#nerdie fic series

[nerdieforpedro]

Touches, Trinkets, Together

Part Four of Our Journey Across The Star Ocean Series

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, borrowed or plagiarized.

Word Count: about 2.5k

Summary: A second visit to Din’s coven leads you to think more seriously about your relationship with him. The Mandalorian has a slip of the tongue which has you both admitting feelings.

Warnings: Communication deficits, People might be a bit nosy and honesty is always best. ☺️ Everyone is safe.

Notes: I'm so happy to finally finish this! I've been working on trying to finish different fics I have open. Din and our reader's journey comes to a close, or does it? 😎 My writing will be a bit slower from here on out. I’m trying to work on making my fics more in depth I guess? Or maybe not, everything is always fluid.

Main Masterlist/ Din Djarin - The Mandalorian Masterlist

He had taken you back to his coven as The Armorer said she had more pieces for you. This time, Din took you walking around when he greeted his fellow Mandalorians. He introduced you as his partner, they asked you how it was working with him. You said you enjoyed working with Din and little Grogu. It was exciting, frightening, and educational all at the same time, plus you learned how to shoot. They were nodding and murmuring, it didn’t seem negative though. One tried to ask if you’ve completed something called a ‘ridiurrok’ but the others slapped their back and Din cleared his throat. You know a similar word has been mentioned before when you were with The Armorer. The first time you visited Din’s coven, she asked him about it and he mentioned it was your choice. Decided to wait until in the privacy of the Razor Crest, the rest of the visit was uneventful save for the additional pieces of beskar. 

Your breastplate was changed from purple to silver, and your pauldrons, vambraces and leg armor were all silver like Din’s. Nodding after assisting you to put them on, The Armorer clapped. “You look ever more like a warrior, dear girl. Djarin should train you further in hand to hand combat, not just with your blaster. Tell him this, yes?” The small gold wrench was moved to the right instead of being on the left where it had been. A circular depression remained on the left side.

“Thank you. I’m not sure I fully comprehend how much work and sacrifice goes into creating even one piece, let alone from the neck down. I-” Her hand raised to stop you from speaking.

“I am thankful that you understand the significance of the gift bestowed upon you. It is not given lightly.” Her arms are crossed and you only hesitate for a moment before asking. You need to know what it means.

“You asked Din before if I was his ‘riduur,’ what is that exactly? The other Mandalorians mentioned a similar word, but they cut him off before he could finish it.” You focused on where you believed her eyes to be within her golden helmet. If you’re going to ask such a question about something important, it best be done with eye contact. The Armorer did not answer right away, instead she had a question of her own.

“Do you accept Djarin’s foundling as your own? Are you prepared to aid him with all that he may need and have him do the same for you my dear?” Her questions are direct and so is your answer. It’s not one you need to think about. It’s simple and makes you wonder what Din’s answer would be if asked these same things. Certain about the first question, you aren’t sure about the last two.

“Grogu is a part of the razor Crest, the same as me. I care for him deeply, as for Din. I don't know if I can give him everything he needs but I can try.” The leather on your gloves crinkle with the tightening of your fists, “I believe Din would do almost anything for my safety, as long as it didn’t compromise Grogu’s well-being. He’s…an honorable and good man.” You and the Armorer keep your gazes locked on each other. Din and Grogu stroll into the forge and see the two of you locked in an unspoken battle of wits they assume. The child starts waving his hands and tries to hop out of Din’s arms toward the two of you. Turning, you shake your head at his little green face. “Calm down little one. We’re fine. We were just discussing something. It’s okay.” Din tilts his helmet, unsure if you’re being entirely truthful. He’s well aware how intimidating the Armorer can be.

“To answer your question, it is something you must discuss with Djarin and you both agree to. Depending on what form your ridurrok takes, you may need to take the Creed as well. Your partner will tell you more.” Once again, you could hear the smirk in her voice and Din shifted his weight between his feet from side to side. Definitely important and from her questions it sounds like - marriage? Or something close. Unless it’s not quite the same in Mandalorian culture.

You, Grogu, and Din leave his coven after thanking the Armorer for her time and your armor. Grogu keeps looking back and forth between you and Din, both of you are shiny. His small hands pat your breastplate, pauldrons and vambraces. He doesn’t appear to like the armor on you. “Sorry little one. You’ll get used to it.” The child is used to your warmth and softness, only his father wears such cold silver to his knowledge. Here, you’re supposed to be warm, Grogu starts to cry and you relent, removing your armor, but you ask Din to help you store it properly and show you how to clean it later. Grogu is ecstatic to see you without metal on you and in just your flight suit. Din is pleased as well and it makes him wonder if the armor is a good idea when on the ship. If you wear it more often, his dreams of just embracing you whenever to hug your soft flesh will be blocked as well.

Grogu settled, not wanting to be out of your lap as you sat in the co-pilot’s seat next to Din. Charting a course to the next bounty, the Armorer’s words weighed heavily on both your minds.

Djarin now rarely wore gloves when on the Razor Crest unless absolutely necessary. 

His hand touched your face, his calloused palm next to Grogu’s little green one on your cheek, his thumb brushed against your lips. He held it there a moment before dropping his hand. You wonder if he was embarrassed or sorry that he did so. But his hand is once again in yours as he stays the course to the next bounty. 

It’s not only the small touches that’s changed over time. Din always remembers enough cleaning supplies for your tools and the ship in addition to the small little caf cakes you like after a bounty goes well. Din might have started eating one as he would buy three instead of just two. The small parchment paper in the refuse was the evidence he’d had one. 

It still surprised you when a bounty led the two of you back to Mos Eisley where Peli offered to watch Grogu while the two of you found the two bail jumpers.

Din wasn’t keen on leaving Grogu with Peli. But he wanted some time alone with you, he needed to finally ask you to stay with him. Well Din knew that you weren’t going anywhere, he just wanted to be more certain. That you weren’t going to suddenly decide to leave. Rationally, he knew you’d at least bring it up beforehand, but there was always a nagging feeling. Neither of you have agreed to be anything other than partners. And with the Armorer clearly talking to you about becoming his riduur, he would need to explain what it is, what it entails and that he hopes that you will say yes.

Maybe sometime after that Din might mention that both he and Grogu agree that you don’t need to wear your armor on this ship, but for entirely different reasons. 

You and Din went shopping at the local market, picking up some small supplies and milling around. You were trying to find something for Din without him noticing, he always stayed by your side which you enjoyed, but maybe not today. Scanning over what the market had to offer, it was difficult to think of what to get Din, a Mandalorian. Your Mandalorian. Then he spoke up and you were glad at his words. “Mesh’la, I’m going to go look over here. Are you alright to stay here?” His palm patted your lower back as you smiled with a nod. He returned it and went to look at a food stall. Din looked back over his shoulder noting that you weren’t watching him and he slipped into a small shop. He would find one here, he was sure of it. Meanwhile, you thought of the empty space that the Armorer had left on your breastplate, not quite thinking of putting something there, but possibly something Din could clip on his cowl. It would need to be small and somewhat inconspicuous. His beskar stands out, but it shouldn’t be bright colors as those don’t seem to suit him. 

“Wait, focus. Find your item.” Continuing your search, you found small gear and a small wrench. Not quite what you were looking for, though you weren’t exactly sure of what. “I wanted something more like him, not me. Keeping your search going, you saw a small frog and a blue cookie pin. “The little one.” Cooing at the sight reminding you of Grogu, your purchase of all four items was good, but not your goal. Focused and bending to look closer at a small miniature blaster replica, a hand touched the small of your back. Din had come back already.

“Mesh’la, did you find anything that drew your eye?” The familiar deep tone you heard daily grew close to your ear and you nearly jumped, thankfully you did not. Keeping your wits about you, exhaling the breath you were holding centered you enough to answer him. His large gloved hand is a comfort while he guides you out of the marketplace to make your way back to the Razor Crest. 

“A few babbles, not quite what I was looking for.” Knowing Din well, you felt his hand shift slightly higher on your back and saw his free hand come within your vision, but you reached out and grabbed it, “I’ll keep looking. You don’t need to find it for me Din. It is something I have to find on my own.” Unsure how to respond, he simply nodded and left it there. Din would remain curious why you wouldn’t want him to find it for you. He expects you to tell him eventually, not to keep secrets, though he’s not much better. It’s burning a metaphorical hole in his utility belt.

When you both reach the Crest, Din ensures that you’re settled and assists you out of your armor. The leg guards you don’t need help with but the piece that covers your back. The bounty hunter’s hands linger and ruffle your thin shirt underneath. He wonders how odd it would sound for him to tell you not to put the pieces back on. That he could just touch you like this. “You’re so plush Cyar’ika. You feel at home in my hands like this.” 

