#the brain shuts me off from consciousness because i'm just too tired and someone else comes in to keep going without complaint.

[syn4k]

i know being a human being takes recharge time but im so out of practice with being gentle to myself!!!!! i want to live and move and laugh so loud and live up to my name and remind people of the sun!!!!!!!!! i want so desperately to be filled with color and light and love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but instead when i get home i have to crash in bed and im too tired to do the things i love and im still grumpy and i keep forgetting to be nice to myself and its just so hard. i want to be poetry. i want to reduce my entire life to one of those sunswept june evenings where the wind smells like your soul and stay there forever. but its so much harder to romanticize the tired sighs and the ink stained fingers and the messy room and the head down headphones on isnt it? theres beauty in the mundane somewhere but my vision is stuck in an exhausted blurry greyscale

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 17

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

I stand in a dark, featureless place, a place with no beginning and no end, a place with no way out and nowhere to go.

"Get out."

I spin and find myself face to face with Kyle. He still looks pissed.

His face is pale as porcelain, his eyes are black as the void and the veins beneath his skin look like they're filled with ink.

"Whoa." I hold up my hands and back away. "Kyle, it's me, Carlos. Mr. Martinez, remember?"

"I remember."

"Good. I want to help you, Kyle. I want to help. Understand?"

Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth.

"Get out."

"Kyle, just tell me who did this. Tell me who hurt you. If you tell me, then..."

"It's you."

"What?"

Kyle's face contorts with pain, and black tears leak from his eyes.

"This is all because of you."

My mind grapples for an explanation and seizes on the only one that makes sense.

"Because I got mad at you and made you go for burgers? Kyle, I'm so sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for what happened to you. But that wasn't my fault. Understand? Someone else did that and I need you to remember who. Can you..."

"It's you. It's you. IT'S YOU." Kyle screams, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard or gravel in a blender.

"GET OUT."

Just as he'd shoved my physical body, he shoves my astral body so hard I fly off my feet and backwards into the dark.

~ ★ ~

The world spins.

My head hurts.

I blink up at a tiled ceiling, lost in shadow and then wince as someone shines a light directly in my eyes.

The light is withdrawn and as my vision clears I recognize Mrs. Peters' nurse leaning over me.

"Someone call an ambulance," she says. "He shouldn't be moved."

"No, no," I whisper hoarsely and try to raise my hand, then choke on a scream as pain bites down on my arm with a mouth full of needle teeth.

"Lie still," the nurse orders, resting a hand on my chest. "Looks like you've got a broken arm and a concussion. You need to go to the E.R."

"No, no. Can't..."

I try to shake my head but the nurse quickly grabs either side of it, holding it still.

"Don't move. You could have a spinal injury as well."

"No, I'm..."

Well, I'm not fine, obviously but I'm not as badly hurt as it might seem.

If only I had the energy to say as much, Kyle drained most of mine.

"What's your name?" the nurse asks.

"Carlos."

"Your full name."

"Carlos... Ángel..."

Suddenly too tired to remember the rest, I give in and shut my eyes.

~ ★ ~

"Fuck."

I flop back against the pillows of the hospital bed I'm still stuck in and stare up at the bright, fluorescent lights glaring down from overhead.

I'd slipped in and out of consciousness as the paramedics arrived, loaded me into an ambulance and took me on a very expensive and in my opinion completely unnecessary ride to the hospital.

I mean, yeah, my arm was broken but other than that I was fine.

Mostly fine.

I'd have to wear a neck brace for ten days but I didn't have a concussion.

If my eyes hadn't responded to light and if I'd been barely conscious for a day and a half and if I had trouble remembering basic facts, well, that was just the effect of taking a little trip to the other side, not brain damage.

It used to happen all the time when Aunt Toni used me as demon bait.

I'd get possessed, she'd trap the demon inside me, then exorcise it and send it back to whatever hell it came from.

Meanwhile, I'd be wandering around in a place like the one Kyle was stuck in now and when I came back...

Well, sometimes it took a while to readjust to my physical body.

Try explaining that to an E.R. doctor, though.

"What are you complaining about now?"

John looks up from the chair he's occupied for almost twenty-four hours.

"You need more pain meds?"

"No," I grumble. "I need more money."

"What for?"

I roll my head to the side as much as I can from the confines of my human neck cone and glare at him.

"You know how much a ride in an ambulance costs? Like, $1,200."

"You got insurance, don't you?"

I groan.

"I'm a young, healthy, single, self-employed guy. I got the cheapest insurance I could buy. It covers... I dunno. Basically nothing. Fuck."

"Hey, you're alive, that's what matters. We'll figure this out."

"Who's we?" I ask, frowning at him.

There's no 'we' with someone I met barely two weeks ago, at least not when it comes to figuring out shit like paying hospital bills.

John rubs the back of his neck.

"I just mean... in general, you know. Actually... there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

He clears his throat but before he can speak, someone knocks on the door and detective Latoya McKenzie enters, her long braids bound in a knot at the back of her head today.

"Turner, you got a minute?"

"For you? Always. What are you doing here so early?"

"Early? It's nine-thirty in the morning, Turner. And seeing as this is apparently your mobile office now, I figured I'd stop by. Got that file you asked for."

John glances at me.

"Oh, ah... Did you bring it with you?"

McKenzie arches her brows at him.

She holds a manila folder and clip board.

She holds out the folder and John rises and reaches for it with a strange hesitation, as if afraid it might be full of spiders or something.

He takes it, flips it open, stares at it and then his shoulders drop an inch as he releases whatever strange tension he was holding.

"Oh. The Peters case."

