#of course the one I was most interested in turns out to be a homicidal maniac… OF COURSE

[blupengu]

My immediate reaction upon seeing the character designs and VAs for the first time:

Me, halfway through the common route:

[ninikrumbs]

Traditions

Basketball player geto suguru x reader. fluffy fluff. mostly geto's pov. pre-relationship-relationship. oblivious reader. suguru is down bad. minimal use of yn. satoru's nameless gf. connected with my other fic.

It was a stupid new tradition, that an even stupider idiot started. Suguru groaned inwardly in exasperation as he stared at the court. Satoru and Choso were going toe to toe against each other based on some dumb bet they had going.

While he sat on the sidelines wondering if giving or should he say loaning his jersey to some girl was really worth the hassle in order to keep up appearances.

But the again even their homicidal maniac of a Captain managed to rope a poor unsuspecting girl to wear his jersey.

Finding a girl would be no problem, they would line up in cues if word got out that he was considering it. It was the expectations they would have after. Most likely they’d expect him to ask them out or be his girlfriend which made him cringe.

That made him sound like an ass, but it was the truth.

But telling them right out on what he wanted would just open up another set of problems.

Gojo told him to find a girl he actually liked, to which he scoffed at. Its been a good while since a girl piqued his interest. “Come on, Suguruu” He spoke with that annoying drawl.”There has to be at least one girl”

His best friend’s usually dark glasses have been rose tinted ever since he met his girlfriend. Hes been practically floating on air. Its was still a mystery to Suguru how his girlfriend manages to tolerate such a menace to society but then again that’s like the pot calling the kettle black.

Still, he was happy for Satoru.

“Yo Suguru, heads up!” Choso’s warning floated through the air, along with the ball. It flew over Suguru’s head to the bleachers. His head turn to follow its course. He expected to hear multiple loud thumping noises as it bounces through the bleachers, strangely enough he only heard a soft thump and a startled gasp.

“Shit, my bad!” Satoru grimaced, voice apologetic. Sugurus eyes landed on a girl he recognized as Shoko’s and Satoru’s girlfriend’s friend. He thought you were pretty but you barely said two words to him so he never paid you much attention. Though currently Shoko and Gojo’s girlfriend were nowhere to be seen. All he could see was you crouching on the ground to pick up something- a book it seems.

A hand dragged Suguru up the bleachers, leading him up to the row where you were currently brushing off the book. Echoes of their footsteps made you glance up at them with an inscrutable expression.

Satoru spoke up first, his voice all high pitched and remorseful, dragging a embarrassed hand through his hair, “Forgive me, y/n! I didn’t know my own strength.”

His half hearted apology makes Sugurus eyes roll. Satoru’s looks and wealth makes him very popular, plus his basketball skills makes every girl cheer for him but sometimes his personality leaves a lot to be desired.

Suguru clamped a hand over Satoru’s shoulder before shooting you a charming smile. “I apologize for my friends lack of manners. Are you okay, sweetheart?”

A chill ran up his spine, making Suguru confused. He caught your gaze and he freezes up. Your glare could melt cement walls, you looked at him like he killed your dog.

What the hell?

“Here let me help you up.”He pushed forward, his tone dripping with honey as he offered you a hand. In spite of his efforts you merely stared at his hand with distaste as if he carried every germ in the world.

The fuck?

You visibly veered away from his body making Suguru drop his hand in embarrassment.

He heard someone snicker, making him turn and see Satoru shaking beside him, teary eyed and covering a hand over his mouth. Ha ha very funny.

There must be something in the air today. This never happens, not to him. Suguru was more popular than Satoru; with his charming smile, princely soft spoken demeanor and gentlemanly gestures. Girls swoon with just a smile from him, yet you looked at him like he was a cockroach who crawled into the wrong kitchen.

You stood up, disgruntled. “You made the spine crack.”

“Who’s spine cracked?” Satoru asked, confusion lacing his voice.

His response made you sighed in frustration at thankfully the both of them. “My book and now its ruined.”

Suguru began to open his mouth to apologize but closed them at the last second because first why should he apologize, this wasn’t even his fault? and second who cares than much about a book sine? You could still read it regardless and why were you even reading in a basketball stadium?

Seeing both of their skeptic faces, you sighed in resignation, not bothering to explain the importance of your book spine, “Whatever, I’m gonna go. Tell Shoko that I’m leaving first.”

You walked away grumbling, hugging the book to your chest.

Leaving Suguru dumbfounded and Satoru’s back hunching, hands on his stomach as he laughed.

“I can’t believe she just-”

“Shut up.”

“And the way she stared at you? pfft!”

“Shut up or Ill punch you.”

“Here let me help you up~”

“Satoru!”

Days passed and Suguru eventually hears from Satoru’s girlfriend about you.

“Oh? y/n, she loves love books. She’s a history major you know. So its not a surprise that she reacted that way.”

“The spine? Breaking it is damaging so it won’t last long. She just really treasures them.” “

But I swear she’s actually really nice and sweet!”

That’s what she said, but there was nothing nice about you completely ignoring his existence when you pass by each other at the corridor, you’re nose in a book. Or how you immediately stand up to leave not even sparing him a glance whenever Suguru shows up in the same room as you, which was often ever since your friend started dating Satoru.

He couldn’t deny that you were getting under his skin. He wasn’t even the one who threw the god damn ball yet he was getting the brunt of your anger- if he could even call it that when you don’t exactly speak to him to showcase said anger.

You were a mystery. But what frustrated him the most is why did it bother him so much? was it his ego? finally getting turned down by a girl? or that he couldn’t figure you out? he didn’t know.

The incident at the lunch hall was the last straw for Suguru, though not in the way he expected.

There was only one last piece of that cheesecake Satoru adores, and while Suguru doesn’t care much for sweets, he usually gets it for Satoru.

He reached out to take the last plate before he noticed another smaller hand reach for it simultaneously. His eyebrows raised in surprised as he caught the pleading expression on your face; eyebrows slightly scrunched, lips curved into a cute pout and bright eyes directed right at the cheesecake.

He blinked. You were actually really cute.

As if noticing him for the first time, you glanced at him. Recognition flitted through your eyes making you drop your hand as you looked away from him. “Sorry.”

“No. Here,”Suguru picked up the cheesecake plate and placed it on your tray. “Its all yours.”

“Really?” You stared at the cheesecake like he gave you a thousand dollar necklace and not a simple dessert.

The satisfied expression that danced on your face made Suguru’s stomach flip. Weird.

Then you glanced up at him, eyes all soft, giving him a small smile before dashing away but not before you managed to mumble your thanks, “Thanks, Geto.”

Shit, you were really cute.

—

Suguru tucked the heavy book under his arm as he began his search for you around the University. Texting Shoko would have been quicker, but he didn’t wanna give her any wrong ideas.

Not that there was something more to this gesture. Nope, he just wants to clear the air you know. A friendly gesture. After all the both of you are gonna see each other a lot whether you liked it or not. Definitely, not because he wanted to see you smile again. Yep, definitely not that

After 30 minutes of wandering around your usual hangouts. He gave up and texted Satoru’s girlfriend, the better option of the two. She replied a minute later.

“Hey Geto! Ya, she’s actually here at my dorm. Do you need something?”

He didn’t bother replying, and just started making his way dorm.

Suguru knocked on the door and after a moment, Satoru’s girlfriend came into view with her eyebrows raised.”Oh, you actually came here.”

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, “Yeah, I just need to give y/n something. Its nothing important.”

She hummed mischievously, a knowing glint in her eyes, “Hmm, sure sure. Come in.”

She opened the door wider to make space for Geto’s larger frame. His eyes land on your form on the sofa leaning on the arm rest with your legs propped, a duvet covering your thighs. You’re shoulders were shaking as you laughed quietly at some video on your phone.

For once your nose wasn’t in a book. He noted the popcorn and the paused movie on the TV screen.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your plans.” He apologized sheepishly.

Gojo’s girl just waved him off, “oh shush, its no big deal.”

Upon hearing Geto’s voice you looked towards the source, surprise flitted throughout your face then confusion as your lips parted a fraction. “Geto? What are you doing here?”

“Uh..” Its been awhile since he’s been rendered speechless and embarrassed. He has always had some smooth line that bordered between flirty and friendly, yet your curious gaze was enough make his head into a jumbled mess.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped some sense back into him. Gojo’s girlfriend opened the door before grinning mischievously, “Ill go get some soda. Back in a jiff!”

Silence enveloped the room, indicating it was just the two of you now.

Geto got some of his confidence and composure back as he pointed on the other end of the couch. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.” You answered, still looking perplexed.

Finally, he sat down and pulled the large book from under his arm and handed it to you.“Here, as an apology for breaking the spine of your other book.” He started, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so inconsiderate the other day. "

You stared silently at the hard bound copy of the same book that had its spine cracked. It was a limited edition copy that Suguru managed to track down with Satoru’s help. It did come with the price of Satoru’s incessant teasing.

“Well well ~ all this effort for a girl who was mean to you. You must be a masochist, Suguruu.”

“You got me a very expensive limited edition hard bound copy of one of my favorite books?” You breathed, voice laced with astonishment.

Expensive? Suguru didn’t know. He bought it without looking at the price. He doubted he would’ve care about the price either way.

“Satoru’s girlfriend told how much it meant to you.” Suguru gave.

Its was silent for a moment. Anticipation eating at Sugurus nerves for your reaction. Were you gonna through it at his face or-

He was pulled out of his thoughts when a full blown breathtaking smile bloomed on your face making Sugurus eyes widen. It was like time slowed down, the rest of the world was blur and all he could see was you. Your eyes sparkled with so much joy, it was contagious the even he couldn’t help but smile bit.

“Thank you so much, Geto.” You took the book from his hands.

Relief and satisfaction ran through his veins, making him relax into the couch. Your smile. He doesn’t think his gonna get the image off his mind anytime soon.

“Does that mean your not mad at me anymore?” He asked, smiling softly.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Mad? What do you mean?”

Suguru’s face mirrored yours, “Weren’t you avoiding me because you were mad we cracked the spine of your book?”

A pretty blush rose up your cheeks that Suguru strangely wanted to caress but he held back the urge. Your shoulders shrank as you avoided his gaze. “Not exactly..”

Suguru quirked an eyebrow as as he absentmindedly tucked a stray hair away from your face, “Tell me.”

His touch rose goosebumps on your skin which his observant eyes didn’t miss. You bit your lip in contemplation before letting out a big exhale, “I wasn’t avoiding because I was mad. I was avoiding you because I was embarrassed.”

“Of what?”

You looked at him incredulously, “What do you mean what? Don’t you remember the way I overreacted about my book?”

The memory of her staring at him like he killed her dog flashed through his mind making him chuckle. “I do recall someone looking at me like I was the scum beneath her feet.”

She groaned and knocked her head against the cover of the book, hiding her face from him, “I was so embarrassed! I realized I overreacted about 10 minutes after it happened. I know people don’t see things the way I do.”

So that was the reason of your constant wariness of him. He got so frustrated over nothing then. “You could have just talked to me, you know.”

“I know, but I barely spoke to you before and I didn’t know how to even begin a conversation with you. Talking to Satoru was a lot easier since I’ve been around him more-”

“Wait, you’ve talk to Satoru?” And why did it irked him that the both of your were at a first name basis.

“Yeah, A day after it happened.” You said innocently.

That little fucker. He watched Suguru go crazy over what happened and despite knowing the real reason, he just let Suguru grow into his frustration. He was gonna kill Gojo.

“Ah.”

After a beat you spoke, “Are you mad?”

“No. Not at you at least.”

“Oh, okay.” A bit of silence before you continued, “I really am sorry though, and you even bought me this book- I mean you weren’t even the one who tossed the ball.”

He wanted to be in your good graces but he wasn’t ready to admit why. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. “Don’t apologize, please. To you, your books are precious and its normal to feel angry or sad about things that matter to you.”

Your lips parted a bit at his words before giving him a small timid smile, “Thanks, Geto.”

“Suguru.”

“What?”

“Call me Suguru. You’re on a first name basis with Satoru, its only fair.” He said in a matter of a factually.

Hesitation laced your features, “But we barely know each other.”

Suguru mouth tipped wickedly, “So if we get to know each other better you’ll call me by my name?”

“I..” You looked like you were balancing the pros and cons in your head. “I guess? I mean that’s how it usually goes.”

“I can work with that.”

—

A few weeks after the little mishap. Suguru and you built a steady friendship. You were no longer ignoring him with you see him along the hall. In fact you guys often walk together cause the both of you were coincidentally going the same way. During lunch, you constantly grow surprised when Suguru suddenly starts discussing about a book you like, and you’re too invested in the conversation to ask why his sudden interest in books.

You were so fascinating to him for some reason and he wanted to get even closer.

He learned a lot about your odd quirks and interest over time like how you like reading and walking at the same time. It was both endearing and a walking hazard.

“Stop.”

You stopped abruptly, pulling the book away.

“Look down.”

And you did, only to see that you were mere inches from crashing into a trashcan, “That wasn’t here yesterday.”

You turned to see Sugurus smirking face, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s because you were walking from another direction yesterday.”

“No way. I was not.”

A laugh crept up Sugurus throat, “Yes, you were and you didn’t notice but you knocked down an acapella group yesterday.”

“You’re hilarious, Geto.” You rolled your eyes.

The sound of his last name made him narrow his eyes. “Stop it with the Geto already.”

It was your turn to laugh at his annoyance, the sound of your laugh so light and bright like wind chimes. Your pretty eyes shining with mirth. Why was he annoyed again?

That’s another thing he realized, you were always pretty he knew that. But somehow you got even more beautiful. It was distracting to say the least. Especially when you talk about something you love and you get that sparkle in you eyes. God, he could stare and listen to you for hours. He was turning into such a sap and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to stop it.

—

“Now that’s just wrong.” You grimaced as you watched the gory scene on screen. Your cute expression made Suguru chuckle.

The both of you were watching a documentary on Greek history, specifically the great wars. It was for your paper but Suguru insisted he didn’t mind watching it with you. Though he knew it was just a lame excuse to hangout with you.

The urge to see you all the time got stronger and stronger by the day and he got tired of trying push it away. He had it bad, real bad.

He glanced at you so focused on the movie that he doubts you know about his mushy feelings about you due to your noted obliviousness.

“Can you pass me the popcorn, Geto?” You absentmindedly asked him. Your pajama clad legs were propped on his lap with his arm draped over it to pull you close.

It was cozy and intimate. His chest tingled with satisfaction knowing that you were comfortable enough around to initiate contact like this. Sharing your warmth with his.

He handed you the popcorn. “Here you go, pretty.”

You noticeably blush at the nickname, “Thanks, Geto.”

He’s been calling you cute nicknames all the time these days and you showed no indication of stopping him. The only thing that plagues him is you still calling him by his last name. That has got to go.

—-

“What are you looking for exactly?” Suguru heard holler you from the living room.

He was currently rifling through his closet.“Something important.”

Satoru invited everyone out to eat and the both of you were on the way there when Suguru remembered he forgot something in his dorm room.

Found it. He grabbed the shirt and hid it behind him as he made his way back to you.

“Did you find it?”

“Yep.”

He casually sat down at one of the armrests of his sofa which made you quirk a questioning eyebrow. “Aren’t we gonna go?”

