You’ll see in time my love.

- I’m not sure to see anything with this pouring rain, happily we have this umbrella, or we would be soaked to the bone.

- Isn’t it romantic?

- Yes, kind of.

- Kind of?

- I wish it was just not raining that much. But apart from this, everything is perfect.

I took his hand and held it. We walked to a bridge we crossed and found ourselves in front of Notre Dame.

- I’m sorry, it’s closed, but if we come back… no… when we will come back, we’ll go inside to visit it. We can even go in the towers.

- I hope so! I… like Paris.

- Moi aussi je le aime bien. Et je t’aime.

- You know I understand French, right? I love you too Damon. A lot.

- And I want to kiss you here, in Paris.

- What are you waiting for?

He grabbed my hips with the hand I was holding. He kissed me tenderly at first, then passionately.

Yes I know. It was cliché as fuck, but it was true.

- Dames, I can promise you that when we will finally be in Denmark, I will show you how much I want you.

- We have the bus, mon amour.

- I know, but we don’t have intimacy. I just want us both in a room.

- I know, and I want it too, but it’s so hard to resist you! He said smiling

I kissed him again.

- I have something for you. He said

I was surprised. He searched in the pocket of his jacket before taking out a beautiful little golden ring with a heart drawn on it.

- Oh my god Damon! You’re crazy! It’s so beautiful…

- It’s been a while since I offered you a gift, I wanted you to have this.

- Thank you! I just hope you didn’t ruin yourself for this.

- The price doesn’t matter. It’s about you wearing it that really matters to me. We’re not engaged yet, but I hope it’ll come one day, and I hope that when I’ll propose, you’ll say yes.

- Of course I will. But I’m actually already overwhelmed with this wonderful gift.

Would this mean that our next time in Paris would end on a proposal?

*

“Are you gonna go for her? No, she’s gonna go for me”

- What a fucking narcissist prick! I exclaimed

Next to me, Damon was laughing his heart out. I sent him a dark look.

- I’m sorry love, but this is so funny!

- Yeah maybe for you! But I’m less and less protected by now! Paparazzis are going to look for me in every corner of London, journalists too, because they will want to know what I have to answer! I won’t be able to fucking go out without having all of them on my back!

- Tell them to fuck off! He answered

- And what about your reputation “Sir-I-Like-To-Be-Photographed”?

- It’s about you, not me!

- If it’s about me, it’s about you! We’re a fucking couple Damon!

We were in October 1995, Damon and I were together for 2 years now. And my cocky boyfriend decided to declare a war. The Britpop war. As you all know, it started in august. I totally disapproved that. My 27th years old boyfriend was deliberately fighting a 23-year-old dude. I don’t know if they decided to fight for a question of ego, but to me, it was like they were fighting to know whom of them had the biggest Dick. Kids. I couldn’t say better about Noel who was playing the game and wished my boyfriend to die from AIDS. And even if he was the one who started this war, Damon acted like he didn’t care.

We were exactly a year after our Paris walk, and we were back, staying in an hotel.

- You two are pissing me off with your said war! Why can’t you both fucking grow up? Is it that hard for you? You said you would protect me Damon!

- Are you done? He said with a grin on his face

- Not yet! I don’t recognize you Damon! where’s the Damon I always knew?

- He’s actually waiting for you to be done to take you for a walk. It’s not raining like it was last year.

- Yes, we’re going Damon! I said irritated

Well, we would go a bit later, because the bedroom’s phone rang.

- Hello? yeah, did you see that Alex? The Mancunian has a crush on my girlfriend! Damon said laughing on the phone

It was going to last, so I went back to watch TV. An old French movie called “Le magnifique” was on. I had the time to watch it until the end and was forced to cut off the great talk between Damon and Alex. Moreover, this one was just in the other room. I had lost an hour or even more.

It was 11pm in Paris, when we went for this walk. And this time, we went in front of the Eiffel tower. I still wore the ring he offered me the year ago, but totally forgot he gave it to me in Paris. He tried to speak in French again to sound romantic.

- Mon amour?

- Yes Damon?

- Je veux te marier. He said

I laughed

- Who told you that’s how you say it in French?

- Alex.

- Well he pranked you. It’s said “Je veux t’épouser”

- Oui ! He answered

- What yes ?

- I answer to your marriage proposal, it’s yes.

- It’s supposed to be you who…

- Who cares? We’re engaged now, where’s my ring?

I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

- You asshole!

He laughed as well

- Where were we then?

- I was correcting your French.

- Yeah, so je veux t’épouser. Will you marry me ?

- Have you been thinking about this all day or is it just now? I asked

- Can’t you just give me an answer please? I’m panicking right now!

- Yes Damon, yes, I want to marry you!

His proposal wasn’t the boring conventional one where his knee is on the ground (even if I don’t deny it’s incredibly romantic), but he still had a beautiful engagement ring on him, that he slipped around my ring finger.

- Here, now as my fiancée and future wife, I’ll be able to protect you. But no one should know about this until the beginning of next year. I want to end the first part of our tour before.

- And see what Liam has to say more?

- We don’t care about Liam love. I only want you. Also, let’s take a picture.

He pulled out my old polaroid from his jacket.

We took a picture where we were both kissing, my hand on his cheek. Hand where the ring was.

*

I pushed Damon on the bed, and climbed on top of him. I kissed him passionately, my tongue meeting with his.

- God Y/N…

- What is it Dames?

- Ride me.

- Just like this, without preparing you?

- I don’t need to be prepared, I’m fully ready, don’t you feel?

He rolled his hips against me, making me curse under my breath.

- Alright baby boy, you won.

I took off my shirt, my jeans and panties all the way and took of his Fred Perry polo, unbuckled his belt, opening his pants and taking them off. But before taking his boxers off, I wanted to tease him a little. I began grinding against his shaft. I already had a pool between my legs, but it aroused me more.

- Please Y/N, it hurts… He whined

- Patience love. I answered purring

I did it a bit more, my juices staining his boxers.

I finally took them off, his length sprung free.

I ran my fingers along it, giving a few strokes, spreading some precum from the head to his length, and finally sank down on him.

We both let out a moan at the feeling.

- Wait, what are you doing?

- Riding you baby. I said, panting

- But I’m not wearing any…

- No need to anymore, surprise, I’m on the pill.

He threw his head back on the mattress, letting out a loud moan.

His hands went to grip my hips, when mine went resting on his torso to hold myself while riding him. Damon was gradually picking up a merciless pace, making me moan louder each time he touched my G-spot.

I felt this famous coil form in my stomach, and my walls started clenching around him.

- Shit! Do that again! He said almost yelling

I did as told and clenched again.

Damon growled loudly. I felt him shiver.

- Damon, baby, I’m so close… I said, crying out.

He sat down, still thrusting inside me erratically, took my face in his hands and kissed me desperately.

- Come for me baby girl…I love you… oh god…

I let the coil release, and I came undone, my head in the crook of Damon’s neck, spasming and crying out his name.

Feeling me and hearing me made him lose control and threw him over the edge.

I felt his length twitch inside me, and release his hot seed with a few more thrusts and loud groans.

We both collapsed, my head on his chest, both panting.

- I can’t wait to be your wife… God, Damon I love you… I said, panting

- You’ll see, we’ll be happy.

- I already am, and I’m more than happy with you my love.

- And so do I.

[kasienda]

Yin and Yang - Ch 3: Adrien Leads Such An Interesting Life

Table of Contents: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 

Ao3 Link

Chapter 3: Adrien Leads Such An Interesting Life

Despite Adrien’s assurances, things did not get easier. And she wanted to blame the early wake up times, but as much as she still hated the way her brain woke up in a fog morning after morning, the wake up times were the least of her problems.

The biggest issue was that every moment was scheduled. It was school, basketball, Chinese, fencing, piano, solitary dinner, and then mandatory homework time. Rinse and repeat. And any time there was a gap in Adrien’s schedule it was inevitably filled up with a photoshoot, or a fitting, or with a random interview Gabriel said had to be done without delay.

There wasn’t a single moment to breathe. Not a single moment to live her life. Or to live Adrien’s life rather.

So she stayed up late. Way too late, but she needed a moment to just lay about each day. She tried to draw her designs as a way to remember herself, but she was so exhausted she didn’t have ideas, and ended up mindlessly tracing circles onto her paper.

Despite the bone dead fatigue, she felt restless. She made use of Adrien’s zip line and skateboard ramp, but it didn’t help for more than a moment.

She still felt trapped.

She had been in the middle of a fencing lesson gone wrong when an akuma alert went off, and everyone was directed to evacuate.

“Oh thank god!” Marinette exclaimed.

“Are you happy about an akuma?” Kagami had asked, her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

“Umm… no?” Marinette had squeaked. She totally was. “I gotta run!”

“What? Where?” Kagami called after her. “We’re supposed to evacuate!”

“See you later!”

Marinette ran through the halls and quickly found a place to transform. She took to the rooftops as Chat Noir, running and vaulting towards the screams. And she felt no anxiousness about the attack. It just felt so good to run, to be free.

She wasn’t being watched. She could do anything. She could be crazy, she realized, as she threw herself into a cartwheel for absolutely no reason other than she could.  

It was like a revelation.

This was why Chat Noir cracked stupid jokes all the time. Why he loved being Chat Noir! Why he couldn’t sit still or be serious for five seconds even in the middle of an akuma battle. Why he coveted every moment in Ladybug’s company. Why he would transform in the middle of the night and just run.

When she saw Ladybug arrive on the scene, she ignored the akuma entirely and instead tackled him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed.

