#maybe its the shelves. places to hide. i like shelves and i like hiding

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

Love hallways because theyre Creepy but also hate hallways because. theyre Creepy

[nereidprinc3ss]

please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them. 

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now. 

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate. 

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut. 

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination. 

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you. 

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.” 

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze. 

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists. 

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room. 

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer. 

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other. 

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat. 

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot. 

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi. 

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now? 

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks. 

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down. 

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances. 

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level. 

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago. 

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time. 

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction. 

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out. 

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion. 

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you. 

“Which part?”

All of it. 

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to. 

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts. 

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth. 

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment. 

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose. 

You never meant to like him so much. 

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore. 

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer. 

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave. 

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away. 

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse. 

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it. 

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear.  He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man. 

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly. 

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it. 

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it. 

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on. 

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper. 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse. 

A long moment goes by. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now. 

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears. 

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you. 

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door. 

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse. 

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder. 

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app. 

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features. 

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his. 

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe. 

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed. 

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks. 

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear. 

Just as he’d said. 

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid. 

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right. 

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant. 

You want to be fine. Constantly. 

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care. 

But you always have. And so fucking deeply. 

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed. 

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time. 

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat. 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore. 

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again. 

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to. 

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now. 

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand. 

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be. 

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite. 

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both. 

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall. 

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

[miss-fanfictions]

Sundays at the Library

Part Two

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Spencer talks to the sweet librarian at his new library and slowly Sundays become his favorite day of the week.

Warnings] Cursing, creepy guy, misunderstandings (but its cute I promise), written from Spencer's POV

Word Count] 8.9k

Author's Note] This is my first fic here! I'm planning on doing a few more parts to this, so this is only the beginning 🙃

The first time Spencer saw you, the encounter wasn’t anything special. 

If he wasn’t working, he was reading, and because he can read 20,000 thousand words per minute, he needed new books often. Not even his FBI salary could afford the amount of books he consumed in a month and his cozy apartment certainly couldn’t contain them all. Already his bookcases were spilling out onto nearby surfaces. So to quench his constant need for new books, Spencer borrowed books from the library. However, since the one near his apartment closed just a week ago, he had to find a new one. That led him to drive to the library ten minutes away. 

It was larger than the one down the street from his apartment—it had a full three floors. Beyond the double doors, he followed two velvet rope barriers onto the main floor of the library, wandering past a grand front desk to his left to where the room divided into two sections and the barriers ended. In the left section, beside the desk, there were a couple computers set up, as well as two printers and a side wall dedicated to DVDs. In the other section there were tables and chairs set up for quiet studying, as well as more comfortable lounges for reading. Behind those two sections started the book shelves, nearly ceiling high and organized via genre and then further alphabetized. When he ascended the staircase at the back of the main floor, he found the upper levels were fully dedicated to rows of shelving containing books, interspersed with a few tables and lounges for reading. 

 He spent approximately 45 minutes getting the layout of the library, as large as it was, and finding the books he wanted to read. Of course, he got a range of books. Two books on psychology, a mathematical textbook, and another two books based in the sciences. A bit of light reading, really, just to occupy his time at home during a busy caseload week. 

He balanced the heavy books awkwardly in his arms as he made his way to the front desk, practically dropping them onto the counter. His lips twisted up in embarrassment, glancing around to see if anyone was disturbed by the loud clatter. When his eyes turned back to the desk, they met the bespeckled ones of you, the librarian, seated behind the counter. They were wide behind the frames, doe-like and startled by the noise. He winced and stuttered out an apology.

Too often he embarrassed himself due to his clumsiness. Over the years, Spencer got a lot better at the shooting range, but he still couldn’t run a mile without tripping a few times, or be able to participate in sports, and he didn’t even want to think about his driving. JJ often compared the experience of being in his passenger seat to riding shotgun with her senile grandmother. No matter what he did, the awkwardness crept in and all he could do was apologize. He didn’t mean to startle the nice librarian who he would seeing every week for the foreseeable future. 

“It’s fine,” your voice was a gentle whisper, perfect for the quiet of the library. You closed the book on your lap and placed it out of sight under the counter, standing up to help him. That’s when he could take you in completely, with your long flowy skirt and oversized sweater. Perhaps a shy attempt to battle the chill running through the library, or maybe a purposeful effort to hide yourself away from prying eyes. He could tell—despite your attire—that you were his age or maybe a little younger. You lacked the wrinkles, grays, and even the weathered dullness associated with age. Your hair was done up messily, effortlessly, and his eyes tracked your chewed up fingernails as you tucked a few strands behind your ears, out of the way of your eyesight. 

He thought you were plain and shy. The soft pastels and neutrals that colored your clothes and the fact the garments covered you so entirely, made you blend into the background. Had he not needed to speak to you directly, he might not have noticed you tucked behind the desk, folded up in your chair with your nose deep in a book. 

“Can I check these out for you?” You asked him, and he almost missed it due to both his staring and your airy cadence. 

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, then quickly added. “And a library card, please. I’m new to this library.”

“I’ll just need an ID then,” you held out your hand while he rummaged through his wallet for his state ID, and when he placed it into your palm he was careful not to touch your hand. It was less about you as a person as it was his disdain for germs. 

You went about clicking and typing at the computer to the side of the desk, face plain as if whatever you were doing you had done a thousand times. Your nimble fingers only stuttered when you glanced back at him, catching his eyes as he watched you before he darted them away from your face, caught. Quickly, you grabbed the mouse, clicking only three more times before handing back his ID. He was careful not to touch your hand or meet your eyes as he took it back. 

He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he had a habit of it, always trying to profile. But you were just a meek librarian, and there was no reason to take note of your behavior. You went about printing out a physical copy of his new library card, and he opened one of his books to occupy himself as you did so. 

When you turned back to him, you scanned a plastic card before offering it to him with a small smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled as you went about scanning the books on the counter with the same barcode reader. You were on the fourth book when your brows creased and you looked back up at him. 

“Are you studying?” You asked, the words sudden as if you couldn’t hold the thought off your lips. 

“No, this is just some light reading,” he answered politely, because it was. Though he forgot that was maybe not normal, because you giggled at his reply. 

The sound brought his eyes to your lips, the way they parted to let the breathy noise out. It was a unique giggle, though he supposed everyone’s is, but something about it suited you so completely. It was soft, and when he glanced around the library to see that no one else had heard it, he thought it was also just for him. There was no taunting, just joy that you emitted in the most delicate of sounds. If only he could understand what he did to extract it from you. 

“Right,” You said jokingly, and then he thought maybe you didn’t believe him, but he didn’t get a chance to assure you he was being truthful before you finished checking out the books. “Here you go, have a nice day, Spencer.”

He hesitated, thrown off by your use of his name, but cleared his throat and collected his books nonetheless. He thanked you and mumbled a brief goodbye as he did so, not looking back as he rushed out of the library. When he got to his car, he used a pack of disinfectant wipes on the books and set them up in his passenger seat, thoughts of the little librarian withering away to the casework waiting for him at work tomorrow.

—

He finished the books quickly, in only two days actually, but thankfully most of his time was taken up by his work. In his remaining free hours, he resorted to rereading a few books on his shelves. On Sunday, he collected his library books and drove the ten minutes back to his new library, exactly one week since his last visit. 

The inside was chilly and smelled like old paper and leather. There weren't many people he could see on the main floor, a few of what looked like college students spread out studying and some preteens huddled on the computers, whispering snarks and giggles. He walked up to the front desk, following the rug and the velvet rope barriers that led right to it from the entrance. This time he didn’t pass by the desk, but stopped at it to place down his books—quietly.

Your familiar framed eyes looked up at him, just as doe-like as surprise crossed them right before a smile took hold. Again, you closed the book in your lap, though this time Spencer caught a glimpse of its orange and yellow cover before you hid it from sight. He couldn’t make out the title. “Back so soon?”

It had been exactly a week since he’d seen you, and though he had not thought of you much since then, Spencer was incapable of forgetting a face. You looked just as you did last week—messy updo, baggy clothes, bare face. It seemed that was your natural state, or at least what you wore to work, but what Spencer wore to work was pretty much his normal wardrobe and he worked in the FBI, not a library.

“Yes, I need to return these books,” he told you, returning your smile with a quirk of his lips and placing his library card on top of the stack of books. 

When your eyes roamed back down from his to the five books, your brows furrowed. “Give up on studying then?” You asked, scanning the books back into the system. 

For a moment, Spencer was confused, then he recalled every word of your last interaction, and realized you still thought he checked the books out to study them, likely for some graduate classes, given his age. “No, I wasn’t studying them. I just needed a few books for casual reading after work.”

You paused once you turned to the computer, looking at him down your glasses. “Casual reading?” Your eyes went back between the thick books and his face, a smirk of disbelief growing. “You read all these books in a week?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. 

“For fun?” You had a skeptical eyebrow quirked.

“That’s what casual reading normally implies.” Spencer furrowed his brows at your line of questioning. Maybe most people wouldn’t read such topics simply for fun, but why would he lie about that? 

At that, you giggled again, a bird’s song, and resumed clicking at your computer. Your gentle laugh tickled something deep in his chest. Again, there was no malice or ill intent to it, not any that he could see behind your genuine eyes and smile. You simply thought he was a funny guy, and no one ever thought that of Spencer. He was too awkward, or too serious, or even too annoying to be fun. 

You took the stack of books in your arms, the pile reaching right up to your chin, and walked them to a cart behind you. When you turned back, you were still smiling sweetly at him. “Your light reading has been checked back in.” You slid his library card across the counter.

He plucked the card back off it with a thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his sweater vest. For a moment, he debated telling you about his PhDs, his eidetic memory, and maybe even his genius IQ because Spencer always felt the need to prove himself—to state facts—because he wasn’t the funny guy. He was very serious and all the things he was telling you weren’t just silly jokes. Then he worried he might wipe the smile right off your face, and he couldn’t let himself do that. So instead he gave you a stiff nod and continued into the library.

. . . Only to spin right back around, fist awkwardly pressed against his lips. “Oh, also, what is the maximum amount of books I could have checked out at once?”

You had just cracked the spine of your book again when you looked back up at him, a swirling look of confusion on your face. “Ten books, but you don’t have any out so I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

Spencer gave another nod, spinning back around on his heels and taking himself right up to the second floor of the library. He spent approximately 37 minutes collecting books from around the library, setting them aside at tables as he weaved through the rows of bookcases for the different genres. A wealth of knowledge in all areas was useful for his job, and also just for him personally. He found great pride in knowing many things, as annoying as others might find his incessant info-dumping. 

When he finished, he took a stack of books from the table and carried them down from the second floor, slowly stepping down the stairs and craning his neck around the stack to watch his steps. He could be uncoordinated at his best, so there was no need to tempt fate into sending him tumbling down the staircase by not paying attention. 

After successfully making it down, he took long strides to the main desk and set the stack down on the counter. Of course, you looked up at him again, however skipped surprise and jumped into an inviting smile. You closed your book and stood up, taking in the books he set in front of you. “Another five to check out then?”

“No, actually, I’ll be right back.” He turned away so fast he almost missed the way your smile faded and you leaned over the counter to watch him ascending the stairs again, spindly legs taking them two at a time.

He grabbed hold of the second tower of books, nearly dropping the top one in his haste to get back to you. After that he continued to take the stairs carefully even as he felt your eyes on him. Maybe especially because he felt your eyes on him, because if you watched him fall down the stairs he’d have to drive an additional ten minutes away to find another new library, because he certainly wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore. 

Beside the first stack on the counter, he set the second, then placed his library card between them. “This is it, I promise.”

Again, you glanced between him and the books, eyes bugging behind their glass shelter. After a moment or so, as if you were making sure he was serious (he was), you began scanning his card and the books. Despite the larger quantity of books, you were slower as you ran the barcodes on the back, taking the time to read the titles and authors. 

“Are you a graduate student?” You asked, looking at a book on human genealogy. 

Spencer twiddled his thumbs. “No, I’m finished with school for now, but I might go back for another PhD in the future when I have more time,” he answered honestly, the words flowing out quickly, even though he wasn’t sure why he was telling you that. Only about two percent of the U.S. population has a PhD, and an even slimmer percent had more than one. So it was an unusual thing to say.

He thought you might laugh again, or even question him, but you simply hummed and moved onto the next book, chewing your lip. “I’m in a graduate program for poetry,” your voice was quiet, as required by the library environment, but more so than usual, like you seemed embarrassed to share that information. 

It made sense you were a graduate student working in a library while earning your MA in writing. He wondered if you had plans for your degree beyond getting a slight pay increase as a librarian. There was a career as an author, or maybe you wanted to be a teacher or a professor, he could see you doing that, standing in front of a class in your skirts and sweaters pointing at a chalkboard with a ruler, though that image was outdated. More likely you’d be in front of a white board or presenting from a projector. 

“That’s interesting. I find myself reading a lot of nonfiction recently—it helps more with my job, though I also just enjoy facts and statistics—but I’ll always have a special appreciation for fiction. I’m fond of poetry in particular because it’s created for multifaceted analysis,” even in his own whisper, the words were breathy and fast. He had to catch his tongue between his teeth when he caught your eyes trailing back up to him. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Write poetry hopefully,” the words came out in a gust of wind and your eyebrows quirked up, as if you didn’t believe even your own dream. “Maybe you can analyze it one day.” You finished scanning out the books, putting them back into two neat piles as you did. You went about clicking at your computer, making sure the books were grayed out in the system, avoiding his eyes.

So you did want to be a writer then. He could easily see that as well. Though he got the sense you didn’t believe your aspiration was attainable, and it likely wasn’t due to lack of skill. He told himself he wouldn’t profile you, but he did it practically subconsciously. Your lowered gaze, modest clothes, shy smile, and even chewed nails all pointed to a lack of confidence in yourself. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty in your own right, and were clearly intelligent and hard working if your pursuit of a masters degree said anything. If you needed a little encouragement, the least he could do was give it to you.  “I look forward to it,” he said, and he was just as sincere as he always had been. 

It only seemed to increase your embarrassment, causing your face to shy further away from his gaze. “Thank you, Spencer.” Even if you couldn’t look at him, your tone was of genuine appreciation, and if he tilted his head just right, he could see the wisp of a smile on your face.

He nodded with a tight lipped smile, staring at you while he waited for the conversation to continue, only to realize you’d finished with his books and it was over. His hands stuttered to gather up the first heap of books, muttering about how he’d be back. However he only got a few paces when he heard you say his name again, feet stopping dead.

“Would you like me to help you carry these out?” You were already trying to get a hold on the books.

Quickly, he shook his head. “No,” the words came out abrupt and firm, louder than he’d ever spoken before in the library, and you flinched. 

“You shouldn’t be following anyone out of here to their cars. This library has a disturbing lack of cameras and an abduction, even in a public area, can happen in less than ten seconds. It’s safest for you to remain in the library and follow the good practice of having someone walk you to your car after your shifts.” Spencer felt obligated to warn you strictly, because your distinct quietness and sweetness made you the perfect prey for the killers he hunted daily. 

Though he almost regretted it as he watched the way your hands retreated from the books, crossing around yourself, and the gentle smile became forced. “Oh. I–I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer nodded and hesitated, but didn’t linger much longer before exiting the library and heading back to his car. He was quick to toss the books into his car, your tangled smile stuck in his mind. Was it an odd thing to say? He was only trying to warn you, to keep you safe. But the look on your face, you didn’t seem at all grateful for the advice. Spencer took brisk strides back to the library entrance. You were standing there behind the front desk, arms still crossed, a distant look on your face. When you heard him approaching the counter taking in breath just a little faster from boardline jogging back, you barely spared him a glance. He scared you a bit, he realized, and he didn’t want to leave you like that. 

He paused beside his leftover books, wetting his lips.  “I didn’t mean to scare you with what I said before.” He finally caught your eyes and you seemed to hear him out. “I work in law enforcement, for the FBI actually, and all too often I see cases of nice girls like you who go missing just because you want to help people. Unfortunately it’s a pretty common ruse. So, I—I didn’t tell you all that to make you worry, but because I want you to be safe,” he admitted, and your face softened again, your hands falling back to the counter. It brought a smile to his own face to see you relax your guard again. “It’d also be awful if my librarian went missing. Who will check out the heap of books I keep bringing you?” 

You giggled, your lips pulling into a toothy smile. “It’d definitely suck, but I’d hope you’d put those FBI skills of yours into finding me.”

Spencer chuckled, ducking his head into his chest to quiet the sound as he pulled his books into his arms. “Of course I would, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.” He was good at his job, he never stopped until he found their victim, their unsub. 

You bowed your own head, hand holding your glasses to keep them from slipping down your nose. “Goodbye, Spencer.” You gave him a small wave with the other hand, ending the conversation with averted eyes, but he still noticed the growing color in your cheeks. 

He fumbled with his own wave under the stack of books, really just an outward flash of the fingers he could manage to peel away for a second, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him with how awkward it was. He turned on his heel, pink growing in his own cheeks, and exited the library again for the final time today. The gears in his head grinded the whole way to the car and continued as he grappled to get into it and wiped the books with disinfectant. 