“In a minute. I wanted to ask you something first.” Hopefully you didn’t catch the slightly nervous tone st the end of his sentence.

“Okay..?”

“Come here, princess.” He smiled reassuringly as he pulled closer to him, finding yourself in between his legs. Even sitting down, he was still at eye level to you. He really liked how taller he was than you were. The close proximity made that cute blush that Suguru adores appear.

“Are you coming to the game on friday?”

You tilted you head, clearly it wasn’t the question you were expecting, “Of course, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t show up to support you guys?”

“Good.” He took out the shirt from behind him. “Do you mind wearing this for me?”

You stared at the jersey on his hand with the word Geto along with his player number printed in a big bold font at the back. Geto watched as surprise, excitement then confusion passed through your face.

“Wha-why?” You sputtered. “Shouldn’t you be giving this to a girl you like or something?”

Suguru chuckled and stared at you with exasperated fondness. You were adorable and oblivious as hell. “I am giving it to a girl I like. And right now I’m just hoping she’ll say yes.”

After a second, it seemed you put two and two together. Your eyes met his.

“You like me?”

“I thought you knew.” He teased, smirking .

“How would I know that?!”

“I wasn’t exactly hiding it.”

“You didn’t exactly tell me either!” You exclaimed, getting a bit worked up.

Sugurus smile widened into a grin as he rests his forehead on yours, “Then let me tell you now.”

He took in a deep breathe, next words filled with warmth. “I like you, y/n. More than you know.”

The heat of your cheeks radiated from your face as Suguru nudged your nose with his before pulling away. “I don’t mind telling you that a couple more times if you want.”

When you didn’t answer Suguru did just that, “I like you. I like you a lot. For a while now actually-”

You cut him of by covering his mouth with your hands, “I get it!”

Suguru laughed beneath your hands before pulling them down. “So what do you say? You don’t have to of course if you don’t want to its-”

“I do! I do want to!” You blurted out hastily, mortification on your face at your admission. While Suguru could barely contain his happiness.

“You do?”Still Suguru couldn’t help but tease you.

You barely met his eyes as you spoke, “I do. Its just- I didn’t know you liked me that way and this caught me by surprised.”

A laughed escaped Sugurus throat as he put the jersey down and pulled you flushed against his chest, tucking his head on your neck with his hands finding a home on your waist. “You’re so adorable you know that?”

“Stop that!” You groaned.

“I can’t.”

Slowly, you relaxed into his hold as you wrapped yours arms around his neck, leaning your head on his. A comfortable silence wrapped around you two as you basked in the warmth of the moment.

Suguru breathed in your scent, holding you tightly like he didn’t want to let go. His body all warm and tingly

The moment was shattered when Suguru’s ringtone blasted in the room. He sighed grimly as he reluctantly pulled away from you, opening his phone. “Its Satoru wondering where we are.” He sighed heavily again, “We should get going.”

Before you could say anything, he stood up, handed you the jersey then lead you towards the door.

You tugged at his hand, “Suguru, wait.”

The sound of his name on your tongue made him turn back abruptly, “What did you say?”

You gave him a shy smile, “I like you too, Suguru.”

Suguru’s eyes widened as his heart soared. The world turned blurry once again and all he could see was you. A knot of emotion lodged in his throat. Damn, he didn’t think he’d be this affected by your words. He groaned and threw his head back at the door, voice hoarse as he spoke, “You don’t know what you do to me, princess.”

You intertwined your fingers with his as you grinned, looking so pretty it hurt. “I have a pretty good idea.”

Maybe, It wasn’t such a stupid tradition. After all it led him to you.

[sister-lucifer]

Take Your Breath Away 

Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader 

Genre: Smut 

Summary: Toby is a nasty son of a bitch and pulls a terrifying trick on you 

Content/Warnings: Nonconsensual breath play (the sex is consensual, the suffocation is not), bondage, Toby is a mean and nasty motherfucker, Reader almost passes out, homicidal undertones, a wee bit of degradation, listen it’s one of MY toby fics i feel like that’s a warning in and of itself, no genitalia specified for Reader, Reader and Toby are already in a relationship 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Just to avoid confusion, in my headcanon Toby has a stutter as well as but separate from his tourette’s; i’m writing his stutter, not his tics! thankies!

It was no secret to you that Toby had some…odd “interests”. It wasn’t a secret to anyone, really. You could probably guess it just by looking at him. However, for the most part he’d been rather proficient at practicing restraint. Of course, that’s not to say he didn’t stare when you weren’t looking, and he certainly let his twitchy hands linger over your neck for a bit too long when he pulled you in. Maybe you should have kept a closer eye on him, but after getting so used to his unusual demeanor it was easy to simply brush it off. You noticed him staring throughout the day, sure, and you were definitely a bit put off when he refused to let you pull away from a kiss that had gone on for much too long, giggling to himself as you fought to catch your breath. 

You really should’ve at least wondered what was up when he silently walked up behind you while you were at the counter, wrapping a strong hand around your neck without warning. You could feel him grinning against your neck as he greeted you with a hushed laugh that made you shiver. He let go when you managed choke out his name, pulling you into him by the waist as if nothing had happened. You were naturally perplexed when he walked away, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it. Why should you?

He was playful, that was all, you thought. He was mischievous and liked to push his limits to see how you’d react; it was how he learned, seeing as he was never quite in tune with social cues. It was all in good fun, you figured, even if it had been a bit startling. 

Despite what you told yourself, there was no denying the malicious glint in his eyes when he posed you a jarring question: 

“Would you l-let me tie you up?” 

You stood quickly from where you were crouched, busy rummaging through a cabinet until Toby had violently grabbed your attention. It was out of the blue, completely unprompted, enough to have you staring at him slack-jawed in stunned silence. When you couldn’t conjure a response fast enough, he repeated his question.

“Would you let me t-tie you up?” 

“W…What?” 

You tilted your head in confusion, trying to wrap your mind around what could have possibly brought him to this thought. 

“Just say yes or no: If I wanted t-to tie you up, would you let me?” 

You struggled for a few moments more, your face beginning to feel unbearably hot. 

“I mean…I— I guess? Sure?” You replied, your eyes nervously scanning Toby’s face in an attempt to ascertain anything about what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Good, thanks.” He replied curtly before turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

He left you standing alone, completely dumbfounded. When he didn’t return and you couldn’t form the foggiest idea of what had just happened, you sighed in defeat and returned to your task. You couldn’t really complain; you knew what you were signing up for with Toby. 

Well…you sort of knew. 

He was certainly a wild card. You’d think you’d have learned to expect the unexpected by now. 

It took only a couple days for Toby to bring the topic up again, this time practically cornering you in your bedroom. You always felt small around Toby with his six foot four towering frame, but you felt particularly vulnerable when he has that hungry look in his eyes he always got when he really, really wanted something. 

“I’ve g-got a surprise for yooouuu!” He announced, one hand behind his back to conceal whatever it was he was so excited about. “Lay down on your stomach. Quickly.” 

You almost hesitated, but you were so morbidly curious you simply had to know what he was hiding. You didn’t take your eyes off of him, though. 

You laid down on the bed and rested your head on your arms, watching as Toby climbed on top of you to straddle your waist. You winced when he roughly pulled your arms behind you, quickly binding them together with the rope he’d been hiding behind his back. He gave one last tug to the bindings to test them, then sat back to admire his work.

“Looks g-good on you…” He muttered, and you’d be ashamed to admit it made you a bit flustered. 

He turned you over, and you were immediately greeted with the sight of his crooked smile spread wide across his face. You tried to return it, but something about it was deeply unsettling. You shuddered under the unblinking, unrelenting gaze of his dark hazel eyes. 

Really, what did you have to be so nervous about? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that he was planning something, but that was irrational. You trusted Toby, didn’t you? 

You did, of course. It was silly to even consider otherwise. 

You happily kissed him back when he leaned down over you. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, and for a split second you caught that dark swirl of something sinister in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. 

It was as if locking eyes with him put you in a trance, and it felt like only a few seconds had passed between that quiet kiss and the scene of debauchery that was unfolding now. 

Toby has you in his lap, his heaving chest against your back. His jittery hands have an iron grip on your hips, effortlessly bouncing you on his cock as if you weighed nothing. His heavy breath fans over your glistening skin and makes you shiver with delight. 

“S-Sooo tight—“ He whispers to you with a shuddering voice. He certainly isn’t worrying about hiding his voice, more than content to pant and moan in your ear without any ounce of shame. Your hands strain against your bindings as you struggle to keep it together. It felt like every time he thrusted up into up into you he hit even deeper than before, leaving no spot untouched. 

“You okay there, p-pretty thing?” Toby asks over your shoulder. You manage a nod and a weak hum in response, but any attempt at words would melt into a pitiful noise of desperation. 

Toby absolutely adores seeing you like this. It gives him such a wonderful rush of confidence to hold such power over you, the power to reduce you to a trembling mess with his bare hands. The best part, though, was how willingly you allowed him to abuse that power. 

You were the perfect plaything, hardly every questioning anything he did, at least not out loud. You were completely pliant in your own destruction, even if you hadn’t been made aware of it just yet. 

He adjusts you in his hold, allowing him to slowly trail one hand up your body. His fingers drum against your sides in a fidgety manner as they ghost over your skin. You don’t notice what he’s doing until you feel him stroke your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Deep breaths, sweet thing, d-deep breaths…” 

The words should be reassuring, relaxing even, but something threatening has creeped into his voice and is practically spilling through his toothy grin. You lock eyes with him for a brief second, holding back a gasp when you see the unmistakable darkness swirling in his eyes. 

Suddenly a freakishly strong hand clamps over your nose and mouth, holding tight and immediately making your heart drop. Your air supply has been effectively cut off in an instant. Your first instinct is to fight Toby’s unfaltering hold, but you quickly find it to be pointless. 

“Don’t fight it, d-don’t fight…” Toby mumbles against your neck. “You’ll only t-tire yourself out…” 

He hasn’t even stopped thrusting into you, seemingly taking enjoyment in watching you squirm in distress when you both know there’s nothing you can do. Each thrust knocks a bit more air out of you, and you can already feel yourself becoming dizzy. 

As you slowly lose the strength to fight, Toby only becomes more and more enthusiastic. 

“Ahah…y-you’re so cute like this. I wonder if I-I can make you cum before you pass out…you think you can manage that?” 

You hardly process his words, but whether or not you heard him doesn’t matter; you can’t so much as nod or shake your head in reply. Toby doesn’t need a response, though. He’s more than content to listen to himself talk. 

“Y-You know I could never kill you, right?” Toby asks, but the question is not reassuring in the slightest. “No, no…I-I could never…but maybe I w-want to see what you look like when everything g-goes dark. Does that s-scare you?” 

You use the last of your breath to let out a desperate whimper, but Toby merely smiles in response. Your heartbeat is unbearably loud in your ears, so much so that it’s starting to block out his voice. 

“I b-bet it does,” He continues, unbothered. “You know what I-I am and yet…you willingly let m-me use you like this. Do you h-have any idea what I could do to y-you? Do you even care?” 

He’s mocking you, and it stings just a bit. He’s got a point, though. I mean, what person in their right mind would be so eager to please an openly homicidal maniac? Maybe you weren’t much saner than him, all things considered…

Maybe you should have expected this. 

You really start to panic when black spots start forming in your vision, dark ashen circles burning into your sight. Toby hasn’t missed a beat even once, watching you intently with crazed eyes that see every little twitch or slight move. Your vision is overtaken by the darkness all too fast and yet agonizingly slow, drawn out to a cruel degree. You can feel the last shreds of strength leaving your body, and for a moment there’s a flicker of acceptance that there really is nothing you can do, though it’s quickly washed away by your distress. There’s a split second where you’re nearly blind, only able to see the smallest shards of light, and if Toby hadn’t decided to pull his hand away right then and there you surely would have passed out. 

When you finally feel him let you go you inhale on instinct, nearly sobbing with relief when your lungs finally fill with air again. You cough and heave as you fight for your breath with all you can. For a few moments you don’t notice that Toby has stopped moving his hips completely, now more invested in observing you. Your eyes watered as you struggled to calm your sporadic breathing. 

“T…Toby—“ You call weakly, barely managing to speak. In response his hips twitch, reminding you that his length is still throughly nestled inside of you. You grit your teeth to hold back a broken moan. 

“Heheh, did you k-know you get this…this f-funny look in your eye when you’re scared?” He asks, but you know he’s not really interested in an answer. You couldn’t give one anyways. 

He adjusts your position in his lap once more, making you tense up as you feel him shift inside of you. He begins to drag a hand up your chest just as you’ve managed to calm your breathing, and it quickly finds itself dangerously close to your neck. 

“T-Toby, wait—“ You begin to plead, but he quickly cuts you off. 

“Shhhh, shhhh…Don’t f-fight me, pretty thing. Just let me play w-with you a bit longer…” 

[cecilysass]

Beacon (1/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

A delight to write this as a secret Santa gift for @libbytxf whose work I've enjoyed so much myself. She enjoys slow burn, and this is as slow burn-y as I could manage. She has literary sensibilities, and I tried to weave those in. There's a very subtle Pride and Prejudice allusion, as she and I both are fans. I hope you enjoy this, Libby. I'm going to post a chapter a day; I hope that's okay!

Chapter 1

Mulder drives them through the last leg of the icy woods, wind rattling through the spindly trees hanging over them. It’s just early evening, but the rental car’s headlights are already slicing through the winter gloom. From the passenger seat, Scully watches sprays of snow dust blow off of the birch trees.

They round a bend and the trees suddenly disappear: a New England town appears from nowhere, lit with golden streetlights that bounce off the old-fashioned brick and clapboard buildings. Scully looks around with interest. At first it seems eerily still, like a postcard, but then she notices a few locals walking along the sidewalks, pulling their coats tight and huddling close together.

“Temperature is really dropping,” Mulder remarks, reaching down to turn up the heat. He brings the car to a halt at what seems to be the town’s only stoplight. “You bring some sweaters, Scully?”

Strands of glowing holiday lights hanging over the streets sway back and forth in the wind.

“Of course I did,” Scully replies, but wonders how many sweaters he expects her to have packed. Just what kind of case does he imagine this will be, a week before Christmas? There are suspiciously few details and she has a feeling there’s more he’s not telling her. It wouldn’t, of course, be the first time.

She turns to the window again to observe the little downtown. It vaguely reminds her of a full-sized version of a painted porcelain Christmas village her mother owns, every building conspicuously charming. All sharp edges blunted with snow, vaguely glowing with bulbs, the downtown is old-fashioned in a way that makes one think of Bedford Falls, of Jimmy Stewart.

“You’re sure we’re in the right place?” she wonders, peering intently out the passenger window. “This is the location of your ghost deaths?”

“Hellespont, Vermont,” Mulder agrees, nodding, tapping on the steering wheel restlessly. “Established 1785. We’re looking for the Beacon Inn, so keep your eyes peeled.”

The light changes, and he drives past a historic town hall. There is, honest to god, a grouping of rosy-cheeked children in wool caps singing in a formation on the front steps. Scully observes them closely as the car moves by. Electric candles in their hands, ruddy glow on their faces: angels we have heard on high.

“It doesn’t seem like the site of supernatural murder.”

“Well, Scully, like I said, the deaths haven’t officially been described as homicides,” Mulder says. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” Scully says. “Sudden cardiac deaths. You did say.” She isn’t in the mood for Mulder’s withheld key information and sudden reveals. “Which, as it happens, is one of the most common causes of death in the United States.”