You don’t say anything. You’re unsure what to say. He just said, Din, your Din j-just said he, Maker and the Stars above. His hands aren’t on your back anymore. He’s stopped touching you and it feels like he stepped away. “Ah. It, I-“ The feared Mandalorian you’ve grown to love is stammering. Turning around, Din has his hands on his utility belt, fidgeting. His body language tells you he’s nervous. Much like he was when you were injured a while back. No, this is much worse, could he be frightened? “Mesh’la. I didn’t-“

“Please don’t apologize Din. I enjoy when you touch me. At the market, on the ship, in the cockpit, and just now. I enjoy all of it Din. You can-“

He holds up his hands to insist that you stop. His head is hung and maybe you’ve said too much, were too forward with how you felt, but between the recent talk you’d had the Armorer, trying to pick out an item for him and now, “Then I will not apologize cyar'ika. I’ll also ask that you not put the armor back on for now.” Heavy steps close the gap between the two of you and he removes his gloves, taking both your hands in his. “I’m going to be asking so much more of you, even more than I already have. No apologies for that either.” The small chuckle let you know his anxiety has passed. You nod and squeeze his hands, looking directly into his visor.

“Din. You know I’m not going anywhere. I told you before you’d have to toss me off. You’re stuck with me.” Your smile is warm to him, your entire being has been since he’d first met you at Peli’s workshop. He was always concerned that you would find a place to settle without him. Such constant travel is difficult, but you’ve been at his side, without complaint and embracing his child and coven. Din is curious what else he can do beside asking the question that’s been nagging at him. He releases one of your hands to grab something from his utility belt. It's a small silver band, simple but you’re aware of what it means. You wonder if Din does, it’s not like you really saw any Mandalorian in his coven wearing any jewelry at all, they’re all in beskar. “That’s, Din you know what that is right? It’s a-“

“Wedding band. I am aware. The riddurok is similar to what some may call a wedding, but there’s no witnesses needed as it requires both of us to make our vows to each other.” The ring looks small in the middle of his large palm, is that what he’s asking, are you ready? “We would not be making any vows yet and they don’t require any such trinkets. However, I wanted to know if in addition to not going anywhere, you would be willing to be my riduur or spouse?” In contrast to his earlier explanation, his question is asked in an unsure tone. Din is many things, one of the most important is honest. The Mandalorian is not one for beating around any bushes he is straight to the point, which most might find off putting but it’s refreshing to know where you stand after wondering how he saw you for so long, especially with the increased physical contact. 

The palm of your free hand finds itself on the side of his helmet, your vision becoming a bit blurry from your own tears. “I want to continue on this journey with you Din. Wherever the stars will take us I’ll be right at your side, so yes.” Releasing your other hand, Din slides the ring on your left fourth finger and it fits perfectly. 

“Traversing the galaxy with you is a honor cyar’ika. One that I will do happily.” Placing his hand over yours, he leaned his helmet down and gently touched it against your forehead. Tomorrow you both would pick Grogu up and tell him and Peli the news, but for now it would just be between the two of you.

Our travels together will have us see the many wonders the star ocean has to offer. This is The Way.

Part Three

Space Buddies: ❤️

@maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @missladym1981 @morallyinept @bishtrouille

@sherala007 @yorksgirl @daddy-dins-girl @604to647 @megamindsecretlair

@anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter @alltheglitterandtheroar @mrsmando @readingiskeepingmegoing

@harriedandharassed @i-own-loki @lady-bess @pedroshotwifey @thefrogdalorian

@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @jessthebaker @connectioneverywhere @grogusmum @soft-persephone

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[im-tired-404]

I am going to (respectfully) rip his clothes off, (respectfully) leave hickies on his neck and jawline, then (respectfully) pamper him.

Im going to eat him arm. Right now.

[xoxochb]

all the stars aligned ✧˖°

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“a syzygy is when all the planets line up along each other. It’s more commonly known as all the stars aligned, I think the term was made by some idiot who couldn’t spell syzygy”

percy laughs at your blunt explanation. “how do you spell it then, miss einstein?”

“s-y-z-y-g-y,” you roll your eyes “it’s fairly simple, mr jackson”

“whatever, I’m dyslexic,” he justifies, toying around with your fingers “what happens during this syzygy?”

“well you’re in luck, that’s what I was getting to. it leads to a variety of different astronomical events such as: spring tides, both solar and lunar eclipses, and planetary alignments which I previously said. and before you ask, during spring tides, the gravitational pull of the sun and the moon grow stronger. I’m sure you know the rest they’re basically self explanatory.”

“kay… so is it good luck or something? when a syzygy happens?”

you furrow your brows. “It’s not anything”

percy sighs. “what else do you have, professor?”

“there’s a possibility that the moon was once a part of the earth. It’s theorized that they were once one planet but once struck by a collision they broke apart. also, did you know that black holes don’t suck?”

“they swallow?” percy remarks with a smirk. you don’t appreciate his comment, however

“perseus! close that large mouth of yours and let me finish,” you let him do a zipper motion over his mouth before you continue, “they use gravity to pull things inside, just like earth. so if anything is close enough it’ll just, kinda, fall, y’know what I mean?”

“so they… pull?”

“stop making it sound dirty!” you rip your hands out of his and slap his head, in response he pouts

“I’m sorry, my mouth is shut. for real this time”

as he says, but that’s such a fucking fib

[bunnythesuccubus]

I'm disappointed by the lack of Nibbly smut.

[shadowbrightshine]

My gift to you @marvelmaniac715

Here's a little thing I made for that idea I was sharing with you. This is completely out of order from where I would want to start the story, but it's a thing I made as a little proof of concept. Unfortunately it's pretty rough, but I'm writing from a perspective of a self hating girl, and then a teen out of his depth. Once I write it proper, it'll feel more natural. For now, here is Cherry Lolly, or Janet from the Starry eyed children Revival, and Tim Hudson, the first prophet after the Lord's reformation you wrote. Say hi to the Homeless man! whoopies I wrote 2.5k words! enjoy everyoneeee. Fair warning, Janet's views on herself is not how I see things. Also Janet thinks in a more stilted way, so her narration is, like that. Reblogs appreciated!

Janet watched from the bush as Tim passed by with William. He’d changed since the accident that took away the use of his left leg. He was more confident and talked to everyone now. Janet watched him, him and the brightly colored friends he’d made. She didn’t mean to be creepy, but if anyone saw her they would run away. She knew that, she knew how hideous she was, with her top teeth covered in skin, a surgical adjustment and filter flap in her neck that made her look like a robot, not even a lower jaw to pretend to look like a normal girl. Her parents tried to tell her she was still pretty. The screams of those kids still haunted her and proved them wrong every single day she walked the earth. That’s why she had to hide in bushes and trees to watch the normal people go about their days. 

Tim had changed physically too. His fingers were longer, and his right leg was longer, she’d noticed his left leg drag less and less as the months went on, just slightly. She knew why, it had to do with William. She’d watched him and his brothers for a little while now. They weren’t normal, they could transform into new bodies. She would give her dominant arm up for a power like that. No one else remembered, but Tim used to have brown eyes. Whoever changed everyone’s minds must have forgotten her. No one remembers Janet. Tim used to have brownish eyes. Now one eye was a dull blue, and the other was still hazel now, it had a thick ring of green around it, and green near the pupil. No one else remembered, except for her. No one likes Janet but her parents, and they never tried to have another child, they learned their lesson. 

Janet felt gross. She was so gross watching others like this. But she couldn’t talk to them without revealing this awful deformity. She had to use her talk pad if she used the phone. Tim was special. Something was different about him now. She’d seen him give a present to the homeless man on Christmas Eve. She’d seen many things. She knew about Max Jagerman, the ghost of Hatchetfield who murdered her favorite girl. Ruth was the only other person she worked up the courage to interact with, and that was only a week before her death. Ruth didn’t care that she was disgusting, she’d called Janet pretty, she’d held hands with her, she even gave her these cherry hair clips she would never stop wearing. 

The brothers showed up on the night Max disappeared forever, and Janet could feel the shift in the air as time went on. The town was different now. They had something to do with it, and they could do things no one else could. Them and the sister, the girl who walked with Hannah. She’d tried to talk to Hannah, but her cowardice kept her back. Janet shivered, it was cold out and she didn’t have proper protection today. Wendy radiated warmth and a special magic, she could feel it. Janet crept back towards her home, the woods feeling more real to her than the town did. 

She carefully avoided crossing into the camp territory. She’d also watched girl Jeri and boy Jerry before. She was scared of the counselors. The adults didn’t seem to notice how strange they were, but she knew. She knew they were bad news, and she knew about little Jerry. He was nice to her, and she brought him muffins sometimes. Her family lived far away from the rest of the town. She knew why, it was because her parents were ashamed of her. That’s why they never went into town, or took her out to shop, or lived in town. They would lie and tell her it’s because this house was part of the family line. They told her lots of families lived in the woods. That part wasn’t a lie, she’d seen the other kids playing in the woods, but they couldn’t meet her. 

Janet was a monster, and she knew it. The only person other than her parents who was nice to her was a fellow monster. Normal people didn’t need to use a feeding line in her arm to stay alive. Normal people had tongues and chins and could talk. Normal people didn’t spend their days watching from the shadows. Normal people had friends. No one remembered the day she was born in the hospital and the nurses screamed in fear anymore. She knew she was a monster. But like a monster she couldn’t resist the draw of humanity. She wanted to be seen and loved. She spent hours writing in her notebooks, entire scripts, books, and stories. She’d explored every part of the forest. 