You lingered in his mind longer than a librarian should have. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to warn you, to explain himself to you, or even comfort you. There was something about you, as meek and bashful as you were, that he found charming. Perhaps he saw himself in you, the insecurity. Or maybe it was how different you were from his job, where he was met with the most wicked minds and evil acts. You in comparison were the very image of innocence and life, in your pastel purples and yellows, lively eyes magnified behind glass, and your—your laugh. He liked your giggle. Even though he suspected at times it meant you didn’t fully believe him, he let you find him unserious, just so he could continue to hear that sweet sound tickle his ears in a way that scratched an itch inside him.

He was sitting in the parking lot staring out the windshield lost in his thoughts of you. When someone walked by, he found himself clearing his throat and finally putting his car in drive. You dissipated from his mind as he pulled out of the parking space because his Sunday at the library was over. 

—

It took five days for him to finish the ten books from the library. The team was in California from Tuesday through Thursday, but he took four books with him to read during his down time and while on the jet. He still ended up with spare time that he spent shopping with Penelope and babysitting Henry for JJ and Will’s date night. It was for this reason he was glad to be back in the library on Sunday.

Inside he was hit with the familiar crisp air and the vague smell of paper and coffee. The tables to the left had quite a few more students than usual, though there were not very many to start with previously. He wondered if a bout of exams were coming up. As Spencer neared the front desk, he could smell something else, a faint vanilla scent maybe.

You were there as always, standing this time, and almost leaning over the counter to see the door. You smiled when you saw him and he realized that you must be wearing perfume, because around you the vanilla air became thicker.

“Sunday at 11am. You're more reliable than my alarm clock,” you hummed cheekily.

Spencer set the books he held in his hands on the counter, his messenger bag following them up. “Having a routine is actually really good for you. It’s been proven to reduce anxiety and stress and also helps people to cope with certain mental illnesses,” he told you, pulling the rest of his books out of his bag.

If you were thrown off by his fact telling, you didn’t show it. “That makes sense. I like having a routine, but I’m pretty sure my friends think it makes me boring.”

Spencer dug around in his vest pocket for his library card, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

You plucked it from his fingers, bringing it to the barcode reader without breaking your eye contact. “Because they say it to me all the time.”

“Oh,” Spencer snorted a little and clutched the strap of his bag closer. There’s something different about you today. You’re much more talkative and playful, but it’s also in your appearance too. Your glasses are still perched on your nose and your face is bare as it always is, but your updo is more put together, less stands fall away into your face. You wear another long skirt, but it's tighter, less flowy, and he can nearly make out the shape of your legs through it. You’re wrapped in a cardigan too, but where one side falls open he can see your tank top underneath and the sight of your skin has him clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back to your face. 

“And how was your recreational reading?” You’ve started to scan the books back into the system. “You must have been pretty entertained with ten books in seven days.” You state it like a fact, but your tone has a whimsical disbelief to it.

“Actually I finished them in five days,” he corrected with an incline of his head. 

You reply quickly, like the words were primed in your mind. “Then you should have come back sooner.” Under the teasing, you sound serious, looking up from the books at him, lashes fluttering against their glass encasement. 

“I would, but I’ve been pretty busy at work.” He was too. He would spend hours in the library reading if working at the BAU didn’t take up so much of his time. He loved his job of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but what is someone with his talents to do but hole himself up gorging every book he can get his hands on. Spencer had a thirst for knowledge, that’s why he wanted to be in the library so much. 

“Well, that’s too bad then. What do you do for work?” Your head tilts with interest and he almost mirrors the movement, brows furrowed. 

 “I told you—I work for the FBI. Specifically, I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He has an eidetic memory which means he can remember every word you’ve said to him and every word he’s ever said to you, so he knows he’s told you this before. Of course he knows people forget things, but they also normally remember when he tells them he’s in the FBI.

Your face falls a bit and you chew your bottom lip, brows creasing. “Oh. . . right.” You finish scanning the last book quickly, gathering a couple into a pile to carry to a cart behind you. 

Spencer’s not exactly sure what he’s done to upset you, but his fingers twitch with the itch to fix it. Unfortunately, he’s got the idea his job is what makes you so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was unsettled by the fact he carried a badge and gun, or that he had the authority to arrest people. But you had joked about it last week, possibly were soothed by the fact he was a cop after his blunt and maybe eerie warning. So why were you suddenly so upset with him? 

The thought occurred to him then that  maybe it was because you didn’t completely believe the things he was saying. Not only that, but you were no longer finding whatever game you think he’s playing by telling you those things to be funny. As you carry the rest of the books back to the cart, he fidgets with his fingers, wondering if it was time to show you proof of what he’s been saying. Or did you really even care? Maybe he was wrong and you would be even more frightened by him presenting you with his badge. Was it odd to flash his FBI credentials at his librarian? That was all you were after all. He didn’t even know your name.

You were back to clicking at the computer when you glanced at him. “They’re all checked in.”

Spencer froze as you pulled him out of his thoughts, his hands locking in the joints before dropping to his sides into fists. That was your cue for him to leave. “Right, thank you.” He went to walk away, but his feet were stuck. “. . .thank you, um, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

You didn’t have to tell him, you could have brushed it off. You were just the librarian and one didn’t need to know the librarian's name, but you looked back at him again, eyes studying his face. Then, you murmured your name so softly he almost leaned in to hear it louder. Soundlessly, he let your name ghost over his lips.

He used it as he thanked you one last time, certainly overkill but it seemed like the only correct way to exit. Although he only got a few feet before he heard you call his name.

“Spencer, wait!” You didn’t yell, he’s never heard you yell, but your voice was the loudest he’s ever heard it. You always spoke in a whisper or a hushed tone, but your voice was nearly normal when you called him back. The urgency of it had him back in front of you in just two strides.

You dipped beneath the counter and when you came back up you placed a basket on it. “When I used to go on picnics to read in the park, I used this basket. Well, I haven’t gone in a long time actually, but I thought maybe you could use it for all the books you check out,” you were bashful, tilting your head down and only sparingly meeting his eyes. Spencer was in shock, all he could think about was how this was one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for him. You gave him whiplash with how quickly you seemed to forgive whatever trespass he committed against you. He wondered even if he exaggerated the interaction in his head. 

The basket was woven, made from wicker, and had two handles at the top. It was rectangular in shape, pretty deep, and large for a picnic basket, he thought, big enough for fruits, pastries, sandwiches, and maybe more. It was a very nice basket, and the thought that you were giving it to him made his heart ache the most. You’d considered him, truly sat down and thought about him and then decided you were going to gift him a solution to his awkward problem. Not often did people solve his problems, it was always the other way around.

“Wow,” his finger grazed the side, considering the cost such a nice piece must be. “Are you sure? I really couldn’t take your basket it’s—”

“I don’t use it anymore,” you interrupted him for the first time. He realized that you never cut him off, you had always listened to him. “You can have it. . .” Your face was kind, then suddenly dropped into a panic. “Only if you want it of course! You don’t have to take it. I guess it’s kind of silly, carrying a picnic basket in a library. . .” You started to pick your nails, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he assured you quickly, leaning just a bit closer so he could catch your eyes again. “Thank you so much. Now I don’t have to worry about falling down the stairs or taking two trips to my car.” 

Your smile returned with a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, you kind of made me nervous going down the stairs like that with all those books. You don’t strike me as very. . . coordinated.”

“Ouch,” Spencer said, though he smiled back at you. You’d read him there, he was not very coordinated at all. Knowing physics was one thing, existing smoothly and with grace on the physical plane was another. 

“Sorry,” you shrugged half heartedly.

“No, you’re right. Thank you for the basket and uh, I’ll be back,” he waved you goodbye as he walked toward the stairs and you fluttered your fingers back at him. 

Spencer took exactly 52 minutes and 34 seconds adding books to his new basket. He got a few stares and side glances as he toted it around, mainly from a group of teenagers huddled at a miniature table and chair set in the children’s section. They snickered as they peeked up from their circle at him, but it wasn’t anything Spencer wasn’t used to. All his life people had laughed at him for a variety of reasons—he was too scrawny, too small, too bumbling, too nerdy—the list was miles long. All he could do was grow thicker skin, and he had. So he didn’t let it bother him as he wandered the library, adding books to his basket. 

No, the reason Spencer took so long to pick books was because each time he slipped one into a wicker embrace, he thought of you. He blinked and saw your face like a phantom burned into his retinas. The way the corners of your mouth twisted in your smile when you were so excited to give him the basket flashed and faded in his vision. Sometimes he cursed his eidetic memory because he’d memorized your face in its entirety with all its most miniscule details and peculiarities—and he didn’t even mean to. He would find himself staring into the empty space in the basket and have to drag his brain clawing back into reality.

His watch had ticked past 12 when he made his way back down the stairs to the main floor, lugging his basket in his right hand. It was heavy, weighed by two textbooks and eight other decently thick books, but the woven willow held strong. 

At the landing he could see across the library that you were already checking someone out. He meant to add himself to the queue, but pivoted to a lounge chair between two bookcases just as he got close enough to hear your voice. Immediately he felt wrong, a churning disgust with himself in the pit of his stomach. It was weird, wasn’t it? To watch you from afar just to gauge your behavior? But he had to know, it burdened his brain to wonder if you were just so saccharine it spilled out to everyone around you or if particularly you poured your sugar onto him.

You didn’t see him duck between the shelves to the lounge chair, not in any way that he could tell. With a tranquil neutral face you scanned the book that the college girl at the counter placed in front of you. The interaction was done in comfortable silence, even when you finished the transaction and she said her thank yous, you merely mumbled a “you’re welcome.”

It was different from how you interacted with him, he realized. You were much more playful and chatty with him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly inspired it in you. You were clearly shy, maybe anxious, but in some moments it faded when you talked to him. He didn’t think he said anything particularly special, but thinking you saw something in him that made you so comfortable, so cheerful, made his stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

The next man in the queue placed his book on the counter. He was the only other person waiting. You asked him absent-mindedly for his library card. He was older than you and Spencer, mid to late 40s if Spencer had to guess, but it gave him an idea about how you interacted with men as well. Which was just as bland as your interaction with the college girl before you. Spencer had a fleeting thought that maybe—just maybe—you liked him. Why else would you be so inclined to laugh with him? To be so shy sometimes you couldn’t meet his eyes? He’d read books, watched movies, and he knew the signs. He was just not used to spotting them in women interacting with him.

He cleared his throat as if to shake off the idea. It was vain, and in all likelihood an arrogant over analysis of the little interaction he’s had with you. He was about to get up and put himself in line behind the man when he heard his lurid voice croak out.

“How about you give me a smile, pretty?”

Spencer froze in place, white knuckle grip engraving the grooves of the entwined handle into his palm. Something like anger flared in his chest. It grew hotter as he saw the way you bowed your head even further from the man's sight, pulling your cardigan closer around your body.

“Um, yeah, could I just get your library card?” You squirmed under his leering gaze, lips faintly curling into the most awkward half-smile you could muster. 

Despite the way you clearly showed you were in duress, the man leaned closer over the counter. “My name’s Todd.” He slid his book across the counter to you like that tidbit of information helped any. “I’ll take this book and your number, baby.” Spencer’s jaw clenched.

His body tingled with the readiness to step in, to tell this Todd fucker to leave you be because obviously you weren’t interested. But his mind, the logical side of him, stopped him because Spencer also respected you and your autonomy. He was not an expert on women, but he knew quite a few strong women in the BAU who would be offended if he stepped in to defend them when they were capable of doing it themselves. He definitely didn’t want to offend you if you were able to brush off Todd on your own.

The uncomfortable smile dropped to a grimace. “If I could get your library card. . .” Your hand hesitantly reached for the book only for Todd to grasp your wrist in a tight hand.

“Stop asking for the damn card,” his voice dropped into a growl. “Baby, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Your arm fought to pull your hand back behind the counter, but Todd’s grip tightened and pulled back to keep you close. “Sir!” Your voice pitched higher, eyes widening almost too big for their frames. “Sir, please let go—”

Todd huffed, face screwing up in frustration. “Why’re you being so difficult?”

“Sir, you’re hurting her and you need to let go now.” Spencer practically flew over to the front desk. It was his instincts as an FBI agent kicking in. The need to de-escalate and protect was driving him. This man was now hurting you and he was not going to allow it to go any further.

Todd’s scowl looked Spencer up and down, assessing whether or not he could take him. He must have come to the conclusion Spencer was not a threat because he puffed up his chest and continued gripping your wrist. However, he was so distracted by Spencer, you were able to yank your arm away, rubbing at your wrist with your free hand. Todd shot you a similar glare before leveling his even angrier gaze back on Spencer.

“We’re just having a conversation here, asshole. So why don’t you get back to your books,” Todd barked at him so loud they had now attracted all the eyes in the library. But Spencer was only looking over at yours—your creased brow and the watery worry the glass highlighted. 

“Spencer, it’s—” You didn’t get to finish as Todd whirled his head between you and Spencer. 

“Spencer? No fucking way this wimp is your boyfriend.” Behind the rage, Todd looked almost smug.

But Spencer wasn’t. He hit his own boiling point and was passed asking politely. He pulled his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open in Todd’s face. “No, I’m the FBI agent who is going to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public disturbance if you don’t get out of this library right now.”

Todd’s head reeled back at the badge in his face, eyes squinting between the lettering and Spencer’s face. Realization of how much shit he was in passed briefly over Todd’s face before reverting to his glower. He must not have wanted trouble with the FBI though, because he started taking steps backwards toward the exit. But he couldn’t leave with a completely bruised ego.

“Whatever man. If you want the uppity bitch so bad you can have her!” Todd slammed open and closed the door as he made his grand exit. The entire library watched it, listening to him as he got his last dig in and fleeing before Spencer could make him eat his words. He didn’t have his cuffs or gun on him, but he’d dealt with enough unsubs to know he didn’t need them to handle Todd. 

When all the eyes slowly went back to their business, sure that Todd wasn’t coming back into the library, Spencer’s gaze returned to you. Your eyes were dinner plates, mouth agape, still clutching your wrist.

Spencer frowned, whispering your name. “Are you okay?”

“You’re an FBI agent. . .” The words slipped out of you in one shocked exhale. His brows furrowed. He just rescued you from an arrogant asshole and that was what you were stuck on, something he’d told you several times.

“Yes? But I told you—” 

“You were serious?” Your head bobbed forward in disbelief. So you really hadn’t been believing what he was saying. 

“Of course, why would I lie about that?” Spencer was confused and deep down a little hurt. It was such an odd thing to lie about to a stranger, he didn’t understand why you thought he wasn’t truthful. 

“I–I don’t know,” your eyes bounced around in a panic. “I thought you were just trying to impress me. I mean—you don’t really look like an FBI agent you’re. . . young? I don’t know, I thought you were flirting with me so I—” Your hand clasped over your mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir—agent—”

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“Call me Spencer,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, a near look of pity on his face. Your complete panic reassured him you were just as embarrassed over the miscommunication as he was. “Technically it would be Doctor, since I have three PhDs—but you can just call me Spencer.”

“But—But I didn’t. . . you were being serious the whole time and I. . .” You stuttered, shaking your head in confusion. “I was so unprofessional. . .”

Spencer chuckled, unable to hold it back. “Unprofessional? Just because I’m an FBI doesn’t mean I can’t like to talk to people. And I like talking to you, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” His disappointment dissipated quickly. Your shyness and embarrassment was so genuine and charming he couldn’t find the space to be upset with you beside all his amusement. 

You crossed your arms, somehow becoming even more bashful. “You’re sure it's okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Spencer grinned.

A small sigh of relief breezed past your lips. “Okay. . . I should—I should definitely apologize for not believing you.” You meet his eyes then with such profound remorse. “Because I am really sorry. It’s just. . . your accomplishments seemed so amazing they were kind of hard to believe, especially for someone so young.”

It was Spencer’s turn to become bashful. His head ducked and he laughed quietly. “I guess they can be hard to believe. Especially when you aren’t meeting me at work. I just thought maybe all the books helped prove it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes wandering back down to the countertop. “I kinda thought that was also to impress me. I didn’t really think you were reading all of them.”

“Well. . . I do.” He shrugged, figuring you had to believe him now. As you smiled at him, he realized he left his basket and books back at the chair. “Speaking of reading, I’ll be right back.”

You eyed him as he retrieved the basket and set it on the counter in front of you along with his library card. “Oh, were you sitting over there?” You looked curious. Certainly you hadn’t seen him sitting there today or anytime before.

Spencer coughed into his fist. “Um, just for a second.” He moved on quickly, removing the books from the basket. “Thank you for this again, by the way, it’s so much easier to carry all the books.”

You hummed, eyebrows jumping up. “Yeah. . . I’m having trouble believing I really gave an FBI agent a picnic basket to carry books in.” You started swiping the books over the barcode scanner, adding them back into the basket once they appeared on the computer screen next to you.

He cracked a half smile. “I think you watch too many movies. We’re not as serious as you think we are.” Hotch’s face flashed in his eyes and he thought maybe they were pretty serious, but not off duty. Hotch could also be serious enough for the whole team sometimes, so maybe he wasn’t a very good example. “And I like the basket. It was nice of you to think about me.”

