#hozier layouts

[flowersandfashion]

Sun & Moon

requested by @oops-it-is-i

[superbloodmoons]

[sbrinapacks]

Hii! Could you please do some headers for this Sabrina icons? Maybe some Taylor Swift or Hozier headers? Thanks💕

[gaecoo]

f1rstime whoo_we_are anythngbut

myfrancescaa sonoffnyx abstsract

eatyourng allthingseend _firstliight

[faelayouts]

Hi could you do some Harry x hozier layouts? Thankssss

[hstylestuff]

hi can you please make a few harry and hozier layouts??? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

like or reblog

[spineless-lobster]

Last night I had a dream that I showed hozier my instagram and it was nothing but the song of achilles what kind of disorder do I have

[void-candy]

. ៹ ،،. idealism sits in prison ›. 𖥔 ࣪

! chivalry fell on its sword ᐢ ˖ ݁

𑁍. . ˖ ✧ innocence died screaming. 𓈈

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sunshine personified

one-shot

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Sweetheart!Reader

Summary: Golden mornings and pressed flowers, whispered words between pages, laughter drifting through warm summer air. You talk, and Sam listens—always listens, always watches, always loves. Every little thing you do fills him with light, and by the end of the day, he’s sure of one thing: you are his sunshine.

Warnings: Absolute and utter tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, implied/mild reference of cunnilingus/oral, I believe that is all.

Word Count: 4,556

A/N: PHEW. That was too sweet (heh, get it? Hozier?) for me... seriously, I think I need to brush my teeth after writing and proofreading this because the gum-disease is real. I got the idea for this yesterday, and I know... believe me, guys, I KNOW I should be working on the final instalment of "exhibitionism", but I genuinely couldn't help myself. It's been a very fluffy day for me today, and I needed a break from all that intensity. So I started it and it ran all the way away from me. ALSO... how's everyone feeling about the three pic/gif layout? I don't know, I'm trying something new. If we wanna go back to just one gif, let me know. As always, if you feel like it, please give me your feedback. <3 Signing off, until the next one. All the love.

"'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

Work Song - Hozier

The morning was slow, syrup-thick, stretching out in ribbons of gold that pooled across the sheets. Somewhere in the haze of waking, you registered the warmth beneath you—steady, unshifting, the rise and fall of breath beneath your cheek.

Sam.

You had fallen asleep against him again.

The realisation curled at the edges of your consciousness, soft and familiar, blooming like warmth in your chest. His sweater—because of course you were wearing one of his sweaters—smelled like cedarwood and coffee, the fabric slightly rumpled from sleep. You stirred, shifting slightly, and the broad, steady palm on your back flexed, fingers pressing idly against the dip of your spine.

There was a quiet chuckle—low, indulgent, so unmistakably him.

"Morning, Sweetheart."

His voice was warm and sleep-rough, that perfect blend of affectionate and teasing, still thick from the weight of rest. You hummed in response, nose scrunching against his chest as you tried to burrow back into the comfort of him.

"Y’know you’ve got a little something—" He paused, his thumb grazing along your cheek, featherlight, tracing the small indent pressed into your skin. His voice dipped, fond amusement laced through every syllable. "—right here. Cute."

You groaned, half-heartedly swatting at him as you rubbed at your face, but the damage was already done—he was grinning now. You didn’t even have to look up to know it. He had that look—the one he always got when he caught you soft and sleep-rumpled, still tangled in the remnants of dreams, your cheek creased from where you’d been pressed against him.

And God, he loved it.

Loved the way you always curled into him in your sleep, loved the way you reached for him without thinking. Loved that you always found your way back.

He shifted, the mattress dipping slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hand—those big, careful hands—slid up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"You drooled on me again," he mused, ever the menace, his grin widening when you gasped in outrage.

"I did not—!"

"Mhm." He nodded, all mock solemnity. "Right here. Think I might have to start charging rent for all the real estate you take up on my chest every night."

You shoved at him, but you were laughing now, and that was all that mattered.

He caught your wrist before you could retreat too far, tugging you effortlessly back into his orbit. His fingers were gentle, curling loosely around yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your knuckles.

"Don’t run off just yet," he murmured, quieter this time, softer. His voice was a slow, sweet thing, unspooling in the golden hush of morning.

And maybe it was the way the sunlight hit him just right, casting soft amber halos at the edges of his hair. Maybe it was the way his gaze never wavered, locked onto you like he was memorising every inch, every little sleep-creased detail. Or maybe it was just him—just Sam, looking at you like you were the best part of waking up.

Either way, you stayed.

Of course you stayed.

You let yourself sink back against him, let yourself be gathered up into his warmth as he exhaled slow and content. His hand found its way back to your spine, splaying firm and steady, right where it belonged.

And when you started yapping about the song stuck in your head—something about Hozier, something about a lyric you’d been turning over in your mind—he just smiled, dimples deep, and listened.

Because, God help him—he would listen to you talk about anything forever.

"Here—put it on."

Sam reached for your phone on the nightstand, fingers brushing over the worn book that had been resting there overnight—your latest read, pages softened from where you’d thumbed through them. He handed you the phone without taking his eyes off you, that lazy, morning-soft smile still tugging at his lips.

You blinked, momentarily distracted, still caught between the warmth of sleep and the weight of him beneath you.

"Which one?"

"The one that's already stuck in your head." He said it like it was obvious. Like it was the only answer.

So you pressed play.

The soft, aching pull of strings filled the space between you first, gentle and familiar, before the melody swelled—Hozier’s voice sinking through the room like honey dissolving into tea.

"I still watch you when you're groovin'..."

The moment it started, Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

Not just any smile. That smile. The slow, easy one that started deep—the kind that dimpled, the kind that wasn’t just on his lips but in the way his breath hitched, in the way his shoulders softened.

He let the first few lines roll through him, sinking back into the pillows, completely in it. And when he finally looked at you again, eyes half-lidded, warm like the first spill of sunlight over sheets, he murmured,��"Oh, this is a good one."

Like you didn’t already know.

You grinned, shifting so you could stretch out next to him properly, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

"Alright, professor," you teased, voice still scratchy from sleep. "What do you think? What’s he saying?"

Sam huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before exhaling slow.

"It’s about movement, obviously—"

"Oh, wow, brilliant analysis, Sam. Stunning insight. Absolutely revelatory—"

"Shut up," he laughed, grinning even wider now, reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, swatting his hand away. "Just listen."

You did.

"You are a call to motion... There, all of you a verb in perfect view..."

Sam hummed low in his throat. "See that? The phrasing of it? He’s not just watching someone move—he’s saying they are movement. They’re the thing itself."

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, considering. "Like… a force of nature."

"Exactly." His fingers tapped absently against your hip, mind already unraveling the meaning. "He’s not describing them as graceful, or powerful, or fluid—he’s saying they’re all of it. He’s saying the way they move… moves him."