“Three cardiac deaths in six months in one New England inn,” Mulder reminds her. “That’s a little uncanny. And my source says—”

“That it’s a ghost,” Scully cuts in again. “Some tortured soul who has made the journey back from the great unknown to attack with the power of coronary artery disease.”

“Sure,” Mulder says uneasily. She feels him glancing at her. “We both agreed this one was worth poking into, didn’t we?”

A slight pause. “Yes,” she says. “Of course we did.”

“Good,” Mulder says. His eyes bounce off of her again. “I’m mostly going off of what the source told me, the inn’s owner. There aren’t … many details. It’ll probably be too late tonight, but I’m hoping we can both run through the whole story with him tomorrow morning.”

She takes a breath, pushing back her irritation. “I assume we’re staying at the haunted inn.”

Mulder flashes her a placating grin. “It’s actually a much nicer place than what I usually book.”

“Besides the high rate of sudden death, of course.”

“Hopefully we can help them out with that,” Mulder says. He drums on the steering wheel again and serenades her. “‘Something strange in your neighborhood. Who you gonna call, Scully?’”

Scully smiles tolerantly and turns back to the window. She’s unable to stop herself from peering out to watch the people milling around downtown Hellespont: cozy scarves pulled over their faces, shopping bags over their arms, hand in hand with significant others. Ordinary lives that seem increasingly distant from her own.

“I, uh, know you’re probably eager to be finished up before the holiday,” Mulder adds. “Get back to your mom’s.”

Scully nods slowly, her gaze still out the window, unable to respond right away. Yes, she is eager to be back with her family for Christmas, and yet it’s also the very last place she wants to be. Her sister absent. Her sister never coming to Christmas again. Her mother’s dull-eyed grief. It might be better to turn her energy to ghostbusting after all.

“What are you doing for the holidays, Mulder?” she asks the window, keeping her tone light and conversational. “Going on an adventure? Going skiing with the Gunmen? Hot date?”

“Hot date, for sure,” he says. She turns to look at him, and he’s picking some sunflower seeds out of a bag he’s stashed in the console.

“Ah, then you must be eager to finish the ghostbusting case up, too.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he says. “You know we tend to wrap these cases up fast and tidy, Scully. We’ll be back to family and holiday love in no time.” Just as she is about to give him an incredulous look, he gestures out the window. “Oh, look, there it is,” he says suddenly. He’s pointing to the ornate sign outside a Victorian house perched on a hillside. “Beacon Inn.”

***

There is ice coating the uphill walk to the Beacon Inn, and Mulder resists the urge to offer Scully a steadying arm. She might refuse it, and that would needle him, even though it has nothing to do with him. Well, it might have something to do with him. But mostly, he thinks, it isn’t about him at all.

He’s aware that Scully’s grieving this holiday; this first Christmas without her sister. He sees it in the slump of her shoulders when he mentions time off coming up, the way her eyes focus on some unseen place at work, the way he finds her sister’s file left sitting out, thumbed through yet again. Still raw, still unsolved.

His own sister’s case has haunted him for more than twenty years. Everyday he has to grapple with what it means to still not have justice and to still be seeking even the barest minimum of answers. Does Scully fear the same for herself? Does she look at him and see a bleak future? This recent interest of hers in religion: it troubles him. He knows she’s started going back to Mass, after the stigmata case, the case with Kevin Kryder. It’s like she’s searching for something to hold on to, any port in a storm.

He doesn’t know what it portends.

In quiet moments he’s studied her across the office. Every day he half expects to hear her say she’s giving her notice. He wonders if he shouldn’t encourage her to.

But what would the work be like without her? What would the basement be like? Who would he talk to about his ideas, his theories, his weekend? He’s not quite selfless enough to urge her to walk away.

This case—haunted deaths in bucolic New England—has sat in his “maybe” pile for weeks: intriguing, definitely, but with a distinct odor of “junior high ghost story.” After observing Scully for one listless morning last week, he pulled the file out again, spread out the pages, and began putting together a slideshow.

She’s always one to find her purpose in work. They’re alike that way. And Vermont in the snow, a haunted inn—there’s a certain ambiance to this one, right? He knows he’s charmed by this sort of thing, so she might find it charming, too. At very least she’ll be able to complain about having to tolerate junior high ghost stories.

And he thinks she does like complaining about that, sometimes.

At the root of it, it’s just plain selfish. He can’t stand to be in the office and see that expression on her face anymore. Anything is better than that. So over the river and through the woods to the haunted inn they go.

He turns to look at her now as they approach the front steps. She’s wearing her long black trench. Her cheeks are pink from the cold; her expression is perfectly neutral. She notices his stare and looks back at him quizzically.

The case has yet to engage her full attention, he can see that perfectly well. But they’ve only just arrived. There is plenty of time to pull her in. On any case it sometimes takes a while for her to pluck at the thread that interests her the most. She always finds something, her own distinctive way into the labyrinth. It’s one of the things about Scully he likes the very most.

Stepping gingerly around piles of snow-crusted lumber and plaster debris around the front porch, they glance at one another.

“Under construction.” Scully gestures to a tarp over the front of the porch.

“Apparently they’re doing some remodeling,” Mulder agrees.

“Some remodeling,” calls a voice from inside the slightly-open door with an audible huff. “Tactful understatement. Did you hear what they said, Duncan? They said you’re doing some remodeling.”

The door, which is adorned with a fat evergreen wreath with bronze ornaments, cracks further open, and a slight white man in his late forties, clad in a thick wool sweater, an apron, and wire frame glasses, sticks his torso out. “Agent Mulder?”

“Yeah, hello,” Mulder says, stepping over piles to approach. “I’m Agent Mulder, and this”—he gestures with a sweeping arm to Scully, who steps next to him—“is my partner Agent Scully. You must be Duncan Macneill?”

“Just Duncan, please,” the man says. “I am the co-owner of Beacon Inn. As well as manager, cook, historian, night watchman. Come inside, please. It’s bitter cold.”

He beckons for them to follow him, and Mulder and Scully step inside after him. Immediately they’re greeted with a blast of warm air and the woody, aged smell of a historic house.

As they wipe their wet feet on a woven mat, Mulder carefully eyes the lobby, which is really a living room. It’s rustic, cozy, a mix of antiques and newer pieces, with somber historic portraits on the walls and some quirky mismatched furniture scattered with brightly-colored pillows. There is a giant glowing Christmas tree festooned with large red velvet bows. Mulder’s no expert, but it looks like a lot of care and love has gone into decorating.

“We’re so sorry about the mess outside,” another voice chimes in. A round-faced Asian man about Duncan’s age sits behind a desk across from the door. “It’s just inhospitable, isn’t it? I keep telling Duncan we need to wrap the project up, but it drags on and on through the seasons.”

“The new exterior will be worth it,” Duncan proclaims confidently. “Although I admit, it has taken a while.” He winks at the man behind the counter, then turns to Mulder and Scully. “This is the inn’s other co-owner… my partner, Banoy Borja.”

Mulder walks over to shake Banoy’s hand. “Agent Mulder—and my partner, Agent Scully.”

“So nice to meet you,” Scully says with a smile.

“Oh,” Banoy says, stepping back to look them over. “I’d reserved two upstairs bedrooms, both singles. Should I prepare the Beech Bedroom instead? It’s got a queen.”

“It’s fine,” Mulder says quickly.

“Two singles is perfect,” Scully adds.

“Different kind of ‘partner,’” Duncan stage whispers to Banoy.

“F.B.I. partners,” Scully clarifies quietly.

“Right, I just thought maybe both...?” Banoy explains.

“No,” Mulder says emphatically. “No. Just F.B.I. partners.”

“Ahh, of course,” Banoy says, his eyes flickering between them. “My mistake.”

Scully spins abruptly towards the porch again. “Your renovations look quite extensive,” Scully says, changing the subject. “Are you building on to the house?”

“No, no. The porch was falling apart,” Duncan says. “We’re modernizing it, rebuilding, but this is New England, so naturally we have to adhere to the town’s historic preservation code. And of course we want to maintain the inn’s Victorian exterior, too.”

“We had a tiny bit of trouble,” Banoy says. “It can be tricky. You know. Historic preservation commissions in small towns.”

“It’s all resolved now,” Duncan says, waving his hand dismissively.

Scully nods, but Mulder notes her eyebrows are drawing together the way that she does when she’s thinking about something.

“We’re going to want to ask you both some questions about the recent deaths,” Mulder tells them. “But … maybe not tonight.”

Banoy looks stricken. “Yes, of course, but please—” He lowers his voice and looks around nervously. “Just make sure that there’s none of that talk about death in front of guests.”

Mulder discreetly glances from side to side and sees no one else around but the four of them. He nods understandingly. These are touchy topics. “Sure, of course,” he says. “‘Maybe we can talk tomorrow morning, somewhere quiet? Mr. Macneil, you were the one to contact us—does that work for you?”

“Duncan, I told you,” corrects Duncan. “And yes, Agent Mulder. Why don’t we have coffee and pastry in the kitchen? Say 9-ish?”

“Duncan loves to talk about the ghost,” Banoy says with an affectionate eyeroll. “You’ll never shut him up. But let’s get you checked in and settled. You must be so worn out.”

“Grab the bags while I check in?” Scully says offhand to Mulder. He nods automatically. It’s a well-established system by now. Mulder turns for the door as Scully speaks to Banoy.

When he comes back in, Scully is still chatting with the two men about the inn’s renovations. Mulder’s eyes narrow as he drags their bags by; some detail has obviously attracted her interest there. Which is good, really. He wants to see her involved in the case. If it’s important, she’ll update him later.

He decides to take their room keys and go ahead with the bags upstairs.

Upstairs, he’s met by a long narrow hallway with six doors, three on each side, historic brass lanterns outside of each one, producing an uneven amber glow. It’s atmospheric. He likes it, New England boy that he is.

At the end of the hallway is another impressive Christmas tree, twinkling with white lights and draped with swaths of crimson velvet. The wooden floor boards, worn smooth by years of foot traffic, creak underfoot as he steps down the hall. He discovers his and Scully’s rooms are side by side.

Just before he tries to go inside, he stops. He looks back and forth, up and down the hall.

He has the strangest feeling he’s being observed. But there’s no one there. No one he sees, anyway.

Look at you, going full on junior high ghost story, he thinks to himself. He reminds himself that Scully probably thinks he’s always full on junior high ghost story. She probably thinks her career has turned into one big junior high ghost story after another.

He unlocks his own room first, stepping inside only to get a quick lay of the land: a simple star-patterned quilt on the bed, another faux brass lantern, an old-fashioned washing stand with a pitcher, and a framed silhouette of a young woman with her hair up above the dresser. There’s no adjoining door.

He puts his bag next to the bed and goes next door to unlock Scully’s room. Her room appears to be essentially identical, a mirror image of his own, except for the quilt is a slightly different star pattern, and the silhouette above the dresser is a young man instead of a woman. He looks at the silhouette for a moment, trying from idle curiosity to decide whether he can make out if the man has a mustache.

He wheels her bag inside and sets it next to her bed, too.

He’s locking up Scully’s door, about to go back downstairs to find her, when he again has the unmistakable, creeping sensation that someone is watching him.

Come on. It’s just one of the other guests Banoy mentioned, he thinks, his eyes still firmly trained on the key in the door.

With a slowness and caution he couldn’t fully explain if asked, he turns his body towards the far end of the hall.

And that’s when he sees it.

When he sees her.

What he sees certainly appears to be a her, anyway: a woman standing at the end of the hall staring at him.

His first impulse is to reach for his phone to call Scully, to insist she come up and see, but he isn’t sure if he should move. Instead he stares back at the woman stupidly, his mouth hanging open, his hand still holding the key to Scully’s room.

The woman is wearing a long white empire waist dress and a piece of fabric drawn around her like a shawl. She has dark hair parted in the middle and curling around her face. Her expression is hard, uncompromising, calculating.

And she is transparent—there’s no other word for it, that’s what she is. She’s entirely without solid substance. Ephemeral. This fascinates Mulder. He can peer through her body to make out each point of light spangling the Christmas tree at the end of the hallway behind her. If he stepped forward and put his hand out to touch her, would it go through? A very reckless part of him would like to try.

Standing contemplating her in frozen wide-eyed fear and wonder, he wonders what to do now. More than anything he wishes Scully would come up the stairs right this second, would stand here and witness this with him.

Before he can decide how to react, the woman, much to his alarm, takes a step. Towards him. Mulder hears his breath hitch, feels the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“My love,” she whispers, ever so softly. Her voice doesn’t sound ephemeral at all. It’s husky and tremulous. “How I miss you.”

All at once, Mulder remembers the danger associated with this case—what’s happened to the victims who had reportedly seen the spectral figure. The adrenaline of fear courses through him more powerfully.

“My love,” she repeats almost tenderly, holding her hand out towards him, her fingers beckoning. “Come to me. My love.”

Mulder moves his own hand in alarm, and looks down at his chest to see his left palm instinctively covering his heart in protection. He’s breathing a little fast for sure, but he feels no other symptoms, no impending heart failure.

When he looks up again to see the woman, he’s staring at an entirely empty hallway. There’s no one there. He’s alone, clutching his vulnerable heart.

***

[muffinsin]

Hello muffin. Had a really stupid idea I just had to share. How about all three of the sisters having a crush on Donna and trying to seduce her but failing epically. Just three homicidal extroverted lunatics trying to seduce a rather shy introvert in all the wrong ways. With Donna thinking they are threatening her or something. Angie and the others all watching and not saying anything as the comedic potential is high. I don't know just complete misunderstandings all around. What do you think?

Thinking this has full on meme potential XD. Wishing I could draw to make art out of the chaotic scenarios that could stem from this lmaoo🙊

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlists

Bela

Now, Bela has always been encouraged to take what she wants by her mother

Naturally, this must include Donna, right?

Now, there is a fair share of maidens at the castle hoping to woo the eldest sister

Not that she has time for any of this

She always turns them down, though uses their failed attempts as teachings

What’s so hard? An invitation to a date, then talking of shared interests. Piece of cake!

Never has she attempted to woo someone. But, she has an ego. She knows she’ll do amazing

What could go wrong?

Well, for one that Bela enters breaks into the Beneviento gardens in her search of the lord without really knowing what causes could follow

She seems to have forgotten that Donna is, despite her timid manner, quite powerful. And so is her entire region

There is a reason Mother wouldn’t let her and her sisters hunt in this region…

Disoriented, almost high on pollen, and absolutely out of it by the flowers planted nearly everywhere, Bela swarms face first into Donna, who believes she truly did experience a heart attack just then

Slurry words fall from her lips, something alongside dinner?

Donna is sweating under her veil. Is the huntress before her threatening her?

Will she be dinner?!

She is overly alert of Bela’s sharp teeth peeking out from behind her lips. As well as the scent of blood surrounding her

Will she be her next victim?