Your eyes caught on his for a moment, glazed over in thought, so deep you bumped the basket as you went to set the book you held into it. It snapped you back into reality and you watched your hand as you tucked away the book, clearing your throat. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

Spencer’s head tilted to the left, considering you. He didn’t know what he could do to pull you back from this rut of self-consciousness. He was starting to regret ever pulling out his badge because now you seem standoffish in a way you never were with him before. He wanted to go back to when you laughed and smiled at him and didn’t find him intimidating. “Of course it’s not,” he paused a moment, wetting his lips. “And this isn’t weird either, y’know? Me being in the FBI? I’m still Spencer.”

You looked back at him again, eyes searching his face. “I know that. I’m. . .” You stared at him a second longer, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a smile. “I’m letting it sink in.” You continued scanning the books quietly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes as he absentmindedly picked at a loose string in his pocket.

His thumb brushed against his FBI credentials and the encounter just before this revelation came flooding back. He glanced over at the double doors as if to make sure Todd had not come back, though Spencer already knew he didn’t. 

“Are you okay?” You met his eyes, brows pulled together. “About before—with that guy?”

“Oh.” You shrugged, rolling your wrist unconsciously. “Yeah, I’m fine. We get one of them every now and again. Normally they’re pretty harmless.” A glimmer of realization passed over your face. “Um, thank you! I should have said that before. Not everyone would have done that.”

Spencer shook his head, waving off your thanks. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He was again reminded of the fact he was not a woman, and even though his job was to put away serial killers—monsters, creeps, pervs—he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. You shook it off well, but he didn’t doubt you were scared in the moment. Probably wondering how far he would take it, whether your reaction was appropriate, if your employer would be angry at you. He was just glad he was there to step in.

Slowly, you finished scanning all the books, tucking them neatly into the basket in an organized order he thoroughly appreciated. Heaviest books sat at the bottom and lighter books were stacked on top of them. You paused, flipping through the last book in your hand, a biography of Max Born, a German-British physicist. 

“So. . . you really do read 20,000 words per minute?” You had a cheeky grin as you peeked up at him from beneath those frames, and suddenly you were back. Spencer smiled.

“Yup. I also have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

You giggled, nodding along. “Right. Well then I guess this isn’t even enough books for you.” A finger waved over at the basket.

“It depends on work, actually. I’m usually busy, but I often have to travel too and then I become really busy so I don’t have time to read,” he explained. When he did sit down to read, he could get through one to three books, depending on their volume. “But yeah, ten books in a week is kind of light.”

You tapped the book in your hand with your thumbs, thinking. “Okay.” Suddenly you dropped the book into the basket, dipping below the desk to set another book in front of him. Examining it, he realized by its orange and yellow coloring it was the same book you had been reading the last time he was in the library. It was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and from the look of its creased spine and faded orange cover, it was well loved. “You should read this too then.”

Spencer turned the book over in his hands, looking at you with a twisted face of confusion. “But the check out limit is ten books?”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to add it to the basket. “It’s not a library book,” when he still looked puzzled, you continued. “It’s my book. You can borrow it from me.”

Your kindness and generosity was both shocking and overwhelming. Spencer wasn’t sure how he was to thank you for being so gracious to him. He could only think of one thing. So he quickly fumbled his wallet up onto the countertop. “You have to let me give you something for this—”

“Spencer,” as you said his name, your hand covered his as he dug for bills to give you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He shook his head, bewildered. Not only was your kindness startling, but so was the feeling of your hand on his. He had to stop his body from flinching at the contact. He was mostly uncomfortable at the thought of people touching him, but your palm was warm, soft, and offered the most comfort he’d felt in a while. “The basket and the book? It’s too much. I mean. . . you’re too nice.”

Your lips spread into a bright smile, flashing him your teeth. “Just bring me back your analysis. I’d love to hear what an IQ of 187 can cook up. Deal?”

Spencer laughed, ducking his head as he nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

When the laughter faded and his head came back up, he looked at you for a while longer, just feeling the paperback cover underneath his fingertips. You met his eyes just for a few moments, twiddling your own fingers. “So um, see you next Sunday?” You asked. He dared to see hope in your eyes.

“See you next Sunday,” Spencer agreed again. He hesitated putting the book in his new basket then finally left the front desk, waving you goodbye as he did. He watched over his shoulder you return his wave as he exited through the double doors. 

Spencer walked back to his car practically swinging the basket, so in his head he didn’t even realize he still had a smile on his face. He set The Poetry of Pablo Neruda aside as he disinfected his books and wondered what he would do the rest of his day off. What he was sure of, deep in his chest, was that he was excited for next Sunday. 

-

Part Two

[devildomwriter]

They Find Your Oddly Specific Erotic Manga | Others X Reader

GN! Reader x Solomon, Simeon, Raphael, Mephistopheles, Barbatos, Diavolo | Warnings: Suggestive

Solomon

You groaned as Solomon set a heavy pile of books on the table in front of you.

“How many of those do you need me to read?”

“As many as possible.” He chuckled at your gloomy expression. “What, don’t you want to become more powerful?”

You nodded but sighed as you closed the book that actually entertained you, and placed it back on its shelf.

Solomon followed you with his eyes and noticed you’d rearranged your shelf from the last time he saw it.

“Oh, you organized it!” He exclaimed and grinned proudly. “Excellent. Now we can find space to put your new books.”

You blushed and shook your head, you didn’t need this man to find the books you strategically placed out of sight. If he read the title alone he’d never let you live it down.

“Ah, please don’t mess with those,” you pleaded but when he saw your shy expression he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh? What could my sweet apprentice be hiding from me?” He teased. “Don’t you know you should share everything with your master?”

He began looking over the books and even behind them.

You stood up quickly and outstretched your hand, reciting a spell you’d recently learned. “I call upon the earth itself to shackle the one who stands before me. Leave them bound and helpless. I am the sorcerer ___, obey me!”

Solomon looked shocked when shackles appeared from your bedroom floor and wrapped around him.

“Incredible! Job well done, ___.” He smiled but with a snap of his fingers, they dissipated. “Unfortunately I’ve long since mastered that spell, sorry. And now I’m more curious than ever what you could be hiding.”

You groaned and gave up, accepting your fate. You heard his chuckle and assumed he must’ve found the books you’d hidden. His laugh became louder and he wiped tears from his eyes.

“It’s no wonder you hid these!” He exclaimed, “These are oddly specific too, aren’t they?” He noted as you continued to hide your face.

“Virgin Witch,” he listed, “Master Sorcerer Is Obsessed With His Angelic Apprentice! That one’s relatable,” he admitted, making you blush further. “Oh I like the Looks of this one; Fighting Demons With My Handsome Master: I’ll Follow Him to the End of the World and into Bed! Oh, I wonder if you find that one relatable?” He prodded as he looked at your steaming face.

“You’re a jerk…” you mumbled and he laughed, unbothered.

“Ah, maybe I am? But I was going to find out eventually, right?” He shrugged and you finally looked up, brows furrowed angrily.

He shook his head, “Now what’s with that look? You’re the one reading these books.”

“Reading isn’t a crime.”

“Exactly! And that’s what I did just now, no?”

You sighed. There was no use arguing with someone given the title “Witty” by the master of time, Barbatos himself.

“Now that that’s in the open. How relatable do you find these to be?” He unbuttoned the top of his uniform and approached you with a wanton gaze, “…I’m dying to know. You’ll show me…won’t you?”

Simeon

Simeon sat on your bed, reading with you. You tried to meet up and have a relaxing day as often as you could. Given all the chaotic people in your life, it was nice to have company who didn’t need to talk to have fun with you. Simeon was content just being by your side.

He closed his book and sat up, petting your head before he got to his feet to shelve the book he’d just finished.

“Where did this one go again?”

“They’re categorized by genre,” you said, not looking away from your book.

He nodded and scanned the many shelves of books when his eyes crossed a peculiar title and he got a mischievous look in his eyes.

“____,” he questioned with an innocent smile, “what’s this?” He held up what was clearly an angel-based erotic manga.

You sat straight up, “oh shoot!” You exclaimed and he laughed and flipped through it.

“Can Angels Do This?” He read and noticed there were similar titles next to it.

You immediately regretted shelving the books by genre as he listed the other titles with amusement.

“Hell x Heaven…Heavenly Body…Angelic Whispers Bring Demons to Their Knees…Over-Cumming Writers Block…The Fallen Angel is Falling For Me!” He smirked, “that last one looks rather interesting…” he said with a curious gleam in his eyes.

You turned red and looked away, no longer focused on your book.

He walked over to you, book in hand. “I think I’ll read this one next,” he declared and you gave him a baffled look.

“W-What? Right next to me, too?” You stammered.

“Oh, are you embarrassed? Why would you be?” He grinned, knowing full well what he was doing.

He sat next to you on the bed again, closer than before, and began reading the erotica.

You couldn’t focus on your book and kept glancing to see what page he was on. He chuckled, stole your book, and set it aside.

“Wh— hey?” You complained but he laughed and scooted even closer to you.

“Hm? I’m sorry, I assumed you wanted to read this with me…that’s certainly what it looked like.”

You blushed and he continued to tease you, “Or were you staring at me for another reason?”

“No I-uh…um…” You hid your face in your hands and he frowned.

“I’m sorry did I go too far?” He asked with his hand behind his neck and head tilted slightly to appear more innocent.

“Well, it’s hard not to stare at you, to begin with…” you mumbled and it was his turn to blush. “But now you’re reading…that.”

“Well, you read it too didn’t you?”

“Y-yes but that’s different.”

“How is it different? Were you ashamed? Could that be because you bought this oddly specific manga with someone in mind?”

He knew he nailed it when you turned deep red and he pushed the hair out of your overheated face.

“Oh…so that is it, isn’t it?” He mused and when you met his eyes he couldn’t help but ask, “Wouldn’t you prefer a real one to your books?”

Raphael

Raphael was an observant man. Almost too observant because he hadn’t been in your room for long when he noticed part of your bookshelf was hidden by framed pictures of you and your Devildom friends.

He couldn’t focus on the puzzle you’d invited him over for, and kept glancing at the shelf until you noticed his foot was quickly tapping on the floor, giving away his curiosity.

“Raphael? Is everything okay?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t pry any further about the bookshelf.

“The bookshelf.” He stated, and you sighed. He titled his head curiously.

“Oh…those are just books an angel shouldn’t be looking at…” you admitted, hoping that would be the end of it, or he’d stop at a light scolding.

He gave you a look that made it clear he wasn’t just disappointed in your taste in books, but more so that you tried hiding it from him.

“I’m aware humans like that kind of thing. Why did you feel you needed to hide it from me?” He asked with a frown.

“Because I knew you’d give me your disappointed look.”

“Am I that predictable?” He asked and you nodded.

He appeared to be thinking it over and then abruptly stood up to investigate the shelf further. He understood you must mean books with inappropriate material but he wanted to be certain you didn’t mean demon-worshipping books as that was also something angels shouldn’t be reading.

You put your face in your hands and groaned. Nothing would stop Raphael and you weren’t looking forward to the scolding.

As expected there was a stunned silence from him for a minute before he turned to you, brows furrowed and placing a stack of books in front of you.

He sat back down facing you as if he were about to begin an interrogation.

“Cotton Candy My Angel…” he began listing. “Beastly Angel… The Words of an Angel Who Came From Heaven… I Want the Angel to Use His Spear on Me!” He looked puzzled by the last one and mumbled, “That’s oddly specific…”

You blushed and nodded. “Okay…you found the secret stash…let’s continue the puzzle.”

He didn’t drop it, as expected. “You understand angels can’t do this sort of thing with humans?” He questioned and you nodded but then shrugged.

“Well…I’m not technically human, am I?”

A nearly unnoticeable blush crossed his face and he remained silent, deciding how to respond to that. “Angels…don’t really do that with each other either…”

“As far as you know.”

“What?” His confused face made you chuckle. It was almost too cute for words.

“I said what I said.”

“What are you implying? What sort of things are you imagining?” He prodded.

You shrugged again, “I don’t know…what do you think I’m implying, Seraphim Raphael…”

His blush was now very noticeable as he stood up and put the books back on the shelf. He sat back in front of you and quickly began messing with the puzzle pieces.

Every so often you tapped his foot with yours and his blush would increase. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it for much longer.

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles looked around your room curiously. You’d invited him over to talk with you as he’d long been interested in interviewing the exchange student who’d made such a big splash in the Devildom and was particularly close to his idol, Lord Diavolo.

He looked at the tree and the lights you’d hung around it. He looked at the coffin-shaped bookshelf and the books on it when he noticed some were hidden behind the rest.

He glanced at the door to make sure you weren’t about to walk in and quickly walked to the bookshelf.

The books in front were normal, or at least normal for someone who’s just had the existence of demons confirmed to them.

Books like Paradise Lost, The Book of Enough, and the Screwtape Letters made him roll his eyes. He also observed the collection of magic books.

“They’ve gotten pretty far in their studies already…” he mumbled when you walked into the room with the tray of tea, iced water, and a giant pot of sugar for Mephistopheles to sweeten his tea as much as he liked.

He grinned and straightened up.

“Oh! Looking at my books?” You beamed and walked over to show him in more detail.

He nodded, glancing at the ones in the back. As you bent over to show him some on the bottom shelf he noticed the first part of a title and immediately took interest, pulling it out.

“Hm?” He hummed before turning red and trying to hide the book quickly before you noticed but instead, he knocked most of the books over.

He quickly used his body to shield you as the top shelf came out of place and fell.

“Ack!” You gasped in surprise, pinned beneath Mephistopheles who was bright red.

“Thank you!” You said, scooting away from him. “Why are you so red?” You questioned when you noticed your secret book stash all around you.

“I-uh-um—“ Mephistopheles stuttered looking around at the titles.

You blushed but decided to tease him. “What? Like you don’t have anything similar?”

He straightened his collar and began reading the titles since it appeared to him you didn’t mind.

“Reincarnated as the Villain: An Archdemon Fell in Love With Me…The Wealthiest Demon in the Land Bought Me!… The Lustful Whims of the Rich Demon Noble…” he eyed you, both of your faces red. “These are rather specific…though I suppose it means you aren’t afraid of us, which is…” he lost his train of thought, unable to focus as he rightfully assumed you had a thing for rich demons and had invited him to your room.

“Er-um…” he stuttered looking at you.

“Wh-Why don’t we proceed to the interview…the tea is getting cold too…” you suggested, desperate to fill the silence.

He nodded and looked away nervously, “Did you really invite me here…for an interview?” He questioned and you turned an even deeper shade of red.

“If so…then yes, let us proceed. If not…then what exactly did you have in mind? I suppose I could indulge you…as long as it remains a secret.”

Barbatos

“Oh my,” you hear Barbato’s chuckle as he helps tidy your room.

You were bent over a stack of old notebooks you found when you turned around and your eyes widened in horror.

He was looking at your forbidden bookshelf! You forgot he mentioned he was going to dust every surface in the room. Of course, that also meant the books you hid behind the more innocent ones.

Barbatos gave you an amused look and showed you the manga in his hand as you tried to stutter an excuse.

“My, my ___. Is this the sort of thing you like?”

“I-uh—“ Before you could answer him he began to pull each book out and setting them in a small pile on your desk.

“The Sadistic Butler…I Want to Train You and Break You: Black Butler’s Sadistic Service…” You turned redder as he read every title. Barbatos was the last person you needed to see these.

He continued, the amusement in his voice more evident with each title he read, “Lady and the Butler, Would You Care for a Butler?, The Sinful Evening Affair With a Butler…” he smiled at you, chuckling to himself. When he saw how flushed you were he bowed his head apologetically.

“My apologies, ___. I didn’t mean to be invasive,” he paused and tilted his head. “I do wonder though…did you start reading things like this before or after meeting me…?”

You blushed but gave him an honest answer. “uh…I’ve kinda always had a thing for butlers…and demons…”

His smile widened, “Oh?”

“B-But I didn’t start collecting until more recently…I guess?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. You were shocked with yourself you were admitting this and anxious about his reaction.

Barbatos instead finished dusting the shelf and your heart sank. No reaction was worse than anything at all.

“Um…” you said fidgeting, unable to get back to cleaning up.

He glanced your way as he shelved your books again. This team he quickly glimpsed through one and his face turned a dark pink.

“Oh my…no wonder you turned so red?” He surmised and you hid your face.

He put the book back in its place, set down his duster, and approached you as you sat at the end of your bed.

You looked up as he placed his hands on your shoulders. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar to you, a rare look across the demon’s face. His horns grew from his head and his tail from his spine, flicking back and forth.

“I think we’ve cleaned enough for now…how about I reward your hard work? I can take a guess as to what you’d most enjoy.” He said in a low voice, his hot breath against your ear.

You gave a small nod, and with your confirmation, he pushed you back into the bed.

Diavolo

It was bound to come out eventually, you just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Unfortunately for you, Diavolo was a very observant man so the moment he came into your room his eyes were scanning the premises.

“Make yourself at home,” you grinned and he nodded and thanked you.

You went to the kitchen quickly to grab some tea. Barbatos had taught you how to prepare it best for him.

When you recentered your room with tea you saw Diavolo stifling an amused laugh with a book in his hand.

You quickly set the tray of tea down and caught his attention.

“Oh, hehe, thank you,” he chuckled and instead of grabbing his tea, he went back to observing the books on your shelf.