He caught her wild embrace, and laughed. “You too. But maybe we should handle the akuma first?”

“Right, of course,” she nodded, attempting to adopt a serious face, but she couldn’t kill the grin that had taken over her face.

She was actually disappointed when they managed to take care of the akuma in just a few minutes.

When there wasn't an akuma to rescue her from Adrien’s monotonous schedule, talking to him helped. Anytime he was there, she felt at ease, and almost normal despite being in the wrong body, that was quickly becoming more and more familiar.

She saw him during the day, and he often gave helpful hints in conversations with their mutual friends and she did the same for him. And they talked every night. Both to compare notes and to give each other more context and insight. But the second he hung up, the anxiety would begin to smother her all over again. She needed to get out of this room. She needed to be free.

“Are you okay?” Adrien had asked one evening after she had ranted about the daily frustrations over a video call.

And she wanted to cry at the question, but she didn’t want him to see her crying. Not over this. He lived this every day. She had only managed four weeks. She needed to be stronger and more resilient.

So she swallowed her tears and offered him a bright smile. Or, what she hoped was a bright smile.

“Yes. I’m just feeling restless and cooped up,” she said. And it was true even if it was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Transform and go for a run,” he told her. “I can meet you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. That sounded amazing.

“I can’t,” she told him, her eyes burning on the edges. She blinked back the tears. “If I’m going to keep you in school I need to study Chinese tonight.”

He smiled sadly at her. “I understand.”

Of course he did.

All of it was made worse by the fact that she was terrible at, like, every single one of Adrien’s extracurriculars.

She spoke only six words of Mandarin before the swap. And three of them were “I love you.” Adrien’s tutor was a stern impatient man who had chastised her for her lack of practice. He had delivered a poor performance review to Nathalie and her Chinese sessions had doubled in frequency.

Like that would help her when she was three years behind in lessons.

“Your father would like to hear your rendition of Desbussy’s Arabesque No. 1 on Friday,” Nathalie had informed her that morning at breakfast after listing out Adrien’s schedule.

Marinette’s heart fell into her gut in a panic. She had only had one real interaction with Gabriel since the swap. He had joined her for breakfast one Saturday. He had been stiff and quiet and Marinette hadn’t known how to fill the awkward silence with more than a “Good morning, Father.”

Which had been a mistake apparently because the second his attention was on her, he had proceeded to correct the way she was holding her fork, the way she was sitting in the chair, and chide her for the abysmal performance she demonstrated in fencing practice.

“If you are to remain in school, you need to maintain a certain standard of excellence in all of your activities. If you are unable to do so, it will be in your best interest to return to one on one instruction.”

Marinette’s hand fisted around her fork. Was he seriously threatening to take Adrien out of school? Over one fencing practice session?

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he corrected coldly. “Be better.”

She swallowed an angry retort, and didn’t risk saying anything else. She wanted to argue and scream at the injustice of it all. But she knew that’s not what Adrien would do. But she had no idea what Adrien would do. So she did nothing.

But God, she was angry.

Luckily, Gabriel had wiped his mouth with an expensive cloth napkin and left her there without another word.

She had retreated to Adrien’s room after that.

“Is he always like that?” she had asked the second Plagg had flown from her overshirt.

Plagg laughed. “For Gabriel, that was positively sweet.”

Marinette’s gut twisted unpleasantly at that revelation.

And so she had not uttered a peep at Gabriel’s continued absence. She didn’t want to see him.

And she certainly didn’t want to fail at piano completely as he sat listening in judgment.

“It was one of your mother’s favorites,” Nathalie added.

Crap. She was so screwed.

“Plagg!” she whined. “What am I going to do?”

The kwami shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You’re creative. You’ll come up with something!”

She had with Chinese. Adrien had given her the idea. She confessed to the tutor that she had been wanting to start over. He had looked at her suspiciously. “To focus on authentic pronunciation!” she rapidly explained. And then she told him the tale of being in Shanghai and no one there really being able to understand him with such a thick accent. And he had a hard time understanding native Mandarin speakers as well.

Whatever Adrien’s tutor thought of the matter, he had capitulated, and they were starting from the beginning. But man, he was cranky and impatient, and since she had said she wanted to learn the language without an accent, he had become an absolute asshole demanding perfection at all times.

But she was getting through the lessons, and even learning some Mandarin at the same time. Maybe she’d be able to use it when she was back in her own body to talk to her mother and uncle.

“I can fake a lot of things, Plagg! I can’t fake ten years of piano lessons and thousands of hours of practice!”

“Sure you can!” Plagg said, floating along lazily through the air. Marinette wanted to swat him!

“How?” she growled out.

“First, you don’t need to fake ten years. You just need to master one song.”

Her hands shot out in agitation. “Not just any song! A really advanced difficult song that apparently Adrien’s mother used to play!”

“Well, you could pretend that you’re going through a defiant phase. When he comes in, play him Mary had a little lamb or something!”

Her eyebrows arched. “And what am I being defiant about, exactly?”

“The man is cold and emotionally neglectful if not outright abusive. He dictates every moment of how Adrien spends his time minus the times we literally use superpowers to escape! Pick something!”

She wilted. Maybe Plagg had a point.

“Or you could injure your hand at fencing practice!” he brainstormed.

“Won’t they send a doctor who will say my hand is fine?”

“Not if you actually injure it,” Plagg sing-songed back.

“Plagg! I need my hands in working order to fight akumas! It’s hard enough to have a different body and a different power set! You want me to fight injured as well?”

He spun in a rapid circle, stopping right when he was facing her. “Or!” he exclaimed, like her had just thought of it. “We could stage a break in and destroy the piano!”

“Wasn’t that Adrien’s mother’s piano?”

Plagg shrugged. “Gabriel would probably have it replaced within two days anyway.”

“Do all your ideas involve destroying something?”

“You know who you’re talking to, right?”

But thankfully, Adrien’s phone chose that moment to ring, and she didn’t have to answer Plagg. It was Adrien. She answered the call immediately.

“Marinette!” he shrieked. Marinette didn’t know if he was excited or freaking out. It was harder to read him when he used her own voice. “Penny Rolling just called! She wants to know the status of a commission for Jagged Stone! What am I going to do?”

Marinette yanked at her hair. She didn’t have time for this!

“Nathalie just told me I have to play a recital for your father this Friday! What am I going to do?” she countered.

Adrien had been giving her piano lessons, and it was fun and he was patient, and she would have loved it under any other circumstances. But there was just this growing ball of unease every time they sat next to one another on his mother’s piano bench. He taught her chords on the left hand and scales on the right. She learned to read notes on the treble clef, and learned to decipher the strange script of key signatures far more quickly than she thought possible.

But playing actual songs?! She was nowhere near Adrien’s level. She understood whole notes, half notes, and quarter notes and could even play them. Eighth notes and sixteenths she understood in concept if not execution. But triplets?! Arabesque No. 1 was full of them! She could not play them with the proper temp.

And there was no way in hell she could play triplets and eighth notes at the same fucking time!

Adrien laughed, and pulled her hands back from the keyboard. “Don’t think about the notes for a second. Let’s just worry about the rhythm.”

She shivered, feeling his gentle hands brushing the back of hers. It was becoming less weird to look at her own face every day. Because it wasn’t hers anymore. It was his. And his smile, his eyes could bring her peace and comfort the way nothing else could.

“Okay, we’re going to tap eighth notes on your left, and triplets on your right.”

She nodded.

“We’re kind’ve cutting each beat into fours. Clap both hands onto your lap,” he directed. “Then it’s right, left, right. Then both again,” he explained, as he demonstrated clapping out the rhythm repeatedly on his lap. She was soon following suit.

After a month of practice, she could play the first ten measures of Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1. Insanely slowly.

“The speed doesn’t matter,” Adrien said. “Just get the timing between notes right and practice it. You’ll pick up on the tempo as you practice.”

And god she loved him more. For his patience and his optimism, but it was never going to be enough.

Because it didn’t sound like magical waterfalls cascading down when she played the notes, the way it did when Adrien played them. And that ignored the fact that the song had another 97 measures for her to learn.

She broke down crying.

His arms were around her immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I feel like you’re not just playing my life. You’re playing it on hard mode.”

She scrubbed the tears from her face. “What do you mean?” she asked, not being able to look up at him.

“You have to meet all the expectations but you don’t have any of the preparation. Meanwhile, when I need help with a project, you can literally do it for me if you absolutely have to.”

“You’re assuming I have a spare moment to help you,” she whispered.

He brushed the tears from her cheeks with the pad of this thumb. “We’ll get through this,” he promised.

She nodded. She didn’t always believe that herself.

“Why do all your extracurriculars have to be performance based?” she had whined.

He barked a laugh. “I don’t know. I didn’t really pick most of them.”

“Do you at least enjoy them?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together, his eyebrows scrunched in thought. “I really like fencing,” he told her. “And piano has become really important to me as a way to remember my maman. It was always something she and I did together.”

Marinette smiled softly. Maybe his attempts at teaching her to play, might remind him of lessons with his mother. She hoped so.

“And I don’t mind the others,” he said, and then shrugged. “I just wish… I just wish there weren’t so many of them, you know?”

“Oh my god, I know!” she exclaimed.

And he laughed. She loved making him laugh.

Of all his extracurriculars, modeling was the easiest for Marinette to pull off. But she wasn’t great at it either. She was stiff and self conscious in front of a camera, and was constantly being told she needed to loosen up and be natural.

“You just need to get out of your head,” he had told her.

Yeah, Marinette was terrible at getting out of her head unless she was in crisis mode.