Apparently not, for Bela falls face first into her, the pollen of various cadou-infested flowers entirely too much

Maybe she should have asked to come. Maybe then Donna would have told her about a safer passage through the gardens, without the many flowers

Nonetheless, Donna is almost completely still under her, having been too lost in thought to catch Bela

Or well; catch her she did…with her body

The blonde quite literally falls on top of her, her unconscious, heavy body on the dollmaker

Of course, Donna is too shy to attempt to wake the sleeping blonde

She considers reaching out to Angie, but merely hears a snicker in return. Of course she’d find this funny

Is this her fate now?, the shy dollmaker wonders, with her clothes dirtied by mud and breath smelling of blood and toothpaste blown in her face with each exhale coming from Bela’s mouth

Cassandra

She’s always been intrigued by Donna, always

However- she isn’t the best at wooing someone. She wants a person, she takes them. That’s how she plays

Also, most practically throw themselves at her, if they don’t run away

So- how to woo a lady of the village?

She doesn’t think on it for too long, instead goes for what she thinks will work best: gifts!

Now, some might consider flowers or chocolate sweet gifts. Not Cassandra. They bore her to death

Surely Donna will agree!

Well…

When Donna awakens to find a bunch of foxes trapped in a cage in front of her house, she isn’t too happy

Quickly, she releases the animals and watches them scurry off

The next day, its pigeons, ten of them, their small legs tied to a stick they can’t seem to lift

Donna, with her heart beating worriedly, is quick to undo the string connecting them and watches as they fly off

What is happening?

Hmm, Cassandra thinks, it seems the doll maker isn’t fond of living things

No matter. Cassandra is thrilled by this!

No problem at all! Donna will love her next gift!

Well, not quite…instead the dollmaker is nearly petrified from her shock and fear when she opens her front door again and finds a large, dead wolf out front

It’s huge, and would make for a lot of lei in the village. The sight of it has her feel a little nauseous though

Then, it’s dead rats dropped at her windows at random times during the day

When one of them turns out to be alive, the otherwise mute dollmaker lets out a yelp, and quickly brings it to safety

After, it’s a whole lycan! She takes forever, even with the help of her dolls, to get rid of it

She screams hoarsely when she opens her garden door once and is face to face with the sharp teeth of a varcolac, dead with its mouth open and fangs bared for her

She shivers, though- she can make some good fortune on it

(Which she normally doesn’t need, though she likes to get herself flowers and materials on her own at times)

Yet the worst is to come, when she opens her front door one morning and finds a dead black bear out front

The poor thing is still warm…

Are these all threats?!, she wonders

Angie is barely any help, instead points out writing at the stomach of the large animal

She dares turn it over to read Cassandra’s message carved into the poor thing’s belly:

“I’ve got my eye on you”

Donna gulps

Daniela

She has been told she is delusional before. Once or twice, maybe

Ah, and what a silly thing to say it is!

Until…Daniela falls for the mysterious lady of the mountain and waterfall, lady Beneviento

Naturally, Donna must love her too, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter is under the impression everyone does

She just knows Donna is blushing under her veil when she sees her!

She goes with traditional courting methods

Flowers, dinner invitations, kisses, affection…

When Daniela appears behind Donna randomly as she works outside her house, she jumps so hard she drops her small hand shovel into the waterfall

She wonders, if this keeps up, will she fall down as a whole one time?

Daniela finds this hilarious. She giggles happily at it

Donna grasps her own chest, as though to catch her breath and stop panting

Daniela’s wild and fast movements do nothing to calm her

Then, flowers are thrust into her hand and a kiss is placed to her veiled cheek

Daniela giggles, her hands cupping Donna’s cheeks through the garment covering her face

“Don’t worry, my sweet, I’ll be back!”, she coos, teases

Then, Daniela swarms off, and leaves the dollmaker flustered, confused, and partially scared

This happens every day

Sometimes, Donna plants the flowers given to her. Sometimes she puts them in vases

They’re beautiful, even if Daniela’s wild nature has her on edge

She anticipates her visit every day, and yet is never prepared

Sometimes Daniela appears in her greenhouse. She doesn’t know how she comes in there

One time, she drops down from the roof when Donna steps outside

She nearly gives the doll maker a heart attack! Donna has instinctively called all her dolls…

And Angie stares and huffs as she watches Donna freeze when another kiss is just pressed to her cheek, while Daniela drops a crown made of leaves on top of her covered head…with her bare hands

…Donna wonders if the redhead knows its nettle leaves..ah, Daniela is bound to notice sometime. She swarms off before Donna can warn her- not that she would’ve been brave enough to speak up anyway

Often, her cheeks adapt a pink colour under the veil, and Donna absolutely panics whenever Daniela decides to randomly show affection

When she wraps her arms around the dollmaker one time as she kisses her cheek goodbye, Donna is certain this is the end

The grip is tight on the petite dollmaker, and yet she survives

Somehow

[spitdrunken]

woorah... been real obsessed with homicipher, specifically mr. scarletella <3 really love your content of him like holy shit i love that manthing! i've had my mind on scarletella with an mc that mutilates themself for gratification, trying to stamp out their homicidal urges because of how it affects their life? or we could get unapologetic and odd, think of mc who gets off on brutality. whisks people away, holes them up in that abandoned building and tortures them slow, cutting into themself as well to make it 'fair,' “look, get over yourself. i can handle it, look.” forces blood into their victim's mouth and grinds onto open wounds, reveling in the pained writhing below them. i can imagine that scarletella would be there during the act, sometimes. i wonder what he would feel towards such behaviours? i think that the reason he is so drawn to mc, besides the 'offerings,' is the violence. that stranger comes and paints the floor red, then goes where he cannot follow. drags their prey into that dreary building and lets them run for the thrill of the chase. they always get caught; after comes the intimacy, mc taking their time preparing 'gifts for him,' which means they have to like him, right? they like him. they like him a lot! surely 'hunting' has to be a thing in the otherworld's culture, maybe those dynamics of predator and prey have specific terms. anyhow, i feel like he would think they're playing with him. they turn and run when he shows himself, do they want him to chase them, too? would they enjoy it if he was tangible enough to pin them down and make them scream? would they claw at him or would they lie there, since they (most definitely, a hundred percent) like him so much? if he asked, would they provide their name willingly? i guess one day, that all leads up to mc being led into the otherworld, and we go down the canon road drool... i wonder if he would like watching mc hurt themself in various different ways. if he would think their pain was for his satisfaction too burning, cutting, peeling their own skin off and shoving it down their unfortunate victim's throat — maybe he would feel something towards that. that they should be leaving it for him. their flesh belongs to him, he wants their soul, their being, too. i love the possessive nature of mr. scarletella. i don't think he's aware of how many different ways there are to express yourself, or what he even wants to express. his entire reputation in the human world is this urban legend who asks for your name, your identifier, what makes you you and reaches for more, takes your soul. of course he wants mc's name... it is interesting to think of the strong feelings he has towards mc (adami, or anyone's self insert... i'm actually super interested in how dynamics can be altered with however whoever wants to change their character)

notes: gore, character death, self-harm

hiiii anon your ask has been living rent-free in my brain, i love seeing your enthusiasm and all your different unhinged (positive) ideas collated here :D!! and i'm glad you enjoyed my take on mr. scarletella <33

putting everything under the cut because it's Graphic. if you're not into reading gore, i wouldn't recommend reading <3

ooooo i love the idea of someone who is desperately trying to keep their homicidial urges under control and, in an almost martyr-like fit, takes to destroying their own body to try and control it all… in the end it never works. and could you imagine someone who copes in that manner getting lost in the other world? capable of chopping off whole limbs and cutting away chunks of their own flesh with all of the pain, and none of the loss— because every single part of their body regrows! spoiler alert i am a huge fan of immortal characters turning to extreme ways for self-gratification so. drool.

unapologetic and odd! i love that idea too… shaking their head and sighing a bit when their victim starts crying before the knife even breaks their skin. they haven't even started yet! there's nothing to be upset about. a person who slices across their own skin before hurting the victim, to show them that they can take it, almost meant as a comfort but not quite. finding connection in the grotesque, sinking fingers into warm, throbbing wounds and popping the tips of their fingers into their mouth.

i imagine that he's always awawre of anything that goes on in the building, so he wold definitely know and see! personally, i also think mr. scarletella is drawn to violence in one way or another <3! quite a few of the monsters left in the other world are reduced to constantly throwing violent fits, so the world he created definitely has that effect on people. maybe he sees all of it as a kind of altar to him because of all the crimson, the colour he embodies. the puddles of blood, the sprays of it on the walls, alongside the stack of bodies left rotting in a corner. perhaps because he is born out of a scary story-like rumour, he'll always be drawn to violence.

oooooo!! i love your take on this. the hunt and the attack being part of a courting process, essentially. to allow yourself to be hunted and taken down as a form of submission to the other, a type of romance… mr. scarletella is already certain that they like him. why else would they have left sososo many gifts for him? and he likes them, too. a lot. he is sad that he can't return their feelings in the samer manner. his form is incorporeal, he cannot physically hurt others, cannot be physically hurt himself either. (in typical circumstances…) at most, he can play with the mind, coax them into giving him their name where he can do absolutely whatever he wants with them. i wonder if, eventually, when they are in the other world with him and he watches them getting chases down by other inhabitants, capable of touching them, if he would get jealous… :')

possessive mr. scarletella is so real and true!! it's all so overwhelming to him, poor guy. he becomes more tangible, more real through his feelings for them, binding him to the world with more than just the words of others- he likes you so, so much! he is absolutely the type to have such a violent type of all-consuming love. where he'd want to crawl inside your skin and inhabit your body, where he'd want to snuff your life out as long as he was capable of bringing you back to life over and over again. he can stand others touching them, killing them, for now, but only because he knows they'll be entirely his sooner rather than later.

once they give him their name, they won't simply cease to exist. they'll be under mr. scarletella's control, yes, but he doesn't want to extinguish all of their individuality. i can imagine mr. scareletella creating a little contained world just for the two of them, where they can each take turn being the hunter and the hunted, tearing into and devouring each other in an endless cycle… perhaps if he had not been poisoned by the sight of all their killings, his affections would've been less violent.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

So, as I said last time, we have nothing left we can do in the game except head to the island.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - In your hand, you hold "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity." The brittle paperback feels fragile to the touch.

Examine the cover.

Start reading.

[Put the book away.]

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The cover features a pastiche of different scenes. In the foreground, a man in a dark overcoat clutches a pistol to his chest. Rising up behind him are two silhouettes wrapped in a passionate embrace.

The tagline reads: "Detective Dick Mullen must prove his innocence after an old friend is murdered -- by someone who looks just like Dick Mullen!" That seems to sum up the premise nicely.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Needless to say, it violates nearly every RCM regulation for a detective to investigate a murder in which he is a suspect.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Are you really reading that, detective?"

"I really need to know who this Dick Mullen guy is."

"I'm looking for advice on being a real detective."

"I'm just skimming it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "That's probably for the best. Those books aren't exactly famed for their tight plotting."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - It's much more about the dark and deadly atmossssphere.

I meant to go through our book collection sometime well before this point, but I kept forgetting we had the option.

Also, I put another point into Electrochemistry, and move into Lilienne's house so we're out of the rain.

2. Start reading.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The story opens with a knock at the door. Detective Dick Mullen is greeted by an old friend, Charlie Spillane, who's come to Mullen to ask a favour on this dark and cold night...

Spillane needs Mullen to drive him in from Vesper to a small town along the Insulindian coast. Despite his friend's apparent agitation, Mullen does as he's asked, then returns home where he passes out drunk, as he does most nights...

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - An extremely unprofessional and *hurtful* stereotype that's offensive to all upstanding officers of the law.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - But also extremely *accurate*, in your case.

Hey, I'm trying at least.

Look, I can't judge.

Keep reading.

I don't need to read this. I'm already living it. (Close the book.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Give it time. You'll fall off the wagon sooner or later.

Keep reading.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Two days later, Mullen is arrested by the Vesper police and charged with the murder of Charlie Spillane. At his interrogation, Mullen learns that Charlie Spillane was shot in a bar in the very town Mullen dropped him off in, by a man matching *Mullen's* description...

Desperate to clear his name, Mullen manages to convince the Vesper police to release him for *three days* so that Mullen may solve his friend's murder and prove his innocence.

"The cops release their prime murder suspect so he can find 'the real killer'? Are you shitting me?"

No way Mullen did it. (Keep reading.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "What's the matter, detective?" The lieutenant turns to you with a start.

"I don't know who's writing this shit, but I get the feeling they aren't experts on homicide investigations."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shrugs, resigned to the idea that his profession will rarely, if ever, be accurately represented in art and literature.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - They're not shitting you, detective. This is what the writers think passes for police procedure.

Okay, so Mullen didn't do it. (Keep reading.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Of *course* Mullen didn't do it. That's the whole premise of the book! Anyway, Mullen returns to the seaside bar where Spillane was murdered, and meets a *beautiful*, *mysterious* woman named Deanna Deneuve.

Nice, a dame.

Now it's getting interesting. (Keep reading.)

I feel like I've read this before. (Close the book.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - And not just any dame -- she's truly one-in-a-million, a knock-out whose *mind* is as dangerous as her *curves*. But she's got a *secret*.

Man, who doesn't?

Sounds like my kind of woman.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Secrets are the currency of human relations.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Your secrets are unknown even unto you, so does that make you a rich man or a beggar?

Now it's getting interesting. (Keep reading.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Deneuve reveals that she was Spillane's lover, and that he was mixed up with a local amphetamine smuggling operation. As soon as Mullen begins pulling at strings, the whole conspiracy begins to unravel...

Not only is the local police captain in on the amphetamine ring, so is the son of a powerful politician, and a strung-out art collector named Torvald. Each of whom has his own reasons for wanting Spillane dead...

Tell me about the corrupt police captain.

I want to hear about the politician's son.

What was that about an art collector?

Okay, let's get on with the story.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Outwardly, the old police captain is a real law-and-order crypto-fascist, a barrel-chested man who's beaten his share of suspects to pulp. But he's also dirty, and increasingly paranoid that someone's going to expose his role in the drug ring...

He would certainly have the motive and the means, but the captain walks with a noticeable *limp* from an old war injury. Is it possible he was able to conceal it long enough to commit the murder?

2. I want to hear about the politician's son.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - A typical privileged twat. In all likelihood, he's just in over his head. He does bear a personal grudge against Spillane though, a former prosecutor who nearly brought down his father's administration...

The kid doesn't exactly have Dick Mullen's manly build, but he is the correct height, and while interrogating him at his home, Mullen *did* notice a certain overcoat that looks suspiciously like his own...

3. What was that about an art collector?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Torvald the Art Collector is a strung-out mess. Frankly, it's hard to imagine him holding a pistol steady enough to actually hit someone, let alone plug them three times in the chest the way old Spillane got did...

That said, Torvald and Spillane have a long history, and while interrogating him, Mullen discovers that Torvald was once *involved* with Deanna Deneuve. Could it be that this is all over a sordid *love triangle*?

4. Okay, let's get on with the story.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - One evening, Deanna Deneuve comes to Mullen's hostel room in tears. The two of them drink half a bottle of vodka, and soon they're seeking comfort in each other's arms...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Yes, comfort and pleasure. The warmth of another human's touch, the burning taste of liquor on her full, sweet lips...

+1 Health

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Well, *that* testimony won't be admissible any longer.

How does Mullen expect to solve the murder if he's sleeping with witnesses!

Nice. Get it, Mullen.

I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but maybe the story will turn it around.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The man's a prosecutor's nightmare. Solving a murder counts for nothing if all the evidence gets thrown out in court over police misconduct.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - That's just Dick Mullen's *modus operandi*. He might bend the rules, but he closes cases no one else can.