"Kyle?" I ask, sitting up with interest.

"No. Mrs. Peters' husband, Richard," John says distractedly, turning pages over in the file.

"Your little encounter with the stairs inspired me to pull the record of his death. Apparently, there was an investigation, prompted by the life insurance company. He'd taken out a sizable policy only a few weeks before."

"Oh. Good timing."

I'd told John of my suspicions regarding Mrs. Peters.

He'd been far more willing to believe them than he was to entertain my other conviction, which was that Kyle hadn't meant to hurt me.

I was almost certain Kyle meant to protect me but John remained highly skeptical.

I couldn't blame him, given my current condition.

"At least according to the coroner, Lucille's story checks out. Richard Peters suffered a massive heart attack, during which he fell down the stairs, which in turn caused a severe vertebral dislocation. His spinal cord separated from the back of his skull, resulting in instant death. He probably died exactly where you landed."

"Nice. Thanks for the imagery."

"The question is... what caused the heart attack?"

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-five and in good health," Detective McKenzie says, leaning against the door with her arms crossed over her generous chest. "He was a fire chief. Had to take a yearly fitness test and always passed with flying colors."

"Still. Sometimes top athletes drop dead," John says. "That doesn't mean anything."

"No and toxicology came back null. So his death was ruled to be the result of natural causes, leaving the insurance company on the hook and Lucille to cash in on the policy."

McKenzie blows on her long, sparkly purple nails.

"How much did she get?" I ask.

"Half a million, give or take."

I whistle.

"Shit. That's not bad."

"Nope. Not bad at all," John agrees, closing the file and handing it back to McKenzie.

"So, what?" I ask, propping myself up on the pillows. "Kyle's aunt won the life insurance lottery?"

"Maybe."

John scrubs a hand through his short, dark hair and sighs.

I catch a whiff of him as he lifts his arm.

It's nothing unpleasant, just the natural scent of his body, subtle and dark, smoke and musk.

Instantly turned on by it and surprised by the strength of my reaction, I cough and pull the hospital bed sheet over my lap.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a tickle in my throat."

"I got something for you, too," McKenzie says, handing me the clipboard she carries.

"Front desk asked me to bring this to you. They said just sign the highlighted bits and you're good to go. Seems your bill's been paid in full."

"What?"

I sit up, flipping through a stack of forms that make the SAT look like child's play.

"By who?"

"Mrs. Lucille Peters, apparently."

"Fuck."

I look up and meet John's eyes, which do that weird kaleidoscopic thing they do, turning from brown-green to amber-gold with the changing angle of light.

"Maybe she felt responsible," McKenzie suggests. "Since you got injured in her house. Wanted to avoid a lawsuit."

"Maybe," I allow, reading through the list of charges with my heart in my throat.

The total comes out just short of $10,000.

"The fuck am I supposed to pay her back for this?"

"You don't owe someone for a gift," John says.

A true gift, no. But this?

This feels like a bargain I didn't agree upon and now my soul's on the table.

"Fuck."

McKenzie's radio crackles with voices speaking in code.

John's phone buzzes at the same time.

He answers it and even hearing just his side of the conversation, I know it's bad.

"Yeah. When?"

A pause.

"Copy. On my way."

Disconnecting, he rises and rubs a hand across his jaw, looking down at me as if caught in a snare of indecision, unsure what to say.

"What is it?" I ask, sitting up.

"John... tell me."

"There's been another... Someone found a body."

"And?"

"And it's weird. Upside down, throat slit. Drained of blood."

I shake my head.

"It's too early for the second Feast. The full moon isn't for two more days, right?"

"Right."

"So what is this? Practice?"

"I don't know. Look, check yourself out of here. Have Nguyen take you to my place. Lock yourself in and set the alarm. The code is 0405. Got it?"

"0405," I repeat.

"Good. Rest and take it easy. I'll let you know what I find."

He leaves with McKenzie at his side and as I watch him disappear through the door.

I almost call out to him, almost ask him to stay with me, instead.

But I don't.

I've no right to ask that of him.

We're stuck in this shitty situation together, we've got the hots for each other and yeah, we fucked.

That still doesn't mean there's a 'we' or that there ever will be.

In the meantime, I've got work of my own to do.

It's time to get a hold of Aunt Toni. 

[cherry-lipbalm]

double trouble. spencer reid.

4.8k words.

masterlist

where y/n pulls the short straw and has to double up with spencer.

There is a chart within the BAU: a solid, concise graph that portrays, arguably the most, vital information within the FBI. Intricately designed, Garcia and Y/N had managed to construct a comprehensible guide to who in the team was the most pleasant to share a room with. At first it was a joke, originated from a slow day of nothing but paperwork Y/N had spent in Garcia's lair. Conversations arose, and soon after so did the chart.

It's built up on categories such as conversation, tidiness, sleeping conditions and even hygiene. There are ten available points per category, and Emily loses said ten points for sleeping conditions because her snores can be heard from China. The points are the basis of the game, essential in order to rank the team individually and compile them into a list of favourability. Spencer is at the bottom of that list.

"I don't get it, I'm a delight," Spencer argued, strolling alongside Morgan up the small flight of stairs to the BAU room. Another case had forced them to prepare for the jet in 30 minutes, but Hotch and the rest of the team had very different perspectives on preparation. Especially after what he said when they entered the room.

"Okay, before we start you should know I called ahead to book a hotel and they had limited rooms. We all have one but you're going to have to double up."