He had made flash cards for her to translate Vincent’s nonsense directions and she had printed out a bunch of his photos, and taped them to Adrien’s bathroom mirror, and she was practicing reproducing each expression.

Plagg had caught her in the middle of her first practice session and burst out laughing.

She hadn’t bothered to defend herself. It had been worth it. The next photoshoot was her smoothest yet.

But she had failed the piano recital.

“You’re clearly sabotaging on purpose,” Gabriel concluded coldly.

Marinette didn’t say anything, her gaze remaining locked on her fingers that rested on the black and white keys of this baby grand piano. Of course, it wasn’t actually on purpose, but that was as good an explanation as any.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice cold as ice.

She froze in panic. She needed to make a demand. But it needed to be big enough that he wouldn’t deliver, so she’d have a continued excuse to perform horribly.

Her eyes landed on the portrait on Adrien’s desk.

“Will you tell me what happened to maman?” she gambled, holding her breath the moment the words were out of her mouth.

He stared at her in silence. And then he walked out of the room.

She let out a breath, relieved he hadn’t said anything. How horrible would it have been if she had learned more about Adrien’s mother than he himself knew? Hopefully, Adrien wouldn’t be furious that she played that card.

Plagg came out whistling. “Bold move. I’m impressed.”

But she didn’t feel impressive. She felt completely inadequate. She pulled out Adrien’s phone, and swiped to her own contact and called him immediately.

“Hey Adrien! What’s up?” he answered. And that he was calling her Adrien meant he wasn’t alone.

“Can you come over?” she asked softly, not bothering to tell him he should at least make a show of stuttering when talking to “him”.

“Are you okay?"

She forced down the tears that wanted to burst forth. “Not really.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, hanging up the phone.

Ladybug landed in a crouch not ten minutes later. He immediately took a seat on the piano bench beside her.

“Today was the recital?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m sorry,” she told him, her chin trembling.  

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted, his red spotted gloves cradling either side of her face, pulling her gaze up.

“You’re amazing,” she told him, and was rewarded with an immediate blush blooming from under his Ladybug mask.

“So are you,” he said.

But she ignored him. “You don’t have a lot of choices, and everyone expects so much of you. You’re cooped up all the time. And you could be so angry, but you’re not. You’re patient and you work hard. And you’re just so so resilient. And I had no idea. I had no idea as Ladybug and I had no idea as Marinette. I feel like I’ve been such a bad friend.”

He pulled her into a hug. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he countered.

“I want to be better,” she insisted, clutching him to her.

She would be better, she promised herself. Now that she understood that his life wasn’t all glamorous and fun. Now, that she understood the pressure he was always under, and how lonely his struggle often was. She loved him.

She loved him more. More than she had before. And more than she ever thought possible.

[negasonicimagines]

Love Shouldn't Hurt

trigger warnings: abuse, self-hatred, depression, and any other content warnings that come with the Deadpool franchise

request: Love love love your fics!! Can you please do one where Reader is a human and Ellie saves her from an abusive relationship and they fall in love?

notes: this was… a hard one to write. as someone who’s experienced abuse on a few different levels from a partner, you aren’t alone. you may feel like no one else would’ve loved you before, and that no one else will love you after what you’ve been through, but they will. if you’re struggling with abuse, please reach out to someone, anyone. even me, if you really don’t feel comfortable talking to someone you know. it can and will get better. things might not be okay now, but they will be. you are so loved.

i modified the request a bit, i hope that’s ok. i just adore a good best friends-to-lovers piece. sorry for the cheesy title, but i hope y'all are glad i'm semi-back. trying to write more since i'm in a better place and this is a good creative outlet for me.

synopsis: Ellie’s thrilled to return to her hometown after her senior year at Xavier’s is complete. She’s most excited to see you again. But, what happens when you aren’t the you she knows and (secretly) loves?

Ellie’s favorite part about coming home in the summer is seeing you.

Maybe that’s wrong; maybe she should be excited to see her family, or to be back in her own room, or to be away from the chaos at Xavier’s…

But it’s true.

This time, though, as you come out of your house (next door to hers, the only perk of living in suburbia is that you’re so close) you don’t skip along like you used to. Your smile is… Different.

“Hey, Ellie,” you say, and even your voice sounds different. Normally you’re grinning like an idiot, brimming with a puppy dog disposition that acts as a foil to her catlike aloofness. At the risk of sounding like a creepy teenage boy, where’s her hug?

“Are you okay?’ she blurts.

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh it off, your fake smile growing wider. You don’t wanna tell her? Odd. The two of you had drifted apart over this last school year, more than usual. It was normal for one or both of you to get carried away with your studies or other friends and forget to respond to a text every once in a while, so she hadn’t thought much of it. She knew once summer came, you two would fall right back into your routine of slumber parties nearly every night, catching up on all the crazy shit that’s happened in your lives during your time apart and making some more crazy shit happen together.

“...Okay,” Ellie decides to respond. Your phone vibrates, and you flinch, instantly pulling it out and quickly texting back. Your fingers are like lightning. You quickly lock your phone and slip it back into your pocket.

“How’ve you been?” you ask her. “How are things with Yukio?”

“Oh, we broke up almost as soon as we started fucking dating. Thought we’d work out as more, but decided pretty quickly that we were better off as just friends. Our future plans didn’t really line up, among other things. Other than that, I’ve been pretty good.”

“That makes sense,” you say, but you sound even more tense. “Uh, if we happen to run into Vivien, can you not tell her that? She’s the jealous type, and she knows we’re close, so…”

Ellie feels an odd twinge at that, more than just jealousy. Her mom always told her she had good intuition, so she presses further.

“How are things with you two?” she wonders.

“Oh, just great! She really is the best, words aren’t enough to describe it,” you answer enthusiastically, but it still feels so… Off. Maybe it is just jealousy making Ellie feel awkward. Envy was always her worst sin, coveting what she can’t; what she shouldn’t have. You’re her best friend, you always have been. It would probably end like it did with Yukio, burning fast and bright, but once the initial excitement is over… It’s over.

“That’s awesome,” Ellie says. “So, what were you thinking of doing today?”

“Oh, uh, whatever you want is fine,” you chirp.

“Breadstix?”

“They don’t have a lot of vegan options,” you remind her.

“You like it, though. I’ll cope.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts,’” she insists. “I don’t know why you like that place so much, the breadsticks they’re named for are pure shit, but I’ll just cope and get a salad.”

“Last time you ordered it, they put cheese on it, even though-”

“I remember. I’ll just send it back again, it’s not a big deal,” she insists once more. “Why are you arguing so much? It’s your favorite local place that isn’t fast food.”

You sigh.

“Fine, let’s go,” you cave, letting her pull you along to her car. You sit in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt as she starts it. She buckles her own, passing you her phone. You look at it as if it’s a foreign object.

“You always pick the music. What’s with you?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t like making all the decisions all of the time?” you bite back.

Ellie stammers, not sure how to respond.

“Hangry, huh?” She decides that must be the reason for your change in attitude. It’s already eleven, and you’re an earlier bird than she is. You likely skipped breakfast knowing the two of you would be eating when you hung out. She takes her phone back and just picks one of your playlists on Spotify.

You’re quiet on the short drive there, and it makes Ellie feel even more uneasy. Your chatter-- which she usually pretends is meaningless to her --is sorely missed.

You’re texting again, intently focused on the screen as if the task is difficult.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I said that I’m fine,” you quickly answer, locking your phone again and tucking it back in your pocket.

“I’ll drop it for now, but… If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you agree, but she doesn’t feel better.

“Cool,” she replies, parking outside of the restaurant. The two of you get out, it’s early in the lunch rush so you’re still able to be seated pretty quickly. Your drinks arrive just as swiftly, and Ellie catches you texting with that determined expression on your face again. “Seriously. What’s going on?”

“Just Vivien. She wanted to hang out today, but I didn’t know that until I told her I was gonna be with you. She’s just a little disappointed.”

“Well, she can join us, I’m sure-”

“No, no, it’s really alright,” you quickly reassure her. “I- These days, I don’t really spend time with anybody but her. I’m surprised she even let me- That came out wrong, she-”

As you continue to stumble over your words, the pieces continue to fall into place for Ellie, brows knitting closer and closer together.

“Is she hurting you?” Ellie asks. Xavier’s sex education isn’t just about the mechanics, it’s a pretty progressive class. They had a whole unit on abuse. Ellie’s pretty sure she’s seeing signs of it right now.

“No, of course not! I mean, every relationship has its challenges, but-”

“She is, isn’t she? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d look at me like that,” you sigh, giving up on the lie.

“Like what?”

“Like… That. So disappointed in how pathetic I turned out to be. I mean, you’re Negasonic Teenage Warhead, for fuck’s sake, I… It must be so- I-”

“Hey, hey, no, that’s not it at all. I’m disappointed in myself, I should’ve fucking known something was wrong, I mean, I did, the second you came out of your house, but before that… I should’ve checked on you more. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I let it get this bad. She- She’s just- When it’s good, it’s good, y’know, but- I don’t know. I love her.”

“Those PSAs are right, though. Love shouldn’t hurt.”

“It always does,” you murmur, and you give her a meaningful look. If only she knew what the meaning of it was.

“Well, it shouldn’t,” Ellie insists. You’re picking at your pasta. You usually inhale it. Ellie almost asks what’s wrong, but she knows what it is. She’s sure Vivien’s taken every opportunity to break you down. “Eat, please. Or it’ll be a waste of my money.”

“Who said that you’re paying? You don’t even like this place.”