Tim was nice to the homeless man. No one was nice to him, everyone hated him and thought he was weird and gross. Janet had watched him stumble around and talk to himself all the time. She thought about trying to be his friend, but he’d probably assume she was a hallucination and ignore her. Better not to risk it. Tim though, Tim got him a gift, and he talked to him, and cared about him. Maybe…maybe he wouldn’t mock her. Maybe he would be nice to an animal like her. A monster like Janet. She had to try. 

Christmas Eve:

“Spare change for the homeless?” The man asked, it was one of the few things he could say easily. Tim shook his head and took a seat next to him. The homeless man scrambled to make room for him, staring at him with more  confused than usual eyes. Wiggly stood a few feet away, holding Tim’s crutches for him. The snow was thin here under the awning of the shoe store. Tim shivered, but his snow pants kept him dry. It was harder to get around in these, but they were warmer. 

Tim looked at the man’s shaking hands in the cold. “Do you have a name?” He asked, taking some gloves out of his pocket and handing them to the man. “Everyone walks past you and ignores you. I’ve seen you around since I was a baby.” The man used to speak more clearly, if just as strangely. Tim remembered when he would have conversations with random objects. Now his voice was really shaky and he couldn’t seem to form full sentences anymore.

The man struggled to get the gloves onto his hands, fingers numbed by cold and by some kind of disability that made all his movements strange or jerky. Maybe it was making his voice worse. Was it a degenerative condition? “A…A name…” He looked up at the sky, it was already getting dark, and the last bits of sunlight reflected off the clouds. “My na-naame, I had…” He shut his eyes. “I had a name…” He suddenly clutched his head and groaned. “I ca-can’t thinnnk about the pa’ anymore. Time hurts, it hurts!” 

Tim grabbed his arm in alarm. “Forget it, it’s ok! If you don’t have a name, maybe we can think of one!” 

The man uncurled and looked at the hand on his coated arm. No one had done that in years. “...A new one?” He rocked back and forth for a minute, eyes searching around for something. 

The teenager nodded, this wasn’t how he’d planned for this to go, but the homeless man needed help, and he wanted to help out if he could. “Yeah! Um…Uh…” He looked around and saw the holiday menu on the Beanie’s sign. “What about Noelle? Or maybe Noah if that’s too feminine?” The man scrunched up his face in concentration. 

“Noelle.” The man repeated the name a few times, each time less slurred than the last. “...I hav’a name now.” Noelle smiled, turning to Tim. “Thanks! That’s good stuff isn’t- yeah, pretty…good.” Tim watched how badly he was shivering. The cold was making things even worse. The cold makes your head foggy, or that’s what it does to Tim. A car went by, a green one. “Tim, thanks.” 

“How do you know my name?” 

“Whose…name?” Noelle looked around for another person, but they were the only ones on this street right now. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter over his body, and Tim noticed the buttons were all snapped or missing. Or the hole was torn and too big to keep the button in place. Noelle couldn’t close his coat anymore. 

Tim shook his head. “Never mind. Well, Noelle, I wanted to give you something. You’re broken, right? Your brain is broken, and you can’t do stuff normally anymore right? That’s why you do all those weird things all the time, and follow Peter around.” 

Noelle nodded. “Petey…” Tears formed in his eyes, which confused Tim, but he pushed forwards. He hadn’t planned this out very well, but something inside him told him to come to Noelle and help him. 

“Well, I’m broken too.” Tim gestured to his leg, which was currently sitting in an awkwardly painful position which Tim couldn’t feel. “My body got messed up, and I think my heart is broken, or…something inside me got broken when I was younger. See, broken people have to help each other.” Tim felt weird, this wasn’t how he usually talked, but he wasn’t sure if Noelle would understand him otherwise. Tim didn’t know how to explain these things. “I want to help you. If we don’t help each other, who will? Becky serves at the soup kitchen, but you always get there after it closes so she can’t give you anything.” He pulled out a gift wrapped box and offered it to Noelle. “So, maybe this will help.” 

Noelle happily took the box and looked at Tim. “New box!” 

“No, it’s in the box, it’s- it’s in the box Noelle.” Had Noelle ever been given a Christmas present before? Tim felt tears freeze on his cheeks. He should’ve done this years ago. Tim helped him unwrap the gift, revealing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles watch. “My uncle Wilbur always tells me that it’s important to keep the time, so maybe if you have a watch too you can get to the kitchen before it closes.” Tim felt self conscious. “Sorry, I thought it would be better to use a cheaper watch so I can replace it for you if it gets broken, and if I got an expensive one it might get stolen from you. Is this ok?” 

Noelle stared at the ticking clock, fascinated by it. “Tick…Tock…” He nodded distractedly and slipped the watch onto his wrist. “What time?” Noelle had a weird cast to his eyes as he looked at the watch-face. 

Tim waved for Noelle to look at him. “It’s from 4pm to 6pm, so from here-” He made the clock time with his arms. “To there. As long as you come during that time, we can help you.” Tim looked at Wiggly, and then back to the man. “If you need more help, I want you to do this special knock, and then I’ll know it’s you. Blinky says you won’t hurt me, and even if you tried, Wiggly wouldn’t let you. So knock on my window and I’ll wake up to help you.” Tim knocked on the wall in a simple but strange way. “Ok, you do it.” 

Noelle tried, messing it up a few times before he got it down. “...That?” 

“Yeah, just knock like that on my window. In the box is a map to my house, and where my window is. I wanna help you, but don’t come unless you really need me, ok?” Tim waved Wiggly over and dug his water bottle out of his bag. “And…You can have this too, so you can get water from the fountains and take it with you.” 

Noelle held the water bottle and box in his arms, crying as his face made a strange smile. “Tha’s really nice. Thank you!” His eyes cleared for a moment, as if he was actually seeing Tim. His voice changed, and it sounded really familiar. “Tim…You’re the Hudson kid, you used to go to Beanie’s all the time, and you had a donut every time we ran into each other. I was trying to ask out- out- I…” The cloudiness came back to him and the strange smile returned along with his normal voice. “...Thanks…” 

Tim swallowed and wiped his eyes, a little disturbed by the exchange. It was much weirder for him to have clarity and then go back to his usual than to just be strange. “Um…right. Well, well, merry Christmas Noelle. I hope you can get soup now. Goodbye.” 

“See’a kid! Merry merry merry- that. Merry!” He called as Wiggly gave him his crutches back and they headed home. Well, not home, but to Lex’s place for a Christmas party, with his Dad’s permission, of course.  

Wiggly glanced back at the man. “Do you know who he is?” Tim noticed the testing tone he had.

“No one knows who he is, or where he came from. I feel bad for him… Do you know him, Wiggly?” 

His friend paused and shook his head. “No, Tim, I do not.” Tim looked at him, something felt off about his answer, but Wiggly didn’t usually hide things if it wasn’t for a good reason. “You did a very good thing friendy wend.” 

Tim smiled and accepted his friend’s silent offer to carry him back, the crutches held by semi transparent tentacles that sort of waved around them. “I feel much better, knowing he has some gloves now. Thanks for buying those.” 

“Mhm, now it’s time to open those presents you made us. I’ve very excited Timmly wim.” Tim snickered at the name and relaxed his neck, looking up at the sky. It was dark enough that no one would’ve been able to see Wiggly’s magic extra limbs anyways. 

“You’re going to love them. All of you. I spent a long time making these.” It was Tim’s idea to give the brothers and sister their presents on Christmas Eve so they could spend the day with their respective favorite people. Tinky had invited himself to Peter’s house for the day. 

Wiggly met his eyes and gave him a smile. “I have a few gifts for you as well, and I think you’ll like them.” Wiggly’s smile stretched to a grin. “You may need some more wrapping paper.” 

Tim grinned back. “You’re the best, you know that right?” 

“Of course I do. I’m the king of Hatchetfield.” He gestured to the crown with a tentacle, which was hidden and poking from under his winter cap. The hat didn’t do much since it wouldn’t fit over his head properly, but Tim thought it was funny and didn’t point out how useless the hat actually was. 

“Yep! Kings and Queens and all the inbetweens! Let’s go party!!” Tim cheered. The two continued to talk as they made their way to Lex’s house.

[limon-rat]

My confidence is slowly dwindling but I forced myself to post this, anxiety be damned.

"A look at Richie and Ruth's last thoughts. And their final ones too."

(it's a bit more bloody and blunt than my previous things so just be careful <3)

[nerdyenby]

I’m cracking myself up because we as a fandom more or less agreed that Grian being afk was something to do with the watchers but I just gave him heatstroke

[aliensubstance-xxx]

Michie series!

Hello! I started writing a Michie series!

It does focus mainly on Max and his redemption (which is not focused on Richie, only kickstarted by him.) It does include smut chapters which are pretty important to the plot of the series, so only read if you're comfortable with that! I am producing more chapters literally as I post this.

The first chapter can also stand alone if you just want to read pretty much straight smut :)

[book-em-dano]

T’noy Karaxis v. Jagerman: In the case of who gets torture rights of Ted Spankoffski - Nerdlife32 - Hatchetfield Series - Team StarKid [Archive of Our Own]

Please let me know what yall think. You guys should also know I was dying while writing this.