2. I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but maybe the story will turn it around.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - As the two lovers share a post-coital cigarette, Deanna Deneuve turns to Mullen and says, "By the way, Dick, there was something else I meant to tell you..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - "I love you"?

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - The name of the true killer?

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Success] - "Always aim for the centre of mass"?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Whatever it is, Mullen never hears the words -- A blow to the base of his skull knocks him out cold instantly.

Fuck.

Can't trust a dame. (Shake your head.)

I don't really like where this is going. (Close the book.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Who can you trust in this wicked, messed-up world?

Your partner. (Look at Kim.)

No one. Just your own two eyes.

No one. You gotta go with your gut.

I could put this to a vote, but I think we all know what would win.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant gives you a quizzical expression in return. You go back to the story...

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - When Mullen comes to, Deneuve is dead on the hostel bed next to him. To make matters worse, his clothes are covered with her blood!

Double fuck!

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Mullen trashes his blood-stained clothes and flees the hostel, knowing it's only a matter of hours before the cops discover Deneuve's body, if they haven't been tipped off already...

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Fleeing a crime scene, destroying evidence... Even if Detective Mullen *didn't* commit the murder, he should be facing *years* behind bars.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some *legal niceties*!

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The heat is on! If Dick Mullen can't solve both murders before the cops catch up to him, he's going away for life...

Can you solve the case before the cops close in?

Wait -- I've got some questions first.

I've figured it out.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - What is it, detective?

Why does everyone close to Dick Mullen wind up dead?

Why did Dick Mullen become a detective in the first place?

Why bother solving crimes when the world is so evil?

I don't have any more questions. I've figured it all out.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - It's a dangerous line of work, but somebody has to do it. That's why Dick Mullen never lets anyone get *too* close...

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - What's the matter? Afraid you've been hacking up your friends' bodies in the night?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - You *are* the murderer, after all...

Boy, that's a callback to something that happened *ages* ago.

2. Why did Dick Mullen become a detective in the first place?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - There was never a time when he wasn't a detective. He was born a detective.

Was I *not* born to be a detective?

But why is he like that?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dick Mullen was made to crack skulls and solve cases. It's who he is. He could no more stop being a detective than a tiger could cease to be a predator in the night.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - You're no tiger, though, Harry. You're a man. It's your curse to have to choose.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - For a moment, you cease to read the story on the page and see the book for what it is, a collection of brittle, cheaply printed pages, held together by glue made from the hooves of horses...

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Medium: Success] - From nowhere, you hear the screech of sneakers on a waxed floor, and you feel the burn of rope against your hands. Are these figments of some other life?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - You won't find the answers you're looking for here, in other words.

3. Why bother solving crimes when the world is so evil?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Is it really so evil, detective?

[mad-hunts]

as terrible as the anime for future diary was whenever it was released years ago is in my opinion (both in terms of writing and pacing, because its literally all over the place JSJSJ)... i was thinking of what kind of faces barton could / has probably made that have indicated that someone is definitely in trouble. you know, just for character study reasons because i think their mannerisms can tell you a LOT about who they are as a person, you know?

and now i'm forcing all of you to be reminded of it as well (that is, if you've heard of it LOL) through a screencap of this one character from the show that stuck in my head for some reason while everyone was watching it back in the 2010's that i think just. although i think the show isn't good like i said, personally, think it actually illustrates just how enraged and UHHH not well-adjusted yuno, whom is one of the main characters, is well. because it's very animated, pun not intended + i could not for the life of me find a better picture to describe how angry i could imagine barton looking sometimes, so here.

sorry about the yuno jump-scare, y'all LMAO, but here is that expression i was talking about:

like the really tightly clenched jaw? yes, and the almost if not just homicidal look in the eyes here? it is unfortunately absolutely barton as well SKSKS and i am talking about this now because anger is actually considered to be a secondary emotion most of the time. which just in case you aren't familiar with the term... essentially means that it arises as a result of other underlying emotions like sadness, or fear. which i think is interesting because on first spotting someone making a face like this, it being partially as a result of anything but anger is probably the LAST thing anyone would think.

but barton, deep down, feels a considerable amount of sadness because he's empty. and thus i don't think it'd be inaccurate for me to say that a good portion of his anger could likely be triggered by this part of him; but of course, i'm not trying to say here that barton being sad changes the circumstances of him being a bad person. i just think that he's definitely got this tendency to be self-destructive and/or self-sabotaging because he canonically suffers from depression in the main verse i have for him.

and so this just leaves him in this perpetually repeating cycle of purposefully sabotaging something for himself, only to become angry because he never wanted to do it. but barton doesn't quite understand why he has this behavior and so it frustrates him to no end when things may turn out bad for him by his own hand. though barton has yet to learn how to change these behaviors and basically what i'm trying to get at here is this: barton's perhaps has a bit more humanity than he thinks he does, as its a very 'human' thing to question yourself.

so is his dehumanization of himself a way to try to subconsciously separate himself from feeling complex emotions like being disappointed with yourself and hopeless that you believe you couldn't be better, even if you tried? perhapsss. thus, this is a lengthy explanation of why i had placed barton a little bit towards the 'denial' part of unreliable narration. now i hope y'all liked coming to my tedtalk and you have a great rest of your evening lolll

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 8

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ll be counting my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “Just one more thing…”

Number 8 is…Columbo.

There is a particular friend of mine, whom I hope is reading this, and who I suspect will be VERY happy to see this character and series in the Top 10. Just wanted to throw that out there; said friend, for the record, shall remain anonymous.

ANYWAY…Columbo is arguably one of the most unique detective programs to ever grace the television screen, in my humble opinion. I suspect this fact is a big part of why the show lasted as long as it did: the show ran for ten seasons, and almost seventy episodes, running all the way from 1968 to 2003. The premise of Columbo was essentially a reversal of the “Whodunnit” formula: a concept sometimes referred to as a “Howcatchem.” At the start of every episode, some villain would commit murder most foul: the discovery of the murder would lead to the summoning of homicide investigator Lieutenant Columbo (whose first name is ostensibly “Frank,” but such is never actually stated in the series). The plot would thus focus on the audience trying to see how Columbo would take down the villain, as he pokes and prods for hints and evidence. In a way, he’s actually the antagonist rather than the protagonist! Typically, Columbo uses some hidden detail that the criminals (and likely the audience) never considered as the lynchpin that proves their guilt, and thus forces them into revealing themselves to the rest of the world.

Columbo himself is a big part of what makes the series so great, just as much as the gimmick of him finding clues to catch a criminal the viewers are aware of, rather than the audience and the detective alike trying to identify the villain. Usually, not only do we know who the criminal is, but Columbo seems to at least have a hunch right from the start; the plot really focuses on him trying to figure out a way to identify them and take them down. The Lieutenant is one of those great deceiving characters I like, whom I haven’t really come up with a specific phrase to describe, that uses a foolish façade to bamboozle his opponents. At the outset, Columbo is something of a buffoon: he’s a bit clumsy, has good manners but speaks in a somewhat crude fashion, and often looks very dissheveled, given his rumpled trenchcoat and frazzled hairstyle. He seems more interested in smoking fat cigars and cracking bad jokes than he does actually solving the crimes he’s been put to, and often seems to go on random tangents when talking.

Most of this, however, is a total sham: it’s Columbo’s way of disarming his opponents. It’s worth noting that many of Columbo’s most popular adversaries were rich and highly proper people: well-educated and clean-cut folks many would never suspect of murder, and who certainly seem to consider themselves superior to the apparently lunkheaded lieutenant. Since he doesn’t seem threatening to them, at first, they underestimate him and are therefore ultimately teased into steadily revealing their hand. As the story goes on, Columbo, in turn, shows more of his iron will, crafty mind, and at times even hints of righteous anger. Slowly but surely, he becomes the one in control, while our villain protagonist loses that control bit by bit, till finally the whole tapestry of their crime is unraveled. Only then is Columbo is able to make the arrest.

I absolutely love characters like this: ones who seem silly and frivolous and perhaps even satirical on the outside, but are dead serious and at times downright scary on the inside. Characters like Sans, The Doctor…and, of course, Columbo, who is easily one of the most definitive examples of the idea. Peter Falk’s performance in the role is consistently spectacular throughout the series’ long, LONG runtime, and when you combine the wonderful balance of steely determination and somewhat dopey goofery with the unique gimmick of the show’s style, it’s a small wonder he and his series remain among the most applauded detective shows in history.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 7!

CLUE: “Now, I may be wrong…but frankly, I doubt it.”

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

Cave art had a profound effect on its 20th-century viewers, including the young discoverers of Lascaux, at least one of whom camped at the hole leading to the cave over the winter of 1940-41 to protect it from vandals, and perhaps Germans. More illustrious visitors had similar reactions. In 1928, the artist and critic Amédée Ozenfant wrote of the art in the Les Eyzies caves, “Ah, those hands! Those silhouettes of hands, spread out and stencilled on an ochre ground! Go and see them. I promise you the most intense emotion you have ever experienced.” He credited the Paleolithic artists with inspiring modern art, and to a certain degree, they did. Jackson Pollock honoured them by leaving handprints along the top edge of at least two of his paintings. Pablo Picasso reportedly visited the famous Altamira cave before fleeing Spain in 1934, and emerged saying: “Beyond Altamira, all is decadence.”

Of course, cave art also inspired the question raised by all truly arresting art: “What does it mean?” Who was its intended audience, and what were they supposed to derive from it? The boy discoverers of Lascaux took their questions to one of their schoolmasters, who roped in Henri Breuil, a priest familiar enough with all things prehistoric to be known as “the pope of prehistory”. Unsurprisingly, he offered a “magico-religious” interpretation, with the prefix “magico” serving as a slur to distinguish Paleolithic beliefs, whatever they may have been, from the reigning monotheism of the modern world. More practically, he proposed that the painted animals were meant to magically attract the actual animals they represented, the better for humans to hunt and eat them.

Unfortunately for this theory, it turns out that the animals on cave walls were not the kinds that the artists usually dined on. The creators of the Lascaux art, for example, ate reindeer, not the much more formidable herbivores pictured in the cave, which would have been difficult for humans armed with flint-tipped spears to bring down without being trampled. Today, many scholars answer the question of meaning with what amounts to a shrug: “We may never know.”

If sheer curiosity, of the kind that drove the Lascaux discoverers, isn’t enough to motivate a search for better answers, there is a moral parable reaching out to us from the cave at Lascaux. Shortly after its discovery, the one Jewish boy in the group was apprehended and sent, along with his parents, to a detention centre that served as a stop on the way to Buchenwald. Miraculously, he was rescued by the French Red Cross, emerging from captivity as perhaps the only person on earth who had witnessed both the hellscape of 20-century fascism and the artistic remnants of the Paleolithic age. As we know from the archeological record, the latter was a time of relative peace among humans. No doubt there were homicides and tensions between and within human bands, but it would be at least another 10,000 years before the invention of war as an organised collective activity. The cave art suggests that humans once had better ways to spend their time.

If they were humans; and the worldwide gallery of known cave art offers so few stick figures or bipeds of any kind that we cannot be entirely sure. If the Paleolithic cave painters could create such perfectly naturalistic animals, why not give us a glimpse of the painters themselves? Almost as strange as the absence of human images in caves is the low level of scientific interest in their absence. In his book What Is Paleolithic Art?, the world-class paleoarcheologist Jean Clottes devotes only a couple of pages to the issue, concluding that: “The essential role played by animals evidently explains the small number of representations of human beings. In the Paleolithic world, humans were not at the centre of the stage.” A paper published, oddly enough, by the US Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, expresses puzzlement over the omission of naturalistic depictions of humans, attributing it to Paleolithic people’s “inexplicable fascination with wildlife” (not that there were any non-wild animals around at the time).

The marginality of human figures in cave paintings suggests that, at least from a human point of view, the central drama of the Paleolithic went on between the various megafauna – carnivores and large herbivores. So depleted of megafauna is our own world that it is hard to imagine how thick on the ground large mammals once were. Even the herbivores could be dangerous for humans, if mythology offers any clues: think of the buffalo demon killed by the Hindu goddess Durga, or of the Cretan half-man, half-bull Minotaur, who could only be subdued by confining him to a labyrinth, which was, incidentally, a kind of cave. Just as potentially edible herbivores such as aurochs (giant, now-extinct cattle) could be dangerous, death-dealing carnivores could be inadvertently helpful to humans and their human-like kin, for example, by leaving their half-devoured prey behind for humans to finish off. The Paleolithic landscape offered a lot of large animals to watch, and plenty of reasons to keep a close eye on them. Some could be eaten – after, for example, being corralled into a trap by a band of humans; many others would readily eat humans.

Yet despite the tricky and life-threatening relationship between Paleolithic humans and the megafauna that comprised so much of their environment, 20th-century scholars tended to claim cave art as evidence of an unalloyed triumph for our species. It was a “great spiritual symbol”, one famed art historian, himself an escapee from Nazism, proclaimed, of a time when “man had just emerged from a purely zoological existence, when instead of being dominated by animals, he began to dominate them”. But the stick figures found in caves such as Lascaux and Chauvet do not radiate triumph. By the standards of our own time, they are excessively self-effacing and, compared to the animals portrayed around them, pathetically weak. If these faceless creatures were actually grinning in triumph, we would, of course, have no way of knowing it.

[darthvashtique93]

Return of the Hawk

Chapter 35

J'ohnn eagerly watched as Chey-Ara studied the inside of his house. For some reason, he really wanted her to like it. He looked around. The decoration was minimal. The house was painted white. His walls were bare for the most part. A few picture frames of himself in his human disguise were scattered throughout. He frowned. There wasn't much to like about his bare place. She was bound to be unenthused.

Chey-Ara inspected the bare house. She looked back at J'ohnn. Instead of a green alien with red eyes, she was staring at a dark-skinned male with no hair on the top of his head. Bald is what the humans call it. In this human form, he was called John Jones; he was also a homicide detective. He had her remove her wings before entering the house just in case a neighbor was watching. She walked the downstairs. It was roomy and empty. Spacious.

She turned back to him. J'ohnn motioned for her to follow him upstairs. Reaching the second floor, she looked around with interest. There were four bedrooms, each sporting one full-sized bed and one dresser. "Why do you have such a big house?" Chey-Ara asked. "You live alone."

J'ohnn shrugged his shoulders. "It was the only house available at the time," he stated calmly.

"I would like to live here," Chey-Ara stated firmly. "With you. Not alone. Not because I'm scared, but because I am new to this planet." She crossed her arms.

J'ohnn gave her a subtle smile. "Of course," he said. "We can move your things here – "

"I don't have things," Chey-Ara said. "The clothes the League provided me, along with the ones I came to Earth wearing, are all I have. The knives you personally confiscated are also mine," Chey-Ara fixed J'ohnn with a hard stare. "But that is all I possess…and Coco cookies."

"Well," J'ohnn placed his arms behind his back, "I believe the next logical step is for me to take you shopping.

"Shaw-ping? What?" Chey-Ara was very confused.

"And if you intend to stay on Earth, you will need an identity – a new name. What would you like to be called?"

"I don't know," she frowned.

"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something. For now, let's make a list of things you'll need."

Shayera rotated the two, thin long swords in her hand before facing her opponent. "Are you sure you don't want me to use the practice ones?"