“I said I’m paying. Making a decision so that you don’t have to make them, isn’t that what you complained about earlier?”

You sigh in defeat, eating an actual bite instead of just twirling it around on your fork.

Ellie digs into her salad, she can’t help but fondly smile at you despite the situation. She’s missed you so much.

“When are you gonna do it?” she asks.

“Do what?” you wonder, as if you’ve forgotten the context of the question.

“Leave her.”

“I can’t,” you quickly say, but Ellie still catches a fearful tremor.

“Why not?”

“There’s nobody else. I mean, yeah, you and I are still friends, but… When you reject so many offers to hang out, people stop asking. They stop talking to you altogether, eventually. And… She’s the only person who’s ever wanted me, y’know? And now she’s the only one who ever will.”

“That’s not true,” Ellie says.

“It is.”

“It’s not, I swear,” Ellie insists. “I- You’re gonna need some time to heal, after everything, but… I do.”

“You’re just saying that. There’s no way, after all these years, that you finally-“ you stop yourself.

“Finally?” Ellie asks.

“That you finally love me the way I love you.”

“You mean…? I just thought… I’ve loved you just as long, but I thought you only saw me as a friend, and I didn’t wanna ruin that. The way things went with Yukio just reinforced that- That fear.”

You nod.

“Well, I guess that settles it. You’ll- I’ll call her. I can’t do it in person, she’ll… Y’know.”

“I know,” she gently responds.

You call Vivien.

“Hey, I… I can’t do this anymore. Us.”

You flinch. Ellie can hear the sounds. The yelling. And then the crying. And then the yelling again.

“I mean it. You’re right, you can do better, so… Go do better. We’re not good for each other,” you say with a shaky sigh. “Mhm. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I know. I know. It’s not like that. Yeah. Goodbye, Vivien.”

“I’m proud of you,” Ellie says softly, and you just scoff, rolling your eyes before you sink your teeth in your bottom lip. You cover your mouth. “Hey, hey, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Will I?”

“Yeah. I might be ‘Negasonic Teenage Warhead,’ but you’re Y/N. Twice as strong without the annoyingly long codename.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff again, eyes watering. “I just- I just don’t know why I wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re perfect, she’s just… Some people just don’t… It’s hard to explain. I have a- He’s not my friend, I can’t believe I almost said that, thank the fuckin’ lord he didn’t hear me… I know a guy who deals with those kinds of people. He told me that most of them, they… They don’t ever change. Maybe they could, with help, but due to the ego that makes them abusive in the first place, they’re never gonna get that help. The world’s better off without them. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“That- That makes sense,” you admit. “I just wish we lived in a world where love was enough.”

“Me too,” Ellie sighs, and you take a sip of your drink. She mirrors your action, realizing that she’s actually quite thirsty. The two of you finish your brunch in a heavy silence. It feels like you both should be talking, but nothing feels right to say. That’s okay, though, Ellie’s just missed you so much. As depressing as the current mood is, there’s a bit of hope. You’ll be back to your regular self eventually; a stronger, more mature version, and Ellie will be there to shower you with the respect and affection you deserve when you’re ready.

[hacawijo]

Alright, If We’re Gonna Play with Az’s Bonus Chapter, Let’s PLAY with Az’s Bonus Chapter (Pt. 1)

I’m going to do a close reading of this bonus chapter, because this whole thing is stressing me out and I want to write out what I think I know what I definitely know and what I’m worried about. Here. We. Go. 

I’m not going to directly quote supporting info in this post, but I will be using a LOT of quotes in the next few weeks, so if anyone wants me to confirm a certain statement I’m making here just let me know and I’ll drop the receipts :)

Also this is super long but I had a lot of thoughts I’m excited about! My commentary is in bold italics!

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow here is an example of contrast between light and dark, which many have made salient points on regarding the counterbalance of Elain/Azriel and their relationship of the longest night of the year.

Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs.

He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Had been planning his own victory for a year now, and had one the past 199 years’ worth of fights.

Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight.

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Note the differentiation between himself and the shadows around him - he snickers to them outside of himself, as they are not HIM, they are his companions.

Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Again, engaging in a conversation with them. Though he does say that they SEEMED to whisper sleep, which is interesting. He seems to communicate with them beyond worded language, this is a case where he’s translating whatever that communication is into words.

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike Yeah this guy needs some therapy for sure, love him but this feels very much like the state of avoidance that Nesta found herself in. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. so he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. This feels very much like an extreme, one that certainly didn’t exist all of the time with Mor (otherwise he’s truly not been sleeping for…ever). I have a very, very hard time believing he would have this reaction because of lust or a coveting kind of obsession.

Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet...

Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. This is almost exactly the sentiment expressed by Cassian in ACOFAS/ACOSF

He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Entering the foyer for what? Entering in order to go to bed? Or was he drawn there, somehow knowing Elain would be there? I really don’t know the answer and I don’t have a preference as to whether or not they are mates, but it’s worth thinking about. Also important to note that the SHADOWS ARE NOT ENOUGH FOR AZRIEL. They are his friends, an important coping mechanism, but they are not the sum of who he is, nor do they even represent the part of himself that is most realized or fulfilled.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. Again, imagery to highlight a contrast between the two of them, Elain as the sun at dawn. Note that it’s talking about dawn, not day. SJM has repeatedly used language about Summer, Dawn, Spring and such to describe Elain, which makes me wonder if her light is meant to transcend the courts - in the same way that the shadows are not the sum of Azriel, the sun (the Day, the Dawn, Spring, Summer etc.) is not the sum of Elain.

“I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” One thing I noticed on closer examination, she went downstairs to leave it in his pile, not to see him. I wonder if it hurts her to be around HIM as well. Elain has said several times in this book (either on the page or in second- or third-hand account) that she is committed to this court, and I wonder if that same commitment that had her going to the Hewn City is what also has prevented her from ending things with Lucien. It’s not in her nature to be disingenuous, and so she cannot fake certain feelings for him, but it IS in her nature to be selfless, and she probably understands what their mating bond means and how important Lucien’s alliance is. I wonder also if she is unsure as to Azriel’s feelings or if she knows somehow, as Azriel sort of implies she might below.

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. This is another instance in which Azriel sees her when no one else does, even when she’s not intending or someone to see her. Also, of course, important to note that he can read her without his shadows - a crutch that he uses in interactions with many other people.

Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Elain makes ALL the moves in this scene - she approaches him, she asks him to put the necklace on her, she leans in, she says yes etc. etc. I think Azriel is actually very respectful and restrained throughout this whole interaction.

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. Azriel is ashamed of his scars, and is ashamed of them with Feyre and Mor as well as Elain, this is an across-the-board part of his characterization. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year — a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind The headache powder: proof that Elain has been seeing him - specifically seeing him rub his temples. Not to use, but to look at. Which he’d done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Elain is not a casual person, she can’t even handle it when Feyre (her sister) tries to talk to her and Nesta (her other sister) privately about High Fae menstruation. For every lack of flourish or formality that Elain gives Azriel, that is another measured degree of comfort she feels with him - she wouldn’t give an unsigned, familiar note to just anyone.

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” Elain and Azriel have similar senses of humor. Not necessarily in content, but in the way it sort of crops up off-the-cuff and sometimes unnoticed. I like that Elain makes him laugh.

He offered a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.”

He left the rest unspoken.  Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. Alright so, this is really curious. Does this mean that they both seem to be aware of the other’s feelings AND aware that the other is aware of their feelings? I really do wonder if, in this case, Az is an unreliable narrator- maybe assuming more certainty of Elain than she actually has. Again, I don’t think he would have such a visceral reaction to Elain and Lucien being in the same room (and not even close to each other at all) if he was just infatuated or in lust with her

But tonight, here in the dark and quiet more juxtaposition, with no one to see... no one to see, except the two of them, who always see more than others and who always see each other more than anyone else He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. If Azriel is aware of the fact that his shadows disappear around Elain, and is still almost certainly in love with Elain, I think we can gather that it’s a positive thing for his shadows to give them privacy- which- btw, is what I think they are doing. The shadows feel to Azriel, to me, the way that the HoW feels to Nesta. The HoW doesn’t dislike Cassian, but also doesn’t need to be as diligent with Nesta when he’s around, because the House trusts Cassian with her.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary — it’s chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the truth depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. So I don’t think he’s saying that Elain is a thing here. I think he’s saying that HIS FEELINGS for her are a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It’s been made pretty clear that Elain’s physical AND inner beauty are decidedly visible and prominent. She is, the opposite of secret- though she is often described as lovely. I think what’s more interesting here is the time dedicated to describing this gift and the time dedicated to describing Lucien’s gift of pearl earrings (more on that later, but spoiler-alert, that’s the extent of the description)

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets this word choice is notable because it’s an indication of layers and depth and different sides, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows he let them do it, again the way he interacts with his shadows does not make it seem like they ARE him. It would probably say “Azriel’s shadows whisked away the box” or “Azriel used his shadows to…” etc. whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” Again, Elain is driving the action

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. That this situation is described in such slow, delicate detail evokes a sense of intimacy and gravity to the reader. Every tiny piece of this little bite of interaction means something to Azriel and probably to Elain.