Your breath caught.

Because of course that’s what Sam took from it. Of course he understood.

"I can recall something that’s gone from me... When you move, honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free..."

You sat up a little, brows knitting together as you chewed on that line. "That part always gets me. Like—why? Why ‘flawed and free’?"

Sam’s lips pressed together, thoughtful. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm as he considered.

"Because it’s human," he said finally, voice low, reverent. "Because perfection isn’t what moves people. It’s the cracks, the imperfections, the things that make someone real. That’s what sticks with you."

Your chest ached at that.

Because that was him. That was so Sam. Finding beauty in the messy, imperfect parts.

"Shake like the bough of a willow tree... You do it naturally..."

"God, the imagery," you sighed, your hand curling into his shirt like it would help you hold onto the feeling. "Willow trees don’t break, Sam. They bend."

His fingers stilled against your skin.

And for a second, he just looked at you. Like you’d just said something that shifted the whole earth beneath him.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but—

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for you.

One sure, steady hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up as his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate. And before you could even think, before you could catch your breath, he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just deep, slow, and aching.

Like the song. Like he couldn’t help it. Like you moved him.

The kiss stretched long and slow, a sunrise in itself.

His lips moved against yours with aching patience, deep and sure, like he had all the time in the world—because he did. Because there was no rush, no urgency, just this moment, this warmth, this slow-drifting love.

The sunlight spilling through the window turned everything golden, brushing soft against your skin, catching in his hair, pooling over the sheets. It was thick like honey, wrapping around the two of you, holding you in its glow.

Warm. Sweet. Slow.

Sam’s hand—big, steady, reverent—cradled the back of your head, his thumb stroking lazy arcs along the curve of your cheekbone. He kissed you like you were something sacred, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath his mouth.

And God, you could’ve stayed there forever.

But then—

"Come on, or we’ll never get up," he murmured, lips still brushing against yours.

You huffed against him, reluctant.

Sam smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his whole face—dimples deep, eyes soft with affection, his expression bathed in that early-morning glow.

Then, before you could protest, he sat up, stretching his long limbs, tugging you effortlessly with him.

"C’mon, Sweetheart."

He reached for your nightstand as he stood, grabbing the book you’d been reading the night before, his fingers curling around the worn cover like it was familiar. Then, without letting go of your hand, he led you out into the hall, the book tucked in one hand, your fingers laced through the other.

And that was how you made your way to the kitchen. Hand in hand, words and warmth between you.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and old wood, warm from the soft morning light filtering through the windows. The golden hues stretched long over the floorboards, catching on the vase of sunflowers sitting in the centre of the table.

You settled into your usual seat, curling your legs beneath you, thumbing idly through the book Sam had carried in. Soft pages, familiar creases, a world waiting between the covers.

Across the kitchen, Sam moved effortlessly, grabbing the coffee mugs, setting the pot to drip.

The quiet was comfortable. Soft radio static, birds beyond the window, the rhythmic shuffle of Sam moving around the space you shared.

You flipped to your bookmark—except…

You frowned, because it wasn’t a bookmark at all. Just a folded piece of paper, carefully tucked between the pages. Curious, you pulled it free. Unfolded it.

Your breath hitched.

Sam’s handwriting.

Small, slightly slanted, scrawled in blue ink that had settled deep into the fibres of the paper.

Sweetheart,

You fell asleep with the page open again. I figured I’d save your place before you lost it completely. But since I’m already writing, I might as well tell you something else. I love the way you read. Not just the books, but the world. The way you look at things, the way you take them apart and put them back together with wonder, with softness. The way you see me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been looked at the way you look at me. I don’t know if I’ve ever deserved it. But God, do I love you for it.

—Sam

You brushed your thumb over the words, tracing the ink, lingering on them, like touching them would help you absorb them completely. Warmth bloomed in your chest, soft and full and almost too much. And then, as you sat there, heart soaked in sunlight and love, Sam placed a coffee mug in front of you.

When you looked up, he was already smiling.

"I couldn’t help it," he murmured, dipping his head slightly, sheepish but unapologetic.

Your throat tightened.

"Sam."

That was all you could say. Just his name, just that, because there were too many things sitting heavy in your chest, too much feeling, too much warmth.

Sam’s gaze softened even more—like it was possible for him to look at you any softer. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, thumb brushing over the place his words had already touched.

He didn’t need you to say anything. He already knew.

"Drink your coffee," he said, voice low and fond. "Read a little."

He picked up his own mug, nodding toward the window, toward the golden morning stretching beyond it.

"I wanna go for a walk while it’s nice out."

Like it was nothing. Like this—slow mornings, coffee and notes tucked between book pages, easy affection and golden-hour love—was just what you did.

And really, it was.

Because he loved you. And he wanted you to know it.

Sam left you to read while he went to get dressed, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You curled deeper into your chair, your fingers idly brushing over the edge of his note as you sipped the last of your coffee. The morning was still quiet, golden light spilling warm through the window, stretching in soft bands over the table, the sunflowers, the slow swirl of steam lifting from Sam's mug.

By the time Sam returned, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little sleep-mussed, he ruffled a hand through it and nodded toward the hall.

"You should get changed too, Sweetheart," he said, voice low, warm. "We should get going before it gets too hot out."

You hummed in agreement, slipping from your seat, setting your mug in the sink before making your way toward the bedroom.

And the moment you stepped inside, you noticed it. His sweater. Folded neatly on the bed. It hadn’t been there when you’d gotten up. He’d left it for you. On purpose.

A slow, deep warmth unfurled in your chest, soft and golden and so very Sam.

You picked it up, running your fingers over the thick fabric—worn soft, smelling like him, cedar and coffee and something you couldn’t quite name but always recognised as home.

So, of course, you put it on. It drowned you immediately, the sleeves falling well past your hands, the hem brushing against your thighs, the collar loose at your neck. Perfect. You pressed your nose into the fabric for a second, smiling, warmth thrumming through your bones.

And then—you remembered.

The flowers.

You stepped toward your nightstand, bending down to grab the book tucked beneath it—a well-loved copy of something you’d read a thousand times, pages softened with time, spine lined with creases.

You flipped it open carefully, fingers achingly gentle. And there they were. Buttercups, lavender sprigs, tiny forget-me-nots. Pressed flat, perfectly dried.

A fresh rush of warmth bloomed in your chest. This meant you could pick more while you were out.

But for now? For now, you had something else to do.

Stepping toward Sam’s nightstand, you reached for the book he’d left there—one of the thick classics he always lost himself in, pages dog-eared despite his careful nature. You flipped to his bookmark, fingers brushing over the paper before slipping your pressed flowers inside, tucking them right between the pages.

He’d find them later.

And when he did? He’d know. Because this—this was how you loved each other. Bookmarks and buttercups, coffee and handwritten notes. The quiet, careful things.