Y/N had never seen an American Western movie before, but she imagined that the cliché standoff looked a lot like what happened in the BAU room subsequent to that announcement. Those that had been sitting launched to their feet, uncaring to the chairs rolling free behind them. If someone was holding something it dropped onto the table, or even the floor. Communication faltered, and all anyone dared to do was stare at each other.

When Hotch looked up from his file, he had to do a double take because of the drastic change in atmosphere. His team were all standing metres apart; Y/N had a hand over her gun.

"I think we all know what this calls for," she said.

"Get it," Morgan gestured to the back of the room. Y/N's movement caused a surge of motion as everyone sat at the table attentively. Hotch tried to turn the attention back to the screen with the crime scene photos, but even JJ was more focused on the whiteboard rolling into the room.

Y/N stood by it's side, and on her way forced Hotch into a seat. She grabbed the top corner and flipped it over to reveal the coloured array of pie charts, bullet-points and bar charts.

"I still don't see why this is necessary," Spencer whined from the back of the room.

"I don't see why you've obviously spent more time and effort on this than any of your cases," Hotch added.

"Okay, you two are just jealous because you're at the bottom of the list," Y/N snarked, then addressed the team. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today, in holy matrimony, to judge your fellow coworkers and deem who is the least likeable. Spoiler alert: it's Spencer."

At this, the aforementioned agent threw his pen directly at Y/N's head. She shrieked, then turned to him with a glare as she tried to untangle it from her hair. He laughed wholeheartedly, and the team snickered not only at Spencer's attack but the way they were so obviously and obliviously in love with each other.

"This chart makes no sense! I mean, how do I only have five points for hygiene? We all know I'm the cleanest out of everyone here."

"I agree with you Spencer," Y/N said, "your hygiene is at a ten point standard but unfortunately people don’t want to compete with said ten point standard, so that loses you five points, gorgeous.”

Spencer didn't reply (only sulked into his seat), half because he's shocked by the injustice of the chart and the other half because he's shocked Y/N just called him gorgeous.

"Alright! The hat, please," She exclaimed, enticing Spencer from his trance. Garcia presented the fedora over the table, and Y/N began talking immediately when she saw Hotch's mouth open in objection because were they really using the fedora from the unsub they caught last week?

Only four people took turns in picking names out of the hat; ever since in incident in '04 where lack of coordination made for everyone picking a name of someone who had already picked someone else. It resulted in a few brawls when Morgan wouldn't budge from his choice of Garcia even though his name had been pulled by Reid.

It never took them long to pick names out of desperation, considering the name-picking determined how the next 24 + hours were going to go. So when Y/N picked out Spencer's name, no one blamed her when she practically collapsed to the floor.

"That's karma," Spencer said upon her unraveling.

"I thought you didn't believe in karma," she sneered, stomping back onto her feet.

"In situations like these it seems to be the only viable explanation."

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him on her way out of the room, muttering under her breath that she'll be briefed when she's aboard, because she needed a moment alone for a pep-talk on how murdering your colleague apparently isn't socially acceptable.

On her way out, faintly in the background, Morgan caught sight of Emily and JJ fist-bumping victoriously, and realised that Y/N's demise more than certainly involved some foul play. Oh well, he thought, it'll make for good entertainment.

———

"Science shows us that we feel more personally connected with people who have similar postures, vocal rhythms, facial expressions and even eye blinking. If you consciously sync these factors your brain activity could follow, resulting in what many people call 'clicking' wi-"

"I cannot believe you asked me why you lost seven points for conversation and then followed with that."

"What? What's wrong with science?"

"Oh, Spence, you're so gorgeous but so oblivious," Y/N sighed, exhausted from a mixture of jet lag and Spencer's enthusiastic take on the science of conversation. They had only just stepped foot in the room, and she was already drained from the mere thought of having to bunk with him for the next however many hours.

Y/N is quick to throw her things down as soon as they enter the room. She dumps her suitcase by the door and launches a few more things on the cabinets around her, then tries to ignore Spencer's sounds of distaste as she does this. She's frankly too tired to care, and jumps onto the bed without thinking; she's so enervated she doesn't even realise there's only the one bed.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Spencer suddenly asks despite the silence that passed and the obvious fact that Y/N is trying to get some shut eye.

All he receives is an incomprehensible mumble from under the pillows, but he takes it as a response anyway.

"Why do you keep, uh, keep calling me 'gorgeous' I mean, I'm not, uh..." he stammers, fidgeting with the room key in his hands while he stands in front of the wardrobe to make it seem like he's doing something and doesn't care as much as he does.

"I'd say it's pretty self explanatory."

He senses the fatigue in her voice, so just leaves it with a shrug of his shoulders and a content smile, then goes to organising his array of sweater vests onto the hangers. When he's done with this, he turns around to make himself a coffee; taking a different approach to the jet lag than Y/N.

At the thought of her, he looks up to see her sprawled out across the bed. She's clutching onto a pillow and seems so relaxed that Spencer has to look away for a moment because he's more than certain he shouldn't be seeing a coworker like this. Nevertheless, he smiles upon her peaceful ambience, and hopes the boiling kettle doesn't disturb her too much.

When it's done brewing, Spencer sips the coffee cautiously and strides over to a small chair in the corner of the room. Here, Y/N's slumped figure is directly in his view, so he can't help but see her so casually on the bed. Wait, the bed... oh shit.

He knows that the chances of him getting the bed are slim. For one, Y/N's pretty much already claimed that territory, and, even if she hadn't, Spencer knew she'd put up one hell of a fight for it. He only hoped there were some extra blankets and pillows that could aid in making the floor at least somewhat comfortable.