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin this word choice is admittedly a little strange, but the use of this and later of the word sacrilege is FAR from the first time SJM uses religiously-coded language to describe a romantic/sexual/intimate situation. In this very book, Cassian describes his sex with Nesta “as close to a religious experience” as he’d ever gotten - furthermore, there is often talk of the worship of bodies. More on this in another post! ALSO, of course he thinks about touching her in relation to himself. He is himself, for one thing, for another, one of the most reinforced aspects of Azriel’s character that has been made clear to us as readers is his belief that he is unworthy. This comes up not at all just with Elain, it comes up everywhere. It comes up when Azriel volunteers for the most dangerous assignments, it comes up with Mor A LOT, it comes up with Rhys and Cassian. I HAVE A LOT MORE TO SAY ABOUT AZRIEL SO I JUST NEED TO STOP TYPING RIGHT N. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered that’s hot and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine SUCH precise language, so agonizing. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Another important line in reiterating the fact that there are two people participating in this interaction and the broader relationship, with the use of ‘exchanged’ and ‘their.’ It could easily also say something like, “Azriel had never gone this far. She’d sometimes caught him looking at her and he her, and every so often he’d taken the risk of brushing his fingers against hers.” Elain’s agency in these interactions and this relationship is SO IMPORTANT! It is the difference between Az viewing Elain as a two-dimensional and unattainable figure and as a real person with wants and needs.

Wrong — it was so wrong. Azriel knows, just as well as Rhys, what is at stake in Elain’s relationship with Lucien. He also has reverence for the mating bond in the same way that many other fae and faeries do. Of course he thinks it’s wrong!

He didn’t care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue — There is literally so much talk in Feysand and Nessian of tasting and eating out. Both Rhys and Cassian make it very clear that they spent a lot of time thinking about what their partners would taste like and how they might go about finding out for sure.

Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent.

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Because he knows it’s a fool’s hope. He never thinks about this as a viable path! Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep again a recognition of the separation between him and his shadows. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. See above: Nessian and Feysand are just as dirty and graphic (especially Nessian) and Rhys and Cassian are JUST AS WORSHIPFUL of their partners.

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.

“I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. Again, they are BOTH cognizant, I think, of the risks and dynamics at play here.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it Rhys’s WHOLE THING is that he kneels before Feyre in reverence. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. SJM repeatedly uses the scent of arousal as a way to confirm sexual interest beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. I personally think this is Azriel being self-deprecating. I think that Elain is a seer, and probably has some idea of what Azriel does. Does this mean he puts her on a pedestal or that he views her as pure? It’s possible, but I think Azriel views most people whom he loves as pure compared to himself in one way or another— even Cassian. There is a line I’ll cite eventually where Rhys muses on the similarities between himself and Azriel, since Rhys is the only person Azriel allows to see the full scope of his rage. Ditto with the pedestal.

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege same story as my point above on the word immaculate, but again I do totally admit that it’s a strange word. I just think that we have had so little of Azriel’s perspective that we can’t really say whether this is a perversion of his connection to Elain or if this is a regular sort of attitude for him for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. AND THAT WOULD BE IT. HE DOESN’T THINK IT WILL GO FURTHER!

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. You fucking go Elain get that ass Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother interesting choice of words given Nesta’s association with the Mother and Nesta’s apparent tacit acceptance of Azriel’s feelings for Elain (more on that later) might witness them.

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before flirting shut.

Offer and permission. OFFER AND PERMISSION. ELAIN WANTS THE SHADOWSINGER D!!!!!

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel. And suddenly, the one time they both are comfortable with how they’re being seen (that Azriel is being seen by no one else BUT Elain, that Elain is finally being seen intimately, by someone, in the dark, namely, AZRIEL)

Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth.

Azriel. So if you were to ask me what the biggest sign of Elriel’s longevity in this chapter is, it is this: that they did not kiss. SJM built a very tightly worded and wound tension around this moment with her language, and.  the fact that it is not fulfilled is frustrating, right? We know that he touched the knob of her spine - we know that she shivered. For that level of intimacy not to end in a kiss, means something. Rhys could easily have interrupted them after their lips had already touched, and if this relationship were a device serving another, that’s what would have happened.

SJM knows that the tension is built and unfulfilled, and I think she also knows that this wouldn’t have been the right time for them to have their first kiss - which is what I think many readers have noticed in so many words. Where my thoughts differ is that I think SJM is walking a line between romantically coding the moment AND acknowledging that this moment is not ideal, and that it doesn’t deserve to be fulfilled satisfyingly, especially given Azriel’s self-loathing. MORE LATER :) Which should maybe be my catchphrase.

Also, them not kissing can’t just be about the fact that it’s a bonus chapter. You can’t make that argument about their not-kiss and then argue that the interaction with Gwyn is essential to the coming story. Which, I think it is significant, by the way, I’m just not sure how yet :P

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.

My office. Now.

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand away from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” UGH. The capital P Pain.

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” See, this reaction makes me think that she is not as aware of his feelings as he thinks she is. That she later returns the necklace (or did she?) reinforces this. I think that if she was certain how he felt about her, she would be frustrated and maybe angry in the way that she has responded to Feyre’s comments about her mating bond with Lucien, not hurt and confused.

“You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize. It’s I who should...”  He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he’d brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” But at least it definitely confirms her feelings to Azriel.

PART II IS BEING POSTED BACK-TO-BACK!

[motherjoel]

cup of sugar (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: after finding out that your cat needs to be put down, the last thing you expect is a visit from your handsome neighbor who just needs a cup of sugar

category: fluff, light angst (about the cat lol)

warnings/includes: death of an animal, needles

wc: 6.6k

a/n: this is my submission for the @veraiconcos writer challenge! hope you guys like it :)

-

Your eyes were blurred with tears the whole drive home from the vet. You tried your best to refrain from looking back at your sick cat (who you had lovingly named after Fantine from Les Mis), but you stole a few glances at her while trying to concentrate on the road. Eventually, you made it home safely and you grabbed the crate from your backseat to bring it up to your apartment.

The vet had said she was nearing the end of her life, and it was only a matter of time before she passed. You had scheduled to put her down in a few days and your heart wrenched for the poor kitty. She wasn’t anything special on the outside, just a brown short-haired cat you could see on the street, but to you she was everything. She had been sitting right next to your car parking spot for months before you actually took her in- you fed her and gradually began to pet her before you decided to take her inside your home and show her the love she deserved. You’d been through a lot with her and you weren’t ready to say goodbye, but you didn’t want to prolong her suffering, So, you decided to spend every moment with her until your appointment.

You set down the crate and let her out, and she sluggishly made her way to her coveted position on your couch. You had yet to cease crying- every time you looked at her you welled up at the thought of losing her. Right as you were about to take a seat next to her, you heard a tentative knock from your door. With a sigh, you wiped your tears and made your way to open it. Looking in the mirror before opening the door, it was obvious you were crying. You didn’t care, however, as you swung it open to see a lanky man holding a measuring cup with flour in his hair and adorning his sweater. Not just any lanky man- it was the lanky man you had developed a bit of a crush on. You saw him some days when you got back from work collecting his mail, and you couldn’t help but be interested in the mystery guy from apartment 202.

“Hi, I was just baking some cookies and I realized I was out of su- are you okay?” he asked with concern. You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I just got back from the vet. Looks like I have to put my cat down,” you deadpanned. Your tears had stopped falling at this point.

“Oh gosh, I- I’m so sorry. Um, forget about the sugar I can just go to the store,” he turned on his heel and made his way back to his apartment.

“No, it's fine!” you called after him. He turned around with a grimace. “It’s okay, I have plenty of sugar, please, come in,” you opened the door wider for him to cautiously make his way into your apartment. You didn’t want to admit it, but this tiny bit of human interaction really helped you get your mind off of your current situation- it was normally just you and Fantine, so if you could make a friend in the meantime, you would try your best. 

“Thank you,” he said as you made your way into the kitchen, petting Fantine on the way in. He took a glance at her before returning his gaze to you. “Is that, uh, the cat?” he asked, and you could tell he wasn’t great with comforting people in sad situations.

“Yeah, that's my Fantine,” you said, reaching into your cabinet to get the jar of sugar.

“Les Miserables?” he asked, a glint of recognition in his eyes. You smiled.

“Yes! Good to know I'm neighbors with someone of culture,” you laughed, your heart feeling light for the first time that day. “You can pet her if you'd like,” you told him before grabbing the measuring cup from him and turning to fill it with sugar. He smiled in response, keeping his hands to himself. “Allergic?” you asked, wondering if the handsome stranger maybe just wasn’t a cat person.

“Oh no, sorry, I just have a germ… thing,” he said, nervously rubbing his palms on his pants. You simply nodded and shut the jar of sugar, making your way back to him and giving him the measuring cup.

“So, you know my cat's name, but not mine. I’m Y/N, by the way,” you offered, not reaching out your hand when you remember his previous statement about germs. 

“Spencer, I live next door,” he said, seeming relieved at your neglect to shake his hand. You didn't have time to say anything else before a colorfully dressed woman in a “kiss the cook” apron barged into your apartment- you noticed that you had left the door open after letting Spencer in.

“What's taking you so long G man? The butter is burning!” she exclaimed, before noticing your cat on the couch. “Oh. My. God. Now who is this sweetie pie?” she asked, running to your couch and lovingly petting her.

“Fantine,” Spencer answered, looking at you with a blush. 

“She is the sweetest thing I have ever seen. I am obsessed,” she cooed. 

“That's Penelope,” Spencer said, widening his eyes at her when she seemed to get comfortable on your couch.

“Nice to meet you Penelope, I’m Y/N,” you introduced, making your way over to your couch. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” she extended her hand and you took it. “I’ve had too much cold brew today and I am feeling a little energetic,” she laughed. You liked her jittery manner- she seemed like someone you’d want to be friends with. “How old is she?” Penelope asked, innocently. You tried to hide the way your face fell at the question, but it was obvious that it saddened you. Spencer noticed.