When you stepped back into the kitchen, Sam turned. And he froze. His lips parted slightly, brows flicking up, and oh. Oh.

That look.

That wrecked, undone, absolutely gone look. His eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch, every soft fold of fabric drowning you, every too-long sleeve swallowing your hands.

He swallowed.

"Jesus, Sweetheart," he murmured, low and wrecked, voice like slow thunder before a storm. "You trying to kill me?"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, innocent. "What?"

He exhaled sharply. Ran a hand over his jaw. And then, without warning, he was on you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you—one firm and broad against your back, the other sliding up to your jaw, thumb swiping slow beneath your eye.

And then he kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Deep. Tongue sweeping into your mouth, pulling a noise from you that he swallowed whole.

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into your back, like he was anchoring himself to you. The edge of the counter bit into your lower back, but you didn’t care—not when he was kissing you like this.

Like he couldn’t help himself. Like you wearing his sweater had flipped some switch in his brain. Like you had ruined him entirely.

You fisted your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting into him as his teeth nipped lightly at your lower lip, sucking it between his own before chasing it with his tongue.

God. God.

Sam kissed like he read—deep, slow, intentional. Like he needed to feel every letter, every syllable, every ache. And for a second, just a second, you thought—

Maybe we never go on that walk.

But then he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes—dark, warm, drowning in something so deep you swore you could fall in. His thumb swiped under your eye again, softer this time.

He swallowed, voice wrecked and low.

"I love when you wear my stuff," he murmured, and it wasn’t just words, it was a confession. A truth laid bare.

Your chest ached at it.

And then, just like that, he took a steady breath, eased back, though his hands lingered on you—like he couldn’t quite let go.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he murmured, still breathless, still looking at you like you’d done something irreparable to his heart. "Let’s go pick some flowers."

The morning air was crisp, but not cold, the kind of cool that would burn off by midday, leaving nothing but blue sky behind. The trees swayed slow and drowsy in the breeze, their leaves casting gentle shadows across the dirt path.

And you? You talked.

God, you talked.

About a dream you half-remembered from last night, about how you thought you saw a shooting star the other night but weren’t sure if it was just a plane. About the books on your nightstand you needed to finish, about the theories you had for the ending of one of them, about how you weren’t sure if you’d ever actually seen a real four-leaf clover before, but you were determined to find one someday.

And Sam?

He listened. Listened the way he always did. Fully, deeply, like there was nothing else in the world.

Because it wasn’t just the things you said—it was the way you said them. The way your eyes twinkled when you got excited, the way you sometimes didn’t even finish a thought, just barrelled headfirst into the next one, already lit up with something new. The way you gestured when you spoke, flitting between topics like a hummingbird, full of boundless, unstoppable energy.

And every now and then—you’d scamper off.

You’d veer slightly off the path, darting toward the tall grass and kneeling to gather a bunch of wildflowers that looked too perfect to leave behind.

Sam already knew why.

You wanted to press them. You wanted them frozen forever, just the way they were. And God, if that wasn’t the sweetest, most you thing.

After a while, things fell into a natural quiet. The kind of soft, comfortable silence that only existed between people who knew each other down to their bones.

You reached for more flowers, and without a word, Sam shifted the ones you’d already picked into his free hand.

Letting you keep going. Letting you gather all the pieces of beauty you wanted to hold onto.

He smiled to himself.

And then you started humming. Soft at first, just under your breath. A melody he recognised instantly.

Nobody’s Soldier.

A slow grin tugged at Sam’s lips. And before he could even stop himself, he joined in—singing, terribly, but still singing.

"If I tell you this is drowning, you'd tell me I'm walking on water."

You gasped, delighted, laughing as you glanced up at him. “Sam, you’re so off-key—”

"I know," he grinned, "but I’m committed now."

And you just shook your head, laughing, before launching back into the next verse, your voice clear and warm and lovely.

By the time the chorus came around, you were both singing. Him, off-key. You, beautiful.

Him, watching you. Completely, utterly, unconditionally in love.

When the song finally ended, you exhaled deeply, content, stretching your arms toward the sky.

"God, that song is so good," you sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals of a buttercup before gently plucking it.

Sam hummed, watching you, thoughtful.

"You ever think about that one line?" He asked, shifting his grip on your hand. “I don’t wanna choose between being a salesman or a soldier.”

You glanced up, intrigued. "Yeah? What about it?"

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the tree line as he turned the words over in his mind.

"It’s about choice. About… refusing to fit into someone else’s definition. Someone else’s idea of what you should be."

You blinked at him, then looked down at the flowers in your hand.

Pressed flowers. The ones you chose to keep, to freeze, to make last. Like pieces of a world that was constantly shifting, constantly moving too fast for anyone to hold onto.

And suddenly, you saw the parallel.

You smiled softly.

"You mean like how I keep trying to hold onto flowers?"

Sam huffed a laugh, tilting his head. "Maybe."

"But I don’t keep all of them," you pointed out, glancing at the wildflowers still standing untouched in the field. "Just the ones that feel right. Just the ones I love enough to want to keep."

Sam’s steps slowed. His fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Because, God.

That was so you. Choosing what to hold onto, what to keep, what to love.

Not because someone told you to. Not because you had to. Just because you wanted to.

And maybe, just maybe—that’s how you loved him, too. Just because you wanted to. Just because you looked at him, in all his flaws, in all his cracks, and still—you stayed.

Sam swallowed, lips parting slightly, eyes tracing your face in the golden light. But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just squeezed your hand. And you? You squeezed back. And together, with wildflowers in one hand and each other in the other, you walked on.

By the time you made it back, the air had begun to thicken with warmth, the kind that came with the promise of midday heat. The world outside had turned brighter, louder, more golden, but inside—inside was still soft.

Sam followed you to the bedroom, watching as you carefully spread parchment across the surface of the bed, delicately laying each flower across its surface. Lavender sprigs, daisies, baby's breath. Tiny pieces of nature, frozen in time.

And he helped. Of course he helped.

Handing you each bloom as you pressed them between the pages of your book, flattening them so the weight could do its job—like it had so many times before. The process was careful, deliberate, something sacred between you.

"Few weeks from now, these’ll be perfect," you murmured, smoothing a hand over the book’s cover before tucking it beneath your nightstand.

Sam just smiled.

Because you always said that. Every time, like it was the first time. Like it was magic. Like you never stopped being amazed that the world could give you something so beautiful, and let you keep it.

God, he loved you.

Lunch was simple—leftovers warmed up, easy conversation, sunshine spilling through the windows, pooling on the kitchen floor.

And, as always, you talked.

About how the colour yellow made you think of summer, how you liked the way baby’s breath dried out all delicate and airy, how you were thinking about collecting leaves too, because the reds and oranges always looked so pretty in scrapbooks.

And Sam? He just watched you. Watched you the way he always did—soft, steady, drinking in every part of you like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.