[neoyuno]

no cuz u really have to write a jaehyun x wonwoo x reader fic 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

I have been thinking about this so much tbh, but I didn’t think anyone would be interested. :o What scenarios could we make? Hmmm…

[nerdieforpedro]

Wyrms and Soggy Milk

Chapter Three of Fire and Fury

Pero Tovar x Calista (fat/plus size OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Arriving at the church was supposed to be a reprieve, it proves to be anything but. By the end of their continued troubles , Pero ends up confused and in a tub. Calista may have the advantage.

Warnings: (Dark Fic/DDDNE - violence and threats of SA) time-period misogyny, blood, mentions of some gore, insults, mention of sex work, way too much milk talk, unlawful use of scales (unsure if there's a lawful use?), Pero in a tub

Word Count: about 5.2k

Notes: I tried my best with writing fight scenes, I think the chapter ended up long because of it but they should make sense. It’s my second or third time writing one so I’m hopeful? 🤔 Let me know how it reads.

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Meeting the Father

The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached the church Pero and William had stopped by before heading into the forest yesterday. The trio had settled from their bickering as fatigue and hunger quieted them. Father Ignacio spotted them in the distance. He recognized the two men, but had never seen the woman before, she didn’t look like anyone from his flock from the nearby village.

As the small group comes closer, the priest is able to make out more details about the woman with the two mercenaries: this does not bode well for him. He was hopeful maybe she was older, but she appears young, full-bodied with a silver and light green dress stained with blood. Her hair is an unusual mix of the same mint green and black. What draws Father Ignacio is her lips, a vibrant bold pink. Such a color on a woman and given her clothing, he assumes that the two men have found a woman of the night to share for the night possibly, though there is something about her that doesn’t quite fit with the usual defeated look of those women. For one to enter the church, he must make it clear to Pero and William that no matter what they may have paid for, no such activity can take place under God’s house.

“Hey Father! I found him! I found Pero! You were wrong, though I’m not quite sure what happened after but we’re all okay I think.” William bounced up to the older gentleman and hugged him. Pero scoffed and Calista stood behind the Spaniard. She’s weary of men in robes, they tend to call her kind the embodiment of evil and try to hunt them. Not that any of their so-called holy relics to any more than make dragons itch. She feels vulnerable since she knows she’s weaker than normal. 

“I see that Will. Who is your lady companion? I don’t remember either of you mentioning a third person.” Father Ignacio’s eyes are fixed on Calista, those sinful lips, bright honey eyes that have what looks to be paint on her eyelids. Some of the noblewomen wore adornments like that on their faces. Draws men into temptation, makes them commit acts they wouldn’t normally. But she cannot be turned away, the sun is nearly gone from the sky now and darkness is taking hold of the heavens. Such horror would befall a woman like her if left alone. “What is your name my girl?” The priest didn’t mean for it to sound vulgar, but she brings it out of him. He’ll need to be far away from her but this woman proves captivating. The Father would rather not put too much distance between them. A healthy about, room enough for The Lord if you will.

“This is Calista. We rescued her from some wolves in the forest. She’s staying with us so we can see her into town. She got lost while traveling.” William explained and Pero nodded. Ignacio assumed that what the pale one said was indeed a lie, but one to likely preserve her dignity given who the priest believes she really is. 

“That will not be acceptable William. She’ll need her own room. This is the house of the Lord after all. Come. Let’s get the three of you cleaned and fed.” He smiles and William returns it, Pero does briefly and Calista doesn’t smile at all. They follow the older man into the inner part of the church past the congregation hall. He stops and points that William and Pero will share a room at the end of the long hallway they have turned down. Calista’s room would be in the middle of the hallway since normally there are men studying to be priests there but given the notoriety or the forest, few come to accept the call. 

“I would prefer to stay with my protectors, good sir.” Calista informed the priest, feeling the words were foreign on her tongue. He’s been watching her this entire time. She may be a young dragon and had limited experience in the human world but she knows how many men view women, especially men whose eyes follow her with such clear intentions. Instinctively, she crosses her arms to cover her chest, much of which is exposed from the low cut of her dress. Now he wishes to separate her from the group, such a basic tactic.

“I agree with the lady Father. She is our responsibility and should remain with us.” Pero steps between her and the Father. He knows men like this priest, who act holier than most but if given the funds, access and anonymity, they would live in a brothel. Father Ignacio takes a step back, the Spaniard is intimidating to say the least and the priest is sure that he has no qualms about spilling blood in a house of God. William is watching the exchange between the three and is trying to think of a compromise, it’s a bad one, but it’s better than being run out of the village for killing this man.

“Father. Pero. Let’s just sort this out.” His hands are raised as the pale warrior speaks. “Now, Father,” William turns to face Ignacio, “Miss Calista is under our protection. We can’t very well leave her unattended and unguarded, that would go against the agreement we’ve made to see her safely home.” He slaps his palms on the Father’s shoulders and smiles. “Now I believe, there should be two sleeping quarters next to each other because I know that’s what your true issue lies despite it not being a true concern at all.” The priest begrudging looks at Calista, then Pero, and back to Calista. He is not convinced that there will not be some sort of illicit activity happening, but it is also a fair alternative. He has lost this round, but the battle is not over yet.

“Fine young William. I shall show you all two rooms that should work and are side by side.” The older man huffs and walks down the long hallway and turns the corner. Neither William nor Pero realized the church was quite this large when they first came here though they’d only been in the vestibule and chapel, never any further. Calista’s head is swiveling side to side observing the tapestries hanging on the wall, gold and silver adorning the walls and various prayers etched in Latin. That part seemed strange, usually words aren't etched into the walls of churches. There's too many questions raised about these priests here to Calista, but she remains silent for now. She needs to keep playing the part of the helpless woman. She hated the role and that it was closer to the truth than she would ever admit. The four finally reached the two rooms that Ignacio had to offer. Each room had two twin beds, were clean, had a nightstand and two candles each that could be lit for light. There was a door in the middle connecting the two rooms, the priest said that he would be right back with a change of clothes for each of them. The three inspected the rooms and were satisfied by the accommodations. 

“I'm looking forward to sleeping somewhere soft.” Calista plopped down on one of the twin beds in the first room, Pero was finishing up a walk through of the second room, it was quick as both rooms were equally small. William nodded, sitting across from the young dragon on the opposite bed. He sighed and was trying to figure out better sleeping arrangements, this wasn't what he expected from a man of the cloth. He looked for the good in people which wasn't always there, no matter what their station or profession. Pero stood with arms crossed, scowl on his face per usual, except this time he was squinting his eyes at William.

“William, we can't stay here. I don't care what you told that priest. I know you're still recovering from what that gray dragon did but you saw how that bastard-” He raises his hand and Pero huffs. 

“Look, I know Pero. How was I supposed to know he was like this? He's a priest!” William laments, rubbing his temples. Normally, the church takes any and everyone who walks through their doors. Apparently, the two mercenaries have the unfortunate luck of finding one of the corrupt ones. Always their lot. One break, could they just get one break?!

“You can't trust any of them. They're all assholes. How are we getting out of here?” The Spaniard is set on leaving. Calista rolls her eyes and stands to pinch Pero's nose. “Mierda (shit)! What was that for?!” He quickly grabs his nose as she takes a step back, clicking her tonuge. 

“You two are ridiculous. Yes, he is disgusting, but there are warm beds and you're forgetting that I am a dragon - human form yes, but a dragon. It will be in that priest's best interest to leave me be. If he does not, he'll go meet the god he speaks of.” Her eyes flash jade to match the wicked smile that graces her face. Pero throws his hands up and sits on the bed opposite William where Calista once sat. 

“Do what you want, dragón pequeño (little dragon). You're clearly going to.” Pero still hates this entire idea. He'd sleep outside at this rate, and he always prefers a bed over the ground any day. Calista was about to make another remark, but there's a knock at the door. Father Ignacio is back.

William is the one who answers the door, he knows if Pero answers it, he might punch the father in the face to start. A forced smile is on his face as he greets the portly priest, hopefully for the last time tonight. “I brought changes of clothes for all three of you. You can wash up before eating.” Is what the older man leads with. Gods, he won't quit will he?

“Thank you Father. We're tired so we're just going to wash our hands, eat, sleep, then be up early in the morning. Want to get Calista safely to the village. Need an early start for that.” At this point, just having food and uninterrupted sleep are luxuries. Frowning, Ignacio nods and carries the clothes as he walks the trio to a small wash area where two seminarians are finishing up cleaning their hands before quickly leaving upon seeing the two mercenaries. Their eyes linger on Calista as it's rare for women to be in this part of the church outside of the nuns who visit on occasion and especially during the night. After washing their hands, sitting down to eat a meal was not the worst. Their bellies were full for the time being and the stew had a passible taste. The walk back to their rooms was unaccompanied by the good father. Pero insisted that Calista sleep in one of the twin beds and William sleep on the floor. He could use one of the mattresses. When asked why he would be the one to sleep on the floor, Pero snickered.