“Um, I actually took her in off the street so I really don’t know. She’s old, though,” you said, looking down at your tired kitty. “I actually have to… put her down in a few days,” you said, ignoring your voice crack. Without a word, you were pulled into a tight and unexpected hug. Penelope's arms were wrapped around you, leaving little room to breathe. You didn’t mind the human contact. You even let a few tears drop, having held them back for the duration of their visit. A warm hand rested on your shoulder- a warm hand that was tentative and bigger than Penelope's ones that rubbed your back. You looked up to see Spencer awkwardly attempting to comfort you. In a bold move, you rested your cheek on his hand, as if you were thanking him. Penelope pulled away after a minute, wiping her own tears from her eyes.

“Well, what an introduction that was!” she laughed through her tears, you joined her. You heard Spencer clear his throat, like he was preparing to speak.

“What if- what if we finish the baking over here?” he asked, hope in his eyes. Before you could answer, he began to ramble. “Studies show that human contact or even just being in the presence of other people can help with grieving, and-” he was cut off by Penelope.

“And we don't want to leave you alone right now. I mean, we’ve cried together already. We’re basically best friends,” Penelope said, resting a hand on your arm. You didn’t even have to contemplate the offer.

“Yeah, of course! I’d really like that,” you smiled at the two of them, who exchanged a glance.

“Great! Me and Spencer will go get the ingredients from his apartment, you just stay here with Fantine being your cute selves,” she said, dragging Spencer out by his arm and shutting the door gently behind her. You were in for an interesting night.

-

Spencer couldn’t help but blush at the thought of spending the rest of his night in your apartment. With Penelope, of course. He had seen you before- he didn’t know your name until today, but he had a bit of a crush on you. From the moment he first saw you feeding Fantine when she was still a stray, he fell for your gentle aura. He's not stalking you, he swears he isn't, but he subconsciously remembered your schedule. He just so happened to get his mail at 6:17 every day he was home when he knew you’d be coming back from work. And he just drove out of his way to see you feed that cat every once in a while. Not an obsession. 

Penelope was the first to find out about his little crush. When she came to Spencer’s apartment to pick him up for some nerd convention, she noticed him staring at you as they drove away. You were sitting on the ground, pushing a bowl of food towards a tentative cat (who he now knew as Fantine) and he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger a moment too long. Penelope immediately gasped and called him out.

“You-you… and her! She's so pretty Reid! And good with animals! Get married, right now,” she had said after watching him long for you.

“I’m not- were not,” he stuttered, Penelope shot him a knowing glare. “She doesn’t even know who I am. I don’t even know her name, I just… I just notice her, sometimes…” Spencer confessed, looking down at his twiddling thumbs. Penelope didn’t tease him too much after that, but she smirked the entire car ride there.

The rest of the team found out about his crush shortly after (thanks Garcia) and the teasing was relentless. Sure, you didn’t even know his name, but he wanted you to. Boy did he want you to. But he didn’t plan on acting on it- at least, not until he had Garcia over to bake cookies for the team. She had insisted that she come over to bake, much to Spencer's chagrin. Little did he know, she was only so insistent because she had a secret plan. A secret love plan.

Her plan had worked so far- hiding the sugar and getting Spencer to ask the pretty neighbor for some, check. Well, she didn’t have much of a plan past that, but she assumed she’d figure it out when it came down to it- and so far so good. Once she had pulled Spencer back into his apartment, he began to pace around in nervousness- Penelope was jumping in excitement. 

“Reid and Y/N sitting in a tree!” she sang happily.

“What does that mean?” Spencer asked, slightly irritated.

“You mean, you don't know… Never mind,” she sighed.

“Garcia what the hell were you thinking! I can’t talk to her all night, I’ll find a way of looking like an idiot,” he sighed in exasperation, trying to make his sweaty hands less sweaty by rubbing them on his pants. 

“Reid, Reid, Reid,” she repeated like a mantra, following his pacing and trying to calm him down. “It’s going to be okay. Seriously, you have the best wing woman on planet earth and you’re worried about whether or not she’ll like you? Please, you’re a catch baby! And she will see that tonight,” she said, eventually getting him to stop moving by placing her hands on his shoulders.

After she had calmed him down, the two gathered all of the ingredients and made the trip next door, where you were waiting on the couch with Fantine in your lap. You looked lost in thought, but you quickly jumped out of it and gave them a smile when they walked in. 

“So, what are we baking?” you asked, standing up and grabbing some ingredients off of Spencer’s hands. He hoped you didn’t notice his flinch when your fingers brushed his (you did) and he hoped you didn’t see the red on his cheeks (you did, but you looked similarly tomato-like). 

“We are making my famous brown butter chocolate chip cookies!” Penelope exclaimed, already measuring out some ingredients.

“Ooh yummy! What makes them famous?” you asked.

“Oh, you’ll know once you taste them. Just ask Spencer, he could eat 7 in just one sitting,” she joked. Best wing woman on planet earth my ass, Spencer thought.

“Oh really, Spence? I bet you I can beat that tonight,” you giggled, moving to help measure the brown sugar. Maybe Penelope was doing an okay job after all.

“Did you know that the first chocolate cookies were invented by accident by Ruth Wakefield in 1938?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“No, but tell me more!” you smiled, returning your attention to the measuring cup in front of you. He faltered for a moment, surprised at your eagerness to hear more about his facts, but he continued.

 “Ruth and her husband owned the Toll House Inn and she was baking cookies for their guests when she realized that she was out of bakers chocolate. So, when she chopped up a block of Nestle semi-sweet chocolate and added it to the dough, she expected it to disperse evenly throughout, but instead they retained their original form and.. you know. Chocolate chip cookies,” he finished weakly, looking up to see you staring at him in awe. Penelope was unphased, having been around boy genius for far too long, but you were looking at him like he had just found the secret to world peace. “What?” he asked tentatively, suddenly extremely self conscious.

“Sorry, it’s just, that was so cool! I’ve never seen someone recite facts like that. Plus, you’re a great story teller,” you finished, nudging him with your arm. Oh god, you were too cute. He tried his best not to smile like an insane person as he walked between you and Penelope to open the bag of chocolate chips.

“Yup, our boy genius here has an IQ of 187,” Penelope said, patting Spencer on the head. You laughed for a moment, assuming she was joking, but when you saw the dead serious look on their faces you were shocked.

“You mean I was living next door to a superhero all this time and I never knew?” you asked, still in shock from the previous information. Spencer laughed, and it was music to your ears. 

“Well, I'm not- I'm not a superhero,” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed by the attention.

“Oh yeah? What do you do for a living?” you asked, expecting he was some sort of mad scientist. Penelope snorted a laugh. “What?” you smiled.

“Well, I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, so does Penelope,” he said, and you didn’t seem to know what that was, so he continued. “We… we profile serial killers based off of their actions and eventually we catch them before they can cause any more harm,” he explained, trying to distract himself by eating the chocolate chips in front of him (and having his hand promptly swatted by Garcia). Your mouth opened even wider than before, if possible.

“Spencer. You are a superhero!” you said in shock, grabbing his arm with excitement. He gasped at the contact- he didn’t not like it. He was just surprised. You noticed his reaction, however, and apologized quickly.

“Oh, sorry,” you blushed. 

“No it's okay!” he said, slightly too eager. You smiled and nodded, and he felt relieved.

“Penelope, do you tackle the serial killers too?” you asked, wondering if the ball of sunshine had an angry side.

“Oh heavens no. I’m the techie, I basically dig up all the dirt you could ever possibly need. Basically a gardener,” she remarked, and you couldn't help but smile. 

“I’m friends with superheroes,” you said, doing a little dance in your spot while pouring some flour into the mixer. Spencer melted.

“Wrong,” said Penelope. “You're best friends with some superheroes.”

You spent the rest of the night laughing and chatting with your new best friends, and eventually feasting on the cookies on your couch next to Fantine, who was sleeping peacefully. You tried to break Spencer's record of 7 cookies, but tapped out after 4. Despite the upsetting news you had received earlier that night, you were extremely happy. As you waved them goodbye, and even hugged Spencer goodnight, your heart was full. You had both of their phone numbers and you planned to text them sometime soon- you didn’t want that to be the last you saw of Penelope and Spencer.

-

You awoke the next morning with a pit in your stomach. You couldn’t tell exactly why, but you had the feeling that something was going to happen today. Trying not to dwell on it, however, you began to get ready for the day. You worked a 9-5 job as a secretary at a local law office- this wasn’t your end goal career, but something to pay the bills. You went to say goodbye to Fantine when you noticed something was wrong. She was having difficulty breathing, every breath was labored. Your heart dropped when you realized this was the cause of your pit- you were saying goodbye to your kitty today. You hurried to grab her crate, hastily wiping away your tears, and ushered her inside. You didn’t know if you would even be able to see the road in your state, so without thinking, you knocked on the door next to yours and waited for a moment, tears continuously streaming. Spencer swung the door open, his face immediately falling when he saw you.

“Y/N, what’s- what’s wrong?” he asked, seemingly ready to leave for work. You couldn’t find any words as you gently set down her crate and wrapped your arms around Spencer's waist. He was shocked at this, but he comforted you once he got his bearings. His hand rubbed your back as you cried into his sweater vest, not worried about the scene you were causing in the middle of the hallway. 

“It’s- its Fantine,” you sobbed into his chest. “I think she needs to be put down today,” you told him, pulling away slightly and wiping your tears. 