Because the thing about you was, you weren’t just talking. You were feeling. You were seeing the world in colours, in textures, in meaning, and you weren’t just keeping it to yourself—you were giving it to him, too. Letting him into your world, into the way you saw things, into all the little pieces of beauty you chose to keep.

And God, you were beautiful.

Not just your face. Not just the curve of your smile, or the way your eyes brightened when you got excited. But all of you. The way you felt things so deeply. The way you never stopped collecting pieces of the world that made you happy. The way you spoke about the little things like they mattered—because to you, they did.

And Sam—Sam had never loved anything the way he loved you.

You were his Sweetheart. His sunshine. The only thing in the world he wanted to press between the pages of time and keep forever.

That night, when you both curled into bed, he didn’t want to sleep yet.

Not when he could touch you. Not when he could taste you. Not when he could spend the last moments of the day pressed between your thighs, dragging his tongue across your skin, pulling the softest, sweetest sounds from your lips.

Because the truth was, you were made of sunlight. Warmth and light, golden and soft.

And Sam had spent his whole life standing in the shadows. Drenched in cold, lost in dark places, hands stained with things he tried not to remember.

But you? You were a sunrise, an eclipse, a miracle. And he wanted to drown in you.

So he took his time. Let his hands map the length of you, broad and reverent, tracing slow circles into your skin as he kissed his way down, down, down—until his mouth was on you, and you were falling apart beneath him.

Your fingers knotted into his hair, pulling, breath catching, voice breaking on his name.

And Sam—Sam savoured it. Savoured every whimper, every stuttered inhale, every breathless plea. He soaked in your pleasure like it was liquid gold, like it was something divine.

Because, in truth?

It was. You were. And he would worship at the altar of you forever.

The night settled around you like a slow exhale, soft and warm, the air humming with the last remnants of the day. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the bedside lamp, throwing long shadows across the walls, casting everything in honey and hush.

Sam pulled you into his chest, the way he did every night. Like ritual, like devotion. Like he wouldn’t know how to sleep without you curled against him.

His arms wrapped firm and steady around you, one broad hand splayed across your back, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles through the fabric of his sweater—the same one you’d put on that morning, the same one you were still drowning in now.

His heartbeat was slow, solid.

And you—you were exactly where you belonged. You felt him shift slightly, reaching for his book on the nightstand.

"You still awake?" He murmured, voice low, all sleep-soft and sweet.

You hummed, nuzzling against his chest. "Mhm. Read to me."

He smiled, because of course you were. You always fell asleep to the sound of his voice, let yourself be lulled by the low, steady cadence of it, the weight of words spilling soft and slow into the dark.

So he cracked the book open—

And suddenly—

A handful of flowers tumbled out, scattering across his chest, landing in the mess of your hair where you lay against him.

Sam froze. Blinking, breath hitching slightly as his eyes tracked the tiny pieces of pressed perfection. Buttercups. Lavender sprigs. Forget-me-nots.

His chest went tight. And then—he felt you move. Felt you tip your head back against him, grinning up at him, wide-eyed, caught between excitement and mischief.

Sam let out a slow, breathless laugh.

God.

You were everything.

His throat worked around a swallow as he set the book aside, fingers grazing over the flowers, gathering a few between his fingertips. And then he was looking at you—really looking at you. Eyes tracing the golden glow along your cheekbones, the way your hair spread like a halo against him, the tiny little pressed petals caught in the strands.

He lifted one hand, tucking a piece of lavender behind your ear, thumb brushing the side of your face.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, so soft it was almost reverent. "You are sunshine personified."

Your breath caught.

Sam watched the way your expression softened, the way your fingers curled against his chest, the way you looked at him like he was something precious.

"I love you," he said.

And it wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t fleeting. It was weighty, steady, deeply felt. It was the kind of thing that would linger in the marrow of your bones long after the words were gone.

Your lips parted, eyes gleaming, smile stretching slow and full and golden.

And when you whispered, "I love you too,"

Sam felt it everywhere.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready <3

[necroangelz]

☆ ❛ STREAM ALERT !! ❜ NECROANGELZ is streaming ♡ ⁓⁓ Come watch ?

❛ when the heart would cease, ours never knew peace, what good would it be on the far side of things? ❜ —- FRANCESCA.

♡ NOW WATCHING : Argenti Tumblr Layouts ☆ ⁓⁓ Enjoy the stream !!

—- requested by @drblacula

—- you guys can't imagine my disappointment when i learned argenti was in fact, a man, and not a beautiful woman in armor like i thought before he was released. nevertheless i will refer to argenti as a woman because i can do whwat i want. anyway she is so Hozier coded iktr (i know nothing about her)

—- tagging @editclub

—- likes and reblogs are always appreciated. credits are mandatory. thank you for supporting the angelic streamer.

[squishytenya]

semblance of touch

prologue - part one - part two - part three

pairing - bakugou x gn!reader

warnings - swearing, bkg uses princess as a nickname but in a gn way, enemies to lovers, minor injuries, hospital setting briefly (title from sedated by hozier)

By the time you had pulled on your jacket and caught up with him, the blonde was already at the front of the hospital. He took one look at you and scowled. Scoffing, you pushed past him and towards the street you knew led towards your shared dorms. 

Your stomping was interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest. Grunting, you paused and waited for the annoyingly cocky blonde to catch up with you. 

“Hurt, Didn't it?”

You sucked on your teeth. Was he going to be so goddamn annoying the entire time? You might put everyone out of their misery and smother him before the quirk even has time to run its course. 

You spun on your heel, pressing your index finger to his annoyingly muscled chest. 

“Listen, I know you don’t like me, I don’t know what I did to you but could you try not to be a giant dick for this please” you hissed at him. 

He dragged his tongue across his teeth, peering down at you. The scowl on his face wasn’t promising but you were determined not to break under his gaze. You could give as good as you got and he was going to be perfectly aware of that by the end of this whole thing. 

He folded. 

“Fine.”

“Thank you” you huffed, spinning around again.

This time you tried not to stray too far from him. 

— 

“We’re gonna have to move you to his room”

Your jaw dropped. Bakugou and you had come to Aizawa’s office to try and look for some sort of fix for the situation. Ripping a bite from your sandwich, you clenched your hands behind your back. It was clear that your angry blonde companion wasn’t too happy about this turn of events either - if his smoking palms were any indication.

“What do you mean? There’s a spare room on his floor” you stuttered, “it’s literally right next to him why can’t I stay there?”

Your professor grumbled, leaning forward in his chair. His black hair looked tousled and his eye bags seemed even bigger than usual - something you hadn’t thought possible until this moment. Because you and Bakugou were his students, despite you both being adults, you were still technically under his guidance and that meant he had to deal with the technicalities of the situation you had landed yourself in. 