That’s when you realize you made the grave mistake of not hiding the manga you most enjoyed.

“W-What’s so funny?” You asked nervously, knowing full well why he was so entertained.

“Oh, I’m just looking through to see what sort of manga you enjoy…I have to say it’s rather interesting…” he gave you a sly look and went back to laughing to himself.

He shelved the last book and skimmed over the rest.

“These always have such long titles…I honestly thought Levi was just describing the manga for the longest time, but it seems it’s like this in the human world too,” he noted.

He grinned, coming across another interesting title, “Ooh, what’s this one.”

You quickly darted to his side hoping he wouldn’t open up any of them. After all, they’d been wrapped when you bought them for a very good reason.

“Hey, uh-“ you quickly tried grabbing the manga but he held it over his head and laughed as you jumped to try and reach it, just to fall into his large chest.

Diavolo normally didn’t tease you to this degree so you knew he was very invested in this as he began reading aloud some of the titles on the shelf.

“Let’s see…oh here’s another good one! Reincarnated Into A Game World Where The Demon King Who Kidnapped Me Wants To Do Me All Night Long… oh look, this seems interesting too— The Reincarnated Saint Falls for the Demon Lord? When I Reincarnated I Was Doted on by the Demon King… oh look this one is even more to the point! Entwined at Twilight with a Demon: Again… And Again… He Can’t Be Stopped! AHAHAHAHA!” Diavolo’s laughter filled your room as you turned redder than his hair.

“___, I’m curious…you seem to have such a deep fascination with the ones involving Demon Kings in particular…” he grinned mischievously, “is there perhaps a reason for that?”

You blushed but wanted to fill the silence and blurted out what you were thinking before you fully realized what you were asked, “And if there was?”

He looks surprised for a moment but his eyes quickly glazed over with longing. “Then…maybe I’d have to do something about it, wouldn’t I?”

Your heart beat wildly as he set the book down and approached you with heavy steps.

“So, ___? Let’s say we bring one of your fascinating books to life?”

[yaniluvs]

𝒾𝒾 ┆ ⋆.˚ ⚾️ 승민 : AS WE ARE “ 𝑏𝘰𝘰𝑘𝑠, 𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝘵𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝘵 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝘰𝑝𝑙𝑒. ” ── baseball guy bumps into you twice in the same day, first the library and then the pathway outside a convenience store, but maybe you get to know him better?

prev. | index | next ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

𓍯 baseballcapt!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）4.1k ── ༯ SERIES (?) uni au, slow paced & slow burn, curiosity, fluff, strangers to friends to ???, small town, slight angst, language, skz ensemble, very long, y/n is a foreigner/has mixed ethnicity. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ as we are mv, i love you. i want it tattooed in my head. my heart too. had fun writing this chapter, sorry for the delay!! here you go <3 also, i just crossed 300 followers? really? if you know, i did just pass 200 like two days ago. thank you so much. this really motivates me TT. comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the library was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt like it was carved out of the world itself. sunlight streamed in through the large windows, casting soft patterns on the wooden floors. it wasn’t a large library—small, cozy, and tucked away at the edge of the town, mostly frequented by students and a few older residents who enjoyed its peaceful atmosphere.

seungmin pushed open the door, a soft chime ringing as he stepped inside. he didn’t particularly enjoy coming here—it wasn’t exactly his scene—but he had a book to return, one his friend had borrowed under his name. as usual, he wore his baseball cap low, the brim shading his face, as he approached the front desk.

a blonde was sitting behind the counter, his deep voice calm as he hummed a tune to himself while stamping books. seungmin placed the book on the counter, nodding slightly.

“returning this,”

felix looked up briefly, gave a small nod, and reached for the book without much thought. “got it.”

the guy turned away without another word, heading toward the shelves by the windows. it had been a while since he’d been here, and he didn’t remember much about the layout, but he found a stool near an aisle and sank down onto it. pulling a small notebook from his jacket pocket, he uncapped his pen and began writing.

he always wrote when things felt too noisy inside his head. the notebook held snippets of his thoughts, observations, and, lately, small moments he hadn’t been able to forget—like her.

behind the counter, felix finished sorting the returned books before glancing at the time. it was quiet enough that he decided to assign someone the task of checking on the lone customer.

“y/n,” he called, his voice low so as not to disturb the silence.

she turned from the bookshelf she was organizing, brushing her hands on her skirt. “yeah?”

“there’s someone by the windows. go check if they need anything,” felix said, gesturing lazily toward the back of the library. “seems like he’s settled in, but we’re supposed to, you know, do our job.”

the girl rolled her eyes with a small smile. “fine. anything else, your majesty?”

felix smirked. “just be your usual charming self.”

she shook her head, adjusting the loose cardigan over her blouse as she walked toward the windows. the aisle was bathed in golden light, and at first, she only saw the figure sitting on the stool, hunched slightly over something in his hands. it wasn’t until she got closer that she froze.

seungmin?

he didn’t notice her at first, too focused on whatever he was writing. his profile was sharper in the soft light, the cap hiding most of his messy brown hair. she hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to speak, but curiosity got the better of her.

“so you come to libraries now too?”

her voice was soft but laced with a playful edge, and seungmin startled slightly, his head snapping up. his dark eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing in faint recognition.

“you,” he said flatly, closing his notebook as if on instinct. “what are you doing here?”

y/n tilted her head, her grin widening. “i work here.”

he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “work here?”

“yup,” she said, crossing her arms. “not that you’d know, considering you don’t seem to come here much.”

“i don’t,” he admitted, leaning back slightly on the stool. “this isn’t really my thing.”

“i can see.. then what brings you here today?”

“returning a book,” he said simply, tapping the closed notebook against his knee.

she raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “you don’t strike me as the type to rent books, either.”

“well, it wasn’t mine,” he clarified. “a friend borrowed it under my name.”

“ah,” she said, nodding. “makes sense. still, didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“same,” he replied, his tone neutral but his gaze steady on her. “i didn’t know you worked here.”

“well, it is a new job,” she said, shrugging lightly. “started about a week ago. felix and i both work part time, after uni.”

“felix?”

“the guy at the front desk,” she explained. “my best friend. he’s nice—well, mostly,” she added with a small laugh.

seungmin didn’t comment on that, his eyes flickering toward the front desk briefly before settling back on her.

“alright, mr. mysterious,” she said, tilting her head playfully, “if you’re not here to rent books or socialize, what’s the notebook for? don’t think i didn’t notice you scribbling something down.”

seungmin’s fingers tightened slightly around the notebook resting on his knee, and for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer. finally, he shrugged, his voice low. “just… thoughts. random things.”

“random, huh?” she echoed, leaning forward just enough to tease without invading his space. “like what? are you secretly writing the next great novel?”

he huffed, the faintest hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips. “no.”

“then poetry?” she guessed, her eyes sparkling. “or are you jotting down world domination plans? oh, wait! is it—”

“it’s none of those,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind.

“you’re no fun.”

“you talk too much,”

“i’ve been told that before,” she replied, unfazed. “but come on, i’m curious! what could possibly be so secretive that you can’t share with your friendly neighborhood library worker?”

he gave her a long, measured look, as if debating whether or not to humor her. “it’s just a journal,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a murmur. “nothing special.”

her expression softened at that, and she straightened slightly. “a journal?”

“yeah,” he said, his eyes dropping to the notebook. “helps me think.”

“that’s actually… really cool,” she said, her voice sincere. “i’ve tried keeping journals before, but i always end up doodling in the margins or writing nonsense.”

seungmin glanced at her, his brow raising slightly. “why?”

“i guess i’m too impatient,” she said with a small laugh. “my thoughts move faster than my pen can keep up.”

he didn’t respond, but there was something in his gaze that made her feel like he understood.

they fell into a comfortable silence again, the soft rustling of pages and distant hum of felix’s humming at the front desk filling the space. y/n leaned back against the shelf, her arms crossed loosely, and studied him for a moment.

“you’re a quiet one, huh?” she said finally, her tone light.

“we're in a library.”

“oh my bad. no! but still, in the field-”

“is that a problem?”

“not at all,” she said quickly, smiling. “it’s just… different. most people i know are always trying to fill the silence, you know? but you’re just okay with it.”

seungmin shrugged, his gaze shifting to the window. “silence is easier.”

“easier than what?”

“than talking.”

she blinked at the honesty in his reply, her teasing smile softening into something more thoughtful. “i guess i can see that,” she said quietly. “but talking isn’t so bad, you know. especially when the person you’re talking to isn’t half bad.”

he looked at her then, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “you think so?”

“obviously,” she said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “i mean, you’re tolerating me, and that’s saying something.”

seungmin’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him. “you’re persistent, i’ll give you that.”

“thank you,” she said, pretending to curtsy dramatically. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

they stayed like that for a while, the silence between them growing less like a void and more like a bridge. y/n found herself wondering what he was thinking, what stories were tucked away in that notebook of his.

“so,” she said eventually, her voice soft, “if you don’t come here often, where do you usually go?”

he hesitated, his fingers idly tapping the edge of the notebook. “the field. or home.”

“not much of an explorer, huh?”

“not really.”

“well,” she said, her tone brightening, “i'm no dora but if you ever feel like venturing out, i know a all the good spots. i mean, i do live here since i was three, and i do work here now, so you’ll know where to find me.”

seungmin looked at her, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded slightly. “okay, but don't take my word for it.”

“already ahead of 'ya!” she beamed.

“y/n!” she heard her friend's voice calling her, it immediately widening her eyes.

“well,” she said, pushing off the shelf and clasping her hands behind her back, quickly “excuse um.. felix.” she clears her throat awkwardly. “i should probably get back to work before felix yells at me, again.”

“you should.”

“i should..”

seungmin huffed softly, shaking his head.

“see you around, car girl,” he corrected quietly, almost to himself.

she froze, turning back to face him. “what did you just call me?”

he looked up, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “car girl. suits you.”

y/n blinked, her cheeks warming slightly. “i—well—okay. i guess i’ll take it.”

“see you around, mysterious baseball guy,” she said, flashing him a playful grin as she started to walk away. “what? you get what you give.”

he raised an eyebrow. “mysterious baseball guy, really?”

she grinned. “well, you called me ‘car girl,’ didn’t you? it’s only fair.”

he shook his head, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips as he replied, “sure. see you, car girl.”

and for the first time, as she walked back to the front desk, she felt like something between them had shifted—softly, subtly, but undeniably.

she turned again, her heart fluttering inexplicably as she walked back to the front desk. felix raised an eyebrow as she returned, but she waved him off, not ready to explain the strange, quiet boy sitting by the window.

seungmin stayed where he was, his pen hovering over the open page of his notebook. slowly, deliberately, he wrote,

car girl.

the air outside the convenience store carried a faint chill, the kind that hinted at winter’s slow approach. y/n stepped out, balancing the plastic bag of groceries on her hip while holding her phone in her other hand. the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a gradient of pale blue and deep indigo, and the streetlights had just started flickering on.

she didn’t notice it at first, not until she heard a faint whimper. a stray puppy. it was small, shivering by the edge of the pavement, its thin brown fur offering little protection against the cool evening air.

“oh, you poor baby,” she murmured, immediately setting down her bags and crouching to its level. the pup looked up at her with wary eyes, its ears pinned back, but it didn’t run.

“hey, it’s okay,” she said softly, reaching out a hand. “i won’t hurt you.”

the puppy sniffed cautiously before stepping closer, its small tail wagging hesitantly. she smiled, her heart melting as she stroked its head gently.

“you must be starving,” she said, trying to converse with the dog, glancing at the convenience store behind her. you can call her idiotic, but hey, she's a sunshine! “wait here, okay? i’ll get you something.”

she straightened, leaving the groceries by the curb as she darted back inside. when she returned a few minutes later, she had a packet of wet dog food and a disposable bowl. she opened the packet, her fingers fumbling slightly in her hurry, and poured the food into the bowl.

“there you go,” she said, setting it down.

the puppy sniffed the bowl before diving in, eating with the kind of desperation that made her chest ache.

“slow down, buddy,” she said gently, laughing softly. “it’s not going anywhere.”

as she watched the puppy eat, she pulled out one of the ice creams that she'd got from the cvs, peeling the lid off and taking a small bite. the cold sweetness melted on her tongue, and for a moment, she let herself enjoy the simple pleasure of the moment.

“y/n?”

the familiar voice startled her, and she turned quickly, her eyes widening as she spotted seungmin standing a few feet away. he had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his baseball cap pulled low, and his expression was unreadable as always.

“seungmin?” she said, blinking. “what are you doing here?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he replied, stepping closer, crouching down beside her. his eyes flicked to the puppy, which was still happily eating. “who's this?”

“well, a stray,” she said, brushing her hands on her skirt as she still stood crouched. “i found it shivering out here. couldn’t just leave it.”

he crouched down, studying the puppy with quiet interest. “you have a thing for strays, don’t you?”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“first a stray guy, now a stray pup,” he said, glancing up at her with a faint smirk.

“are you calling yourself a stray? am i hearing you right? also- you're not.. stray, you’re just selectively social.” y/n blinked before laughing, her cheeks warming slightly.

“is that what you’re calling it?” he muttered, but his tone was light.

“well, maybe, i just have a thing for dog-like people.”

“are you calling me a dog?”

“yes. i mean- no, but yeah! i mean, look at you. your side profile looks like one of an adorable dog's.”

“so first you call me a dog, and second, you're calling me cute?”

“did i stutter?”

“bold.”

“no, just truthful.”

the puppy finished eating and looked up at seungmin, its tail wagging tentatively. he reached out a hand, letting it sniff him before scratching behind its ears.

“cute,” he said simply, glancing over to her then back at the puppy, his voice soft.

y/n smiled, watching the scene unfold. there was something about the way he moved, so careful and deliberate, that made her heart feel strange.

“do you a dog of your own at home?”

“what makes you say that?”

“you're petting it well, like a true owner.” she grinned, shrugging. “or is it just your dog-like instincts, after all you are interacting with your kind.”

“if you don't stop-”

then came a tiny bark, from the puppy, looking at the two as they turned their heads.

“what? don't tell me you want more?”

woof.

one cvs pet-cup later.

“i got ice cream,” she said after a moment, holding up the second ice cream cup. “want some?”

he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “ice cream? in this weather?”

“it’s never the wrong time for ice cream,” she said firmly. “besides, i got chocolate. don’t tell me you don’t like chocolate.”

“i don’t dislike it,” he said, standing and taking the cup from her. “thanks.”

they stood side by side, leaning against the railing by the curb as they ate. the dog lay down at their feet, looking content for the first time that evening.

“so,” y/n said, breaking the comfortable silence. “what brings you out here?”

“groceries,” he said, nodding toward a small bag he’d set down earlier.

“for your family?”

“my dorm-mate and i,” he said simply, taking a small bite of the ice cream.

“oh, i see, you're a good friend and dorm-mate then, huh?” she teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

he shrugged, his expression unreadable. “i can't cook without burning the kitchen down and i owe the guy for cooking everytime.”

“you baseball types are all the same.”

“excuse me?”

“my grandpa used to be on a big player back in the day, and surprise surprise, he can't cook for a living either.”

“hey, it's called a skill. you can't balance two at once, can you?”

“i cook the best stews, well after my grandma. and i'm a commerce student.”

“it differs each person.”

“whatever you say, baseball guy.”

they fell into silence again, the kind that felt less like an absence of words and more like an understanding. y/n finished her ice cream and bent down to pick up the empty dog bowl, her cardigan slipping off one shoulder in the process.

seungmin’s gaze flickered to her then, lingering for a moment longer than it should have. the way her hair fell loosely around her face, the way her eyes softened as she looked at the pup—it was a kind of beauty that felt unassuming, effortless.

when she straightened and caught him staring, he looked away quickly, his ears turning slightly pink beneath his cap.

“you’re quiet again,” she said, tilting her head. “what’s on your mind?”

“nothing,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp.

she didn’t press, though she smiled knowingly. “you’re hard to figure out, you know that?”

“good,” he muttered, finishing the last of his ice cream.

she laughed, the sound light and musical. “well, i think i’m getting there. slowly but surely.”

the puppy yawned, curling up at their feet, and y/n crouched down again, running a hand over its back. “you think it has a home?” she asked softly.

“doesn’t look like it,” seungmin said, his tone quieter now.

“i wish i could take it in,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “but my grandparents… i know they’d be thrilled about a puppy in the house, but they're already busy to take care of it. and i have uni.”

he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the dog. “it’s lucky you found it,” he said after a moment. “not everyone would stop.”

she looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “i guess i just can’t help it,” she said with a small smile. “things like this make me… happy, you know? helping.”

he met her gaze then, his dark eyes steady. “yeah. i can see that.”

for a moment, neither of them spoke, the world around them fading into the background. it was just the two of them, the quiet, and the warmth of something unspoken but undeniable.

“well,” y/n said eventually, breaking the spell, “i should probably get this little guy to a shelter or something.”

“i’ll come with you,” seungmin said, his voice firm.

she blinked. “are you seriously offering to hang out with me?”

“i want to help the puppy. you're just a.. plus one deal.” he said, cutting her off.