"You need to get used to using these weapons. They're lighter than your mace."

"They will snap in half once they come into contact with Thanagarian weapons."

"No, they won't," Bruce said, gripping his bo-staff with two hands. "Clark forged them from metals found on his planet. They won't break."

"You asked him to do that…for me?"

"You always look surprised whenever someone, mainly me, does something nice for you."

"I am just used to earning everything," Shayera explained. "I have never had anything given to me out of kindness."

"You need to get used to it," Bruce said as the two began to circle each other. "You're dating a billionaire. Depending on the day, I may drown you in gifts."

"Are we dating?" Shayera asked. "I was not aware," she smirked.

"Now you are," Bruce replied.

All humor left Shayera's face. "I do not want to hurt you," Shayera said, holding up her two weapons.

"You won't hurt me. I trust you."

"Are you sure?" Shayera wanted clarification.

"Yes, now let's begin."

Shayera charged at Bruce, who easily dodged her attack. He rolled underneath her before swiping her legs with a bo-staff. "Ugh!" Shayera landed on her back.

"I have never seen you move so slow," Bruce stated smugly.

Shayera rolled to her feet. "It is the wings," she said. "They are hindering me." Concern marred her features. "What if I cannot get used to them?" she asked Bruce.

"Maybe it's a mental thing," Bruce said, attacking first. Shayera successfully blocked his first punch and at least 80% of the other combination attacks he threw at her. Unfortunately, not even one of her swipes, strikes, or kicks landed. He dodged, blocked, evaded, parried. She felt faulty, and the wings felt heavy and awkward. Flying through large hoops was easy, but fighting was a different story. She felt slow, defective, and tired.

The fight came to an end when Bruce's bo made contact with her leg, then upper arm, which he followed with a spinning kick to her face. Shayera's head hit the mat hard, bouncing a few times. She glared at Bruce from the floor, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Your guard was down," Bruce smirked.

"You are lucky I no longer have a helmet. Your foot would be broken," she motioned to Bruce's bare feet as she stood to her feet. A giant, red mark covered the side of her face. She brought her swords up once more.

"Maybe we should stop," Bruce suggested. "You only just completed the obstacle course."

"Don't get soft on me," Shayera pointed a sword at him.

"Fine," Bruce didn't argue. This is what she wanted. They lunged for each other at the same time, with Bruce easily gaining the upper hand. Seconds later, he had Shayera in an easy arm bar. She fought to get out of it, but with her wings flapping out of sync with each other, tapping out was her only choice. Bruce released her, and she screamed into her hands in frustration. "Let's try something else," Bruce suggested. He sat cross-legged on the mat and motioned for Shayera to do the same. She sat across from him, mimicking his position. "Close your eyes," Bruce ordered gently.

"Is this some type of yoga thing?" Shayera asked skeptically as she obeyed.

"No," Bruce scoffed. "Something I learned while training at a hidden monastery in the Himalayas."

"The Himalayas?" Shayera asked. "You traveled a lot."

"Yes. I- "

"Did you make it to the top of Everest?"

"I wasn't there to climb- "

"Wait. There's a hidden monastery in the Himalayas? Do you know how many times I flew- "

"Are you going to keep interrupting me or can I continue?"

"Sorry," Shayera apologized bashfully.

"As I was saying. I think the problem is you. You're fighting your wings."

"What?"

"Through my many conversations with Carter, in which he did all of the talking, I learned some things about Thanagarians."

"Like what?"

"Well…you guys don't lay eggs, contrary to popular belief," Bruce said with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Shayera said, "People really think we lay eggs?"

"Since you are bird-people, people assume you lay eggs."

"Humans call us 'bird-people' and hawks. Everybody else calls us Thanagarians because that is what we are."

"Back to what I was saying - for the wings to work, you have to form an emotional connection."

Shayera immediately burst out laughing. Bruce raised an eyebrow, not that she could see. "Oh, you were serious," Shayera said when Bruce didn't respond.

"Yes. Sit up straight. Breathe deeply. Answer my questions. First thing that comes to mind. What do you like most about flying?"

Shayera sighed. We're really doing this. "The freedom it brings. The feeling of weightlessness. The wind in my face as I soar through the air," Shayera answered honestly with a smile. "I also enjoy looking down on everyone else. I feel…powerful."

"What do you like most about your wings?"

"They are white and soft and fluffy. My favorite thing to do is curl up in a ball and wrap my wings around myself," she finished enthusiastically.

"Hmm…Imagine yourself soaring. Imagine yourself wrapped in the safety of your wings. Imagine all of the things you just told me." Shayera again listened. "Breathe into your memories. Dive into them. Allow them to surround you." Shayera did. She relived every flying moment that brought her joy; Bruce's soothing voice helped. After a few minutes, he asked, "Are you okay? You relaxed?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to remember that I am right here with you. You are safe with me," Bruce emphasized.

"Okay, yeah."

"Good. So…are you soaring, or are you wrapped in a ball?"

"Soaring," Shayera answered immediately.

"I want you to imagine yourself soaring through the clouds when suddenly…your wings are torn off your back," Bruce finished quickly.

"Bruce!" Shayera shouted in horror. She was not going to do that.

"Trust me, Shayera!" she felt Bruce grab her hands. "Just do it."

"We've already had this conversation!" Shayera retorted. Her breathing became shallow as her mind brought her back to that wretched day.

"Shayera- "

"Why do you want me to relive this?" Shayera almost cried as she began to panic.

"Shayera," Bruce said her name firmly. "Trust me." Shayera felt Bruce caress the palms of her hand with his thumbs, trying to calm her. "You're strong, and you're safe here."

Shayera's panicky breathing returned to normal. "Okay," she whispered.

Bruce interlocked their fingers (something he never thought he would ever do with anyone). "You were soaring," he continued. "Your wings were just torn off your back. What's the first thing you do?"

"I start screaming…and – and – and flailing."

"What are you feeling?"

"Fear…p-pain." She saw herself on the ground, screaming in pain. Inconsolable. "Alone," she paused. "D-death," she breathed out as she felt Bruce gently kiss her knuckles. "And then darkness."

"What's the one thing you would wish for in that moment?"

"My wings," Shayera said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay," Bruce intertwined their fingers again. "Your wings are back. You are now standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to test your new wings. Can you see it?" Shayera felt Bruce's fingers slowly slip from hers.

"Yes," she answered.

"You want to leap. You prepare to leap. But something is stopping you? What is it? The first thing that comes to mind," Bruce ordered.

"I – I – I am scared," Shayera admitted.

"Why?"

"I don't want to lose my wings again," she admitted. "It hurt so much the first time around. I…I cannot go through that again." She felt Bruce gently wipe tears from her eyes, which were still closed. She felt weird…different. "How do you feel?" Bruce asked.

"Weightless," she answered immediately.

"Shayera, open your eyes." She slowly blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the bright lights of the gym. Her legs were still crossed, and she was face-to-face, eye-to-eye with Bruce. Only, Bruce was standing on his two feet. If he was standing and her legs were still crossed, but she was at eye level with Bruce, that must mean – Shayera gasped as she looked down. She was floating, and she wasn't even trying. It was as if her real wings were…there. "How – how – " she looked at Bruce.

"This is all you," he said with a smile.

"How did you – "

"Something I learned at the monastery."

Shayera immediately wrapped Bruce in a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Shayera," Bruce said in a strained voice, "you're still slightly stronger than me. You're crushing me."

"Sorry," Shayera said, quickly pushing him away. She landed gracefully on the floor.

"Want to have another go at sparring?" Bruce asked.

"You're going down," Shayera said, flying to the center of the mat.

"We'll see," Bruce followed.

[justiisms]

"You said you were a detective, right? Are you in the middle of any interesting cases right now?" *akira is using the cup of coffee to warm his hands, a small but very curious smile on his face as he turns towards bobby*

"I understand if you can't tell me too much information, but hearing the musings of an actual detective is really exciting to me. And I know I'm a student who might enjoy mystery novels just a little too much, but I want to help you. Even if it's just theories based off of conjectures or a detective's intuition, I would be more than happy to listen."

"Hm? Oh, yes, that's right! Detective Bobby Fulbright of the local precinct, heh heh! Ohh?" He can't help the look of surprise at Akira's question, especially when he says he wants to help him. "You... would want to help me? Ahh...heheh... I know that feeling too well, as a lover of mystery novels, myself. Mmm... well it's not as if you're a random person, and I trust that you wouldn't go telling anyone about this... okay."

With a smile and a nod, Bobby takes a sip of his own coffee before he finally answers: "Yes, there is a case I have been working on, in fact. Thankfully no homicide one, but a rather... peculiar one; the attempted murder of a very wealthy CEO of multiple companies.... but the real problem is, there are so many people with a motive to want to kill him, as the more me and my men looked more into him, the more we have found... very horrible things about him. His history of abusing his workers, possibly bribing corrupt cops to turn the other cheek... and possibly even having gone as far as to cheat his way to the top, with payoffs and threats! The most suspicious so far are the company present and the former boss of one of the smaller conglomerates he has that he "swiped" from him as they claimed, as they're some of the two he has especially made suffer from his actions, but yeah..."

He rubs the back of his head with a smile. "Quite the pickle, huh? Haha!! Of course, with how injured the CEO was, he wouldn't remember who hit him, though most likely, he was knocked out, anyway.... But yes, let's see if we can put our thinking caps together to see if we can guess who most likely is the suspect. Ready for more details, Junior Detective?!" And laughs, liking how eager he is to help him solve this thing!!!

[itashiro-hitsuchiha]

New RWBY OC - Alice Goldrin

Ik I already have a plethora of RWBY muses but it's not my fault this verse is fun to play with for character concepts. Anyways here we go. Check her info and if you're interested feel free to pester her. XP

Name: Alice Goldrin

Inspiration: Alice in Wonderland

Sex: Female

Sexuality: straight

Age: 19

Height: 5'7"

Aura color: Gold

Home Region: Mistral

Appearance: athletic build, long blonde hair, blue eyes, schoolgirl outfit worn in a more casual manner (open top buttons loose tie), heel boots, curvy

Personality: Alice has a split personality which is brought about by a trigger phrase (more in background info) so this will be split into two sections:

Normal- bright, bubbly, generally nice, little odd with often made up phrases or odd logic, very curious, good natured,

Alternate- Stuck up, hot headed, cynical, Sadistic, psychotic

Weapon: Tweedle Stick- Much like Roman Alice worlds a simple cane that can have a sharp retractable blade at the tip, but she also holds a contraption on her side that can attach to it to become a Hobby horse that acts like a hammer, but she can also use the same contraption to make the cane into a shotgun.

Semblance: Wonderland- Alice's semblance allows her to manipulate the objects she holds to make them either bigger or smaller by a small margin. This is actually more useful than it seems as it can make items hit harder or faster than they normally should. Can make things lighter or heavier and it can make fighting against her disorienting.

Special note: Alice's semblance undergoes a change as her abilities become altered after her mind is split which allows her to manipulate the area around herself to apply her semblance to which makes fighting her even more dangerous as most items being put in her area will be forcibly changed. This also changes depending on how she views objects. As an example, if you have a poisoned drink enter her area, it'll become a normal drink since that's how she would see it.

Background: Alice was an orphan growing up so she didn't have a lot of stability. So she sought solice in the old fairy tale stories told to children and she was obsessed with it. While she may never had much of a family she always found herself exploring the areas around the town she grew up in and had odd theories others often made fun of her for, but she never let it get to her. She made a few friends here and there but after she turned 16 she had to figure out what she wanted to go do to support herself. She eventually went to become a huntress as it was something her friends did and she had some athletic talents and can improvise pretty well. It took her a couple years to graduate and become a licensed huntress. But during one of her missions she was separated from her team and came across a mysterious figure who captured her. She disappeared for a year and when she returned she wasn't the same. She seemed more unhinged and crazier than normal. She seemed to be unfocused like her mind was elsewhere.

In truth the mysterious figure had access to ancient magic and tortured her mind during that year to where her consciousness was split between her normal body and to the Ever After. How this was done is unclear as she doesn't remember the event that lead to this. Most who knew her before will find her mostly the same but there is always an odd feeling that something isn't quite right. Every so often she sometimes utters a phrase which causes a switch to flip and she becomes a homicidal maniac attacking anyone nearby. Calling herself the "Bloody Red Queen" and seemingly having access to magic abilities similar to that of a Maiden but not quite as strong. Where she makes up for that lack of power is an enhancement to her semblance as well as the ability to pull things from the Ever After to fight alongside her (mostly a deck of card soldiers). This state will pass after some time and her normal self will return with no memory of what she had just done. Of course in the wrong place at the wrong time and she would be labeled a dangerous criminal but most stories would be rumors at best. Where she stands in the world is still unknown. For now she's just a random traveler looking for a place to belong.

Face claim: Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa

[thomasxking]

Considering how many items of clothing the two of them still had left, it made sense for them to play it safe for now – leaving the big bets for the last rounds where the ultimate goal would be to get the other one butt naked. Thomas glanced over his cards as well – nothing extraordinary but the game could go either way – and couldn’t help but chuckle at the concept of losing clothes via a poker game. He usually undressed because he wanted to. He saw an attractive man and wanted to have sex with him so his clothes would come out fairly easily when the time came. To lose item by item in a strip poker game was not something Thomas haven’t done before but it was interesting to admire the concept of… if he wanted to be seen naked or wanted to see Mike naked… they were going to have to finish this game. “You are putting up a fight.” Thomas bite down his bottom lip as he pushed his empty beer away in order to collect a new one. He was going to sweat his ass off tomorrow for drinking those tonight but… the price was worth it. “I’m impressed. Most people would be naked by now and I would be walking right out the door with new items for my closet.” Throwing three cards to the center of the table and collecting three more, Thomas could see that his hand hasn’t improved at all. It was just that pair of Jacks and he would have to do the most of it if he wanted to squeeze as much as he could from this round. “Your normal personality is just fine, from what I am seeing.” Thomas’ gaze turned to Mike and the corner of his lips curled into a half-smile. He had no idea how professional Mike was but he could only assume he was an annoying son of a bitch considering how he had succeeded in annoying him over the course of their first two meetings, all of those questions making Thomas want to strangle him and toss his body into the deep sea. “I was not a fan of you interrogating me when we first met but… it was part of who you are and you can’t kick the fed out of the man, I believe.” And look at how far the two of them had come. From annoyance and slightly homicidal tendencies to sitting across a table, sharing things about their past and wanting to see the other naked. Life truly knew when to throw monumental curveballs their way.

“You want me to bet my socks too?” One eyebrow rose as Thomas glanced down at his cards once more. There was a chance for him to win that round – but there was always a chance that he would lose. And losing his shirt and socks wouldn’t be as tragic. Maybe he would end up distracting Mike as much as Mike was distracting him being shirtless and overall attractive. “God forbids me not spicing things up for you, handsome. Very well.” Thomas took a sip from his beer, feeling the alcohol slowly slide down his throat as he ended up nodding. “I’ll raise my socks alongside my shirt this round. What are you raising? Your pants?” It had to be the pants. The underwear would always be the last thing to go. “So close to finally see you in your birthday suit! My curiosity is growing.” Maybe not just his curiosity but Mike didn’t need to know that.