“Oh Y/N, i'm so sorry,” he said, and he truly meant it. Seeing you upset like this sent a dagger through his heart. He contemplated for a moment before he spoke again. “Why don't I… drive you to the vet? I want to make sure you get there okay,” he said, voice laced with concern.

“Don’t you have to catch the bad guys?” you asked as an attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but neither of you had the energy to laugh.

“It’s just a paperwork day today, I’ll call Penelope and let her know I won't make it in,” he said, quickly gathering his phone and his car keys. You nodded, not finding your voice in the moment. You followed him down to his car and he opened the backseat door for you to put the crate in. He guided you to the passenger's seat, placing a soft hand on the small of your back as he opened the door for you. As he jogged around to the driver's seat and pulled away, you opened your GPS app to give him the directions. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, apart from your occasional directing. You suddenly felt extremely guilty for letting him drive you. 

“This is ridiculous, I’m sorry for ruining your day. I’m just super dramatic about things and you probably have better things to do then take your neighbor and her sick cat to the vet,” you apologized, feeling embarrassed by your actions. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. You’re entitled to your grief, and I just want to be there for you… to, you know, help you with it,” he said, glancing at you occasionally. “I’ve never had a pet before and I don’t normally like animals, but I know how attached we can get to things,” he said, focusing on the road. You nodded and with a bout of confidence, you reached over and grabbed his hand, resting your entwined fingers on the center console. His eyes widened, but he didn’t let go. His knowledge of germs had completely left him- he was being touched by the girl who he’d been pining after for months, and he wasn’t going to let a little germaphobia get in the way. You noticed his reaction, but you blushed as you looked out the window, seeing the animal hospital come into view. You sighed and removed your hand from his and opened your door, grabbing the crate from the back seat and walking towards the entrance. You noticed that Spencer was standing outside his car, unsure of what to do.

“Do you- would you come in with me?” you asked, hoping he’d say yes. “I just… they’ll probably put her down and I don't want to be alone,” you asked with unintentional puppy dog eyes. Spencer thought for a moment- walking into a hospital full of sick animals with many diseases seemed like the absolute last thing he wanted to do. But when he looked at your pleading eyes, he knew that he couldn’t just wait in the car.

“Of course,” he conceded, locking his car and following you inside the clinic.

-

You met with the vet quickly and your suspicions were correct- poor Fantine was suffering and the best option was to put her down now. Your heart shattered, but you felt Spencer's comforting hand on your back, trying to glue those pieces back together. The vet had given you the option to either stay with her while she was put down or to wait in the other room.

“I think I want to be with her, I don’t want her to be alone,” you said, wiping away a stray tear. 

“Will your boyfriend be coming too?” the vet asked, turning his attention to Spencer. Neither of you acknowledged the boyfriend title. He was about to answer when you interrupted him.

“Oh Spence, don’t worry about coming in. I’ve already dragged you here, you can just wait in the other room if you want,” you offered, sincerely. Spencer could see that you wanted him to stay- that you wanted him to comfort you. So, pushing his anti-germ rules aside once again, he made up his mind.

“Of course I’m coming with you Y/N, I told you I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he decided, and you gave him a grateful but sad smile. 

So, as you said your tearful goodbyes, the vet took out his needle and began the process. Spencer rubbed your back, eventually wrapping his arms around you as you sobbed. You could swear you felt a kiss on the head, but you were mainly focused on your cat. You decided to get her cremated, and as Spencer guided you out of the clinic, you felt extremely empty. You missed your best friend already.

The drive home was mainly silent, and you wanted to grab his hand again. You decided against it, however- you thought you might have pushed his limits of touch and germs today (you hadn’t. Spencer decided that he would never be tired of your touch). You made your way up to your apartment, empty crate in hand, with Spencer following a few steps behind. He walked you to your door, stopping outside when you unlocked it. He put his anxious hands in his pockets, trying his best not to fidget (and also trying to prevent himself from reaching out to wipe your tears).

“So…” you said, looking at your feet.

“Yeah, so…” he said, doing the same.

“Listen Spencer, I know we’ve just met and-and you're probably tired of me already, but… this is my first night without her, and I don't want to be lonely. I know this is a lot to ask, especially after I dragged you around all day, but… if I asked you to stay, would you?” you said, shyly looking up at him. Spencer could feel his heart stutter, looking at you softly.

“Uh, yeah. Yes, yes I will,” he responded, offering a nervous smile. You gave him one back, unlocking your door and letting him inside your apartment. It already felt different without her, but the presence of Spencer did a little to fill that void. You ushered him to sit down on the couch and you moved to make some tea for the both of you. You didn’t notice Spencer internally freaking out about being in your apartment, this time alone. You made the tea in silence and brought it to the couch, sitting next to him. 

“Can I braid your hair?” you asked, surprising even yourself by your bluntness. 

“Can you- what?” he asked, face twisting in confusion. He didn’t know if he could handle your hands in his hair, but he wanted to find out. You laughed at his confusion, almost spilling the tea on yourself.

“Come onnn, I’m a grieving cat mother who wants to braid your hair. It would look so pretty,” you told him, and although it wasn’t a direct complement, Spencer couldn’t help the blush that spread across his face.

“Uh, sure I guess,” he said, heart rate picking up.

“Yay! Okay, you’re tall so sit on the ground and I'll stay on the couch,” you said, clapping your hands excitedly as he set his tea down on your coffee table and sat on your carpeted floor. You didn’t waste any time, sectioning his hair into sections for a french braid. You noticed him shiver at your touch. “Sorry, are my hands cold?” you almost whispered, too deep in concentration.

“No, they’re fine,” he said, closing his eyes as you ran your hands through his hair. 

“You have good hair, Spence,” you told him as you worked on the short braid. He almost choked on his own tongue.

“Oh, thanks. You do too…” he said, not registering his complement before it came out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you blushed, focusing on your handiwork. It didn’t take you long to finish, and when you turned him around to observe the braid, you couldn’t help the squeal that escaped your throat. “Oh my gosh, you look so good!” you exclaimed, pulling your phone out of your pocket and taking a selfie of the two of you. He smiled awkwardly for the camera. “Penelope is going to love this,” you said, typing her contact in the phone. Spencer knew that the picture would soon be seen by the entire BAU, but he let it go when he saw you smile genuinely for the first time that day. You held your phone out to him for him to see the picture.

“Don’t we look cute?” you smiled.

“Yes, you- I mean we do,” he said, hoping you didn’t catch his slip. You did. 

“Spence?” you asked, contemplating something. He looked up at you.

“Yes?” he asked, wondering what you were thinking about.

“What do you do when you’re sad? Because when I used to get sad, I’d just cuddle with Fantine, but…” you trailed off, your eyes glazing over as you thought about her again.

“You can cuddle with me,” he said. You looked at him, eyes wide- he didn’t think he had said that out loud. “I mean… physical touch increases levels of dopamine and serotonin, so if we were to… you know… uh maybe it would make you feel better?” he said, scratching the back of his neck. You smiled and pulled him back on the couch. He sat there as you put your head on his chest, his arm tentatively reaching around your shoulders. You chose to ignore his increased heartbeat, which he was sure you could hear. 

“Do you think… does it get better?” you asked, eyes brimming with tears. “I mean, will I ever miss her less? Will it hurt less eventually?” you finished with a sigh. Spencer thought back to all of the pain he's been through and the ways he’s dealt with it. He’s learned some healthy coping mechanisms, as well as some extremely unhealthy ones. He thought deeply before answering.

“I think… we make room for the hurt. I don’t think it ever goes away, but you learn to cope and deal with it to the point where you feel better. Eventually,” he explained as delicately as possible. You lifted your head from his chest and gazed into his eyes to see he was already looking back at you. He could feel himself leaning in, and you responded by doing the same. You were both inches away from each other when you heard a sharp knock on your door. The both of you jumped at the noise, flustered, as if you had been caught. 

“I’ll… go get that,” you said, quickly getting off of the couch and running to the door. Spencer mentally facepalmed himself- you were grieving and he thought the perfect moment to make his move was while he was comforting you. Although, you had seemed to reciprocate the feelings…

“Penelope!” you yelled, opening the door to be immediately greeted with a bear hug. 

“Y/N, my sweet sweet Y/N,” she cried into your shoulder. You pat her back, consoling her (this woman was one hell of an empath). You made eye contact with Spencer over her shoulder, giving him a wide eyed stare, both of you amused by Garcia’s antics. She pulled away and looked at you sadly.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer asked, trying his best to sound like he wanted her there. 

“Well, I heard about the sad day you guys were having so I brought some medicine to fix your broken hearts,” she said while pulling out a couple bottles of wine, warm cookies in her other hand.

“You’re a godsend Penelope Garcia,” you smiled, taking the wine and cookies into the kitchen. Garcia took this moment to grill Spencer about their day, quietly enough so you couldn’t hear.

“Soo you’ve been with her all day? Spill, I need to hear if i'm gonna have baby boy geniuses,” she said excitedly. Spencer chuckled.

“Well, the animal clinic wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting but…” he trailed off and she urged him to continue. “But, we were inches away from kissing when you decided to knock on the door,” he said, and Penelope looked distraught.

“Oh my god. I have to leave, you guys have to get back to it!” she said, standing up to go home. Spencer grabbed her arm and stopped her before she could tell you she was leaving.

“No no no! Please don't, if you leave now i'm going to have to face the awkward aftermath of… that, and I don't want to,” he said, almost begging.

“So… what you’re saying is… you need wing woman Garcia again!” she suggested, excitedly. Spencer didn’t have time to disagree before you came back in the room, cookies on a plate and balancing three wine glasses in your hand and a bottle in the crook of your arm. Spencer hopped up to help you carry everything, and Garcia did little to hide her smirk.