“yeah, right.” her cheeks warmed again, but she nodded, her smile soft. “okay. let’s go.”

as they walked down the quiet street, the dog trotting happily between them, y/n found herself stealing glances at seungmin. for all his gruffness and quiet ways, there was something about him that made her want to know more.

and though he didn’t say much, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her made her think he felt the same.

the streetlights cast a warm glow as y/n and seungmin walked side by side, the stray dog happily trotting between them. the soft hum of the town at night—distant cars, the faint buzz of streetlights—filled the silence. it wasn’t uncomfortable, though; it felt like the kind of quiet you could sink into, where words weren’t necessary but still welcome.

she pulled her phone out of her pocket, glancing at the time. “i should call my grandparents. let them know i’ll be a bit late.”

seungmin looked at her briefly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. “you don’t have to explain to me.”

she smirked at his dry tone. “well, i wasn’t asking for permission, mr. quiet.”

he huffed softly, his version of a laugh, and she pressed the call button.

the phone barely rang before a warm, slightly teasing voice came through. “y/n, where are you? you said you’d be back by now.”

“sorry, grandpa! i got caught up with something. i’ll explain when i get back.”

her grandfather’s voice softened. “caught up, huh? does this ‘something’ involve a certain baseball boy?”

her face burned instantly, and she shot seungmin a quick glance. thankfully, he seemed entirely focused on the dog. “gramps!” she hissed into the phone, her voice barely above a whisper.

“what?” her grandfather replied, feigning innocence. “i’m just asking.”

“you're impossible,” she muttered, her cheeks still warm. “and no, this has nothing to do with him. i just—uh—found a puppy. a stray. i’m taking it to a shelter.”

“a stray puppy? and you’re walking around this late?”

“i’m fine, grandpa,” she reassured him quickly. “i’m not alone.”

the pause on the other end of the line was telling. then, her grandmother's voice came instead, even more excited. “so, it is the baseball boy! isn’t it?”

“i'll see you later, gramma!” she said quickly, her voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

“hey! be safe. and bring the puppy if the shelter doesn’t take it.”

she hung up, letting out a deep sigh and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“trouble?” seungmin asked, his tone casual but curious.

“not really,” she said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “my grandparents just… like to tease me.”

“about what?”

she hesitated, biting her lip. “nothing important.”

his gaze flicked to her, one brow raised, but he didn’t press further.

instead, she changed the subject. “so, are you always this grumpy, or is it just for me?”

he scoffed lightly, his lips twitching in what might’ve been the start of a smile. “i’m not grumpy.”

“you’re totally grumpy,” she said, grinning. “but it’s okay. i like grumpy.”

“i’m not grumpy,” he repeated, a little more defensively this time.

“sure you’re not,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

the puppy barked softly, as if in agreement, and she laughed. “see? even he thinks you’re grumpy.”

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. “you talk a lot, you know that?”

“yeah,” she said easily, glancing up at him. “but you don’t talk enough, so it balances out.”

he didn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

they walked a little further before she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “do you think anyone will adopt him?”

seungmin glanced down at the pup, whose tail wagged happily as it walked between them. “maybe. he’s small. cute. people like that.”

she nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. “i hope so. he deserves a good home.”

“why didn’t you just take him in?” he asked, his tone more curious than critical.

she shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “i told you, i have uni and my grandparents are already a bit busy and need rest, you know.”

“would you keep him if you had a sitter for the time you were unavailable?”

“in a heartbeat,” she said without hesitation. “but… i don’t know. maybe someday, when i have my own place.”

he nodded, falling silent again.

“what about you?” she asked after a moment. “would you ever get a puppy?”

“maybe,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “if i had time for one, but two of my friends already have dogs, so i guess it is enough for me.”

“you don't seem like a dog person, but i bet you are.” she teased.

“why not?”

she tilted her head, pretending to think. “i don’t know. you’re just… too serious. dogs are all about fun and chaos.”

“and you think i’m not fun?”

“i know you’re not fun,”

his smirk widened, just a fraction. “you don’t know me that well.”

“maybe not,” she admitted, her voice softening. “but i’d like to.”

he glanced at her then, his expression unreadable. the streetlights caught the gold in her eyes, and for a moment, he felt something strange in his chest—something warm and unsettling all at once.

before he could figure out what to say, the dog barked again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“we’re almost there,” she said, pointing to the shelter just ahead.

seungmin nodded, his hands tightening slightly in his pockets.

as they reached the shelter’s entrance, she bent down to give the pup one last pat. “you’re gonna be okay, buddy,” she murmured. “they’ll take good care of you.”

seungmin watched her quietly, his gaze lingering on the way her fingers moved gently over the pup's fur, the way her smile softened even further.

and when she looked up at him, her eyes bright and full of hope, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to figure him out after all.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 | neil lewis x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | a visit to gumshoe video could go one of two ways... but one way or another, you're gonna get him.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | varies

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only), enemies to lovers, nothing too terrible just neil and reader bullying each other

this is a choose your own ending fic!! after the introduction, click to choose which way you want the story to go! each ending will have its own warnings section, so read those as well!

Technically, you always dressed well for work.  Corporate jobs require professional attire, obviously; but you were slightly overdressed today, and it wasn’t to go into the office.

Tight skirt and matching blazer, a silky-satin button-up, black heels, and thigh-high stockings with a seam up the back.  No, this wasn't how you dressed for a day in the office… this was how you dressed when you were closing a deal.

A little bell dinged as you walked into Gumshoe Video, and you looked around for a moment after you stepped inside: the decorations were… plentiful, and kitschy.  The displays were so small, and just a quick glance at some of the shelves had you frowning in confusion.  These are some seriously deep cuts… how do they make any money at this place?

Lucien came bounding up to you in an instant, hands pressed tight against his horribly out-of-fashion skinny jeans as if to hide that they were clammy already.  "Do you, uh, need help finding anything?" he asked.

You offered him a pitying smile, about to offer him a friendly ‘no thanks, but’ and then tell him why you were really here… but you were interrupted.

Jonathan, who had taken a break from sipping on a soda behind the counter, coughed to get Lucien's attention as he quickly shook his head.  He didn't seem to understand, though, looking back at you with his brows furrowed.

"Uh, ignore him,” Lucien laughed nervously.  “Are you looking for a rental?"

"Dude, she's not here to get a movie!" Jonathan snapped.  "Who dresses like that to pick up a tape?!"

"Maybe she's on her way to work!" Lucien returned sharply. "Or maybe she just came from somewhere!"

"Where?"

"My dreams!"

"No, your friend is right, I'm not here to pick up a movie," you admitted, and Lucien looked at you nervously.

"You, uh, don't like movies?" he wondered.

"I love them actually, but—"

The door to the office swung open, with Neil glaring at you from the other side of it.  "You," he announced with disdain.

"—but I'm here to speak with the owner," you finished, tilting your head and grinning at Neil.

"We have nothing to speak about," Neil assured you as he walked towards you.  

"We have multiple opportunities to discuss," you disagreed, "and my employers are very anxious that I deliver this message to you, so if we could please speak in your office—"

"Her employers?  Is this chick in the mob?!" Lucien blurted out fearfully.  "Neil, I know money's tight, but— oh fuck, was that 'small business loan' just a cover—"

"She's not from the mafia," Neil sighed.  "They actually have some morals."

You extended a hand to introduce yourself to Lucien.  After your name, you told him your job: "Head of Acquisitions, Media Giant, LLC."

Jonathan coughed again, poorly covering the sound of him saying "blood-sucking harpy" under his breath.

You smiled at him; "You really should get that cough checked out," you suggested pointedly.

“Whatever it is your puppet-masters want you to discuss with me,” Neil began, wiggling his fingers as if pantomiming a little marionette show, “you can take right over there into our women’s restrooms and shove directly up your ass.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” you smiled, “I bet you’ve been saving that one since our last little visit.  Can we go to your office now?”

“No, you can’t go in there— we just had the priest come by and bless it, we wouldn’t want your feet to burn now, would we?” Neil snarked in return.

“Fine— get it out of your system,” you encouraged.  “Say whatever’s been stuck in that pretty little head for the last month waiting for me to come back, and then we can have our meeting, alright?”

“I— well, uh—” Neil stalled, looking a little flustered as he suddenly leaned on a shelf of tapes with one hand.  “You think I’m pretty?” he mumbled nervously, running his free hand through his hair— only to put a little too much weight on the shelf and nearly tilt it over, having to scramble to catch it and make sure it was balanced again.

“Dude, pull yourself together,” Jonathan snapped at him, and Neil glared at him before looking back at you.

“Fine, okay— we can have a very brief conversation in my office,” Neil offered with a sigh, motioning for you to follow him, “but it’s going to go the same way it did last time: with me telling you hell no and you having to do the walk of shame back to your headquarters.”

“Looking forward to it,” you smiled, waving goodbye to the other men before stepping into Neil’s office as he shut the door behind you.

You watched him step around you to sit at his desk, looking at you expectantly with his legs spread and his fingers interwoven in his lap.

“Am I allowed to ask why you’re dressed like a cowboy, by the way?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, and he frowned at you as he tossed aside the hat and slipped the poncho off over his head, leaving just a much more normal outfit of jeans and a button-up underneath.

“We’re running a special on Westerns,” he explained, “it’s fun, okay?  Not that you would know fun if it smacked you on the ass and called you sweetcheeks.”

“Honey, that’s just what I call a Friday night,” you smirked as you stepped a little closer leaning against the side of his desk as he swallowed thickly.  You couldn’t just sit across from him— you needed to keep the upper hand.  “But I’m here for business.  Let’s talk business, shall we?”

“Right, business,” he frowned.  “I’m guessing your business here today is trying to buy my store, again?”

“Something like that,” you relented.

“You know, I guess I should take it as a compliment,” he grinned, leaning back further in the chair.  “Clearly, you know I’m a threat.”

“Please,” you rolled your eyes, “we’re a Fortune 500 company, and you’re a guy wearing a poncho.”

“I took off the poncho!” he defended.

“So you’re… just a guy, then,” you corrected.  “The point is, we’re not worried about you stealing our business at all.  We just think this location is going to waste.”

“You want the real estate?” he realized.

“You’re in a perfect spot, you know,” you informed him, “you just need… a little more help utilizing it.”

He sneered at you sharply.  “I don’t want anything from you.”

“You only hate me so much because you resent success,” you informed him with a sigh.  “Just because you’re broke and proud doesn’t mean making money is a sin.”

“It is when you put making money above everything else,” he replied, “like creativity and community and the authentic customer experience—”

“How exactly does Media Giant conflict with those things?” you scoffed.  “We’re a company founded on creativity— and we always foster community—”

“Spare me the doublespeak, Big Brother,” Neil scoffed, “you’re just a bunch of— of robots!  Your whole company, it’s just full of people trying to make a quick buck, top to bottom: you think the people in the back at McDonald’s give a fuck about food?  That’s what you are, the McDonald’s of the film industry.  You’d probably let a monkey work there if it could wear a nametag and convince someone to rent Fast and Furious Fifty or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine,” you sighed, “let’s just say for a moment that you’re right.  That my company is so terrible because we don’t employ people like you.”

He relaxed for a second, and you leaned in closer in hopes that he was really listening.

“This is your chance to fix that!” you explained.  “You can save us from the inside out, you know.  You can start from the bottom, be our best sales guy, and then it turns into a promotion and a raise and soon you’re climbing the corporate ladder— where you can make some real change.”

He shook his head, laughing a little.  “That’s not actually possible, it’s just a fantasy you tell all your little minions to keep them compliant.”

“It’s what I did,” you shrugged.

“You?” he realized with a laugh.  “You, in one of those navy vests and nametags, selling people tapes?”

“I’m sort of a cinephile,” you admitted.  “I wanted a job where I could talk about movies all day— and thanks to me, that Media Giant location rented out more copies of The Seventh Seal than all the rest combined.”

He stood up quickly, stepping closer to where you sat on his desk.  “Y-you like The Seventh Seal?”

“It’s a masterpiece,” you answered, speaking a little softer as he was so close, “Bergman is a genius.”

A strange look crossed over his face, a heavy-lidded sort of look as he examined you.  “Tarantino?”

“Overrated, but not bad,” you replied quickly.

“Tarkovsky?”

“Good, but hard to watch.”

“Lynch?”

You scoffed; “Don’t insult me.”

He laughed a little, crossing his arms and looking away from you.  “You could be one of the good ones,” he realized, “but you sold out.  And now you’re just a suit.”

“It’s not so bad,” you smirked, “I think you’d like a little more… structure, given the chance.”

“And that’s what you’re offering?” he pressed, and you nodded.

“We’ll let you keep the name, your employees… most of the decoration,” you offered, “you’ll just be technically a Media Giant franchise.  You have nothing to lose, and so much fucking money to gain.”

He sighed a little, looking at you again.  You could tell he was considering it, but not very thoroughly.  All you could do was hope for the best, and wait for an answer…

CLICK HERE FOR THE SUB!NEIL ENDING

CLICK HERE FOR THE DOM!NEIL ENDING

[skay-ali]

The Forgotten Daughter

Chaper 4

“I don't think Alfred likes what you're doing,” a girl a few years older than him appeared out of nowhere, taking the boy by surprise.

“And who are you?” the boy asked you with an angry tone, still hiding in an expensive vase that adorned one of the tables.

“I'm ___ and believe me, I also tried to steal it and sell it, but Alfred discovered me and punished me by making me clean the mansion with him” you still had that smile from ear to ear since you started talking to him.

“Well that won't happen if he doesn't find out” he defended himself, hiding the vase in a bag “unless you tell him” he pointed out angrily, you were his loose end in this crime.

“I promise I won't say anything if you tell me your name.”

Jason thought of all the great things you could have asked of him, but instead you just asked for his name, how stupid you were, well he doesn't really complain, he benefited from your treatment.

“It's Jason,” he said before walking away and leaving the girl behind.

When he saw her again, he saw her again with her smile and waving at him with her hands.

Thousands of books surrounded him, a smell of wood could be felt in the air, the smell of books also lingered.

Large shelves were everywhere, they created a large labyrinth in the library.

He was bored, he didn't bring anything to this place to entertain himself, even so, he preferred to stay here bored than pay the consequences of his actions.

Sometimes he wondered how it was that Alfred was the one who put him in order instead of the man who became his mentor.

“Hello, little thief mouse,” he was scared for a moment, until he saw the same girl from before.

He just frowned at her.

“I knew Alfred caught you” I noticed a bit of mockery in his words.

“You told him so” she reacted angrily, so she actually joked with him, typical rich girl behavior.

“Not how could I… we made a deal, didn't we?”

“…” Jason actually doubted that girl's words, she was very suspicious in his opinion.

“You know, Alfred is like a bloodhound, he knows what is happening under his nose, even if you don't believe it.”

“What are you doing in this place?” He questioned the girl who sat a considerable distance away from him, near a window.

“The same thing you are doing,” he replied.

“You are hiding so as not to be punished for stealing” he raised an eyebrow doubting her words, he couldn't imagine the elegantly dressed girl in front of him doing such a thing, surely she is being sarcastic.

“Well, not so much like that, I deleted Dad's work schedule” you smiled innocently “maybe then he could talk to me once, even if it was to punish me” your voice sounded sad when you said that phrase “but Alfred noticed it before, so I had to "I had to run for my life before he punished me... without cookies and helping him clean" your attitude became cheerful again, your hands also moved animatedly when you narrated your story.

Your way of putting yourself together amazed him, your joy was also contagious, that bubbly smile you had made him want to laugh with you.

He saw you searching on one side of the bookshelf, your fingers running through the covers of different books.

Until you stopped at one and carefully removed it from its place.

“have you ever read this book” you moved it in his face.

I didn't know why you were asking him.

Maybe this time you were going to make fun of him.

“It was my mother's favorite book, she always read it to me”

“Read it while you hide, I'm sure you'll love it” you offered it to him, he took it hesitantly, you didn't expect him to actually read it.

He saw you take out another book, from a different place.

You read it in a peaceful way, not caring about what was around you.

The boy carelessly glanced at the title, it didn't matter if it was that or dying of boredom.

Thus began a small friendship between the two, when he didn't have to play his role as Robin, spend time with Bruce or just wanted to take a break, he would go to that side of the library where he always found you, where they read books, sometimes he would tell you.

He talked about how hooked he was on the book you gave him and the author's other stories.

You asked him many times to read it and he observed that after a few chapters you would fall asleep on his shoulder while he continued reading.

The silly things that were told always made him happy.

He still hasn't forgotten the birthday gift you gave him, you took him to a movie theater where they showed movies that had already been released a long time ago, but they had something that made him feel very lucky to have you, it made him the happiest teenager in the world, which You took them to see the movies of their favorite author's books.

I didn't forget the times they sneaked into a room where musical instruments were kept, when you turned on a record player or the radio, you looked for the most moving rock songs or some bands with new concepts, as long as I made them move around the room at the same time. rhythm of the instruments and lyrics.

His heart hurt, the times he saw you cry, he couldn't bear to do it, because he would feel the same.

When you expressed your pain for not fitting in with the family, for being forgotten and left aside.

The guilt you felt for being jealous of him, for having Bruce's attention.

Oh what a good soul you were, to blame yourself for feeling a very common feeling, and yet continue to love him as your brother.

Maybe your father didn't really love you, but that gave him the advantage of loving you more, his beloved sister who always did her best to understand him, you let him be the same, you never imposed the idea on him to change, he was better than everyone.