"So, uh, Rock Paper Scissors for the bed?" He asks, then slurps his coffee. His voice rouses Y/N for a moment, and he's sure she's dozed back off again until his words sink in and she turns around to him with bleary eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"One bed. Two people," he says nervously and gestures to the space between them.

And it takes Y/N a moment. She looks from Spencer to the bed, then stares at the pillows for a long while, then she looks at Spencer again, then the bed. Then, she lets out a blood-curdling cry so loud that Reid has to cover his ears.

"Why!" She screams, slamming her hands down on the mattress. Spencer can't help but laugh, snickering behind his hand which only infuriates Y/N more.

"Okay, okay!" He moves to calm her down when he can practically see the steam coming out of her ears, "rock paper scissors, come on."

"Oh, I don't want to do that, Spence," she whines.

"Why? 'Cause you know you'll lose?" With his patronisation he raises an eyebrow at her when he approaches the end of the bed, his fist already raised. His condescension makes Y/N irrefutably stubborn, and she knows he's doing it on purpose -because he always does- but she doesn't care when it means she has a chance to beat Spencer at something.

"Fine," she grumbles. She sweeps the hair from her face and sits up straight, shuffling to the end of the bed and letting her legs dangle down; they brush against Spencer's own and he clears his throat amid the contact.

The slap of her fist against her palm indicates the beginning of the game. Y/N knows that she's unlikely to win, because Spencer is bound to have calculated some sure-fire plan to succeed in every round of Rock Paper Scissors.

This is why, when Spencer pulls paper and she pulls scissors, she screams in delight.

"No," Spencer says bluntly, then demands, "best out of three."

"Oh no," she chuckles, "it's never been that way before, it isn't now, gorgeous."

Spencer throws his head back in a groan, kneeling on the floor in defeat. He stays there because he figures he ought to become acquainted with it.

———

When nighttime rolls around, Y/N is pretty excited. She's already texted the BAU group chat a record seventeen times about the matter, yet somehow the team hasn't gotten sick of it thus far, and may even be more exhilarated than she is. It's the one good thing to come out of sharing a room with Spencer: that she gets to watch him wiggle in discomfort on his makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on the floor.

Except, when it comes down to it, it isn't that fun at all.

He's wriggling, yes, but it's doesn't exactly fulfil her with any satisfaction; if anything, it's just sad. He struggles to reach any form, never mind pinnacle, of relaxation, and Y/N actually feels pretty guilty at the subordination. So when the clock hits midnight and she's still hearing Spencer grunting when he hits a certain incessant bump in the carpet, she gives in and sits up.

Upon the sudden sound of bedsheets rustling, Spencer freezes because he thinks he's going to get shouted at, but it's the opposite that scares him even more.

"Do you want to get in bed?" Her voice sounds, the hush penetrating through the air.

Immediately Spencer rises; he wants nothing more than to take her up on her offer, but he is, unfortunately, chivalrous.

"No, no, it's okay," he whispers back, already delving back under his covers.

"Spencer. Just take the bed, I can't sleep with you tossing and turning," she says, hoping the complaint will cover up her caring behaviour.

"Be careful, Y/L/N, it almost sounds like you care."

"Shut up, do you want the bed or not?"

"I do but, unlike you, I'm actually a good person and wouldn't want to see you lying on the floor-"

"Uh, I'm offering you the bed, aren't I? That's gotta earn me some brownie points," she remarked, now having turned on a lamp. "Besides, if you're that bothered about it, we'll just share."

This makes Spencer stop: his torso is turned abnormally in his angle to see Y/N behind him, the blankets feebly draping across him show the Doctor Who shirt he's wearing, and his hair is a tousled mess that Y/N just knows will take him hours to fix in the morning. Well, that was tomorrow's problem, she contemplated, right now the issue lied in who, if either of them, was going to sleep on the floor.

"Uh, share? You.. uh, you really wanna do that?"

"As long as you don't snore, or kick; whats the harm?"

Spencer avoids dumping information about the harm of them sleeping together: how this kind of physical contact releases oxytocin, a chemical compound in the brain that exhibits feelings of empathy, trust, relaxation and even reduces anxiety. He saves her this because it's just past midnight and he doubts she wants to hear about the scientific risk of them growing to like each other.

"Oh, okay," he agrees instead. He clambers up from his pile of blankets and clutches a pillow to his chest while he stumbles over. Y/N shuffles to one side and pulls the duvet back, and he's more than happy to get under warm, comfy sheets.

"Let me just make something clear," Y/N says while Spencer adjusts into the pillows. He doesn't do this for long because one is snatched from under his head. When he moves to object, he sees it being planted next to his arm, creating a definite border between them.

"Your side, my side," Y/N says sternly, "that clear?"

"Crystal."

———

It's around three am when Y/N stirs awake. At first she can't grasp what's roused her, but then she hears a noise, and assumes there's got to be some construction going on outside because what she hears is alike to the humming of machinery. When she gains a reasonable amount of consciousness, she realises the sound is a bit too close to home.

Her hand reaches out across the bed, and when she accidentally whacks Spencer on the chest, she worries she's awoken him, until the noise starts again and it's here she discovers it's coming from him.

Oh shit, she thinks, please don't tell me my co-worker is having a sex dream while I'm lying right next to him.

He isn't, but Y/N isn't sure the reality is any better.

The moaning sound he first emitted has progressed into some sort of panicked grunt, accompanied by occasional whines. Soon, his body is flinching away from an invisible force.

Y/N knows it's probably best to leave it, that if she wakes him up he might be too confused and scared, he'll be disoriented, but when he starts screaming, she doesn't have anything else to resort to.