“It’s not furnished and the bathroom is on the side of Bakugou’s room” he explained, “even if you moved your bed to the back wall you wouldn’t be close enough” 

You gnawed on your lip and waited for your teacher to continue. 

“We don’t know how long this is going to take to sort, it’s not worth moving the entire dorm layout if it’s going to be fixed in the next couple of days”

“What do you mean days?” came a gruff voice from behind you. 

You grimaced as you were reminded of just who your new roomie was. 

“We thought this was a 24-hour deal, sensei” you scrambled to cover for your counterparts rudeness.

Aizawa quirked a brow at you - the closest to amusement you think you’ve seen on him. Shifting on your feet, you decided that avoiding eye contact would be the best idea. 

“We don’t know that, none of the others have seen any progress so you're just going to have to deal with it” Aizawa’s eyes glowed slightly on the last few syllables.

Even though his annoyance wasn’t directed at you, you still shivered under its weight. He was very obviously tired so if Katsuki could just leave it alone, you could finally sort your shit out. 

“Your things are being moved as we speak,” Aizawa grumbled. 

Cringing once again, you nodded at your teacher and removed yourself from the situation, much to your own relief. Usually, you had no problem being a slight annoyance to the man - he had multiple years to get used to you. But you were tired, and so was he, so you would have to save your annoyance for your lovely new best friend. 

“Come on then dumbass, you smell like hospital and it’s making me retch”

You gaped at Bakugou’s comment, dragging your arm up to your face to smell it. By the time you realised he was pulling your leg, the taller boy was halfway to the elevator and dangerously close to 8ft away. 

“Look,” you started, “if this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to slow the fuck down”

You emphasised the last word, slapping your hand on the blonde’s bare shoulder. A zap of electricity travelled up your arm and through your body, leaving that tingly warmth in its place. It flowed through your body like the drip of honey in your veins. The sensation caused you to let out an embarrassing whimper/gasp combination and you felt your face heat up in response to it. 

Katsuki obviously felt it too, his body freezing up under your touch. You saw a shiver travel through his body, seemingly emerging from where your palm laid across his tan skin. A breathy sound escaped his nose. 

You both stood in the hall, frozen in place. 

“Uh,” you forced out, “we should really… um- go to the dorm”

It took Katsuki a second to regain his composure but he eventually returned to his gruff, standoffish self and shrugged your touch off of his skin. Grumbling, he continued down the hall towards what was now your combined bedroom. 

— 

The room was still very distinctly Bakugou. It was fairly plain, blue and grey bed sheets and very few posters. There was some skincare on the desk next to his bed and a fair collection of books tucked neatly into a bookshelf across the room from his bed. There were a few photos hung on the wall. They featured a brunette man with glasses and a woman that looked like an older, female version of the man that stood in the room with you. Bakugou’s parents, you assumed. 

What really surprised you was the simple white plant pot on his window. The little purple flowers were no bigger than an inch in diameter but they seemed perfectly pruned, not a leaf or petal out of place or a sun spot in sight. They added some colour to the room - something it was sorely missing. 

The only thing that really seemed out of place was the camp bed that had been haphazardly set up in the centre of the room. It had your bedsheets on it but there was nothing else indicating it belonged to you. You understood why this couldn't have been done in your room, the girls had a lot more protests to the loudmouth man next to you living in their side of the dorm than the three guys did to having you around. Shouji was nice enough, quiet but that was fine with you. Kirishima was already one of your close friends so it was more of a help than a hindrance to have him around - especially for him to inevitably play mediator between you and your brand new roommate. 

“Are you gonna stand there like an idiot or go shower?” 

You sucked on your teeth. 

“I was taking in my new prison cell, if you must know,” you bit back at him. 

He raised his hands in surrender. 

“Whatever you want princess, you still smell like rubbing alcohol though” 

You rubbed a hand up your arms uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of you. 

“They haven’t brought my clothes over yet”

He stretched his neck to the side, dragging a wide hand down the side of it and groaning. Then, a hand appeared in front of your face. 

“Keys. I’ll get Kirishima to go get your damn clothes” he grumbled. 

You shyly dropped your keys in his hand. Letting him go through your shit didn’t appeal to you too much, but a nice, warm shower certainly did. At this point, you just wanted to crawl into the shitty camp bed and pass out until the sunrise.

Calloused hands grabbed the keys from yours, and then he was gone. You adjusted your jaw, sucking on your tongue to prevent a snarky comment escaping your mouth. Casting your eyes to his open ensuite door, the white of the shower towels glinted in the bedroom light and you felt the sweet promise of cleanliness clear your stress from your shoulders. 

And you were correct. The warm spray of the shower washed away whatever dirt from the fight hadn’t been cleaned off at the hospital and you felt your tense muscles unfurl under your skin. The steam even calmed the thrumming burn under your skin from Bakugou going just over your distance threshold. You didn’t have a wash cloth here yet, but Bakugou at the very least wasn’t a 4-in-1 body wash-shampoo-kitchen-sink kinda guy. Small victories, you supposed.

The knock at the bathroom door came way too quickly for your liking. Leaning out of the shower, you cracked open the door just enough for a tan hand to drop a towel on the floor. 

What a gentleman. 

If you rolled your eyes any more today they were gonna fall out of your head. At least the burning in your chest lessened when he returned to the dorm. It was an odd thing, to find comfort in his presence when he annoyed you so much in every other aspect. Stupid quirk. Huh, finding comfort in Bakugou - maybe a side effect of the quirk was going insane. You mentally wave goodbye to your hero career and let the image of your and Bakugou’s matching padded cells flood your brain. 

The chuckle you let out wasn’t quiet. You bit your lip to stop yourself sounding like a crazy person. There was no need to give Bakugou more ammo than he already had on you. 

“The fuck are you laughing at?”

You bit your lip to stifle a giggle again. This really wasn’t the time for you to start finding stuff funny. 

Wrapping the red towel around yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom - fully expecting a pile of clothes to be waiting for you. 

Instead, it was just Bakugou sitting on the bed. Alone. 

Red eyes danced up your figure, tracing the outline of your waist and hips under the towel wrapped around your body. The red fabric only covered you from your chest to mid thigh and left a sizable amount of both peeking out either end. The water and steam made your skin supple and it seemed to glow under the warm lighting of his room. You felt your face heat up under his watchful eyes and the room seemed to heat up several degrees in the few seconds he had been dragging his eyes up and down your body. 

His lidded eyes finally met yours, peering up at you from between his dark lashes. It felt like they were looking straight through you, into your head and your exact thoughts on the situation. Bakugou shifted, as if to move towards you. 

Knock knock. 

You started, hand gripped your towel tighter against your chest. The noise had knocked you both out of whatever trace you had fallen into and the awkward energy from earlier returned tenfold. 

“Hey dude, I got the clothes you asked for” Kirishima’s enthusiastic voice echoed from behind the thin wood of the door, “I didn’t know what to get so I kinda grabbed a bunch.”