He would forget you so he could have you all to himself. He was very selfish but he didn't feel guilty about it….

Suddenly he remembered everything, how could he forget about you, his older sister, his playmate in the mansion, you made his life in this silent and huge mansion more manageable.

How is it that their memories of all the adventures they lived disappeared, every time they escaped from the mansion to different places where they could be happy children, eating junk food like pizza, ice cream or donuts, they loved the fast food place they always went to , or the arcade they visited and stayed until the place closed.

All those good moments remained as a vague recurring scenario in his memory, a girl dressed elegantly and smiling at him, or reading a book unfazed by her surroundings.

Oh no, she was no longer in the mansion... like she would be if he broke his promise.

The little light of the day was disappearing, orange rays illuminated the library window with great intensity.

“You know sometimes I think it's time to leave this place” he heard the girl confess, she was lying on the floor watching him read his favorite book.

His face was distorted by the girl's words, hearing that made his world collapse, he was going to leave and abandon him.

He put his reading aside and slowly approached his older sister.

“But I won't do it, not while you're still by my side” he saw his sister's look of hope.

“I will never leave, I promise.” Jason knelt down next to the girl who was lying down and made that promise, he laid down next to the girl…

Their gazes ended up lost in the sky, the bright orange colors faded and brought with them a dark night.

It was there where he saw how his sister took out a round lamp, when she hung it up it illuminated the entire dark room, thousands of lights in the shape of stars.

It was a beautiful day, a promise from two young brothers, who were trying to find their way in such a strange and empty world, it was a shame that a few months later the promise was broken.

And the worst thing is that I never looked for her when she came back from the dead, she left you as a vague memory.

Oh he felt so guilty, he hated himself for that, his heart ached just thinking about how much you must have suffered knowing he died.

The worst thing is that he never came back into your life.

He needed to look for her, even if he had to do it for years, searching even the least inhabited places in the world, he would find you and make up for the time he left you, even if it cost him his life.

He stood up from the large dining room table, leaving the entire family present surprised.

He looked at Dick one last time, who was holding his phone, showing a drawing of you.

Now I knew what Damian was doing, it seems that he also fell for your charms, he doesn't blame him, you were a great older sister and he was happy to give you such a title.

What didn't make him happy was that you were in danger outside the mansion, even though he didn't like to admit it, or without one of them constantly protecting you.

He left the room, with all eyes on him, he turned a deaf ear to the questions that were thrown at him.

“Look, I have two cards,” Jon mocked when he saw that he was winning.

“Don't be confident, in the end I will win” Damian warned the boy who was celebrating his close victory, the fool thought, he had some cards that would help him have the game in his favor.

“A little streak of luck isn't enough for them to win,” you mocked the children, before pulling out a card.

When the two children saw her, they complained about their new disadvantaged situation.

It was fun to see them like that.

“You cheated” Damián pointed his finger at you, something didn't add up, you had very good tricks up your sleeve, he admitted it, not even his other brothers were capable of that.

“Noo, that's impossible, you just don't want to admit that I'm better at this game than you.” His gaze remained on you, scrutinizing every small action you made, looking for any mistake on your part that would reveal your trap.

“Wait, our judge never said anything” you pointed to your baby who was sitting in a baby seat, she was next to you in front of the two children.

“He's a baby, she'll never notice the obvious traps.” Seeing how his little niece looked at him in bewilderment and then her childish smile made him relax a little.

“How dare you say such a thing about Alice” you pretended to be offended.

“Yes, Damian, don't blame Alice because you're losing fairly.” Jon approached the baby and handed her one of his fallen toys after cleaning it up, which the girl gladly accepted.

“You see three against one, accept that there are no cheats”

The world worked in strange ways, you've known that since you were little, when your mother left and you met your father.

When you moved and found people who understood you and were part of your life.

When you were lost after graduating, in a repetitive job, and you found the news that you were having a baby.

When you saw her for the first time, your baby, in her little body, weak and fragile, crying non-stop, it made you wrap her in your arms and cry too, now you would have a blood family, someone for whom you would give your entire life, who you would be showered with love and attention.

Meeting your younger blood brother... and living with him was strange at first, but you made it a recurring thing in your life.

Finally, what brought the world to your door today, the person for whom you cried for a long time when you were a teenager, the person who left you another big void in your life...

The person who, at this moment, brought tears to your eyes, even with a stoic face and teeth clashing together, you could not hold back the rain of salty tears, you had to let go of your facial muscles, the trembling of your lips was stronger than expected. That you could bear.

“Oh little thief mouse” you said in a whisper, he just looked at you with his smile from ear to ear, the one he always gave you when they were doing some prank, when they were having fun playing in the rooms of the mansion.

You hesitantly brought your hand up to his face, gently touching his cheek, was he even real? You felt his skin, you ran over parts of his face, he had grown a lot.

The man also let himself be carried away by your touch, he had missed him so much, it made him remember the times when he would lie on your shoulders and you would caress his hair or run over his face playing with your fingers.

But when you removed your hand, he felt the cold take over the parts of his face that you caressed.

At one point you raised your hand again and… hit his cheek.

Although it was an emotional moment to see him again, a feeling of resentment remained in your heart, in your defense he deserved it for making you cry a lot and for leaving, even when he promised not to.

You smiled even with your eyes overflowing with tears, you jumped and hugged him, he was taller than you, he became a big rock.

It was difficult just thinking about talking to him, you needed to know how he was alive, maybe get angry for his recent appearance and for making you cry so much.

But when Damian appeared and behind him Jon carrying your baby's chair with her crying, you knew it wouldn't be easy.

Even more so when you see your little brother point a dagger at Jason.

Wait... how does he have that, he promised that he would no longer bring weapons to your house.

It was a very eventful day, on the part of your brothers who spent their time fighting like little children, and your baby who started throwing a tantrum that was difficult to calm down.

You must be very grateful to Jon who was a great help not only in calming your brothers but also who was by your side trying to calm your little daughter.

“enough” you shouted, stressed by the mess.

Everyone froze when they saw you upset.

You approached your brothers, pulled them by their ears until they sat on a different side of the room.

You walked over to your baby and Jon, carefully picking up Alice and rocking her.

You sat in a small chair rocking your daughter, trying to calm her down, observing all your visitors from time to time.

“wait is she your daughter?” Jason connected the dots and realized a sad truth, he missed the birth of his niece.

“Yes Jason is his daughter” Damián didn't let you answer “and I'm his favorite uncle” he showed an arrogant smile.

“You really think that,” Jason scoffed.

“Hey, I thought I was.” Jon reacted in shock.

“You're not even family” the two looked at him angrily.

“I don't care if I consider you part of mine” you smiled at the depressed boy.

He gave you a brighter smile. Well you could say that now your house became noisier.

Elsewhere at that same moment, a team of heroes caught one of the suspects of committing a terrible crime.

While Wonder Woman made sure to keep him in an interrogation room.

Batman and Superman were reviewing some data they had obtained when capturing the criminal.

His other companions with some of the oldest trainees of the supers were waiting in front of the big screen.

It was a very important case for everyone, so many were attentive to what was happening.

Martian Detective was the one who came in to question the man, but no one expected what he would say to be something shocking.

“I washed the minds of many villains, taking them out of the crime game, that's what they wanted to hear,” the scientist confessed after so much interrogation.

A manic smile adorned his features.

“You didn't wash their mind, but you also ruined it, but now they are incapable of being normal people, many of them have acquired a childish mentality or much worse” spoke a new voice.

A hero, dressed in black, entered the room, his voice was thick, it was obvious that he felt bitterness for what he did.

“Ahh and now I'm a psychopath for wanting the greater good.”

“You are destroying people's lives,” debated the man in the bat suit.

"It's nothing more than karma, they destroyed other lives, that they pay the consequences is not strange," the scientist commented without remorse, checking his nails with disinterest.

“Oh at least that's what she said, I just wanted to torture their minds until they died.”

“Are you talking about your accomplice?” they interrogated him.

"nono... I don't use that term with her, rather she is the moral compass of the group and the mastermind behind the brainwashing, I didn't want to see them pay the price for their actions... always an angel" it was funny say such a word, after all it was a nickname that suited him.

“so they caught red” you said with a bit of annoyance.

"Yes, Blanco hasn't returned from his vacation yet... I think we should postpone the next objective." His voice had a little worry.

Even if he tried to maintain a calm appearance, seeing his reaction on the monitors showed the truth.

“no... we will continue with the plan” you were firm with your response.

“gather the others we need to be prepared” With a few more words exchanged, they ended their conversation and one of the many screens lost signal.

You went to the crib on the side of the room and picked up your daughter.

You carried her sweetly in your arms, rocking her carefully, humming a song, when you sat down in a chair in the office.

You caressed the little girl carefully, her features were very delicate, she always brought a small smile to your face when you looked at her.

You smiled at your daughter.

“Don't worry, Alice, soon we won't worry about someone hurting you.” With one hand you caressed her head carefully.

She took your hand and started playing with your fingers.

“The Alice project is still going,” you whispered.

Your gaze returned again to the monitors, some showed images of different people doing some activities, others showed some data, some two contained news and the rest had no signal, only distorting colors were shown.

Tag list: @kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213 @delias-stuff @vanilliona @bat1212 @yanrandom @Quiarst @palabra de niño salvaje @el termino @leo227 @sirenethblog @ masa para galletas @blueberry19000 @con seguridad

[spncvr]

worries | s. reid

summary: you worry for spencer, it's human

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: TENDING WOUNDS TROPE HELLO, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, blood (in a metaphorical way ???) ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE PLS BEAR WITH ME, lowkey kinda sappy, reader kinda cries, like, alot, lmk if i missed anytihg !

a/n: tryying desperately to force myself out of my writers block so here's a WIP i forcedmyself to finish (its 1 am rn bye). send me requests??for??ideas?? i beg.

THE SMALL LIGHT BULB that dangles from the ceiling casts a soft glow on everything it touches. The light, never quite bright enough for your liking (you never got around to changing it) bathes the room in a gentle hue, softening the edges of the couch, carpet and shelves. That akin to the way it bleeds against his skin, with this kind of grace that seems to make scars on his face look kind and soft. 

“Hold still,” you chide, trying to clean the wound on his eyebrow; a harsh reminder of the day’s chaos. And when he does you mumble, “You’re such an idiot.”

His response is a small smile that sits against his lips, warm and understanding. His hands gently find their place on your thighs, grounding you as you straddle him “Yeah, I know,” he says.

“You shouldn’t’ve just … lunged at him like that.” It’s a plea wrapped in a scold. 

You duck your head down to avoid his careful eyes. You think, if he can’t see you, he can’t properly read you; a futile attempt, really. But still,  you think, if he can’t see the worry within your eyes he’d just let it go; that he wouldn’t know that you couldn’t help but think, what if, the unsub had gotten the upper hand, and what if it was much worse than just a measly cut on his eyebrow. These thoughts, the feelings, seem to constantly plague your mind in your darkest moments; ones that would make you feel like your heart is pouring out your chest, like rose thorns poking at your ribcage, that’ll bleed you dry with worry.

“What’s wrong?”His voice is soft, laced with concern, and it breaks through your defenses. The fingers that were on your thigh are now under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him, a silent entreaty for your honesty. His gaze is now on yours, stagnant and unwavering—and your lips start to quiver, and tears threaten to spill. Quickly, you hide your face into his shoulder.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your words are barely a whisper.

“Of what?” 

“I’m terrified for you.” your words are muffled in his shirt “What if—” you say, helpless, “What if it was more than just a cut on your eyebrow Spence, what if I— when—” you can’t finish your sentence. Not when he’s rubbing your back and kissing your head so softly and so kindly it makes the tears from your eyes spill and paint soft patches on his shirt. 

“You won’t,” he tells you with a conviction, that he wears so effortlessly like his own skin, “I won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t say that,” you protest weakly, “you can’t know that. Look at Stephen he— God, Spence. You of all people know that you can’t possibly know that—”

“Hey, no,” he scolds quietly. 

But you're already looking at him, your face off from his shoulder. “Don’t tell me not to worry. Don’t tell me I can’t talk like that. You’re my boyfriend. It’s apart of caring. I should worry for you, so let me worry. It wouldn’t be human not to.”

“I know,” he says, soothingly, then, “I’m sorry.”

You wipe your tears frantically with your arm before continuing to tend his cut. “I wish the FBI had force fields around their agents.” you say, through a small smile, “Wish they could wrap you up with thick blankets.” It’s a childish thought.

His laughter is kind and genuine, it fills the space between the two of you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nod with a smile that finds its way through your tears.

“You take such good care of me,” he says, eyes never leaving yours.

Maybe it was his words or the way it had slipped from his tongue; maybe it was how his fingers, rough and calloused,  had grazed against your delicate ones. But here, as he sits with a smile on his lips, (a lopsided lazy thing), all scarred and bruised, did you know that you love him. But love was a concept you had cared for and attended to. You loved your mother, your friends. You loved books and their characters. You loved the darkness, the night. You loved your job, and its challenges. You loved music and movies. You loved home, and it's all too familiar feeling against your skin. And suddenly this concept —love— seems too small, too narrow to encompass what you feel for him. There isn’t a word or phrase made —nor did you think there ever would be— to describe just how much you had felt for him.

But in short, you do love him, very much.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

If you feel comfortable, could you do a cute little one shot about reader and Ian telling their smosh friends that they’re having a baby? Maybe they announce it in a jokey way and everyone’s like wait are u or are u not?? Thank you!! I love ur writing so much!! 😘

Try Not To Laugh: Crew Baby Edition || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: you announce your’s and ian’s pregnancy through a TNTL bit

word count: 1.2k

warnings: pregnancy, ian being ian and talking about milk

a/n: this is so cute wait 🤭. hope you enjoy this cute, short little fic!! the pic has nothing to do with this but i thought it was funny lol. fem!reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Do you know where they keep the fake babies?” 

     You scoured the shelves, peeking out from backstage as you waited for your turn to go on for your bit.

      You weren’t exactly used to being on camera and you were still getting used to it. 

      You were participating in your first every Try Not To Laugh video, a gauntlet with all of the crew. 

      “Try the bin next to the walrus in a wig,” Ian pointed in the direction of said bin. 

      You began searching, crouching to get a better look, as you thought about what you were going to do when it was your turn.

      You and Ian had planned it all the week before, knowing exactly what you’d do when you’d first heard Smosh wanted you in a TNTL Crew video. 

      Ian came up behind you now, putting a hand on your back as he crouched to help you look. 

     You had been dating Ian for over a year now, shortly after you’d joined the Smosh crew. Now, everyone at the company had bets going on when you were going to get married and tie the knot or adopt a pet or get pregnant.

     And they weren’t far off. About the last part at least. You were currently three months pregnant with Ian’s baby.

     You two couldn’t be happier. You were counting down the days until the third member of your family was brought into this world.

     But the joy was only shared between you and Ian—none of the other Smosh cast or crew knew about it yet. You were waiting for the right moment to tell everyone. 

     And where better than TNTL.

     You’d talked to Ian about it and decided that instead of come up with a bit, you and Ian would use your turn to announce your pregnancy. 

      If that didn’t get them to spit their water out, you didn’t know what would.

      Sure, telling your friends that you were having a baby during a bit wasn’t exactly conventional. It was silly and unserious and perfectly Smosh. Some people announced their marriages on April Fool’s Day, others announced their pregnancy during a joke show.

      You smiled as you thought about it, finally finding a realistic-looking plastic baby underneath a spiky wig.

     “This’ll do,” you turned to Ian.

     “A poor substitute for the real thing,” Ian said, standing and grabbing your hand to pull you up with him.

     He placed a hand on your stomach and you laid your own hand atop his.

     “If our baby looked like this though, I’d be pretty creeped out.” You gestured to the doll in your hand.

     “Maybe if the baby inherits its looks from you” Ian teased. 

     You put your hands on your hips and Ian just laughed, leaning in to kiss you quickly.

     “Kidding.”

     Erin, who had just gotten done performing her bit, came backstage then. 

     She smiled at you. “You’re up. Should be pretty easy, though. They’re spitting like crazy today—no swallowers here.”

     Behind you, Ian chuckled. “Nice.”

     You smacked his arm. “You’re a child.”

     “Pretty sure that,” Ian pointed to the fake baby, “Is a child.”

     You rolled your eyes at him, putting the baby in between your legs, hiding it under the long dress you wore.

     “Ready?” Ian asked you.

     “I didn’t shove this baby up skirt for nothing,” you teased. 

     You walked out in front of the cast, six of them, all with water in their mouths already.

     Ian followed you.

     A couple of the cast members, seeing Ian in your bit, looked at each other in a way that said, Of course they’re doing a bit together, they can’t go three seconds apart from each other.

      You and Ian shared your own look, nodding at each other as you began your bit.

     “Wanna know the easiest way to get breast milk, free and legally?” Ian said, putting on an infomercial voice. “When you want that leche but you just can’t go to jail again?”

     This got a couple people immediately, Courtney and Anthony both spitting out their water.

     You let the baby drop out from between your legs.

     Keith spit out his water now, shouting, “It never gets old!”

     Now you and Ian both said. “Get pregnant!”