His brow raised when Thomas bet his shirt and Mike looked down at what was remaining on him. Not much. Socks and underwear. And he certainly wasn't going to lose those before the socks, "Well, I'll bet the socks then. Save the best for last, I suppose." Mike was pretty confident he'd be keeping the socks this round and then he and Thomas would even keel after that. It was going to really come down the to wire and Mike loved it. He couldn't remember the last time he had a game of poker with so much back and forth. Thomas was a really great player, there was no doubt about that. But even more than the game, Mike was enjoying the company. Even in a place with so many people, he still felt a bit lonely, which was his own fault.

Michael shifted his gaze down towards his torso again, noting the various scars there. Considering he had been on the force for over a decade and working to take down some of the most dangerous people, he didn't think he had done too bad for himself. Two bullet wounds on the front of his torso, along with the stab wound. And then there was a scar on his back from getting shot in the back once. One his team, there were men who had far worse in injuries. Granted, Mike had plenty of mental and emotional things he was still working through, and he wasn't sure when he'd recover from that...

"My normal personality isn't all that great." He joked, although there was a large bit of truth to it considering Mike was practically relearning himself. He smiled a bit at Thomas' tale about his scar, before he nodded at his comment about his own scars, "At least they're attractive. I'll take it." Mike mentioned with a flick of his brow as he flipped the next cards for the current round, "Why don't we spice up the pot with those socks of yours?" Mike asked with a soft cheeky grin.

[hannigrahambimbo]

Will Graham x fem!reader (y/n)

CW: contains description of a dead body as well as light smut.

word count: 2,121

Haven't written a fanfic since like 2014 so PLS BEAR WITH ME LOL,,, this is also a PART 1, if this one picks up interest I will make a part 2 !! some info before reading:

Summary: You've been working for the FBI alongside people like Jimmy Price, Jack Crawford, and of course Will Graham. After a disturbing new case comes in, you become overwhelmed and confide in Will. Lets just say you end up getting a little handsy with your favorite co-worker, and he doesn't mind it one bit.

Working as a homicide detective is never easy, but it is always rewarding. You love the satisfaction of catching a suspect after the sometimes weeks long chase, it was thrilling for you, and getting the privilege to work alongside great minds like Will Graham was just a bonus to the job. Today in particular was hard, as a woman your age had been found gutted and discarded into the Chesapeake River early this morning. When the body was transported to the bureau you caught a glimpse of her while walking to your office, before Jimmy Price locked her body away for storage. You audibly gasped and froze as you quickly covered your mouth upon realizing the victim had a striking resemblance to yourself. From what you could see, her eyes were gouged out and she had deep purple strangulation marks around the neck, as well as deep lacerations covering her body. The woman’s skin was pale and blue from being left in the river overnight. A jagged incision was made just above the navel and ended between her breasts. You later found out the only organs left behind were the intestines, lungs, and heart. Normally things like this didn’t bother you but this one felt too close for comfort, so for the rest of the evening you kept busy sorting through paperwork you had been putting off from a previous case, but nothing could keep your mind from wandering. Every time you closed your eyes you could smell and see her body lying there in the river, cold, and alone, waiting to be found, wanting to be found. It was like you were there for a split second. A knock at your office door made you jump out of the nightmarish daydream. “H-Hey, come on in!”, you spoke with urgency trying to forget the vision you just saw. The handle of the door turned and in came Will, he was holding a thick manilla folder with the papers for the new case in it. “Thought I should bring these in here for you”, he held the folder out to you, hovering it above your desk, “You okay? You look a little, uh tired? If you have a head ache I have aspirin if you’d like?” he seemed oddly nervous and twitchy today and won’t make eye contact, he’s probably just having a rough day too, you thought. “hm? Yeah yeah, no I'm alright, thank you though, really. Um, I guess you can just put that here on my desk for now, Haha, just lots of paperwork today!” as you talked you chuckled and put your hand on your forehead, before moving some papers out of the way on the left corner of your desk for him. “Alright, just let me know if you need anything,” he put down the folder and used the same hand to rub the back of his neck, “I’ll be in my classroom for most of the day, gotta finish up some lesson planning for this upcoming week.”, He stepped back into the doorway, putting his hands in his pockets and rested his shoulder in the frame. “Maybe I'll swing by later, thank you again for the folder Will.” You smiled at him and surprisingly got a smile back before he walked back out of your office. You heard him whisper to himself “Maybe” as he walked away. There was something about Will that always caught your attention but you always told yourself it was just an “office crush” that you’d likely never get the courage to act upon. Releasing a deep breath, you open the folder to see a picture of the girl beaten and blue, you close the folder so quickly that some of the other papers are blown onto the floor and off your desk. Slowly leaning back into your chair, you hold your face within your hands. You look up at the clock hanging above the door and decide it’s time for a break. Standing up your legs are stiff from sitting all day, after all, you had been working nonstop since 7:00 AM and it was already 2:00 PM. Exiting your small stuffy office you decide to first head to the restroom to splash your face with some cold water to refresh yourself. Holding your hands under the cool water feels so good and you close your eyes as you pull your head back. When you open your eyes they widen as you look into the mirror and see the girl again. Her hair is dripping wet and Blood pours out of where her eyes once

were while she weeps, reaching out to you, “GOD,,PLEASE,,, HELP ME, I MISS MY MOM, I MISS MY DAD,,, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME.”, Startled and tearing up, you put your head down and splash more of the ice cold water onto your face, this time rubbing it in as if to wash her blood off your own skin. This time when you open your eyes you see your own reflection in place of hers. Your breathing calms down as you grab a handful of paper towels to dry off your face, once you’re dry you let out a sigh of relief and tuck your hair behind your ears before walking out of the restroom. I need to talk to Will. Walking to his classroom felt like it took an eternity but a sense of relief washed over you once you got there. His classroom was dark and the only light source was a projector flicking through forensic photos and lecture notes. “Will?”, you called out but received no response “hey, Will?”, again, nothing. Walking further into the lecture hall you notice how much larger it is than your own office, you feel sheepish and wary. You'd never been in this room before and scanned every corner of it with your eyes out of curiosity. In the dark you could see a desk in the middle of the room so you called out again, “Will, it’s (y/n)! I wanted to stop by and talk while I'm on my break.” your volume decreases as you come closer to the desk, eventually skimming your finger over the top of it. Will’s brown leather office chair is empty, so playfully you decide to take a seat in it and rest your heels on top of the sturdy oak desk. AS you sit the slides stop flickering and stop on a picture of the girl from this morning. You quickly look away only to see will sitting in one of the students seats, he makes eye contact with you while he puts his glasses back on. He looks a little sweaty & shaken up as he switches the slide to something less graphic. “Oh! (y/n) hey,, I-I'm so sorry this lecture I've been putting together is really taking a toll on me mentally.” He says as he stands up and walks down the steps toward you, closer now he sighs, “Just, it’s a lot of work and I don’t have all the information I want for my students or even myself, I don’t know, it’s just an odd case for me, I guess. They usually don't get me like this.” He props himself up with both hands on the desk in front of you and drops the weight of his head while letting out a deep breath. “It’s okay, I actually came here to talk to you about a similar situation with this case. I can’t stop thinking about her. It’ll sound crazy but I almost feel like it was supposed to be me instead of her. I keep having these morbid visions of her and I just want to help her, but I’m not sure how to.”, as you spoke softly, you stood up and walked around the table to stand next to Will and placed your hand on his back between his shoulders. He felt tense from being overworked today, "Don't say that (y/n), it’s bad enough that she looks like you. Don’t feel guilty for being alive instead of her, you weren’t the killers intended target. Trust me, if you were we would have figured that out by now”, his voice has a tremble in it and he sounds slightly out of breath. The comment from him was a little shocking but you found comfort in the last part, Will was Crawford’s best dog so you have trust in what he says and take it for fact. You sigh, “I think it would benefit both of us if we took a moment to not talk about work. You feel so tense today”, you raise your other hand to his empty shoulder and position yourself behind him, “Let me help you.”. Will starts to stand up a little straighter as he takes his hands off the desk, “Really? You want to help me?” He sounds almost in shock that someone is willing to care for him. “Yes, really”, you laugh and begin to massage his shoulders. As he loosens up he lets out a gentle sigh of pleasure, you don’t say anything about it but enjoy hearing him react to your hands, “Here, come sit in your chair, my arms are getting tired having to reach up, this’ll make it easier”, you pull his chair to the front of the desk and have him sit down facing away from you to

continue working on his shoulders and back. You admired his outfit as you walked around the table to retrieve the chair. Will is wearing a brown plaid button up shirt tucked into dark navy chinos, his brown leather belt matches his well worn oxfords and aged leather chair. The first three buttons on his shirt are unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his watch and forearm, this makes you daydream about what he could do to you with his arms and hands. “Thank you (y/n) this is very kind of you to do for me.”, His words pull you out of your daydream for a second, “Oh please, it's my pleasure.”, you can't believe how vulnerable he is right now with you. “this feels, ah-very good (y/n)” Hes practically whimpering in your hands and it makes you blush. You take a step back to stretch your arms and legs, your legs are tired now from standing behind him in the chair. Will turns the chair around to face you, he’s also blushing and is gripping the arms of the chair with his hands, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent as he squeezes the leather. “Sorry just my legs are sore from standing.” You smirk as you take your shoes off, face red from being flustered by Will, “Could you please do more? Here-,” He releases his grip on the chair and motions for you to come closer, “come sit on my lap.” He lays his hands on his thighs and you can't help but become even more aroused at the sight of him. “O-okay.” you speak softly and begin to straddle him so that your legs are on opposite sides of him, as you settle down, he gently places his generous hands on your hip and your lower back, “Are you comfortable? Is this okay?”, “mhm, perfect.” You resume massaging his shoulders but now you can see his facial expressions and feel his body react to your movement. His eyes are closed and he looks like he is in pure bliss every time you touch him, he’s like putty in your hands. After a few minutes he lets out a whimper, you can feel him under you becoming aroused. This makes you let out a light gasp and he opens his eyes, “Are you still okay? I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”, You cut him off, “Yes.” You move your hands up from his shoulders to his neck, then up the side of his face, then finally to his head where you run your fingers through his deep, curly, warm chestnut hair. As you do this you feel him lightly Buck up into you and he lets out a soft moan as he closes his eyes again. “Is it okay if I kiss you, Will?” Before you can say another word, he raises his hands up to cup your face and he passionately kisses you. As you kiss you both begin to grind into each other, his pants becoming tighter around his groin region, and yours becoming increasingly wet with every intimate move. Will pulls his lips away from yours, for a moment a string of saliva connects the two of you until it breaks, he licks his lips and looks into you with deep puppy like eyes, “Do you want this, (y/n)”, “God yes, please Will.”

to be continued...

thank you so much for checking out part one of this ! hope you enjoyed <3 again, sorry if this was rough, i haven't written anything like this in years so im just having fun! lmk if you'd like to see this continued / part 2 !

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

An Inconvenient Affection [Chapter 1]

Summary: When a couples’ therapist is suspected of murdering his own patients, Y/N and Spencer must go undercover as a feuding married couple to draw him out.

A/N:  This is the first part in a series, thank you so much for the response to the teaser! I hope you guys enjoy, and any feedback is always appreciated! ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, criminal minds typical violence, murder mention, suicide mention, stalking, cheating, please let me know if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 4.4k

Next Chapter 

Series Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Masterlist 

"He's forcing one to kill the other" Spencer mutters under his breath, staring so intently at the photos pinned the the cork board that he must be able to see through them by now.

"Pardon?" Y/N pipes up from her perch at the opposite end of the room, surrounded by imposing stacks of files, photos, newspaper clippings, anything to give her something even resembling a leg up on this case.

Spencer turns sharply on his heel to face the team, his hands contorted as he speaks, "The unsub, he's abducting couples but I think he could be forcing one to kill the other" he states it louder this time, tearing a photo down from the board and walking it over.

"We already know they were killed with the same gun, but why was Mrs. Milton restrained while Mr. Milton wasn't?"

Y/N screws her eyebrows together in confusion, she'd been at the scene and she'd analyzed the photos. Mr. Milton had been restrained. There was another chair at the scene that seemed as though he'd been strapped to it, the bindings were loosened but the general assumption was that he'd managed to free himself before getting shot by the unsub.

"I think our killer untied him" Reid spoke confidently, Y/N liked watching him like this. He could be so shy in his day to day life but there was something about his work that gave him a boost.

"So do you think the same goes for the Stevenson's from 4 months back? What could his motivations be for doing something like that?" Derek asks. The first case had initially been labeled as a murder suicide by the local police precinct but the most recent victims were both shot in the back of the head. Though the scenes had far too many similarities to rule out a serial homicide.

"Most likely" he nods, "though I haven't gotten to the why just yet. But what I can tell you is that our unsub seems to really hate the women" He turns his attention back to the cork board.

"Well that's not very original" Y/N quips before pulling out her cell phone to call Garcia. "Hey Babe, I'm gonna need you to find any overlap between the Miltons and the Stevensons, any clubs, stores, hangout spots, somewhere where they could've met, or met the same people. If that's too broad maybe narrow in on the wives, anywhere they would've potentially overlapped, we think they could've been this unsub’s primary target"

"But of course my Angel" Garcia's almost sickly sweet voice pours out of the headset along with he clacking of her brightly colored nails on the keys. "Hmm." she let's out a little frustrated, "They lived a little too far apart to be members of the same gym, church, what have you. Wait!" she stops in her tracks excited, "Both couples had several appointments at the same clinic, St. Andrews Medical Centre, but those records are sealed."

Y/N lets out a frustrated sigh, "Can you unseal 'em?"

Garcia scoffs, "Can I unseal them, who are you talking to? I'll have the info in 3, 2, 1, Bingo. Both couples had several appointments with a therapist, one Dr. Harris in the months leading up to and week of their disappearance" she sends a picture and attached file to Y/N's tablet as she beckons Spencer over to take a look.

"He's a therapist with a specialty in, oh," Garcia pauses, "couples counseling"

"So what were they in for?" Derek pipes up, "Is our Dr. just interested in the look or has the couples' issue got something to do with it?"

Y/N reads through the files Garcia's sent on Dr. Harris, combing though them as fast as she can for any ounce of helpful information.

"Harris is divorced?" Y/N says in confusion.

"His wife cheated on him, and she's currently married to that guy" Garcia interjects, "he wrote a whole article about it, yeesh, someone is not over it.”

"Maybe he's targeting couples where the wives have been unfaithful to their husbands?" Spencer suggests, "That would account for the unjust hate towards the women, and the implication that he forced their husbands to kill them first, perhaps he's using them as a surrogate for the vengeance he wants?"

"Maybe so, but we've got no evidence for any of this, the crime scenes were spotless, not even a trace of DNA to tie anyone other than the couples to the scene, if it is this guy then we have to prove it before we can arrest him." JJ counters as the voice of reason.

The room goes silent.

"Prove it?" Y/N asks, Hotch looks down at her, before averting his gaze towards Spencer sitting beside her.

"I've got an idea" he says, monotone and serious. “The two of you come with me.” He motions with is hand.

The two of them look at each other with profound confusion before following behind Hotch, resigned.

----

“A married couple?!” Spencer all but shouts, the office is hardly soundproof and the rest of the team must’ve caught on by now. For the ‘smartest member of the team’ Spencer sure had some gaping holes in his foresight.

“You can’t be serious!”

He stands up from his chair, shaking his head in disbelief, starting to pace around the medium sized office to work off the nervous energy building in his chest.