"Spence, Spencer! Wake up, hey," she shakes him, and he's awake in seconds. Sitting up straight, Y/N sees him hitting things that aren't there; it's only when she turns the light on that he eventually calms down.

"I'm sorry," he croaks immediately. Then his head is in his hands as he leans on his knees, and Y/N is overcome with a feeling completely foreign to her in regard to Spencer: empathy.

"Don't be, it-... it's okay," her voice takes a calm turn, and she even puts a hand on his back because anything that happens after three am is as good as forgotten anyway.

"You were right, I'm sorry," Spencer mutters. "This'll lose me ten points for sleeping conditions, huh?"

His attempt at cracking a joke does make Y/N smile, but even he can tell it's one of pity.

"Don't be silly. Do you want to, uh, talk about it?"

"I just wanna sleep," he sighs, and falls back into the pillows. Y/N creases her brows in sympathy, then lies down next to him; she stares at the ceiling for a while, and the steadying of Spencer's breathing makes her think he fell asleep a while ago, so she leans to turn off the lamp before his voice breaks the silence.

"Can you keep the light on?"

His sudden ask makes Y/N jump, but she steadies under the softness of Spencer's voice. When she turns to him his eyes are barely open, but he can see the benevolent smile she's giving him; something he rarely sees from Y/N.

"Of course," she says, then lies back down into the indent she's made in the bed.

"Thanks," he replies, and Y/N notices this is the least she's ever heard Spencer talk.

"You know," she starts, "it's not silly to be afraid of the dark; it's basic human instinct. I mean, it's evolution: humans have a... a tendency to be afraid of the dark, our visual sense vanishes and we can't detect anything around us. It's primal instinct, or... something, I guess."

At the end of her ramble, she's afraid she's sent Spencer to sleep, because he's gone uncharacteristically placid, but -yet again- he surprises her.

"Now who's losing points for conversation?"

Y/N's laugh after this is so hearty and genuine that Spencer can't help but smile, grin even. His chest rumbles with a chuckle, and Y/N feels the mattress shake under their collaboration of laughter, when it dies down they're both still beaming.

"Maybe I've been hanging around you too much," she declares. It's a jab, but her cheek rests against the pillow when she turns her head to him because her smile is so wide, and Spencer reciprocates; the act is unfamiliar to the pair, but warming nonetheless.

When it goes silent, Y/N doesn't expect to sleep at all. The Pavlov affect of the light being on tricks her brain into thinking she should be wide awake (something she learnt from Spencer), so she lies there patiently; hands intertwined resting on her chest. She twiddles her thumbs, almost as if she's waiting for something to happen.

"I'm sorry you have nightmares," she mutters.

Spencer's eyes flutter open, and she goes to make another apology, this time for waking him, but he clears his throat so she lets him take the lead.

"S'Not your fault, I just, I don't know. I get these dreams, these weird dreams - ever since I was a kid. I guess they just... developed into nightmares since I joined the BAU," he mumbles. "We see some pretty bad stuff."

Y/N hums, "we do, don't we?"

Her speech doesn't warrant a response, so Spencer just smiles again and they both silently call it a night. Reid is asleep in seconds, which Y/N finds admirable, while she stays still for a while. The way the orange light is bouncing off Spencer's physique makes him look like he's centre stage of an oil painting. The detail she's gaining of his pores and his eyelashes from being so close to him is both daunting and beautiful at the same time. His resting body reminds her of the pieces on display in an art exhibit Spencer dragged her along to one day last autumn. She wonders if he took anyone else to that exhibit, and hopes he didn't.

She soundlessly admires the rise of his chest: the melody of his breathing amid the chagrin of an occasional nose whistle. His hair, once a foreseeable inconvenience, is now an abundance of, what Y/N can only describe as, natural radiance; it's all curls and frizz and length that she's begged him to never lay a hand on. She can't help but run a hand through it. When she does, it's a lot softer than she expected and makes her think, wow I've really got to find out what conditioner he is using while she's untangling any knots she comes across. It only results in more frizz but he'll gel it back with product in the morning (much to Y/N's disappointment).

The noise he exudes when Y/N scratches his scalp makes her heart melt immediately. It is the sound of innocence wrapped up in a ball of revere, the way it comes from his chest and catches in the back of his throat in a small, naive whine. Then he subconsciously curls into her hold and is practically purring when she continues to scrape her fingernails gently across his head.

The ambivalence of it all is what makes Y/N stop. Spencer Reid isn't the kind of guy she ever anticipated to have a crush on. He didn't fit into the pattern of her list of exes, not even one feature of him came close to anything of her usual type. Where she'd normally be taken to movies and dinners, Spencer ventured with her to museums, public symposiums, art exhibits. Y/N can't resist fondly reminiscing on a library trip they took last week that resulted in them checking out each of their favourite books for one another. And while, on paper, this was romantic and harmonious, they were strictly platonic. Barely that; they took the piss out of each other at every opportunity, not even always as a joke. Y/N had collapsed in sorrow when she pulled his name out of the hat.

But the smile on Spencer's face... his serene expression and soft hair makes Y/N's knees weak for a totally different reason. And she figures this feeling trumps whatever feigned resentment she has been portraying over the years.

Fine, she thought, stubborn as always when it came to Spencer, I'll tell him when he wakes up. She began to bask in the peace that came before whatever storm could potentially riot tomorrow when she told Spencer how she felt. She guessed she had at least a few hours to relish in their friendship and the love they had built.

She guessed wrong.

Spencer's eyes were fluttering open before Y/N had even began conjuring up what she was going to say. Unfortunately, when she made a plan she stuck to it; she was beginning to see why her stubbornness could be such an unattractive quality.