     Ian came to stand beside you. “I got my girlfriend pregnant, and now I never have to worry about where my milk’s coming from again. This doesn’t work with LaCroix, sorry Shayne.”

     Shayne lost it, laughing as he wiped the water from his mouth. 

     You stepped forward. “So get pregnant today. Call now, and with only four small payments a month, you can be pregnant too!”

     Ian added, speaking quickly, “Restrictions may apply. Does not include shipping and handling. Must be 18 years or older to order—so sorry Trevor, maybe next time.”

     Trevor spit, throwing up his arms in mock offense.

     “So what are you waiting for?” You continued. “Get pregnant, like me!”

     You and Ian ended in a cheesy pose and you looked up to find everyone spitting out their water. 

     “You guys are crazy!” Courtney shouted, clapping.

     “Ian, the breast milk again?” Anthony teased. 

     “I hate that baby,” Kieth said, laughing. “I hate it!”

     Ian looked to you. “Well, hopefully you hate the real thing a little less.”

     He grabbed your hand, and you linked your fingers with his. Ian leaned down and kissed your stomach. 

     Suddenly, Olivia, the last to laugh, spit out her water, a look of surprise on her face. 

     She gestured between you and Ian. “Wait are you guys serious?”

     Expressions of shock filled the room and everyone was momentarily silent. 

     “Guys!” Courtney shouted in anticipation. “Guys!”

     Shayne stood up, putting his hands behind his head. “No. No you guys are playing us.”

     “Wait,” Anthony looked between the two of you. “Wait are you—”

     You nodded to all of them. “We’re pregnant.”

     The room erupted into shouts of ‘oh my god!’ and ‘no way!’ and ‘wait they’re together?’—the last one was Trevor.

      It only lasted a moment before everyone was up and hugging you, congratulating you and Ian.

     “I can’t believe you guys just did that,” Anthony shook his head in disbelief. 

     You giggled. “We were waiting for the perfect moment—and I guess this was it.”

     “Well, congrats you guys,” Shayne said. 

     “You’re going to make such good parents,” Courtney nodded, turning their attention to Shayne. “And who knows, maybe we’re next.”

     Everyone laughed at the expression on Shayne’s face. 

     “Do you have any name ideas yet?” Olivia asked.

     “Not yet,” Ian said. “But I’m pulling for Ian Jr. if it’s a boy”

     “Maybe honey,” you said, patting Ian’s arm before turning to the others and shaking your head profusely.

     Kieth laughed. “So I guess Kieth is off the table?” 

     “Or Trevor?” Trevor put in. 

     “Or Olivia if it’s a girl?”

     “Well put those on the list,” you said. “Right after Ian Jr.”

     This got a laugh from everyone. You looked around at your friends at coworkers that surrounded you. You were glad everyone knew now, and could share in your happiness. 

     You grabbed Ian’s hand again, leaning into him. You had so much to look forward to together, and you couldn’t wait.

     “Can we rearrange the order?” You spun around to see Tommy peaking out from backstage, pretending to wipe a tear from under his eye. 

     “Because there’s no way I’m going after that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ i always love writing for ian and i hope y’all enjoyed this. check out my other ian fics if you enjoyed this—i think i have 5 now. mwah! 🎀

[maeby-cursed]

➴ OH, STUPID CUPID ! ♡

✧ a/n: happy valentine's, dear angels ! ♡

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

Why would he, after all? It’s merely a capitalist ploy to keep the consumerism engines turning. You can disguise greed in glittery pink polish and white chocolate bonbons but at its core, it won't change its nature.

And so, he spends St. Valentine’s like he would any other day; gets up at dawn, works until his hands are peeled and his back aches and gets home to eat whatever he has left over. 

It’s a good routine, the most stable one he’s found for himself in years. 

He can't recall a time where the fourteenth of February meant anything at all. 

(Except for that one year that it had.)

But he won't think of withered flowers or laughing kisses or other sweets that have since rotten in his memory. A woman, a child, an apartment downtown.

That is all long gone now. The apartment downtown had gotten expensive, and the child had grown older. The woman had gone long ago and there were no more flowers or kisses or laughter.

It’s all capitalism, it’s all vapid and stupid and childish.

So, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. That is until you come along, knocking on his workshop’s door.

You’re obviously lost, mumbling an inquiry about how much you could get for selling a motorbike you keep referring to as "an old piece of garbage".

He can't help but snicker at your wording, a little chuckle that grows into a full chest laugh when he sees what you’ve dragged to his shop. It’s painfully obvious that this thing isn’t yours.

You keep holding the handlebars with careful hands, sparing few disgusted glances to the vehicle, as if its mere existence wounded you.

He asks how long you’ve had it, and where you got it, and how much you’d like to get. 

You answer back curtly: two years, your ex, nothing as long as you get rid of it.

You seem annoyed just by having to be there and for some unexplainable reason this amuses him to no end. Maybe being surrounded by car engines in a small workshop with no windows is starting to affect him.

“I’ll take it.”

You raise your gaze from the dusty headlight, shocked by his offer.

“You will?”

“Sure thing. You don’t want it, I could use some new parts, I’ll just scrap it.”

You let out a sigh, relieved, and all the tension dissipates from your shoulders.

“Oh, that… well, that would be great! Thank you.”

Your smile makes him stop in his tracks. Pretty and warm and familiar – something dangerous. His head travels back.

After a second that lasts forever, he acknowledges what you've said, grunting as his only response and getting back to the store with you in tow.

“Could I leave it with you now or…?"

“Bring it back next week, I don’t really have a place to put it right now, y’know?”

You look around the place. It’s full of buckets of paint and car parts, no decor but stacks upon stacks of metallic shelves full of objects you can’t recognize. You chuckle awkwardly, seemingly in a better mood after the compromise you've arranged.

“Right, uhm… Actually, I'm not here next week, could I come back tomorrow?”

Toji turns back to stare at you, and for the first time, really sees you. You look young, probably in your mid-twenties, of bright eyes and shiny hair, and that pretty smile that keeps fluttering over your lips. 

He hasn’t done this in a long time… But maybe…

“I close at 10pm today, why don’t you come back then?” he says, closing his fists to stop them from sweating.

Your wondering eyes freeze on him then, and your lips part slightly. He just can't stop staring.  

“But it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any plans?” you ask, shyly.

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“Oh,” you whisper. You're still grinning up at him, but your expression has lost its warmth, instead replaced by a polite awkwardness and doubtful gaze, and now he's kicking himself in his head.

“Sorry, did that bother you?” he asks, hiding his guilt with a smirk.

“No, not at all!" You laugh, playing with your hands. "I… just, I don’t mind it, I guess.

"I know it's not even a real holiday and that it's merely a product of capitalism, and that it’s all about sales and consumerism and all of that, but… I find it nice, you know? Having a day to be with the people you love…" You look around his shop once, before giving him a shy stare. "It’s sappy, I know.” You end with a shrug, your ears flushed.

Toji doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just breathes and takes it in. 

Oh, he’s grown bitter, hasn’t he? Old and sour. 

His son is out there right now buying flowers with his friends, his coworker is on a date at a fancy place, his one and only friend is buying chocolates for his wife… And he’s here at 5pm, with his hands dirty and his neck sweaty and the prettiest woman he’s seen in a long time in front of him, with no plans for tonight and a lovely smile hidden by a familiar sort of nervousness.

What is wrong with him? Is he truly that fucking stubborn? Can't he deal with a bit of pink?

He’ll admit that he's never minded the chocolates and the roses – even if they aren’t his favorite – and that he always laughs at the cherubs and the cheesy postcards. Of course, he won't talk about how he still hums old 50s songs while he works or how he indulges in a bit of dessert when February rolls around, though.

But he knows. He's always known.

So, maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe it’s more about being accompanied for once since he was twenty three and alone. Maybe it’s more about taking a shot at getting something good back.

Maybe it's not all capitalism, not all vapid and stupid and childish.

“Yeah… I guess it’s not all that bad.”

“I do like it… sometimes,” you finish, as if completing his train of thought. This hasn't happened to him in a long time. "I’ll be back tonight then…?”

He recovers quickly, smirking briefly before turning to clean his hands with a rag.

“Sure, at 10pm," he says, over his shoulder.

You laugh, cheerful once more, and begin walking to the door.

“It’s a date!”

And, God, he really hopes it can be, if only because it’s Valentine’s Day.

© 2024, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

[nrdmssgs]

Making Nikto a meal from his homeland 🥺

Maybe learning enough Russian to say that you care for him?

Masterlist

Love, I kinda-sorta have something similar here, but, I'm ready to feed this sweet guy his favorite meals on a daily basis.

Nikto doesn't get sentimental when it comes to his homeland. At least not when others are around. His house is not full of Russian books, shelves are not littered with trinkets from there, he doesn't watch films from his childhood with you. It might seem, that he's just indifferent to his own past, but you suspect, this is not the case.

He's stubborn, headstrong, “don't understand, what's there to miss” each time you ask him about his childhood. But notice little cracks in his demeanor, when he pauses a little too long, seeing something, that reminds him of home. It can be a dilapidated prefab panel block, any other person would avoid looking at. You already remember its funny name - 'panelka'. Sometimes it's just a streetlamp, captivating a gloving cone of snowflakes swirling around. You believe, there is no particular name for this, but in moments like this Nikto's gaze grows distant, and he mutters 'kak v detststve'.

You don't know what that means. The problem with Russian is that it's so terribly complicated to distinguish spoken words, that you fail to even write down what Andre is saying to himself in such situations to try to translate it later. When you ask him to teach you more words - he pulls a pitiful face and huffs.

"You don't need Russian."

It seems, he doesn't realize, how much you do need it. Because the cracks are right there, before your eyes. And behind them - his aching heart. Skipping a beat before an old ugly house, freezing under that streetlamp.

It's enough of joy to him to just open the door of your shared place and hear you there right away. You are enough for him to not be bothered by anything missing from his life.

That is why he's confused, when you meet him at the door and don't let take a single step in, before you recite a little speech, that you brought together with the help of online videos, some of your friends and a good dozen of dictionaries.

"...Ya skuchalali i dumala o tebya i potomy prigotovila odnu vesh`*"

He doesn't care for your little mistakes. Nikto pulls his mask and balaclava off, and you see little crinkles gathering around the corners of pale blue eyes. This man's eyes can scare, paralyze, haunt, but also - smile, shine with a silent, yet obvious gratitude. And something almost elusive - softness grows more present deep in his gaze with each your word.

You finish your speech and take his hand to lead him to the kitchen, but he pulls you back for a hug.

"Idi syuda*." And he hides you in his arms, softly cups the back of your head and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. This phrase you know already: he uses it, when he desperately craves your proximity. His way of calling you to come closer, when all the languages, he speaks, mix together, or he's just tired.

No words shared afterwards - only soft touches, breaths calming down, deepening. Maybe you considered learning a few sentences in Russian not a big deal, but to him this means a lot. You, caring for the parts of his life, that even Nikto himself gave up on.

When you finally pull him to show, what you cooked, he's speechless. It takes some time to convince him to come closer to the dinner table. Such a powerful, dangerous animal, he now walks in the tiniest cautious step. As a wild dog, not sure, if he's about to get a treat or to get captured.

You giggle and point to every bowl, telling him, how you made it. It was a battle to remember, so many youtube vids watched, so many tries and fails now you have mad respect to all those Russian, babushkas...

You fall silent, when he slowly squats down, resting his chin on the edge of the table. He looks struck, disarmed and lost.

"All that... for me?" he asks barely audible, and you nod enthusiastically.

Nikto takes a deep breath and exhales familiar words.

"Kak v detstve*"

You are still not sure, what does it mean, but judging by how much kisses he gives you, this 'kakvdetstve' thing makes him really happy. A kiss after every second bite. Andre can't concentrate on either tasting your delicious food or tasting your soft blushing cheeks, so he combines two experiences.

He doesn't let go of you even a few hours later, when you two are in your bed already. You slowly fall asleep to the low rumble and purr of his breathing. Your face pressed to his chest, and the drape of his arm warmer than any blanket. The span of his fingers over your chest is a heavy comfort. You brought him home today and the only thing, he wishes for is to do the same for you.

...Ya skuchalali i dumala o tebya i potomy prigotovila odnu vesh`* - I missed you and thought about you, so I cooked you something. (although intentionally with mistakes)

Idi syuda* - come here

Kak v detstve* - like it was in the childhood

[ivyangels-blog]

Brother's Ex-Best Friend

Summary: After watching Hawk break your brother's arm, you have trouble trusting him again.

A/n: I've discovered I enjoy writing hawk angst, so now you all must suffer

Warnings: violence, angst, injury and a rushed ending

--

I only got into karate because of my brother. I agreed that it might be good to learn to defend ourselves. I had no idea that it would increase the odds of us needing to tenfold.

Now I'm hiding in the corner of the laster tag place downtown, watching the boy who used to be my best friend, who I used to believe I was in love with, beat my brother to a pulp.

He pins Demetri to the ground, grabbing his arm and tugging it back.

"Finish him!" the other Cobra Kai's shout.

"Demetri!" I jump up from my hiding spot, rushing towards them.

Demetri is trying to reason with him. "Eli, Eli, it's me," he cries.

The other Cobra Kai's are shouting over him.

"Stop!" I cry, running towards them.

Eli looks up at me, but I realize that it's no longer him. The Eli I knew was kind and loyal. The person staring over at me is the complete opposite. His stone cold face is filled with nothing but hatred.

I watch in horror, as Hawk jerks my brother's arm, bending it backwards.

The crack echoes in my ears, only drowned out by the sound of my brother's scream.

"Demetri!" I drop to the ground beside him.

The other Cobra Kai's are already turning and leaving.

"It's okay," I mumble. "It's gonna be okay."

I look up to see Hawk still staring down at us.

"Just go!" I shout at him, tears spilling past my cheeks at having to listen to Demetri's whimpers.

I reach into my pocket, digging out my phone and calling 911.

By the time I've finished explaining the situation to the operator, Hawk is gone.

--

Time Skip

I wasn't able to forgive Hawk as easily as my brother did. I guess guys have a different sort of resolution to their fights. One second they hated each other, the next it was like a switch was flipped and they were best friends again.

I wasn't won over so easily, but maybe it has to do with the fact that I've barely talked to Hawk since he left Cobra Kai. Every time he comes over to hang out with Demetri, I find something to do elsewhere.

It's not until I absolutely have to, that I talk to Hawk again.

I was at work at the library where I intern. I was in charge of closing and I guess my boss didn't care if it was a sixteen year old all alone at night.

I should've locked the door after my coworker left, but I forgot.

It's my fault really.

I was shelving my last stack of books when I heard the bell of the front door.

"We're closed," I say, slipping another book into its spot.

"You hear that boys?" Kyler's voice makes my heart drop. "We got the whole place to ourselves."

A group of Cobra Kais appears in the middle of the library, about five boys.

One of them catches sight of me from my spot beside the bookshelf.

I drop the books in my hands, sprinting towards the back of the building.

Their shouts cut through the air behind me and I hear the pounding of their feet in pursuit.

I sprint down the back hallway, locking myself into the librarian's office.

The boys must not have seen where I went, because I hear them opening and closing other doors in the hallway.

I reach into my back pocket for my phone, but it's not there.

I must have left it by the front desk.

Frantically looking around, I spot the landline sitting on the desk.

I rush over to it and dial my home phone number, but no one picks up.

"Shit," I whisper, dialing Demetri next.

He doesn't answer either. My hands are shaking and my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

I try the only other number I have memorized: Eli's.

I press the numbers as fast as I can, forcing myself to take deep breaths. The door knob starts to jiggle, as I place the phone to my ear.

"Hey guys, I think she's in here!"

I press a shaky hand to my mouth, to hold back my gasp.

The phone rings...

and rings...

and

Please leave a message after the tone.

"Dammit," I mumble.

The door crashes open and I scream, dropping the phone so it dangles beside the desk by its wire.

"Looks like we've got you cornered now," one of the boys says.

I turn around, grabbing one of the books off the side table and holding it in front of me.

Kyler laughs and the others join in. "What are you gonna do?" he asks. "Smack some knowledge into me? You're such a nerd, working at the library. That's just sad."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"We just want to have a little fun. Don't we?" Kyler turns to the guys he's with and they all smirk and nod in agreement.

One by one, they're stepping closer to me. A blonde on my left is getting especially too close and I decide it's time to make my move.

I crash the book down over his head, bolting past him and around the desk.

The boys all shout in response and grab me before I can make it past the exit.

Their hands wrap around my arms, holding me in place.

I jerk and pull against their grasp, but can't manage to break free.

"You want the first shot, Andrew?" The boys turn to the blonde guy I just attacked, who's rubbing the top of his head.

"Hell yeah." He comes over to me and I start to tug harder against the hands holding me back.

"Let me go!" I shout, just to be silenced with a punch across the face.

The boys all cheer, as the left side of my face throbs.

Before I can look back, another punch is being delivered to my stomach.

It goes on like that, them taking turns hitting me until I'm gasping for breath.

Another kick is delivered to my stomach and its like I can barely feel it anymore.

"That should teach them not to pick a fight with us and not see it through," Kyler spits.

The arms around me loosen and I stumble without them holding me up.

"Let's get out of here." The boys file past me out the door, as I drop down onto the ground.