“You made a fuss about stopping in at the local church. Even though I told you we would have been better off to skip it. That's your bed.” At this, William sucked his teeth. Yeah he had told Pero that, but in all the other churches they've visited in their travels, only one other priest was filled with something other than the holy spirit.

“Fine. I'll just be happy to be on something other than the ground, though it won't be much better. As long as I can finally get some sleep.” Pero and William dragged a mattress off one of the beds in the other room and placed it on the floor. Calista gave William her blanket stating that she was still warm from the stew. 

“Don't complain you're cold later.” Is all Pero said before pulling his blanket over himself and rolling over to face the wall. William and Calista looked at each other and sighed, they exchanged goodnights, “Be quiet. I thought we were all supposed to be sleeping.” The three drifted off to sleep for a few hours. But one of them woke up. 

Getting out of bed, Calista thankfully retained her enhanced vision, able to see Pero and especially William so she wouldn't step on him. She exited the room and stood in the hallway. It was slightly cooler, but her body still felt so warm, from the inside out. She ate the same soup as the two men and neither one of them was awake. Was it because she's a dragon and not used to human food? She recalled where the mess hall was and assumed there should be a kitchen not too far from there, somewhere she could get something to drink, preferably water. She passed by one of the seminarians who directed her to the kitchen and walked with Calista, even pouring some water for her. He asked if she wanted to be escorted back and she declined stating that she won't be long, she misses her warm bed already. He gives her a slight bow and leaves which gives her pause, why would he bow? She leans against one of the counters, sipping the water slowly, she's hoping that will make the cool feeling last a bit longer.

“Your senses have become quite dull Calista. You have fallen quite far, you might be in what the humans refer to as hell right now. Quite ironic given where we are.”

Calista’s back straightens and she gags on her water, coughing as she spins to turn in the direction of the voice. It's a man who's a full head taller than her, but still shorter than Pero. His build is slender, but muscular. His voice is high pitched with every word wounding like a sneer. She knows it all too well, but what would he be doing here? It's much too soon, neither her nor Pero are ready to encounter him here. They're both still adjusting to their new forms. 

“Nothing to say to me sweet Calista? Where is that fiery spark that cut me before?” Setting the glass down, the young dragon slowly backs up, keeping her eyes focused on her would-be attacker. She knows he will, just a matter of when, she's still burning up, even after finishing the water. “Trying to leave me so soon. You want to run back to your new human toy? I wasn't aware that was your type. I could see how I would not be a match for you. That matters little, it only means I'll have to work that much harder to breed you.”

“To hell with you Acanthus! I will never allow you to.” Her eyes flash jade once more and she lengthens her nails into crimson claws. She'll need to fight to have a sliver of a chance to make it out. Focusing is so difficult. He closes the distance as she jumps back, only to be caught by Father Ignacio, he was not only a filthy minded priest, but a wyrm. A lesser dragon that can be under the command of a young, great or elder dragon. His facial features have contorted into a longer, more reptilian face with a long tongue that slides across Calista's cheek while his black claws dig into the flesh of her shoulders. She shakes side to side to try and free herself, but she's too weak to even escape his grasp. “Dammit! Dammit!” Calista tries to call for Pero, summoning him using the same mental command she used when he fought her mother, but she can't seem to connect with him. 

“Her skin even tastes sweet, Master. May I have a taste? While she is in this form? She is of little use to you in this form, yes?” Ignacio's speech has become subservient and simple. How did she miss it? What else has she not picked up on? Her senses are truly this poor? Did she miscalculate how much of herself she transferred to Pero? Acanthus smiles, his skin has a gray pallor to it, even in his human form that makes him look like a ghoul, matched with his yellow eyes and red lines on his neck, it isn't that far off from his dragon form. 

“I may allow you to do so my minion while I watch. She'll be begging for me afterward. This one is quite depraved and that's coming from me as you well know Calista.” Her eyes widen at the implication, she spits on Acanthus’ white and silver robes. “What makes this better is that you don't even know why you can't call your toy? Did you not notice the change in your body? I had the good father behind you add something special to your bowl of soup. A few of my scales for seasoning. You didn't forget what that does right?” His thin fingers cup her chin as she stares at him, realizing the gravity of the situation. Consuming his scales means that she's connected to him. Even for the week that he held her captive, she managed to avoid eating them, no matter how hard he tried. It was why she was so hungry, eating anything in his lair could have meant a loss of control. Maybe due to her essence bond with Pero, that's why she wasn't under his command, but it also meant that she couldn't reach him either.

Dreams into Reality

Tovar doesn't often remember his dreams. There's darkness and then he awakes, lives, sleeps and repeats. Tonight is the first time in a long time that he dreams. That damn dragon is in his dream, holding his head on her lap. Stroking his hair, never would she do something so tender. She hates him and he hates her too. He is aware that he needs her to stay alive, that much is certain. That disgusting priest pops up, leering at Calista, but Pero doesn't move, head still in her lap and neither does she. Fire begins to burn around them and they disappear, the next thing he knows is that he is standing. Calista is in front of him, but that dirty old man is holding her arms behind her. Why won't she break free? Pero knows she's strong enough, but she's crying. He hears a man's shrill laughter and Calista screaming.

Pero awakens with his head pounding, he notices a faint green glow in the room, it seems to be coming from his head, the left side where his scar is. “What the hell is this? Is this what happened before? Wait…” Pero looks over at Calista's side of the room and sees her bed empty. “Godammit this fucking woman! Get up William! She's gone and likely in danger!” Rising out of bed, Pero kicks Will's side and grabs his broadsword and small swords, arming himself before leaving the room. Will is soon right behind him still groggy. Tovar finds that he can't pinpoint where she is, just a general direction. “This way!” He starts off down the corridor but is met by two of the seminarians. “Choir boys out of the way lest I cut you both down!” Will draws his sword as he and Pero watch them change into large snakes.

“If I ever mention, setting foot in a damn church again. Punch me hard Pero and remind me of this moment.” Will lunges toward the first snake cutting its head off with ease, the purple blood that splatters on the wall eats away at the tapestry and stone. “Be careful! Looks like the blood is high acidic!” Pero makes short work of the other snake, lobbing its head off and having some of the blood splash on his cuirass, it eats through part of it, exposing the leather under the iron. The two men race toward the mess hall where they hear a scream and a crash.

The white dragon is laughing as he sees Ignaco bleeding from a severed arm. “Master, why will you not help me?!” He whines, Acanthus sits on the counter shaking his head. His master had promised him a taste of this dragon turned human, to play with her before he took her back to his lair. Ignacio almost had her. Calista had been pinned to the ground, but she was able to get in a fire breath directly in his face. It didn't hurt him much, but with her claws she was able to take an arm and use it to get a few hits to the wyrm’s head before it broke in half. The entire ordeal was entertaining to the white dragon. Watching his future broodmare fight filled him with an unwarranted pride, the mother of his hatchlings needed to be strong after all. 

Battered and bloodied, Calista didn't see a way out alive. Her best bet would be to end her life while killing this wyrm. If she tried earlier, Acanthus would step in and let the wyrm have her arm or no arm. If she did so after, she would risk trying to overpower the white dragon which she knew was impossible in her current state. it had been difficult enough in her full dragon form. There were no good options, but at least Pero might be none the wiser and would go peacefully in his sleep, maybe. He may have been a rude bastard, but he did try and help her for the little time she knew him. She could have been nicer, but it was too late to dwell on that now. “Maybe he wasn't so bad. Not a complete reprobate.”

“That right arpia pequeña (little dragon)? Only upon threat of death do you say something nice about me? Dragons have the same manners as humans then.” A silver blade met Calista a few inches away from her face, leaving her covered with purple blood. It didn't burn her nor her dress as both were naturally resistant. The wyrm fell to the floor convulsing in pain from the hole in its chest.

“Master…help me. I…my promise…” Its eyes alternated between Calista and Acanthus, ending on its Master as the light faded from them. Pero and William leaped to stand in front of Calista as she smiled, a genuine one at the both. Her focus quickly turned to Acanthus who wore a similar scowl to Pero's now.

“The two rats have come to play have they? No matter. I'll kill the pale one and separate your limbs from your body so you cannot pursue us mercenary.” Red and white flames gathered in his hands as he got off the counter.

“Why the hell are you calling me pale? You’re the one who looks like spoiled milk!” William shouts and Pero snorts. The white dragon answers with a fireball in William's direction, he rolls out of the way, but now the wooden counter is on fire. Pero uses the opportunity to try and slice Acanthus’ head off, but the dragon catches his blade with his hands, his surprise is that his hands are bleeding.

“It seems the bond you have with her is stronger than I thought. No matter. I'll still kill you.” He pulls Pero's broadsword down and breathes white flames in the mercenary's face. Calista threw up a jade barrier to protect him, it did but unfortunately it broke. William took the opportunity to sink his sword into Acanthus’ side. The white dragon growled and threw the pale mercenary off, his sword still stuck in his abdomen. “Filthy human scum!!” The villain's eyes turn white and flames simmer from his body. Calista recognizes the pattern on the flames, Acanthus is preparing for a large-scale attack. The young dragon pulls Pero by his chainmail and dives near William to huddle the three of them together and forms another barrier.