Spencer squinted harshly with the light, and the first thing he managed to see clearly was the discreet panic in Y/N's eyes. He took a quick survey of the room to eliminate what visible factors that could reason her alarm; when he ruled out any unsub with a gun to her head, he relaxed.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked to the window, and it didn't seem to be daylight yet.

"Haven't you been to sleep?" He asked, more than prepared to educate her in the necessities of getting a good night's rest.

"Not yet. You've only been out a few minutes," she said softly, retracting her hand from his locks. Here, Spencer realised he didn't like the feeling of Y/N's absence.

"Oh," he hummed, "I was dreaming. I think Darth Vader was there..."

Y/N chuckled lightheartedly, "of course he was."

Spencer seemed willing to remain awake, but time was limited and Y/N wasn't sure when he'd be dozing off again. So, she made her move.

"Listen, I wasn't going to say anything until morning but, you're awake so I may as well tell you now..."

He's visibly intrigued; with a quirked eyebrow and digging the knuckle-joint of his finger in a rubbing motion in the corner of his eye to try and gain some sense of vivacity. Still, all he can respond with is a drone.

"And I don't want this to, I don't know, freak you out? Or to make anything awkward, so if it does, we can just... pretend this never happened, okay? I mean it."

This manages to obtain Y/N the attention she needs, because, without delay, Spencer has both eyes open and his eyebrows are knitted together in mostly concern. Now, with his eager expression, Y/N wishes he had stayed nonchalant.

"What's wrong?"

"I just... I guess. I mean, I like you? I think? I know, really. I just - you're not like any other guy, and I like that, that's a good thing! I mean, what other guy knows how to build a rocket and make a coin appear behind your ear?"

Spencer chuckles, and his eyes are wide and bright like he's been suddenly granted passage to a whole new world. Mouth agape with wonder, he's like a child being told he can finally play on the big-kid swings: buzzing with excitement and anticipation, just like said rockets he launches and gets in trouble with Hotch for.

"You mean like this?" He asks and leans forward to brandish a dime from behind Y/N's earlobe.

"Okay, like, who does that!" She screeches way too loudly for three am. When she clasps a hand over her mouth Spencer chortles and slowly removes her grasp. He's timid, so initially only presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles, then feels the ambience in the room shift; suddenly everything has devolved from blushing antics and stumbles of words to serenity in a matter of seconds.  

Spencer's pecks adhere to Y/N's hands, lingering on the skin of her knuckles and occasionally peppering to her palms. It isn't until a few kisses later that he brings himself to move closer, and even here his courage only brings him to her cheek.

When the corner of his lips press lustfully upon her face, Y/N doesn't hesitate in turning her head ever so slightly. His lips part, and he breaks away to glance at her and make sure this isn't all one big misunderstanding. But her gaze is matched to his mouth, and soon her lips. In a fumble to close the (already compact) space between them, the kiss they share is warm and breathy, it's passionate and lewd, especially with the arrangement in which Spencer places his hands: cupping one side of her face and the placing the other at her neck so he can rest his fingertips in the hold atop Y/N's spine.

Wherever his fingers touch leaves a trail of goosebumps which Y/N hopes never diminish; she wants every piece of evidence she can muster of Spencer's caresses, however this changes when Spencer's lips begin on the formidable task of her neck.

"Stop," she pants, and the hands that had inevitably reached his hair again are now pushing slightly on his shoulders. Her request makes Spencer drop his hands immediately.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't. It was nice. I just, I don't want everyone to see," she gestured to the red patch that had already formed above her clavicle where Spencer had only been nibbling a moment prior.

"Right, yeah," he breathed. A giddy smile forced its way onto his face when he looked at the way Y/N's lips had reddened and become swollen, especially her bottom (now essentially permanent) pout originated from the persistence of Spencer's tendency to drag his teeth along her lip and enclose it in a bite.

"You know, I predicted this would happen. Scientifically, people are a lot more likely to be attracted to one another after sleeping together. Subconsciously, we feel more capable in our ability to trust that person because we've been so vulnerable and open in a compromising position. The oxytocin we get from sharing physical contact like that is the same we produce in an orgasm."

"Oh," Y/N squeaked, while Spencer lay there with a proud smile on his face, not really registering the effect he'd had on her by using the word 'orgasm'.

"Oxytocin is heavily released during kissing too, so... I guess we're pretty bonded."

Y/N chuckled, smiling at his blushed cheeks. "I guess we are."

"It's, uh, it's actually also called the 'cuddle hormone' because it's primarily recognised as being released during hugging.”

"And that's your way of asking me if I want to cuddle?"

Spencer's smile was unmissable: shifting nervously between tight-lipped and beaming wide, his eyes were the only part of his countenance that stilled; locked on Y/N.

"Yes, I, uh, I believe it is."

She tried to suppress her grin, but it was no use.

"Big spoon or little spoon?" She asked.

"Oh, little spoon... obviously."

fin.

[thesummerstorms]

I'm starting to write a fanfiction for repcomm, how would you describe Darman POV?

Okay, um... this is a very broad question, so this is a very BROAD and extremely lengthy answer (sorry but I couldn’t not include text evidence.)

But in general? Darman...

1. often looks externally calm, even to his brothers, and is very good at hiding resentment or anger. people mistake him as calm or level several times in the series when he’s actually having a hard time in his thoughts. Eventually he reaches the point in 501st where it can no longer be hidden, but I think he’s been feeling it for a lot longer than anyone realized.