The rest of the night was spent cheering you up- from Taylor Swift dance parties to Disney karaoke, Penelope pulled out all the stops to make it a night to remember. After a few glasses, you had even managed to get Spencer to dance with you to a slower song, Penelope slyly recording the entire thing. Spencer didn’t care, however- all he focused on was the buzzing in his chest and your arms around his neck, his entire body tingling with excitement. 

As you said your goodbyes to the duo, you pulled Penelope into a hug and gave her a kiss on the cheek. You did the same for Spencer, but your kiss had landed closer to the corner of his lips. In your buzzed state, however, you didn’t acknowledge it (or the fact that you had done it on purpose). Spencer left that night with a fire in his heart and his hand rested on his lips. After a bit of teasing, Garcia took an Uber home and Spencer was left alone to contemplate his next move.

-

The next day, the team was called in for a case across the country- Penelope had made sure you knew this in your group text with her and Spencer that she had so lovingly named “Penny and the Jets” (the three of you had also danced to a few Elton John songs during your night together, which gave Garcia the genius grouchat name idea). It was weird for you to be alone after having spent the past few days with your new friends, and you missed the distraction. You went back to work, only being lightly reprimanded for your absence. You couldn’t help but think about Spencer’s smile most of the day, or the way he always smelled like coffee.

Across the country, Spencer had been doing the same thing, and the team had noticed. He was more spaced out than usual, and it was only a matter of time before he confessed to the team that he’d finally talked to you. Derek proudly patted him on the back when he described what it was like to spend a day with you. The team was incredibly happy for him- although they weren’t shocked. Penelope had already forwarded them the video of you both dancing and the selfie you had taken with his braided hair. 

The case had finished relatively quickly, which was a relief to everyone (but especially Spencer, who wanted to make plans to see you as soon as he got back). As the team was walking together to their SUVs, Spencer's eye was drawn to a box on the sidewalk. Not just his eyes were drawn- he had heard a soft “mew” coming from the cardboard box, and he let his curiosity get the best of him as he walked over to it, Emily following him to see what he was doing. He opened the box to see a tiny kitten- he wasn’t normally an animal person, but it seemed like you had gotten to him. His heart wrenched at the sight- the kitten looked like a mini Fantine. 

“Oh my gosh, that is so cute,” Emily said, leaning down to get a closer look, snapping a picture for Garcia.

“Yeah, it is,” Spencer said, lost in thought. The rest of the team came to see what the big fuss was about. 

“Someone should take her!” said Prentiss, giving the team a look that said help me out. Reid should take her.

“Ah, yes. Hey, pretty boy, why don’t you take it?” Derek asked, leaning down to get a closer look. Spencer shook his head.

“I can’t take care of a cat, Morgan. Prentiss, why don’t you take it? You have Sergio,” he suggested, trying to get the attention off of him.

“Eh, one is enough for me,” she responded, nudging JJ.

“Spence, why don’t you give it to your neighbor? I’m sure Y/N would love her,” JJ suggested. Spencer's heart stuttered at your name.

“Y-you think?” he asked, unsure if it was too forward. The team wouldn’t let him leave without the cat, which he had already named Cosette in his mind (the name of Fantine’s daughter). So, he picked up the box and brought it with him onto the jet. This was the most spontaneous Spencer had ever been, and the team shared glances of shock and pride when he interacted with the kitten on the jet ride back. 

-

Here Spencer waited, outside your door, holding the tiny kitten in his arms. He had taken it to the vet to make sure it had its shots and was able to be kept as a house pet, and he immediately came home to give it to you. It was around 7 PM so he knew you should be home (not that he was being creepy- his eidetic memory couldn’t help but memorize your schedule). After a few minutes of standing, he swallowed his nerves and knocked on your door, quickly bringing his hand back to support the kitten he was holding.

You opened the door in your sweats, your hair dripping wet from the shower you had just taken. You were apparently on the phone before you opened the door- “I gotta go,” you said, hanging up the call and tossing your phone on the couch.

“Spence, what are you doing here? And who's this?” you said with heart eyes, ushering him in and cooing at the small kitten. He had never seen you smile this wide before, and he knew he was making the right choice. 

“Uh, her name is Cosette. Well, I gave her that name, you can definitely change if you want, because she's.. yours,” he said. Your mouth hung open in shock as you took the small kitty from him, rubbing your nose on her head. 

“Are you serious?” you almost yelled, excitement taking over. Spencer nodded happily, watching you pet the kitten. “Oh my god, you’re the best!” you said, pulling him into a one handed hug, the other arm holding Cosette. He laughed and hugged you back, before the unexpected happened. Maybe you were just extremely grateful, or maybe the adrenaline was taking over, but you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss onto his lips. Just like that. Like it was natural, like you had kissed Spencer a million times over. After you pulled away, he was extremely flustered. He pressed his hand to his lips, as if he was trying to figure out what just happened.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, thinking that he was upset with you. In all fairness, you didn’t expect to kiss him either- you just couldn’t help yourself. This seemed to wake him from his daze.

“No, don’t apologize! I’ve, uh, I've been wanting to do that for awhile now,” he blushed, shoving his hands into his pockets. You smiled at this, feeling confident that you had made the right choice.

“Penelope is going to be thrilled,” you laughed, sitting on the floor and setting Cosette down to play with one of the cat toys you still had laying around.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, sitting next to you with his legs crossed.

“Well… she told me that I should make a move because you never would, and I thought that it was impossible for someone like you to like me, but she seemed pretty adamant that you did,” you said, focusing on the animal in front of you rather than the man. This shocked him- you didn't think he would like you? That seemed insane to him, and he made sure you knew that.

“Are you kidding me Y/N? You’re so cool, you get along with people and you’re not awkward, and you’re so caring, I just… how could I not like you?” he asked, petting the kitten as well. Now it was your turn to blush. You didn’t know how you could be so lucky to have these people come into your life at the perfect time.

You and Spencer spent the rest of the day together, once again. You stole a few more kisses, and Spencer was even bold enough to initiate one or two, and your heart finally felt full. You knew things would be okay now- you had two new friends (and a furry roommate) to prove it. 

[anonil88]

Abbey Lee for The Sunday Times (June 2021)

Can you tell she's modeled for Gucci?

Styling: Alicia Lombardini

Photography: Claire Rothstein

[Quick personal thoughts, I have realized I 1000 percent am vampire bait. Tick off the boxes of tall kinda scary Gemini and I'm like yea sure count me in. First of the long format fashion things I do that I'm posting here.]

“I can’t stand the constant sunshine... I’m a moody person and sometimes I just like the weather to reflect what’s going on on the inside.”

"That sulky intensity paired with an icy beauty has tended to dictate her acting roles. From the vicious (read: carnivorous) ageing model Sarah in the fashion horror The Neon Demon, to the vengeful clone in Elizabeth Harvest and the bigoted Christina Braithwaite in the HBO series Lovecraft Country, Lee often plays the high-class villain. Why does she get offered these parts? “I’ve worked as a model since I was 15, I’ve been through a lot. I’ve been to the edges of my darkness and I’m not afraid to access those parts of myself,” she says. “Or maybe I’m just a bitch and I don’t know it!”"

From what I've heard she really isn't so bad and she makes most putfits look very good. Even when they aren't to my personal liking, or anyone else's. Anyhow I really like the cover image for this shoot, she looks comfortable in a suit which not everyone does. Some people look like they are cosplaying as someone's father or guidance counselor. My favorite outfit/piece is the one with the Bottega coat. All of the Veneta coats are so nice and cost way too much for my wallet to ever agree on. Even on sale.

***************

It is actually a pretty short article so I'm going to share some quotes and summarize. Just in case anyone was interested but doesn't want to deal with the pay gap. There is a lot about needing a change of pace even before lockdown in the rainy London weather. She touches on being known as a pillar in an industry but being bored of said industry. Wanting more from a career started at the age of 15, needing a challenge. Her scouting was by chance, as she walked on a beach near her home in Australia. A tomboy looking for a chance to get out and see the world by stepping on a runway. Which she's done for ,as of several days ago, 19 years and she's walked or shot for almost everyone.

"At her busiest she starred in Gucci campaigns, appeared on the covers of numerous international editions of Vogue and took the coveted role of bride to close Chanel’s spring 2010 couture show. She hasn’t completely given up modelling — she fronted last year’s Bottega Veneta campaign, for instance — but she felt she had more to give."

In recent years she's taken up acting, one of her first roles was in Mad Max: Fury Road. And this year, she will be starring in The Forgiven "co-starring Ralph Fiennes and Jessica Chastain." And the horror comic turned movie "Old" directed by M. Knight Shyamalan.

"Lockdown in London — spent alone, recovering from a break-up — brought lots to the surface. She filled ten diaries with poetry, drawings, observations, and began writing a one-woman play — then burnt them all one morning in a pot on her windowsill. “It felt ritualistic,” she says, laughing. “It ended up being a positive experience [but] I was having to process some pretty deep shit.”

Part of her process has also been processing the questions other people ask in your 30s as a woman. Hell they ask it in your 20s too and then you start asking yourself the question too. "....well, everyone kind of is having babies. I do really want kids. It’s really difficult being a woman. My sister made a decision, family was more important to her, and for me it was always work first. But we have a biological clock and as that clock starts ticking, you know…"

For now though she has got a puppy, well does a giant Cane Corso count as a puppy ?

**********************************

[reidecorating]

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes�� Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.