“Leave them by the door”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as he got up, opening the door and throwing your clothes on the bed where his body had been not ten seconds earlier. Grumbling, he left and slammed the door behind him. 

“Tell me when you’re dressed or whatever.”

And with that, you were alone, wondering what the hell had just happened. 

thank you for reading! if you want to be added to the taglist for the whole series, or just Bakugou's parts lmk <3 reblogs and comments are appreciated

[iliketomatosauce]

august - cordelia rose

very fun read -> can go from "oh man life is pain (is life was squishy grapes which i take personal offense to)" to "oh haha life is great (mud wrestling and is that a fucking wooly mammoth)"

if u likey there is an ongoing will vers. yay!

warning tis heavy in EVERYTHING - fluff, crack, organic chemistry, specially angst, the only ting missing is time loop - but it also pieces together canon pretty nicely

yay

[feydpauls]

nam seonho + first light by hozier

(@asiandramanet jan/feb creator bingo — layout)

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi how are you? I love your writings❤️ Can I get a romantic matchup with LOTR, HOBBIT, Harry Potter, Marvel? I am 25. She/Her. I can match with a man or woman. I have short dark brown curly hair and hazel eyes. I have white skin, my height is around 1.65 and I'm curvy.

I'm generally introverted and cold-blooded. I'm stubborn. I'm generally pretty patient, but when I run out of patience I can get very grumpy. I'm a bit of a pessimist. I don't talk much outside unless necessary and prefer to observe. I am a good listener. To outsiders, I seem strict, distant and sometimes a little scary, but to those around me, I am very talkative, friendly, affectionate and fun. I'm also a good secret keeper, tell me anything and I'll take it to my grave. I am a faithful and loyal person. I'm a perfectionist. I always like to have everything orderly and under control, but sometimes it can be very challenging. I'm independent, I try not to get help for anything and I don't like to fit into certain stereotypes. I am always respectful and even interested in opposing views. I have a hard time voicing my opinions on anything, which can sometimes make me seem rude or disrespectful, but I really don't mean any harm. I'm a nerdy girl and I'm okay with that.✨️

I live in my own world. I love drawing, watching TV series and movies, and listening to music. I also love writing. I love learning new things about any subject. I love art, literature, philosophy, history and mythology. My favorite colors are black and green. I can listen to any genre of songs I like depending on my mood. But some of my Favorites are Diary of Dreams, The Gazette, The Neighbourhood, Chase Atlantic, One Republic, Marina and The Diamonds, Paris Paloma, Lana Del Rey, Billie Eilish, Hozier, Melanie Martinez, Mitski, AC/DC and Iron Maiden. My favorite TV series is Hannibal. I love thrillers, true crime, detective and mystery, fantasy and sci-fi. I think these are the things that come to my mind right now... thank you! I hope you have a good day❤️

Hi! I am so sorry that I got to this so late! I feel terrible! <3

But, I hope you like your matchups!

{Trying a different layout}

Romantic Matchup; LOTR, The Hobbit, Harry Potter, and Marvel

~~~

Lord Of The Rings;

Aragorn -

You met Aragorn at the very beginning, and despite being a lady, you were personally invited by Lord Elrond himself to join the meeting to see who would take the ring to Mordor.

You didn't really talk much, or at all, but you observed, being a good listener; though, as one by one spoke up, debating, your attention went straight to the mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome stranger whose voice you really liked - he was handsome, as said, and he was bringing up some good points.

Hands clasped together in your lap, you watched as people began to argue, and you were just a smidge annoyed.

Well, who knew you were going to become part of the Fellowship Of The Ring?

It was difficult at the beginning of the journey. Gimli and Boromir were pretty adamant that the journey was no place for a lady - far too dangerous, they said!

But Aragorn, you had learned his name, stood up for you, bringing up the fact that Lord Elrond himself asked you to join, that they should all trust his judgment.

Well, you showed them, on more than one occasion, that you were a wise and strong person.

Now, throughout the journey, you had slowly, slowly gotten used to the people around you. The Hobbits were easy to befriend, honestly.

But, at some point, you had grown comfortable in their presence, enough that you had grown to become more talkative and friendly.

Though, it was different with Aragorn. You didn't know if it was just you, but you thought that maybe there was something different in the way he spoke to you than he did with the others. Maybe it was just you...

Maybe...

Well, it turns out that Aragorn was quite taken with you, having caught his eyes the moment you joined the meeting in Rivendell; dressed beautifully, presence respectful, and eyes shimmering with a certain intelligence and strength that captured his interest almost instantly.

And his interest had only grown the more he got to meet you, get to know, and understand you; not only were you intelligent, respectful, strong, and understanding, but you were also loyal and independent - something Aragorn admired greatly.

As the journey continues, minus the orcs and whatever troubles you all run into, you and Aragorn's bond begins to grow the more you spend together.

From late nights of keeping watch sharing your favorite stories and books to recalling your favorite topics in history; there are even nights when you talk the night away about everything your heart desires, until you fall asleep, your head resting on his shoulder.

Aragorn didn't have the heart to wake you...

Despite you being an incredibly good fighter and defender, Aragorn always makes sure that you are alright after an attack from orcs or something. You do the same, your eyes at the end of a fight would search for each other, small faint smiles of relief on your faces.

In the end, Aragorn gives you the best room while you and the rest of the Fellowship stay in his kingdom after he is crowned king. Your room is one of the biggest, and close to his room, in case you need anything.

He makes sure that you have everything that you could possibly need. Someone to wait on you in case you need something, need help changing, a bath to be drawn, a snack, anything. And do not worry, you are not a burden. Aragorn would do anything for you.

Another thing; Aragorn gifts you lavish clothing, in green and black, that you are comfortable in. The sight of the new article always brings a smile to your face and a rush of blood to your cheeks. And, of course, he always compliments you when he sees you.

Whilst you stay, Aragorn often finds you in the library, reading, drawing, or just admiring the view outside - he often joins you, to talk, laugh, or just spend time in your amazing company.

Aragorn finally confesses his feelings and admiration for you after you.

"You have been my strength through every shadow and trial - my heart has long been yours, though I have been too much a fool to say it."

Well, let's just say, that you didn't end up leaving after that.

You and Aragorn work seamlessly together, both of you valuing independence and the quiet strength that comes with keeping order. Patience is a shared virtue, though he is perhaps more steadfast than yours.

Your friendly and affectionate nature balances his quiet reserve, while your stubborn loyalty earns his deepest respect.

Even in moments when your pessimism clouds your thoughts, he admires your unwavering commitment to those you care for, finding strength in the fire that drives you.

~~~

The Hobbit;

Thorin Oakenshield -

You had run into the Dwarves and one Hobbit when they were getting attacked by the spiders in Mirkwood.