“He’d been alive for eleven standard years, coming up on twelve. He was twenty-three or twenty-four the manual said. It wasn’t enough time to live.

Sergeant Kal said we’d been robbed.

Fierfek, I hope Etain can’t feel me getting angry.

“I wish I could just sit and relax like you, Dar,” Atin said. “How’d you get to be so calm? You didn’t learn it from Kal, that’s for sure.”

There’s just Sergeant Kal and Etain and my brothers. Oh, and Jusik. General Jusik’s one of us. No one else really cares.

“I’ve got a clean conscience,” Darman said. It had come as a surprise to him after years of cloistered training on Kamino that many cultures in the galaxy regarded him as a killer, something immoral. “That or I’m too tired to worry.” 

(True Colors, Chapter 1, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

2. Isn’t always up front with his emotions when he feels they’d be burdensome on a loved one and wants to be outwardly positive. See the above conversation with Atin, or his hesitance to call Etain a few chapters after Fi’s injury. 

Notably in the scene above he does make mention of talking over serious things with Etain, like what would happen to the clones after the war, but I feel like he hides some of his more in-the-moment feelings and people don’t expect it because on the surface he seems like the uncomplicated one,

Brain-dead people sometimes regained consciousness and then reported what they’d heard during the coma, and Darman could think of nothing more awful in that moment than Fi being in some terrible paralysis but feeling everything. Dead was better. He wanted a cleaner end than Fi.

“Call Etain,” Niner suggested, “She always cheers you up.”

But Darman didn’t want to call her just to rage about how unfair things were. He settled down with a holozine so no one would talk to him for a while, and the others played blades, throwing knives into a target board divided into rings and quardrants. When he’d come to terms with this, he’d have something more positive to say to her. They could talk about where they’d go when they got some leave together.

I can’t imagine a mission without Fi now.

True Colors, Chapter 16, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

3. it’s a case by case basis though. like any human being, Dar is complicated. It really depends on the in the moment situation. Notably above, his reluctance to call and be a burden was for a situation that had been happening for a while, while in the immediate aftermath he called Etain pretty immediately.

Fi didn’t react, but then Darman knew he wouldn’t . The point was he’d said it, and that meant he’d do it. Reluctantly, he followed Niner back to the mess deck, and found a quiet corner to pour his heart out in a message to Etain.

He could have unburdened himself on his brothers, but they all knew what he was thinking anyway.

(True Colors, Chapter 14, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

4. He notices a lot of little details. Even more specifically, he notices and is intensely focused on small changes or signals in the people he cares about. He also very much wants to provide emotional support and is watching for the cues that it’s needed, especially in Etain. 

 You can see it with Dar noticing Fi and his music, or when he goes after Etain in Triple Zero, or at the end of True Colors when he’s intensely aware of Etain’s body language radiating distress and mentally immediately tries to figure out why she’s upset and put her at ease.

Darman cut into Fi’s personal circut to speak but was instantly deafened by the volume of the music. That was how Fi dealt with things: a thick wall of noise and chatter to shut out the next moment. (True Colors, Chapter 1,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

He caught a note in her voice that said she was holding back; maybe there was someone with her. The holovids showed clandestine love affairs as exciting, but Darman just found the secrecy miserable. (True Colors, Chapter 10,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

Etain had that same expression he’d just seen on Skirata’s face. He knew he must have said something wrong, but wasn’t sure what. He unfolded her arms with a little gentle pressure and took her hand. (True Colors, Chapter 19,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

“The baby’s upset you somehow, hasn’t it? he said. Of course; being a Jedi, Etain would have never known her parents. Does it remind you of being taken from your family?”  (True Colors, Chapter 19,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

There. He’d said it, and she would feel better now, let off the hook. There was no point dwelling on his shortened life span. Neither of them knew what was around the corner. He’d take the pressure off her, because it was the responsible thing to do.

(True Colors, Chapter 19,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

The Skydome gardens were just as beautiful and fascinating as Etain had promised. He could tell she was trying to be cheerful and enthusiastic about them, but there was something sad and wondered about her that he didn’t know how to make better. 

Evacuating Qiilura must have been worse than she let on. But she tell him in her own good time. 

(True Colors, Chapter 19,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

5. He’s pretty intensely protective, and not in an entirely healthy way? It never manifests as a doubt about his loved ones’ competency so much as a desire to jump someone else for disrespecting them. He is a worrier, but it’s not in a “no, they can’t do this” kind of way that too many shitty male romance leads get stuck in. He’s defensive of his relationships in a way that exceeds normal not-fooling-around.

 Wherever it was they were sending her, she could tell him, couldn’t she? Maybe she didn’t want to worry him. Of course I’m worried. I’m always worried. (True Colors, Chapter 10,  page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

Darman swallowed a sudden an unexpected desire to tell  Fi to lay off Etain, and in no uncertain terms. Fi knew nothing about her, nothing. Darman was ambushed by a split moment of protectiveness, and was immediately embarrassed by it. (Hard Contact, Pg. 222.) [ Idk why this one has page numbers and not the others.]

“Open up, or stand away from the door,” Etain yelled. She had no concept of cover, but she was a Jedi and had her own early-warning system. Darman was watching her back anyway. He’d smack Sev for the wisecracks later.” (Order 66, Pg. 167.) [ Also don’t know why this one has page numbers and not hard Contact.]

“Where’s the General?” Fi said.

Darman interrupted. “Saying goodbye to Gett.” He seemed to be taking an intense interest in Etain’s whereabouts. “Can you see Sergeant Kal? She said he was meeting us.”

“So… you’ve been ordered about by a geriatric and a child, have you?”