“Brace yourselves! I don't know if I can completely block it!” Calista raises the jade again. She's forgone her crimson claws and is focusing all her energy into the barrier. Pero places a hand on her shoulder and feels some of his energy fading, he leans his forehead on the back of her shoulder. Will huddles close to the both of them as the heat in the room intensifies and the flames off of Acanthus’ body are becoming brighter. All three of them close their eyes to prevent being blinded and there's a loud boom coupled with an explosion. 

They thought they would be knocked against the walls of the church, but there were none anymore. William was the furthest back so he ended up hitting some rubble on the side of the church. Only one wall far opposite of the kitchen was left standing, the rest had either been completely obliterated or were dotted pieces of smoldering stone embedded into the ground. William’s sword that had been stuck in Acanthus’ side was sticking out of one of the nearby stones, flung from his body. The sun was rising and Pero was face down in the dirt once more. Twice in two days. “Fuck…” His entire body ached but it at least felt like he had all of his limbs. His head is ringing and he can at least make out shapes though given how much rubble is everywhere it doesn't help much. There's some movement that he can make out followed by a deep growl. Pero assumes that's the damn white dragon but that when his sight finally clears upon hearing the word ‘bastard’ screamed with a wet gurgle. Acanthus has his hand on Calista's throat, her claws are much shorter but she's making cuts in his forearm, he's lifted her up off the ground. 

“Did you enjoy your last little bit of freedom? I think I will kill them both. I’ll figure out a way to end the one with the scar. That bastard burned my hands? How much of yourself did you give to him?” Acanthus bends his arm to close the distance between them. He sees the fear in her eyes buried underneath the hatred. “You care about one of their ilk? They vilify us despite us only bothering them if they trespass on our lands. Such a horrid fortune I have that you are the only viable female our clan has to offer.”

“Then go find another one asshole.” Calista continues to struggle, she won’t go with him willingly and not without a fight. “And yes I prefer Pero to you.” She laughs and spits blood in the white dragon’s face. “Will’s right, you do look like spoiled milk. A dingy shade of white.” He spins her around and throws her against one of the larger pieces of remaining stone. The young dragon gasps, coughing up blood as she attempts to move but cannot. Her body isn't allowing it. Pero is able to stand to his feet as his left eye glows a bright jade again, only this time, green flames have gathered in his right hand.

“Stay the hell away from her you soggy fucker!” Acanthus expects to be able to stop Pero, maybe even a burn this time as well. He did not anticipate being pushed back and needing to dig his heels into the ground. Their fingers were interlocked and their flames burning in nearly equal amounts. It was the first time Acanthus had appeared surprised during this entire ordeal. Neither of them were giving a quarter as the ground began to sizzle. “What's wrong? Is one of the filthy humans holding you hostage?” Pero taunts and hears the white dragon growl. 

Calista is finally on her feet watching the two men be evenly matched. It occurs to her that they might be able to kill him here. She focuses and circles behind the soggy dragon, putting all the energy she was left into her right hand, sharpening her scarlet claws. She starts running, building momentum to strike him from behind and hit him square in the chest for a final blow. In strengthening herself, Pero weakened slightly, enough for Acanthus to push the mercenary back and change the angle at which her attack was going to hit. She was going too fast and couldn't change her direction. Her claws went through Acanthus, but missed his core. Thankfully, it was a strong enough hit to have him cry out in pain. Tovar attempted to bash his face in, but a white barrier repelled them as the grand dragon held his hand over the hole in his chest.

“You bitch…the audacity to harm me?! Next time I will end you, all of you! To hell with breeding you, you'll suffer a slow death Calista.” Acanthus attempted to transform into his dragon form but found that he could not. “The hell have you done to me?!” 

Calista pointed to the back of her hand that was covered in his blue blood. Half of one of her magenta scales was missing. It glimmered within the hole in his chest, the scale itself was seeping into the surrounding tissue, weakening him. “Looks like you're on our level now, spoiled milk.” He screamed a string of curses while extending white wings from his back and taking off. Pero stood up and helped the young dragon to her feet. “Ran like a soggy bitch.” The Spaniard laughed at the woman's foul mouth.

“We survived. How did you know that would work?” He was curious if she'd planned that far ahead. Pero retrieved his sword and Will's then scanned the area for him.

“I figured if he could poison me with his scales, I could do the same. I didn't know if it would work or not. That was some favor with whatever gods there are.” Placing her hands on her lower back, she stretches and points to a large piece of stone where Will is slumped over. Tovar and Calista make their way over and are relieved to find William breathing. 

“Figured you'd half ass something again. Do you ever plan anything woman? You're the fucking dragon.” Pero scoffs and puts one arm of William’s over his shoulder as Calista does the same. 

“Oh? When's the last time you fought a grand dragon Pero? Or bonded someone's soul to yours? I'm new to all of this too. Stop your complaining and show me the way to the village. Maybe this time we can actually sleep in a bed for more than a few hours.” Calista rolls her eyes and walks side by side with Tovar to balance Will between them. They mainly bicker most of the way.

Once finally at the village, they decide the best course of action is to leave Will with a woman who he saved on one of their last jobs here. Her husband may have suspiciously died during said job, but unexpected things happen as a mercenary. Pero did offer her two gold coins to care for him, but she offered to do it for free. Instead, the money was used for a room at the inn. Tovar was surprised that Calista did not argue for a seperate room. 

“There's a lot we'll need to discuss and take care of Pero. No need to waste money.” Is what she told him which he was fine with. They have needed to talk about what changes both their bodies have been through since this entire ‘bonding’ process has taken place. 

What Tovar is confused about is why Calista is standing before him while he's soaking in his large bathtub on the floor. Naked.

Chapter Two. Chapter Four

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 1: Cat Adams

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4986

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you finally understand what is going on. and that leaves you more lost than ever.

a muted shade of green masterlist

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The first thing you notice is the colour of the walls– beige and cold and not green. You don’t say anything to Spencer, though; you couldn’t even if you tried. Not with all those eyes on you. Your visitor’s pass clicks and clanks against the buttons of your shirt and your hands still shake, even with how tightly they are holding onto your bag. Morgan and Spencer have been very careful to not make too many sudden moves near you, but they are not the problem, it’s the situation. It’s the fact that Spencer doesn’t tell you who is Cat Adams. Is the fact that they made you put your phone in a metal box before entering the building, and then proceed to talk about as if you are not right there. 

“She’s going to need a security detail,” Morgan sighs, sunglass finally off and it knocks your breath away how worried he looks. He can’t really hide it, you think, not with how expressive his eyes are. Spencer, on the other hand, is unreadable. His face is set and frozen in a blank expression that has all the hair on your arms standing up. He doesn’t speak, though, and that is probably the first time you’ve ever seen Spencer Reid that quiet. “Kid, are you listening to me?” 

“Security detail won’t do,” Is all he says before guiding you out of the elevator and into an open space filled with office desk, trapped inside those god awful beige walls. Fuck, you think you are starting to hate beige; that specific shade of it. You hate how it numbs out everything inside, how trapped it makes you feel. No one really talks to you, but from the way they stare, it’s quite obvious that they know what Spencer won’t tell you. 

At this point, there are various things happening inside of you and you can’t quite keep up with them all. Your stomach is roaring, sending sharp jolts of pain up and down your torso and you wince a little with each step you take. In turn, each step you take has you wobbling on unstable legs, and you take deep breaths to try and keep it together. Though every time you inhale, your lungs burn from the panic that lingers in the back of your brain. And finally, you brain, tired and overused, still seems to have an issue with processing the situation, and it takes you to a time that no longer exists– a time in which Spencer laughed at your literary themed jokes, or when he would come with coffee and nothing more than a smile. You understand now, why he kept you in the dark about his job; you understand the weight that this job has on him. 

It makes you wonder if it’s a weight you’re strong enough to carry on your shoulders.

By the time you blink yourself awake from your world of past memories, there are people around you and you don’t recognise any of them. Somehow, you are seated at what looks like a very typical office desk; the chair swivels as you look around. The copy of The Argonauts on the desk is a dead giveaway of whose desk you are on, but then why isn’t he here? Why did he bring you to this cold, cold place and left you by yourself? Why– “Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

There are two women next to you, one to your right and one to your left. You don’t like how they make you feel like a cornered animal, but their faces show nothing but understanding and compassion, and you don’t feel like being a bitch will help your situation. Your anger, building higher and stronger with each passing second, is not because of them, and you are many things, but you like to think you are not unfair. “Yeah,” You croak out, gulping the ball of emotions that seemed to be stuck halfway down your throat, making it hard to talk or breathe without your lower lips wobbling pathetically. 

“Y/N, my name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ. This is Emily, we both work with Reid.” 