“This is hardly outrageous Reid” Hotch states, making sympathetic but brief eye contact with Y/N before he pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to restrain himself. “Yourself and Y/N already have a friendship to build on, she’s worked undercover many times and your memory should make it simple for you to integrate into the false narrative she can construct. Plus, you’re a non-threatening presence to an unsub like this. What else could you possibly need convincing of?” Hotch adds with exasperation, he’d mentioned all of that and more in his initial proposition but Spencer was still reluctant.

“If I’m really that repulsive I’m sure we can find someone else to play my husband Spence?” Y/N tries to joke but there’s something about the sentence that makes her stomach uneasy.

“No!” Spencer sits again with haste, looking between the two other agents, “No that’s not it, I just” he takes in a deep sigh, “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this, I don’t want to ruin the investigation” he confesses and Hotch immediately shoots it down.

“That won’t be an issue, our unsub’s primary target will be Y/N. She’ll be the cheating partner, your role will mostly be following her lead which shouldn’t be too difficult”

Spencer might be great at acting after all. He lets his shoulders slump and his posture relaxes entirely as though his boss has just put all of his worries to rest. But that’s not what was bothering him. Not even close.

He’s had a stupid schoolboy crush on Y/N from her first day at the BAU. He’d like to think it had come later but he knew it had been almost instant. Her first day had been on Halloween 2 years earlier, he’d been explaining the historical origins of the holiday when Y/N corrected his pronunciation of the Irish word Samhain.

“It’s more like ‘Sah-whin’ than ‘Sam-hain’ in spite of its spooky origins it’s actually the current Irish word for November” she spoke up from her seat in the bullpen, setting up some stationary at the once empty desk next to Spencer’s.

“Y/N L/N,” she stood up outstretching her hand, “I guess I’m your new co-worker” she half-smiled, her nervous energy getting the better of her as he ignored her gesture and just looked at her palm instead.

“He’s just weird about touching” Emily reaches out to reciprocate the handshake, “I’m Emily Prentiss, it’s nice to meet you, this little guy here is Spencer Reid” she says as she places her hands on both of his shoulders and shakes him gently

“Dr. Spencer Reid” he corrects quickly, shooting her a tight lipped smile paired with an even more awkward half-wave.

“Oh, a doctor” she raises her eyebrows, “best not tell my Mom I work with a doctor or she’ll be hounding me to marry you” she cracks. It’s obviously a joke but Spencer can’t help but recall the conversation now and how prescient it feels.

“We can work out the details together if you think that’ll help you feel more comfortable?” Y/N reaches out her hand to touch his forearm to steady him in his seat. He’d grown so used to her casual touch by now that he barely noticed it. But this time, with his rolled up sleeve, feeling her fingertips against his bare skin it felt as though he was going to combust. How was he going to be able to hide this childish infatuation if they had to masquerade as a married couple. What if she touched him literally anywhere else. She was a profiler too, of course she’d notice.

“It’s paramount that it looks natural. This unsub knows the ins and outs of what it’s like to be a married couple so I’ll expect the two of you to prepare accordingly” Hotch is stern and focusing on Y/N as he speaks, “Work on it together, tonight, and report back to me tomorrow morning. We’ll make our decision on how to proceed then.” he says before dismissing them from his office.

They stand in the bullpen in unsure silence for a moment too long before Y/N speaks, “So, your place or mine hubby?” she leans on the last word and it feels comical coming out of her mouth but it still makes something in Spencer’s stomach tighten.

——

Garcia sends them away with piles of notes and transcriptions from each of the couples’ sessions so they could aim to predict the kind of questions they could be asked. Digging through interviews with Mrs. Milton’s friends it became apparent that she’d been stalked in the weeks leading up to her abduction, and potentially longer. Y/N and Spencer had to be prepared for that eventuality too.

Each of the couples had had at least 4 appointments before they were abducted, so the new Mr. and Mrs. Reid had to come up with several hours worth of talking points, along with day to day appearance of living as a married couple in order to be prepared.

Shouldn’t be too difficult.

Spencer was already making moves to walk back his commitment. Now that he was in Y/N’s living room pages strewn about the coffee table he was finding the whole situation a little overwhelming.

“Look I don’t think I’m up for this, I’ll just call Morgan and see if he can do it. I’m so bad at lying Y/N, I’ll get us both killed” he lets his head flop down into his hands.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Just rest your head between your knees and take a few deep breaths” Y/N coaxes and he does as instructed, his heart rate dropping to normal again almost instantly. It might be the breathing exercise but it’s probably her hand tracing up and down his back over the fabric of his dress shirt that’s actually calming him.

“The golden rule of working undercover is to tell the truth until you absolutely have to lie” she says softly, continuing her movements along his spine. “Sure we have to lie about being married, and about my infidelity. But that doesn’t mean everything has to be a lie. We can pull stories from our real lives and force them into our Legend.”

“Legend?” he says into his own lap, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Mmhmm” she hums, her finger tracing circles between his shoulder blades now, “Our Legend, it’s like our profile, our history, for our undercover identities. We’ll build it together so that we know it inside out. But it doesn’t have to be a total fabrication.” Her voice is gentle and sweet as she explains.

Spencer sits up straight again, looking to Y/N with a furrowed brow and she continues, “Remember the first time we hung out outside of work?” She coaxes and he nods. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory he would never forget.

“You asked me to go see that Russian film and you translated it into my ear the whole time?” He smiles at the memory, “And I just hadn’t told you that I spoke Russian yet” she giggles.

She was going to tell him right as the movie started, honestly she was, but the way he had to lean in so close to whisper the words in her ear, so close that she could smell his soap and shampoo. She would’ve told him, but then he would’ve stopped.

“Then we went to that noodle place next door and you started to fact check a bunch of my translations?” He finishes the story.

“That’s the one!” She sees him ease into the seat on the sofa, his body beginning to relax, “So how about we keep things simple, that was our first date.” Y/N states so plainly, like the suggestion doesn’t make Spencer’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, okay.” he nods in agreement swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Great, so we have our starting point” she pulls out a notebook and makes a note of it, he leans over to peer at the writing on the page.

“November 18th” he says quietly and she turns to him confused,

“That was the uh, the date, the date of our ‘first date’” she nods in agreement and puts the date next to the bullet-point in the notebook

“November 18th” she repeats content.

——

“We’re Spencer and Y/N Green. We’ve been together for 2 years, married for just over a year. We eloped in Vegas after going to visit Spencer’s Mother. He’s a professor and I’m a bartender. That bar is where we met. We have opposite schedules in order to facilitate my infidelity.”

Y/N and Spencer stand at the top of the room facing the team gathered at the round table, the pages of their legend tacked to the board behind them.

“I found out after I left work early 4 months ago. Y/N doesn’t have a consistent partner but revealed she’d been casually sleeping with other people for the 6 months prior. She agreed to stop at the time but continued to cheat. This time we’re seeking professional counseling to see if we can save the marriage.” Spencer finished the story with ease. Turning to Y/N to shoot her a small smile.

Once they’d worked out the overall story, the details came easy. He wouldn’t let on but he was pretty confident he may know everything there was to know about his ‘wife’ already.

“Okay, if you both feel confident I can start making the arrangements with Garcia to set up an appointment for you two” Hotch stands up from the table turning back on his way out.

“Great work agents.”

——

There were no appointments available until the following week, which comes as both a stress and a relief. On one hand it gives them more time to prepare, but on the other hand it stretches this whole situation out further.

Garcia coaxes Rossi into inviting everyone over for the evening with little to no real effort. More than anything Spencer just wants to go home and read in the peace and quiet of his living room, but Y/N sits herself on the edge of his desk before he has a chance to leave for the night.

“You coming kid?” She picks up his satchel off the ground to hand it to him as he stands, he takes it from her before shaking his head.

“I don’t know that I’m up for it” he scrunches up his nose a little as he says it, it’s one of the nervous ticks he’s got that Y/N loves the most.

“Aw c’mon. My husband is gonna make me go to a party on my own? No wonder I went and cheated on you” she shoves his shoulder gently, antagonizing him just a little. He chuckles as he and shakes his head softly. “But seriously Spence, it’s been a rough day and half, and it’ll be an even weirder week. It might be good for you to blow off a little steam, get out of your own head” she reaches up to ruffle his hair as she says it.

He loves that. The way she has to reach all the way up on her tippy toes to get to the top of his head but she still insists on doing it. He softens with so little convincing.

“Y’know what, you’re right” he sighs, slinging his bag across his shoulder, “Lets get out of here.”

And it’s already worth it to see the smile that spreads across Y/N’s cheeks.

——

“I can see it, I think pretty boy here’s a bit stiff but you can pull it off” Morgan squints at the two of them sitting next to one another around Rossi’s table.

“Hey I’m not stiff” Spencer jumps to his own defense before the table erupts with laughter. He wants to fight it again but Y/N’s hand comes to rest on his forearm laying on the table between them.

“Yes you are Spence, but I married you anyway” she makes an exaggerated kissing face before the table begins to giggle yet again. Spencer doesn’t mind this time because after the joke is over her hand doesn’t move from it’s position.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Garcia almost begins to vibrate in her chair, “I’ve got a great idea, we should test you guys”

The team starts to holler and the sound throws Spencer’s head back into chaos. Each time he felt his heart start to palpitate he hoped Y/N couldn’t tell.

Garcia pulls out her phone and starts to look for questions, “What did they wear on your first date?” She asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“A light blue sweater with black pants and boots” Spencer answers with no hesitation.

“No fair!” Y/N yelps, “this game is rigged, the kids got an eidetic memory!”

“Alright then, I’ll change it up, who’s the tidiest?” Garcia asks, and that’s also unfair because Y/N knows it’s Spencer but doesn’t want to pay him that compliment. Before she can speak he’s already on it though.

“Me, is that not obvious?” He jokes,

“Yeah okay that one’s right too” Y/N sulks.

“What’s their dream job?” Garcia offers and Y/N jumps in before he can answer first.

“Aha! Magician!” she yelps and Spencer turns to her, eyebrows pulled together.

“Yeah, how’d you remember that?” he interrogates.

He knows exactly when he told her. Y/N was having a moment during a case. it was getting to her more than she’d like to admit but Spencer could tell. She’d knocked on his hotel room door one evening when she couldn’t sleep, she knew it wasn’t his strong suit either.

He’d let her in, settling on the bed. This was one of the better mattresses they’d had in a hotel. It helped soothe the muscles that had been tensed all day. Y/N didn’t want to talk about why she couldn’t sleep. This was the first time it happened, but they’ve found themselves in each other’s hotel rooms over and over as the cases went by.

They both knew that what they were searching for was distraction, and comfort, but they wouldn’t admit to the last one.

“Just tell me something, anything”

Spencer had to wrack his brain looking around the hotel room when something struck him. “Do you want to hear an interesting hotel fact?”

“Sure Spence, shoot” she murmured into the pillow she had curled up in her lap.

“Did you know that the ‘Sky Beam’, a bright light that shoots out of the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, attracts so many insects that it has established a new ecosystem of moths, bats, and owls” he says with fervor but he can see from the way her face contorts that he’s put the wrong foot forward.

“Not a gross fact Spencer” she knocks him in the head with her pillow, not too harsh, but rough enough to ruffle his curls.

He skims the room again, eyes landing on a few coins scattered on his bedside table. “How about a magic trick?” she looks at him strange but shakes the expression away and nods.

Spencer picks up a coin of the nightstand and shows it to Y/N with   enthusiasm, “See just a regular coin” he jokes and she returns the look exasperated.

“Alright, spoilsport” he holds it out to her pinched between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, moving his left hand over the coin quickly before it vanishes. He then holds out his two empty palms to Y/N for inspection.

“Nah, bullshit” she says, pulling his open palms towards her. He snaps them away before she can look too hard. Pulling his hands back in towards himself he waves one in front of the other and the coin reappears between his fingers.

“What?” is all she can say, and he’s accomplished his goal of distracting her now. “How’d you do that?” she picks up the coin and starts to inspect it closely, with no idea what she’d even be looking for.

“A magician never reveals his secrets” he smirks, confident now that he’s left her so dumfounded. She snaps her head up to look at him, throwing the coin back into his waiting hands.

“So you’re a magician now?” she jokes, reclining back onto the pillows below her and turning her head to look up at him. He follows suit, lying down on his own pillows next to Y/N and returns her gaze.

“Yup, that’s actually what I wanted to do when I was a kid. Still do if I’m honest with myself. So I guess if this FBI thing ever goes belly-up I’ve got a back up plan” he says it like it’s just a silly joke but Y/N can see it’s a little more than that. Spencer joined the BAU so young he almost didn’t get to have a childhood at all, he barely even chose what he would spend the rest of his life working at.

“You have to teach me that one sometime” she yawns, shutting her eyes softly.

“Anytime” he smiles, even thought she can’t see it, and watches as her breathing evens out and she’s asleep. He’s gone not long after. He wishes he had the energy left to stay awake, watching her for even a few moments more so that he could commit the sight to memory. But something about her presence in his room, in his bed, just put him at complete ease and he couldn’t help but fall asleep.

Like so many things in their friendship he’d assumed he was the only one to remember it all so vividly. Despite how often Y/N proved him wrong he would never get used to it.

“Of course I remembered you wanted to be a magician Spencer. How was I supposed to forget that, you still haven't taught me that coin thingy” she feigns annoyance but really she’s just had a glass or two of Rossi’s expensive wine and is feeling brave.

“Sorry Y/N I tried to teach you that, your coordination is just that bad” he shrugs and takes a sip from his own glass.

Derek interrupts, scanning the screen of Garcia’s phone for an interesting question before he appears to land on one, his face lighting up.

“Of the two of you, who’s the better kisser?” Derek says with pure confidence that catches Spencer so off guard that he almost spits out his wine like he’s in a cartoon.

“We haven’t– we don't need– we uh” Spencer stammers having next to no clue what he’s even trying to say.

“I’m sure it’s 50/50, isn’t that right Mr. Green?” Y/N reaches her hand up to cup his cheeks, pushing his lips into a small pout. The red wine staining his lips ever so slightly so that they’re just a shade pinker than usual. And Y/N can’t help but stare at them for a second too long before looking up into his eyes.

He looks uneasy, and a little nervous so she lets go of his cheeks, letting her hand fall down to rest on his forearm once again, grazing the exposed skin.

“You gotta at least play the part pretty boy” Derek laughs, “What happens if this therapist starts asking about your sex life, are you gonna clam up, freak out?”

And he hadn’t thought about it. But it made sense, the sessions were going to be about ‘cheating’ which is by it’s very nature linked to their sex life. This was worse than he thought.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it Morgan. I’ve thought of it all.” Y/N waves off the comment, gripping Spencer’s arm a little tighter as she spoke in an effort to comfort him. “You know what, I actually think it might be time to head out.” She stands up from the table, rubbing her ‘husband’s’ shoulder as she moves so that he follows suit, recognizing this move as her saving him from the interaction.

They’re out the door together with minimal teasing in under 3 minutes, piled into a cab beside each other with no real plan other than to leave that table.

“Do you want to go by to yours and watch old reruns of The Twilight Zone?” Y/N offers and Spencers shoulders almost melt into the black leather of the seat behind him.

“So so badly” he groans, letting his eyes close as he falls back against the headrest.

——

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