Darman’s voice frosted over. “Scorch, do you like medcenter food?” (Triple Zero, Pg. 119.) [Seriously, Kindle just fucking hates True Colors.] 

“I think it’s kind of encouraging.” Scorch chuckled. “Atin gets a cute Twi’lek girlfriend, Dar gets his very own general-”

“-and Scorch gets a thick ear if he doesn’t shut it right now.”

The comlink was suddenly silent, except for the occasional sound of swallowing. Darman wasn’t in a joking mood when it came to Etain. He never had been, not even on Qiilura, when there hadn’t been anything between them. (Triple Zero, Pg. 245.)

“Why did he need Etain then?”

“Maybe to show her how it’s done.”

Fi watched Darman bristle. (Triple Zero, Pg. 176.)

Atin hadn’t seen Laseema since the start of the siege, and just chatted with her in snatched moments by comlink. Darman couldn’t even talk to Etain until she dropped out of hyperspace; Enacca was taking her time. He checked his comlink, saw no message, and reminded himself that Etain was fine. (Order 66, pg. 371)

6. Darman is captivated by very small things/small details/small moments of beauty.

It was definitely autumn .A mist had blanketed the countryside like a sea. A puddle had formed in the sheeting stretched over the shelter, and Darman went to scoop it out but stopped.

“What are those things?” he asked, “I saw them on the river, too.”

Ruby and sapphire colored insects were dancing above the surface of the puddle. “Daywings,” Etain said.

“I’ve never seen colors like it….”

…”They’re amazing,” he said, completely absorbed by the spectacle. (Hard Contact, Pg. 182.)

7. Like most of the clones, he starts more naive/optimistic and then becomes more and more disillusioned the further in the series you go.

It was still tough to stand back and let the convoy take it. Darman itched for an excuse to open fire. He’d gone charging to the rescue before on Qiilura, breaking cover to save civilians, but he’d been a kid then on his second deployment.  The longer you spent fighting, the more cautious you became.(Order 66,  Pg. 65.)

8. Arguably all of the above paints a little bit harsher a picture than it should. I also generally see Darman as very genuinely soft and caring with his loved ones. He’s also considerate and generous. One of his love languages is food/small gifts & gestures; I swear it.

“It’s getting light,” Darman said. He sat down cross-legged in the hide, armor plates clacking against something. “You look cold. Need any more pain-killers?”

Etain had achieved a consistent level of dampness and pain that she could live with.She was too tired to think of anything else. She’d even stopped noticing the persistent odor of wet merlie wool. “I’m okay.”

“If we light a fire, we’ll be a magnet for half the Separatist army.” He rummaged in his belt and held out a ration cube to her, still that incongruous amalgam of fresh naivete and utterly clinical killer. She shook her head. He pulled out a bag. “Dried kuvara?”

She realized from the way he had put the fruit carefully in his belt and not his pack that he prized it. He lived on rations with all the taste appeal of rancid mott hide. The sacrifice was rather touching.

 (Hard Contact, pg. 175-178 ish)

Darman leaned against the wall, all concern. “Do you want something to eat? We’re going to risk Qibbu’s nerf in glockaw sauce. Scorch reckons it’s probably armored rat.”

“I’m not sure I can face crowds right now.”

“You might be overestimating the popularity of Qibbu’s cuisine.” He shrugged. “I could probably get the cook to stun the thing with my Deecee and send it up by room service.” …

“Only if you keep me company.”

“Yeah, eating armored rat alone is probably asking for it.” He grinned suddenly, and she felt illuminated by it. “You might need first aid.”

(Triple Zero, pg. 175-178 ish)

Darman thought it was time they got on making friends with the Marits. He stood up and wandered over to the lizards, wondering if there might be anything in Eyat that he could acquire for Etain. It was hard to think of anything a Jedi might want. They avoided possessions. (True Colors, Chapter 2, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

9. He does have a light-hearted side; it’s not all just ruminating.

She was suddenly aware of Darman looking up at her, grinning, and if it wasn’t for his surroundings, he could have been any young man showing off his prowess to a woman. (Triple Zero pg. 182 ish)

Even Darman had fallen happily into it. He was engrossed in the game, shoulder-charging Boss and knocking Jusik flat. (Triple Zero, pg. 158)

10. He’s just as much a romantic as Etain is.

“I never stopped thinking about you, either,” Darman said, “Not for a moment.” (Triple Zero, pg. 186)

All he wanted at the end of it was some time with Etain. (True Colors, Chapter 1, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass.)

He couldn’t even recall putting on his plates. His mind was on Etain.  (True Colors, Chapter 10, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass)

Darman was working up the nerve to say that he loved her, too, when the link closed from her end of the channel and the moment was gone. he took a deep breath before yanking the door open, broken-hearted he might never get the chance to tell her. (True Colors, Chapter 10, page number unknown because Kindle is an ass)

He was fed up finding things in common with insects. he was a man, and he missed his girl. He wanted to go home- and he realized he had no idea where home was.

Fi said it was Mandalore. Darman decided it would be wherever Etain wanted it to be.  (Order 66, pg 53 ish)

Darman was twenty meters from Etain now.He looked through the sea of strangers, and could see just one being out of all of them- Et’ika. (Order 66, pg 400 ish)

There’s honestly also plenty to be said about Dar not wanting to upset the equilibrium in his squad- he doesn’t want special treatment, or to have more than his brothers. That’s...pretty standard for this series though?

Also Darman really doesn’t react well to secrets post Venku reveal, but lbr, I’m not crawling through 501st for quotes.