It takes you a second to know who they are talking about. For you, it’s never Reid. It’s Spencer when you are laughing at one of his rants about something so niche and specific that you couldn’t find it anything other than amusing. It’s Spence when you’re heart is full and the butterflies are awake. And it’s Favourite Customer when you want to tease him. It’s never just… Reid. “Spencer,” You nod, embarrassed by your own need to say his full name. You don’t want to need him, right now, but you can’t help but look around the open bullpen. His wild, shaggy hair is nowhere to be seen and you don’t understand how the sweet man that stole your heart can do something like this. You are scared and confused and he just left you with strangers. “I uh, I’m sorry, but wha-what’s going on? No one will tell me anything, and I think I have the right to now why Spence had a gun and why I was dragged away from my shop and–“

If you had anything in your stomach, you’d vomit again but all you manage is to double forward a little, the pain of your hunger and your nausea together starting to get a little too much when the added stress of being alone with strangers got added into the mix. “Here,” JJ pushes a packet of saltines towards you. “Got into them when I was pregnant with my boys and now I always keep one here. It’ll be good to eat something, Morgan mentioned you got sick.”

“Thank you, I– Penelope?” Seeing her there, with her pinks and oranges and yellows, makes as little sense as seeing Spencer with a gun. Her warmth and happiness don’t fit in a place like this, that, so far, has only brought you anxiety. 

“Y/N! Oh my god, sweet, pretty Y/N!” For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you chuckle. And it breaks you down inside, how fragile you must seem for Penelope to wobble towards you in such high heels and yet, hug you with the utmost care in the world. It’s in her arms that you start crying again. “Oh no, no no no, don’t cry, it’s okay… You’re safe here.” 

“Safe from what?” You wail, and if Spencer had bothered enough to be there, that would’ve been the first time he would have seen you raising your voice. 

Ever since you were little, you never raised your voice. As an adult, it has happened once or twice, but never at someone specifically. Your nature is that of a more reserved person, someone who enjoys the spectator role a bit too much and prefers to observe from afar. There is power in knowledge, and it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone that you value the little bit of it that you have– so much so, that you built a business in which you could gather all the knowledge you deemed special and worthy and important, and then you could share with other people. Sure, you don’t always feel like your job is significantly important for the betterment of the world, but every time a client leaves with a smile, you know you’re doing your part. 

“Cat Adams.” 

The name alone is enough to make you fall onto the chair again, body limp and drained. Spencer is back, but he’s off. His lips are pursed in that way he does when he is unsure of what to say and he’s hidden his hands inside his pockets. It’s his own way of keeping secrets, hiding his hands from you… and you don’t like it. For as long as you have known him, his excitement shone through his hands; it’s the fast movements and the wiggle of his fingers that always make you smile. It’s how he best communicates and now it’s how he pushes you away. “Miss Y/L/N,” There is a man in a suit standing next to him, and you shrink in your chair under his stare. It’s heavy and cold, and you think that if he looks at you for a second longer you might start crying all over again. “My name is Aaron Hotchner, I’m the unit chief for the BAU. Please, come with me and I’ll explain everything. JJ and Spencer, you too. Penelope, prepare to brief the team in 20.”

Part of you wants to tell him no just to see what would happen. It’s clear, from more than just his title, he’s in charge. Your one and only connection to these people and this place is Spencer, so he is your tell-tale. He is your magic ball. It’s a skill, rather than a gift, being able to sense people like this– it’s something that years in retail and sales have taught you– and right now, you see how Spencer shifts his weight from one leg to the other while looking at his boss, waiting for instructions as if he couldn’t come up with them himself, and that, more than anything else that has happened today, is what scares you the most. 

Because if a man like Spencer can’t come up with an answer for this specific issue, you are not sure anyone else can. 

—————————————

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” You are not above begging, hands balled into fists on your lap as you look up at Aaron Hotchner with pitiful eyes. You probably look messy, at this point, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you care about is you. And your store. And the fact that an hour has passed since you first got to that godforsaken office and no one seems to care; no one seems to care about your time or your personal affairs. 

They only care about that stupid package. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I apologise for the confusion we’ve caused, but I guarantee that everything that has been done so far was to keep you safe,” His words, as strong as they sound, don’t feel any more assuring than then tentative glance Spencer throws your way. 

“Oh god,” You breathe out, eyes wide while your mind ran circles around you. It is a dangerous thing, to let a literary lover imagine– your brain, filled with epic tales and unforgettable real stories, starts rushing towards the worst case scenario and you find yourself reaching out to hold at something, anything, that might make you feel grounded in reality again. It’s how soft Spencers suit feels in your fingertips that makes you realise you reached out for him. “Oh god, was that like, a bomb? Did I sign for a bomb? Oh god, Spencer, do people send you bombs? I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Spence, I–“ 

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Spencer is quick to interject, hands finally out of his pockets when he reaches out to hold your shoulders. His thumb gently caresses your arm and you try to breathe somewhat regularly, imitating the rise and fall of his chest like he is the beacon light bringing you back home in treacherous waves– like he is the only one you can trust in that place. “Y/N, it’s okay, it wasn’t a bomb. The contents of the package are not important and they were harmless. But we need you to focus. I know I scared you and that this is all very overwhelming, but you need to listen to Hotch. Please.” 

In your mind, you keep repeating those words to yourself– Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“Cat Adams is a prolific serial killer,” Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. “We’ve arrested her a few years ago and we believe she has resurfaced.” 

Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“And that she has been targeting Reid.”

With one panicked look his way, you say what the words stuck in your throat can’t convey– I can’t listen to Hotch anymore. “She… She is a serial killer,” You whisper, eyes focused on Spencer in search of a nod or a shake of his head. This is the FBI, but you only trust him. “And she is after Spencer. Okay, I uh– I need– I don’t know what I need.” 

If you asked Spencer, he would tell you that you have a certain something about you whenever you are tired. Your shoulders slump forward and your head fall on your hands in a desperate way to keep your neck upright. The lack of energy is almost visible in you, and sometimes he has to fight the urge to hold your head up for you. 

But you don’t ask Spencer. Actually, you don’t say anything at all; you let people talk about you and around you, but your brain shuts down with each and every word, unable to retain any more information. “Can I go home?” There is a minute of silence before Hotch sighs, shaking his head. “But you said you arrested her, correct? Therefore I shouldn’t be in any immediate danger. I mean, it’s not like she has access to USPS delivery data from prison, right?” The more you speak, the faster you try to get up. You’re not thinking straight, and with all due reason– there is no power left in you to do this. There is no energy, no will, no strength to keep on going because it feels like you’re running in circle. 

Spencer notices it, too, and in what can only be interpreted as a daring attempt to calm you down, he let his hand rest on your shoulder for a second. It’s a subtle way to tell his team to go easy on you, almost like he’s having a full conversation with Hotch without opening his mouth. You, however, don’t catch it, and you continue to try and push yourself upright and away from them. You need to get away from them.

“So she has no clue who I am and I have nothing to do with this because I’m just a bookseller! And I just happened to sell Spencer some books and we’re just friends!”

A wave of shame downs on you when the words leave your mouth, like you are admitting to failure when  you haven’t even had the chance to try it to begin with. It’s like you deny Spencer’s presence in your life as a whole, like he has no significant place or role next to you, and you can’t seem to meet his eyes even when he starts speaking. “Y/N, I am so sorry,” The choked out sound that escapes him is the only thing that makes you look, makes you raise your eyes to meet his and you gasp when you notice he is holding back tears. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was gone, that she was not a threat anymore, I–“ 

“Reid,” JJ sighs, and you see something in her that makes you shift in your chair, a bit uncomfortable with the way his name sounds coming from her lips. “Reid, she’s going to be alright. We will get some officers to keep watch by her place, and we can file a request for protective detail during the day.” 

“You know as much as I do that none of that will help!” Spencer’s voice gets higher and louder with each word and his hands are back at it again, flying around the room in frustration. You have never seen him like that before, and it scares you more to see him scared than to hear that you might now be placed under protective custody. 

“Spence,” This time, when your voice wobbles in fear, it’s not because of him. “Spence, is it really bad?” 

When you were little, you used to refuse to admit your were scared. You’d use any other word– frustrated, spooked, uncomfortable– but you would never admit fear. Your dad always thought it was the cutest thing, though, because despite you puffing your chest out and crossing your little arms over your chest, the one thing that always gave you away was the way your lips wobbled. Right now, you feel like that little kid again, refusing to admit to how you really feel but giving it all out anyways. 

Spencer’s eyes read you like a book. You can feel the weight of them, moving across your face, taking in the lines and expressions you make without even realising. It’s like every part of you is a new chapter, telling him more and more of a story he is yet to finish, and with a sigh, sad and defeated, he nods. “It’s really bad, Y/N, I’m so sorry… this is all my fault. I should’ve been honest with you, I should’ve told you what I did and who I worked for and all that it brings with it.”

“No, Spencer, this is not your fault,” You breathe out, reaching for him in a moment of weakness. Your anger is still there, still simmering at the way that, in a sense, this is very much his fault, but you manage to rise through it when his nervous hands try to reach for you but fall nimble by his sides instead. “I mean, it kind of is, but it isn’t. And it’s okay. I’ll be okay. Right? I’ll be–“

“You’ll be just fine,” Hotch interrupts. His brows are slightly raised and from the way he looks at Spencer you think he knows something you don’t, but you’ve been feeling like that ever since you’ve stepped into that office. Everyone around you knows something you don’t– they know things about each other, about Spencer, that you simply don’t, and that you think you never will. Because after this– this betrayal, this hurt, this fear– you just don’t think you and Spencer can coexist anymore. You don’t think you can forget, as hard as you might try, the sight of him holding that gun to your head. So for now, you try to calm down. For now, all you can do is try to calm down. “Miss Y/L/N, we need to asses the situation, understand if you are in any kind of immediate danger. While our team works on this, we will ask that you relocate. Do you have relatives you can call? Friends?”