I lean my back up against the wall, struggling to catch my breath, wincing with each gulp of air.

I tell myself that I'll just sit for a little while and then I'll grab my things and go home, but I doubt I'll be able to make the walk in my condition. My vision is starting to go spotty and I’m worried I might pass out.

"Y/n? Y/n? Are you here?" The voice echoing through the halls pulls me to attention.

"Hawk?" I respond.

Before I can even sit up, he comes rushing through the door, dropping to his knees beside me.

"Jesus," he murmurs, looking at me with wide eyes.

"You came?" I whisper, not believing it to be true.

"Of course I did, I got your call. Are you okay?"

I nod, sitting up. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Here." Hawk lifts my arm, pulling it over his shoulder and lifting me up. "I'll drive you home."

We stop to grab my stuff and he helps me all the way out to his car.

I finally relax once we're on our way back to my house, letting my head fall against the head rest.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"A little after 11:00."

I sigh. "My whole family's gonna be asleep by now. I really don’t want to wake them up to this."

"You still keep your window unlocked?" Hawk asks.

"You remember that?" I ask.

"How could I forget? I spent too many nights sneaking in to hang out when you were grounded."

"God, only we were lame enough to have to sneak around just to stay home all night."

Hawk chuckles.

We pull into my driveway and Hawk hops out of the car, coming over to my side to help me.

With his support, I walk around to the back of the house, pausing below my window.

Hawk steps forward and pushes it open, turning to me and offering his intertwined hands as a platform to boost me up.

I grasp onto the windowsill and, since my bedroom's on the first floor, slip in easily.

Hawk comes in behind me and goes straight to my bathroom.

I move to sit on my bed, assuming he might just have to go, but he comes back out with a washcloth in hand.

"Can I?" he asks, approaching me.

I’m surprised by how much he cares, but nod and he presses the cool cloth to my face.

"It looks like they didn't get you too bad," he says.

Without saying anything, I reach to lift up my shirt, revealing the bruises on my stomach.

I haven't looked at them, yet, and the mixture of purple and yellow painting my skin looks worse than I could have imagined.

I turn my gaze up to see Hawk's reaction. His face is in a scowl, his nostrils flaring, as his grip on the washcloth tightens.

I'm once again reminded of why I'm so afraid of him.

"I can't believe that they ambushed you five to one," Hawk says. "Those cowards can't even make it a fair fight."

"How'd you know there were five of them," I ask.

Hawk goes back to pressing the washcloth on my cheek. "I saw them leaving when I got there."

"And you didn't stop to fight them?" I ask, confused.

Hawk furrows his brows. "No, I had to make sure you were okay."

I feel myself start to smile, because that's exactly something Eli would do.

"Let me go grab an ice pack," he pops up from the bed and leaves the room.

I take the opportunity while he's gone to change out of my jeans and blouse into loose fitting shorts and a t-shirt.

Hawk comes back from his mission, ice pack in hand, as well as a bottle of ibuprofen.

I take both, gratefully.

Hawk sits beside me on the edge of my bed, while I try and situate the ice pack on my stomach.

I can’t help but wince at the contact.

“They’re gonna fucking pay,” Hawk says.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Please, just leave them be.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hawk jumps up from the bed, waving his hands and turning toward me.

The action causes me to flinch backwards, closing my eyes and putting my head down.

It’s the briefest of movements but when I look back up Hawk is staring down at me with his mouth slightly agape.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks, his voice no louder than a whisper. Almost like he doesn’t want to speak it into existence, like he can’t believe it might be true.

I shake my head, not wanting to get into it right now. “I’m just jumpy cause of everything that happened tonight.”

Hawk rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. “You forget I can always tell when you’re lying. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“You broke Demetri’s arm. Demetri may be able to forget that, but I can’t. You were awful.”

Hawk’s face falls and he drops his head, avoiding eye contact.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. If you’re okay, I’ll go.” He turns to head to the window. I should let him, but something about the way his head hangs low and how he refuses to meet my eye reminds me of Eli.

“Wait,” I find myself saying.

Hawk pauses and looks at me expectantly.

“You can stay,” I whisper.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod. “Like old times.” I sit back on the bed, pulling my laptop up to find the Marvel movies we always watched together.

Hawk slowly sits down on the far side of my bed, putting plenty of space between us.

“You’re not going to be able to see it over there.” I slide next to him.

We sit in silence for awhile, eyes on my laptop screen. It’s not long before I start to feel tired, my head drops slightly, resting on his shoulder.

I feel Hawk tense a little at the contact and my head jerks back up with an apology.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind,” Hawk says and I rest my head against him once more.

I fall asleep like that, my head on his shoulder and when I wake up in the morning my face is planted on his chest.

I rub my eyes, sitting up and the movement causes Hawk to stir beneath me.

“Sorry for falling asleep,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. It was nice to hang out like we used to. I missed you.”

His words make me pause. “I missed you, too.”

We sit like that, me leaning over him staring into each others eyes until Hawk breaks the silence.

“Uh, how are you feeling?” he asks.

“Sore,” I reply, “But I’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” I add. “For coming.”

“I’ll always come get you, y/n.” Hawk’s eyes meet mine again and I can’t help, but feel drawn toward him.

His hand reaches up to brush the side of my face.

My heartbeat is fluttering, my mind is on overdrive trying to process what’s happening.

And then he kisses me, and it’s like the whole world goes still.

When we finally pull away both of us are smiling.

“I love you,” Hawk says. “I’ve loved you since we were kids and I need you to know it.”

His confession leaves me stunned, but my answer is easy. “I love you, too.”

Even though I’ve had my reservations about him recently I know it’s true. I realized it last night. I love the boy sitting across from me, Hawk and Eli alike.

[spinchip]

He keeps ending up in these situations- these soft, quiet moments with Zane where everything Lloyd wants to say is crowding behind his teeth before he swallows it all back down. He never felt bold enough to disturb the piece, or maybe he never felt sure-footed enough to navigate the conversation. The land around the topic of the Never Realm was still littered with landmines and sinkholes. Zane didn't talk to them about it.

They're stargazing. Lloyd was out here first basking in the rare alone time. He'd turned Kai away two hours ago when he'd come to check on him, but when Zane stood over him and blotted out the stars with a weak smile- Lloyd invited him to stay, and promised himself he wouldn't shelve this conversation for another day.

He's look at Ursa Major when he says it, "I'm Afraid you'll never be okay again."

There's a soft pause.

"I am okay, Lloyd." Zane reassures him in a voice that is so much more monotone than before the Never Realm, "Therapy has been extremely rewarding. I feel like myself again."

He sits up, propping himself up on arms that don’t tremble, “You’re not yourself, though.” He feels like he has to force the words out from behind the lump in his throat, “You don’t cook, or meditate, or bird watch anymore-” He stops to center himself, “...I’m scared you’ll never go back to normal.”

Zane is the quiet one this time.

Lloyd lies back down, feeling worse than before. They watch the stars trek across the sky.

“I believe this is the new normal, Lloyd.” He says very, very quietly.

Immediately Lloyd sits up again, twisting to face Zane, “How can you say that? Two months ago you were acting totally fine! Yeah, when you came back from the Never Realm you spent a whole month alone in your room... but then you were Zane again, and now- now you’re…”

“Different.” Zane finishes, “I have changed.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd turn forward, staring down in his lap.

No one says anything. Lloyd feels like he's royally blowing this conversation and making everything worse.

“...When I first returned from the Never Realm, I was... in a dark place. It was easier to hide and sort through things on my own, But I… had not dealt with it as well as I could have. After I spent that time alone and I returned to the team, once more joining with the group socially, I was still a mess. I did not know who I was, and I did not feel like anyone- not Zane, and not the emperor. So I looked in my memory banks and pretended.”

Lloyd looks back at Zane, who’s eyes are fixed resolutely on the moon and not Lloyd's reaction. “You… what?”

“I did not want to worry you. My theory was that If i acted like I was okay, I would be. I hoped I could figure it all out before anyone realized I was wearing a mask, that I could fix myself to the point where I could stop pretending.” He links his hands together on top of his stomach, “Then Cyrus Borg put me in touch with his therapist." Two times a week, every Monday and Thursday. Lloyd knew that. "She helped me realize that this act I was putting on was not a positive move for me and my recovery. It is not that I have regressed, Lloyd- i have simply stopped pretending to be who I used to be.”

“You were trying to protect us?”

There’s another pause, “It was partly selfish, too. I was… afraid. I was scared that if you and the others realized just how much I had changed, you would not see me the same. That the love you had for me would not be able to adapt to who I have become.”

“I- of course we would love you! Always!” Lloyd insisted immediately, “It’s not- I didn’t mean- I was just worried. I’m sorry.” He feels shame curdle in his gut at his earlier words, unintentionally picking at Zane's insecurity.

“I understand your feelings, Lloyd. You do not need to apologize,” He smiles softly at him and its not the same smile Lloyd is so used to, but it has its own warmth, “Change is not… a bad thing. The circumstances leading to this were, but this is what healing looks like for me at this point. I am figuring out who I am again- I do not bird watch or cook or meditate, no, but I think you’ll be surprised at how good my knitting has gotten.” He offers Lloyd another tiny smile, “I am finding my happiness again.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Zane's soft blue eyes flicker back up to the stars and his smile turns gentle, “You are always helping, even if you do not realize it. All of you are.”

[explicit-tae]

Babe I just giggle maniacally for a straight up fluff of ungodly hour. Where mc just softly complaining in whispers to jk her back hurts for her work and ehem from him too. Jk just cooed and rubs her back her cheeks her arms her thighs cuz boy when simp for the ninth time and its all just fluff UGHHHH

you know every time someone has a thought about ungodly hour i have to write it 😭💜

Ungodly Hour

word count: 1.173

“So I was thinking about wearing this tomorrow for dinner with your parents.” Jungkook turns around, holding up something you didn’t care to see. “I need to come off as someone who - are you okay?”

Jungkook knits his brows at your unmoving position on the bed - the same position he’s left you in 10 minutes prior - naked and all.

You mumble something inaudible to Jungkook and he sighs. He places the shirt neatly back into the closet and comes closer to the bed. “This is why I said we need a safe word.”

You suck your teeth at Jungkook’s words.

“Don’t be like that, Y/N. I fucked you so good that-”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You hiss, straining your neck to look at him.

Jungkook wants to laugh because, of course, you’d speak up to argue with him.

“It’s not like we do anything that requires a safe word. You act as if you have me hanging from the ceiling.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “The way you’re laying there after a good fuck, you mind-”

Jungkook manages to dodge a kick, but it isn’t like you put enough force into it. Jungkook decides to stop teasing you.

“My body just hurts.” you murmur, a slight pout on your lips. “Not because of you or your mediocre dick, either. I just had a long day at work.”

Jungkook scoffs with a roll of his eye. “It must be so hard standing in the same place.”

Your eyes harden at Jungkook and in retaliation, you decide to turn over, back facing him. “I actually had to stock stuff today.” you say. You were sick of Jungkook and his constant teasing that your job “wasn’t stressful” because all you did was “stand there and look pretty”.

Jungkook gasps dramatically. “They had you stock the shelves?” he hides his laughter, especially when you attempt to send another kick his way that he dodges easily. “My poor Y/N, having to work even though I pay for everything.”

Jungkook dips onto his bed beside you, his hands rubbing circles onto your back. “Maybe you should quit if it’s starting to strain your body.”

You lay on your arms, turning your head to look at Jungkook with an unamused look. “I can’t just quit my job.”

Jungkook blinks, deepening the pressure onto your back. “Why not?” he asks. “What if they have you stock more shelves?” Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek because the thought of stocking shelves straining your body this much makes him want to laugh at how dramatically (cute) you were.

“Nice to know that my pain is bringing you such enjoyment.” you bite back, closing your eyes. 

“Of course not.” Jungkook focuses his hands on your neck, rubbing circles around them before he reaches your shoulders. “You don’t want to quit. This is your own fault.”

“I have bills to pay.” you murmur gently. 

“I pay your bills.” Jungkook retorts. And it wasn’t a lie - but it isn’t like you asked him to. Jungkook insisted like he always did, stating that if you and he were going to be dating then that meant he was going to have to “step up” more. “I get you everything you need. Your paychecks are just pocket change.”

“Ugh, rude.” you turn your head the other way, sighing as Jungkook's hands dip onto your back. “Maybe I don’t want to leech off of you.”

Jungkook remains quiet - you were far too stubborn. His words do nothing but go into one ear and out the other - no matter how many times Jungkook has to explain that he enjoys doing what he does for you, you’d never see it that way.

“So you aren’t quitting?” Jungkook asks after another 5 minutes. He’s sure you were dozing off, your breathing was becoming slowed and body limp. 

You made a sound that told him “no”.

“I see. I can get you a membership so you can get massages-”

“Shut up, simp.” you murmur, eyelids already heavy, but nonetheless, you move closer to Jungkook. At this, he allows you to come closer, lying down besides you to bring you closer to him. 

Jungkook’s warmth is inviting and you immediately sink deeper into his embrace. You hum softly when you feel Jungkook’s fingers lightly trace your back, as if drawing shapes or writing letters. It tickles lightly and causes you to squirm when they inch up your spine until they’re at the nape of your neck. “You’re so cute.” Jungkook murmurs, lips against your forehead as his fingers gently rub along your neck. “Wanna shower?”

You huff - because yes, you did. But you also didn’t feel like getting up off of the bed and out of Jungkook’s warm embrace (not like you’d ever tell him that).

“I can run you a bath instead.” Jungkook offers, kissing your forehead softly. He understands that he could be a bit rough when in the act of intimacy and as much as you enjoyed it, it did weigh down on your body. “I wish you’d just tell me to slow down sometimes.”

“My mother didn’t raise a bitch.” was your response - a typical you response that has Jungkook snorting. 

Jungkook kisses your forehead again, “I’ll start the bath for you.” he says, untangling himself from you and lowly, you groan at the lack of warmth but didn’t protest. You didn’t want Jungkook actually thinking you wanted his presence - because of course it wasn’t that.

As time passed on with you staying in Jungkook’s home frequently, he made sure you had essentials. He cleared up some room for you - assuring you had a couple drawers in his bathroom for your own feminine products and beauty products. As he starts the bath, he’s sure to add the warm smell of vanilla you enjoy so that you could relax. 

“Come.” Jungkook tugs at your leg gently to get you to move from your position on the bed. “Your bath is ready.”

“Ugh.” you groan and lift yourself from Jungkook’s bed. Jungkook has a small smile on his lips  as he watches you go from his bedroom to the bathroom and dip into the bath. 

“Feels good?” Jungkook asks, leaning against the counter and watch you sink into the bath and only your head is present. 

“It’s okay.” you murmur, closing your eyes and Jungkook knows that it’s your way of saying that you loved the gesture - but you were undoubtedly you and giving him credit would be the last thing you’d ever do. 

However, Jungkook would never take you seriously so he just snickers. “I’ll order us some food.”

One eye peaks open at Jungkook who is waiting for a response.

“You want me to get something sweet, too, I assume?” Jungkook already knows by the look in your eyes and when you nod, he laughs. “Anything for you.”

“Simp.” you murmur, sinking into the bath to avoid Jungkook seeing your expression.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook and the way he makes your heart beat at his genuine gestures of kindness.

DRABBLE 3 | Part 7

[suempu]

hi hi 👋🏼 I absolutely love how you write Kabru and and I was wondering if maybe you could write some headcanons of him with a halfling reader? pleeease 👉🏼👈🏼 sfw or not sfw, all is wonderful when it comes to your writing of him 🌷

no prns for reader + kept this sfw !!

<3

he absolutely adores you for a fact. he’ll use your height difference to teasingly rest his arms on your head, which leads to you kicking his knees or slapping his arm away.

we all know he’s playful towards his friends but he’s an absolute menace towards you since you’re his lover. kabru will purposely leave your stuff on high shelves and laugh as you begrudgingly ask him for help.

“…. where’s my hairbrush? don’t tell me you put it up there again!”

“i’m sorry, i must have misplaced it.” he rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle.

groaning in annoyance, you pinch his arm from the side, “this is getting old real quick. get it or i’m never helping you clean again.”

although you’ve adapted to your heightened senses (as all halfings do), you still get overwhelmed from time to time. kabru will cover your ears when he sees you in an anxious state before walking with you to somewhere private.

whenever you stay at each other’s places, he prefers whispering to you. with no other sounds or voices, if he talked as he usually did, it’d sound too loud for you.

“i’m slicing some fruit, do you want some?” he says, not bothering to shout despite being on the other side of your house.

you sink into the couch with a tired sigh, “yes please, i want apples.”

though the cons of this was that he couldn’t hide anything from you. as long as he keeps his mouth shut, everything is for you to hear.

“oh shit… uh...” kabru mutters under his breath.

a beat of silence passes before your voice echoes throughout your home. “what did you do now?”

“i might’ve… accidentally, well, spilled some stuff.”

he loves playing with your hair too, ruffling them, carding his fingers through them. he just likes petting you since its so easy to reach down and touch them. though he’d stop if you told him to, of course.

very protective of you during dungeon crawling. he trusts that mickbell will keep you safe while you hide away from battles and will ask how you are after.

solid boyfriend if you dont mind having a mean-head whose job is to tease the life out of you.