You were heading to Mirkwood - Thorin thought that was suspicious - but instead of just letting them suffer through spiders, you helped them cut out of webs and stab spiders to death; you were truly skilled fighter, it was no wonder most of the Company wanted to keep you.

Though you were a bit hesitant and distant - you met up with them, fighting off orcs, jumping in an empty barrel, and holding onto Bilbo so he wouldn't drown.

As you were all racing down the raging river, you didn't know if you were having fun or not. More like worrying over the whole group and making sure after every small waterfall that you counted each Dwarf.

One, two, three, ah, okay, all accounted for, all alive...

Thorin, even though you helped him and his family/friends out of danger, he didn't really know what to think of you. His blue eyes would watch you, observing you, as you also observed your surrounding, whilst also listening to the Dwarves about their stories and adventures.

He didn't know what to think of you at the very moment, but he thanked you for your help, to himself.

But you had been able to bond with most of the other Dwarves, like Fili and Kili, which consisted of laughter, shared stories, and affectionate hugs.

And when Kili was in pain, though you worried and your mind thought only of the worst, you held his hand.

These actions made the King Under The Mountain reconsider you for a moment. Maybe there was something different about you.

That night, as you curled close to the fire that night before he and the rest of the Company - minus a few - left for Erebor, Thorin found a spare blanket and placed it upon your sleeping form.

And only after the defeat of Smaug, and after the war - and everyone surviving - did he finally realize that maybe the 'something different' about you was actually because you might've been his One; he just was too stubborn to truly see it.

This new realization hit him hard, and at first, the King was scared. He had wished that he had gotten to know you more, had spoken to you more.

Well, you were here now, partying with the rest - of men, dwarves, elves, and Hobbits alike. Maybe, this was his chance to push aside his stubbornness and brooding and speak to you.

He made his move, surprising you by asking you to join him for a drink, where he gave you a goblet of red wine. And for the next hour or so, you spoke among yourselves, on the sidelines of the raging party. *Disco music.*

There, you and Thorin spoke about the music, your favorite instruments, books your loved to read, and more. All the while, you didn't seem to notice the way Thorin's eyes softened as you rambled slightly.

At the end of the first night of many more nights of partying and celebrating the return of their home, Thorin finally spoke up.

"You have fought beside me with a courage that humbles even a king - I would wish it that you stay here in Erebor a while longer, so I may properly show my gratitude."

It is while you are staying longer in Erebor that he finally reveals to you that you are his One.

To keep a long story short, all while courting, you and Thorin would sit by the fire and read quietly together, take walks through Erebor's halls, write sweet letters to each other, and Thorin would braid a piece of your hair, clasping it with his homemade, one-of-a-kind bead.

You and Thorin share a bond forged in mutual respect and quiet understanding.

He admires your love for reading and thirst for knowledge, seeing it as a strength that complements his vision for Erebor.

Even your perfectionist tendencies, though sometimes a point of contention, earn his respect - he sees in you someone who strives for greatness, much like himself.

Your unwavering support has become a pillar he relies on.

~~~

Harry Potter;

Remus Lupin -

You and Remus first met at Hogwarts as students, though your friendship didn’t blossom immediately.

You were a quiet, observant presence, often keeping to yourself. He was aware of you from a distance, admiring your calm, controlled demeanor, which differed from his more lighthearted friends.

It was a nice different.

Although you were distant from new and strange people, your shared classes often brought you together.

You both preferred studying in quiet corners of the library, where Remus noticed how you worked meticulously, seeing how much you loved to learn not only from books but also from lessons.

Finally, after you had both gotten use to each other, you began studying together in the library.

You even started correcting his notes.

When Sirius and James found out about that, they teased him.

Over time, you became close enough for him to see the softer, affectionate side you reserved for those you trusted.

You’d often listen patiently as he confided in you, especially during stressful times.

Full moon times. It had taken him a year and a half to tell you he was a werewolf, and he was incredibly nervous that you would tell everyone or just not be his friend anymore.

He was scared that you would look at him in disgust.

He would miss your hugs as hellos in the mornings, he would miss the peaceful conversations regarding your interests.

He would miss the way your face would light up at the mention of your favorite muggle movies or show, or how you would ramble beautifully on and on about myths and philosophy. He wouldn't dare stop you.

He loved the sound of your voice.

He was a bit of a pessimist himself.

Surprisingly, and to his shock, he found great comfort in your reaction. When he finally gathered the courage to tell you his secret, his heart raced, waiting for the look of disgust he feared you’d give him.

But instead, you remained calm, simply listening, your eyes thoughtful yet soft. You placed a hand on his, a simple gesture that spoke volumes, steadying him as you always had in the quiet way that had drawn him to you from the start.

“You’re still Remus." You had told him. “The rest doesn’t change who you are.”

Years after graduation, you both found yourselves back at Hogwarts, now as professors.

Remus was pleasantly surprised to see you again, finding it easy to pick up where you two had left off.

Your no-nonsense attitude and perfectionism made you a strict professor, yet students respected you for your dedication and fairness. And also quite enjoyed that you would give them little treats and snacks after long quizzes or tests.

Remus often visited your office to chat after classes. You’d sometimes scold him for his relaxed teaching style, though he found it endearing.

Despite your -sometimes - grumpy demeanor, you cared deeply, which he always noticed in the way you’d subtly check on his health and workload.

Especially when the full moons were around the bend.

Remus would find chocolate on his desk in DADA.

And you'd find books on your favorite topics on yours.

After long days of teaching, you and Remus would often sit by the fire in his quarters or yours, sharing tea or hot chocolate. The two of you would talk about myths, Muggle literature, and your favorite Muggle music, losing track of time until the early hours of the morning.

It reminded you of how you and Remus would sit in the Common Room studying until the wee hours of the morning.

He loved the way you spoke passionately about the things that you were interested in, and he’d always encouraged you to keep talking, no matter how tired he was.

You’d both spend hours in the library or his office, quietly reading together. He’d occasionally glance up from his book to watch you, marveling at how beautiful you looked when lost in thought. When you found an interesting passage, you’d excitedly share it with him, and he’d always listen intently.

Adding onto the topic of full moons; on the nights leading up to the full moon, you’d make sure he had everything he needed. You’d sit with him if he was feeling anxious. After the full moon, you’d bring him breakfast and sit with him while he rested, healing, reading aloud from his favorite books, or telling him stories to help him relax.

On particularly difficult days, you’d end up falling asleep together on the couch in either of your quarters, surrounded by books and papers for grading. He’d wake up first, brushing a strand of hair from your face, marveling at how peaceful you looked.

Those quiet moments reminded him just how much he loved you and how lucky he felt to have you by his side.

You and Remus are great together because you balance each other out perfectly - his calm, steady nature complements your quiet strength, while your loyalty and understanding provide him with the comfort and support he needs.

Together, you share a deep, unspoken bond, rooted in mutual respect, affection, and a quiet love that grows stronger with each and every passing day.