Technically, you do. Your parents live in New York and so do most of your friends– all it takes is one call. But that is one call you really don’t want to make. “I don’t want to leave my store,” Looking down at your hands, you wonder how easy it is for them to see right through you. “I just moved here. I know it might sound stupid, specially considering the… you know, this whole situation. But my life is here now and I would rather stay, if, if that’s okay, of course, I mean, you know… best.” God, you look so uncomfortable trying to stand up to his boss that the pity in Spencer’s face is almost palpable. “Please.”

“Hotch, she can stay with me.”

“Do we think that is a good idea?” JJ frowns, and you can’t help but nod, looking at Spencer as if he’s insane.

“I– That’s a very kind offer, but isn’t she after you?” You manage to ask, looking around for any clue their team might give you. These guys are professionals, though, and they know how to keep up their masks of indifference. 

“Yes and no,” He explains, sighing before crouching next to where you sit. “Y/N, this woman– Cat– she is psychology disturbed. She is what we call a black widow, do you know what that is?”

You nod, blushing a little with how close he is to you. “I uh, I read a book that the main character was a black widow. Butter, by Asako Yuzuki.” 

His smile makes you melt a little, and you hate how weak you are to the little windows of personality he allows you to see from time to time. “Yeah, I like that book too. But… this is real life. Cat Adams goes after cheaters, liars.” 

“Then why is she after you?” 

“Because I lied to her,” He admits, your eyes stuck on his expression and if you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his jaw ticks in response to what you can only assume to be anger. But you are not, anyone else, you are very much so yourself, an observer, a quiet listener, and it just so happens that your favourite person to observe and listen to is Spencer Reid himself. “I was our decoy to capture her and now she sees me a as a game. Almost like, like a game of wits, to see who’s smarter, to see who will win. Is this making sense, Y/N? Do you need a break?”

“I just, I don’t understand where I fit. I was just housesitting for you, I could’ve been a complete stranger.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Hotch interrupted, leaning forward in such a somber way the hair on your arms stand up. “You have managed to get something she never did. Cat Adams is acting out in jealousy.”

“What did I get? I’m sorry, I don’t–“

“Me,” Spencer said, eyes piercing into yours. “You got me.” 

—————————————

By the time you make it back home, the moon is high and the roads are clear. It has been a while since you last got out of the house at the early hours of the morning. Fresh from the move and focused on your new store, making friends wasn’t at the top of your priority list when you landed, a year and something ago. Without someone to drag you out to bars or bribe you to go to clubs, you don’t really leave the house much at night, preferring the comfort of your own couch and the company of a book in the weekends. 

“You know,” For a second, you almost forget that he is right there behind you, and you jump a little when his voice echoes in your empty apartment. “You’ve been to my place so many times, but I never really even seen your apartment.” 

How do you tell him that there is not much to see, anyways? How do you tell Spencer that, in the time you’ve been here, the 365-plus-something days, you just never really thought about your apartment the same as your home? Your walls are empty, and it’s a little embarrassing, the way his brows shoot up when your turn on the lights. Besides your couch and a centre table, the place is almost empty. The TV stands on an old piece of furniture, a unit too dark and too classic to match with the rest of the things you have, and it’s a little too obvious that it came with the place and you were just too lazy to get rid of it. There is a singular throw pillow on the couch and a blanket, with a pile of books standing by the foot of it. But what really strikes him as odd, what really makes Spencer look around and make sure that yes, this is your apartment, is the fact that there are no shelves. There are no books, besides the four or five pilling up on the rug. 

“You know, for a book lover, you have… no books,” He mumbled, hands on his pocket as he offered you that smile you used to adore so much, but that now makes you a bit uneasy– tight lipped, never really reaching his eyes. “Why do you have no books?” 

“They are all downstairs,” You say, marching straight to your room to grab a backpack. “How many days do you think I’ll be staying with you?” 

“Honestly? Until we solve this.”

“…And how many days is that?”

From where he stands, he can’t see your sagged shoulders, trembling hands holding onto the blue backpack you had laying around the back of your wardrobe. “Pack for as long as you can,” He shouts from somewhere deep inside your place. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Too late for that,” You mumble to yourself, grabbing the closest items your found– a couple of shirts, sweaters, and jeans. After today, it’s not like you have much energy left to try and plan outfits ahead, so anything will do. 

It’s borderline funny, when you think about it… Just yesterday you were worried about what to wear, nervous hands sifting through your endless collection of sweaters to try and find just the right one for the day. Spencer visits you everyday, so everyday is a new day to impress him. You even start wearing makeup; a bit of mascara to make your eyes shine behind the glasses you refuse to wear, some blush to make the natural flush you get whenever he’s around seem more normal. It’s vain and futile, you know, but it makes you feel a tad more confident. A tad more… colourful. Like Penelope. “I think I’m ready,” You say once you’ve gathered all items you might need from the bathroom. “I’ll still be good to work, right?”

He nods, a smile on his face as if this is good news to him too. “Yes, we will have men stationed outside your store all day, so you don’t have to worry about anything while I’m away at the BAU. I’ll personally drop you off and pick you up myself.” His words don’t make you feel any more confident, hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack. “Y/N, I promise, we will get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. This is temporary, and uh… I’d like to think that, you know, staying with me is not all that bad. You’ll get the bed and you are comfortable in my apartment, anyways, right? And, and! And we can have movie marathons and talk about books, cause I have a lot of books! You know that, of course you know that, you sold me half of them.” Clearing his throat when you just stare at him, you can see how Spencer is ranting. But you don’t mind the rant, actually; oddly enough, his nervous words are the one thing giving you a sense of normalcy right now. “Cat won’t come to you personally, if that helps. She is in federal prison, we’ve confirmed it yesterday, and anyone that comes in and out of your shop will be checked. Y/N, we– I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you need to trust me.”

“I do,” And you don’t mean to sound so sad, but you can’t help it. Right now, he’s the only person you can trust, and for you, that is one of the saddest things you’ve ever experience, because even though you know you need to pull away from him, that you need to put some distance between yourself and the man standing right in front of you, you just don’t trust yourself to be able to do it. “Anyways, can we go? I’m really tired, it’s been one hell of a day.” 

The walk over there drains the last bit of life you still have in you, foot dragging and tripping on the road, and you hate that this is how Spencer holds you for the first time– stopping you from falling on your face. “Sorry,” You mumble, following him once you’re on your feet again. The way his hands hover around you while you slowly make your way up the stairs of his apartment is adorable, and each and every time your heart skips a beat for him, it also breaks for yourself. You are digging your grave, and the worst part is that you don’t seem to care. You’re weak, you think to yourself, exhaling heavily when you finally walk inside the familiar apartment. 

You are so tired that you don’t really think about things too much, dragging yourself to the armchair you adore so much and sitting down. The way you kick your shoes off isn’t very polite, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow; for now, all you want is to shut your eyes and drift off to sleep, lulled by the muted green walls and the stories they told. While you slip into the hypnotic pull of a dreamless slumber, you can hear shuffling in the background, and later on, much later into the night, you don’t feel it, but Spencer covers you with your favourite blanket– the wool one his mother gifted him ages ago, the one you always leave tossed aside on his armchair. And you don’t see the way he smiles at you either, like he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn’t mind; not as long as you get to sleep as soundly as you are then. 

Actually, when it comes to Spencer, you are blind. To logic, yes, but to him, too. For someone as observant as yourself, it’s a little ridiculous how oblivious you are to the looks he send your way when you’re not paying attention. They linger, and he smiles in a way you’re yet to witness, but they are all for you. It’s the one bit of him that Spencer can give you, and you’re not even aware of it enough to take it and keep it safe. 

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better to not have hopes. 

Sometimes, Spencer thinks, fixing your blanket so that it tucked under your chin just right when your curl into a small, defenceless ball of exhaustion, it’s better to never have loved, then to have loved and lost.

He would know. 

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aaaahhhh this is really happening! it's now official: a muted shade of green is an active series :D sorry if it felt like it took so long for an update, I just don't have much time to write recently, but I'm working on it! hope you like it <3

[im-tired-404]

This man is so fine for NO damn reason. What the hell man, save some beauty for the rest of us.

I’m going to eat his smile.

[stratfordsandthestars]

pls recommend me some of your fav lautski fics! i've already read a couple.

a lot of the ones i can't read yet i believe feature nightmare time spoilers (on ep 3 of season 1 atm, gonna move onto NMT 2 as soon as i can tho.)

[mythuzalasheir3]

Unlocking Your Soul Chapter 1: The Black Hour

When Grace Chasity stumbles into the Black Hour, she awakens her Persona

~*~

The Persona inspired Hatchetfield fic no one asked for but I’m writing bc vibes :)))