~~~

Marvel;

Natasha Romanoff -

As Avengers, you and Natasha work seamlessly together. Ever since the beginning, when she wasn't on solo missions or with Clint, you were with her.

Your cold-blooded efficiency in battle complements her own calculated and lethal style.

You’re both perfectionists who thrive on order and control, often planning out every detail of a mission to ensure success. While you can be distant or strict with new recruits, Natasha sees through your tough exterior and knows that beneath it lies a fiercely loyal and caring partner.

You're not one to speak much during operations, preferring to observe and stay silent, but Natasha appreciates the way you always anticipate the next move.

You’re skilled in hand-to-hand combat, just as skilled with weapons.

You’re not just observant on the battlefield but a force to be reckoned with. You’ve honed your combat skills, and even Natasha, with all her experience, finds herself impressed.

She often asks to spar with you, in which it often ends in a tie or the both of you winning the same amount of times.

Away from the chaos of the battlefield, you might not be as expressive or outgoing as some of the other Avengers, in the beginning. It takes you a bit to open up, but when you do, you have become friends with all of them.

You are talkative, laughing along, having fun with them; along with being affectionate, joking punches to the arm, or hugs goodbye.

However, when not spending time with the team, a quiet night spent watching movies or reading is how you like to spend your nights. Unless you are dragged to one of Tony's parties.

Natasha being similar to you, needs time to really get to know you, see what makes you tic, before she can truly let herself be vulnerable around you. And you have proven to her that you were worthy enough, and trustful enough for her to break out of her own shell.

She finds herself finding you around the tower, joining you in the kitchen to grab a snack, or even joining in when you put on your favorite show; Hannibal.

This friendly bonding becomes more and more often, almost weekly you and Natasha find yourselves spending more time together, even time with just the two of you.

The more you spent together, the more the bond between the two of you began to bloom into something more, something beautiful.

"You know... I think I trust you more than anyone else." She would speak up randomly as you both sat against the headboard of your bed, watching your favorite movie.

"Even Stark?" You would ask.

"Yeah, even him." She would reply, her smile matching yours.

Before you knew it, everything would shift.

From small, gentle brushes of the fingers as either pass by or a rare, soft smile just for each other... It was obvious that there was something happening between you two.

On lazy days - not really, the both of you end up in the gym sparring most lazy days - but if you aren't in the gym; pushing for each other to be better, you and Nat would sit in quieter corners of the tower, away from the hustle of the others.

She'd sit beside you as you read, her hand resting on your leg or her head resting on your shoulder. She would sit and listen to you read, or when you weren't reading aloud, she would rest her eyes, maybe even nap; the soft sound of Paris Paloma and Lana del Rey in the background

As a couple, Natasha respects your boundaries and your need for space, but when she needs you, you’re always there— - strong and reliable. In return, she supports you, offering her own quiet form of affection.

You’re never truly alone.

You balance each other, and neither you nor Nat would have it any other way.

[batfamily-week]

Playlist Guide

I tried to make this playlist so that each song corresponds to a prompt. It is unlikely I fully succeeded, but here is a guide as to which song is for which prompt.

The layout is: Song Title - Artist - Prompt

Day 1:

Daylight - David Kushner - Scars

Allies or Enemies - The Crane Wives - Enemies to Caretaker

In the Shadows - Amy Stroup - Reverse Robins AU

Day 2:

Nobody's Soldier - Hozier - Choices

Two Moons - BoyWithUke - Panic Attack

Kids - Current Joys - Family Game Night

Day 3:

Bird Song - Florence + The Machine - Corpse

You're Gonna Go Far - Noah Kahan - "I forgive you"

WONDERLAND - Neoni - Fear Toxin

Day 4:

Hero - Regina Spektor - Outmatched

Hardest Of Hearts - Florence + The Machine - "I need you"

Panic Room - Au/Ra - Arkham Asylum

Day 5:

BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eilish - Funeral

Winter Bird - Aurora - Buried Alive

The Family Jewels - MARINA - Old Names/Mantles

Day 6:

Are You Satisfied - MARINA - Heirloom

Freakin' Out On The Interstate - Briston Maroney - "Don't tell Dad"

Sippy Cup - Melanie Martinez - Mob Boss Au

Day 7:

The Moon Will Sing - The Crane Wives - Legacy

End of Beginning - Djo - De-Aged

notre dame - Paris Paloma - The Batcave

Substitute Prompts:

Brother - Kodaline - Rescue

Soldier - Fleuri, Tommee Profitt -First Patrol

Up in Flames - Ruelle - Apocalypse AU

[unseededtoast]

Light As A Feather | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: The gravity of your job begins getting to you, and you come to realize you've forgotten how beautiful life can be. And one tranquil night, it's like Spencer is able to lift the weight and makes you feel light as a feather. Inspired by Hozier's "I, Carrion (Icarian)"

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: General violence, angst, pining. Poorly Edited

a/n: howdy folks. I'm still in my spencer reid/hozier brainrot era and so here's another. I hope you all enjoy it and thank you for all of the support I've received, it means the world!!

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather. 

You had never been to Colorado before, and now you wish you could be here under different circumstances. It's the beginning of fall and it seems as if the people of Boulder are head over heels in love with the season. Which is understandable, you think you'd love fall this much too if you lived in a place this beautiful. The trees are painted in vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red and the distant mountains stand proudly in the background with their snow capped tops. Your eyes are glued to the lush landscape as the SUV drives through Boulder to reach your destination.

You, along with the rest of your team, were called by the Park Rangers from the Rocky Mountain National Park about a few bodies they had discovered. Your superior, Hotch, decided their case was odd enough for you all to pay a visit. At first you hadn't wanted to come, convinced that there would be something closer to home to tend to, but now you're glad you agreed to come. Fall time in Quantico just isn't as picturesque.

Eventually, the SUV you're crammed into alongside three of your other team members drives up a long winding driveway to a hidden cabin in the woods. Hotch had booked the place, seeing as how close it is to the National Park and how secluded it is from potential people of interest. Once again, you tried to argue that the cellphone reception would be terrible up here and that it might hinder the case, but you were outvoted, and the rest of the team wanted to stay here. You hadn't understood why, but when the venue comes into view your jaw almost drops and you understand.

The cabin isn't at all what you had been expecting. Instead of some run-down, small, stuffy house, you see a large, sprawling log mansion. There are large windows adorning the front, accompanied by a wraparound porch on the second level. It's very reminiscent of a tasteful ski lodge.

"Wow." You breathe out as the car comes to a stop outside the front door.

"Still think it's a bad idea?" Hotch smarts off as he opens the trunk and starts handing people their bags. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you grab your bag from him and stare up at your home for the next few days.

The rest of the team wastes no time in going inside to claim their room, but you're happy to meander around for a little bit to familiarize yourself with the layout. You'll let them fight over the rooms and take whatever is left. After all, in a place of this size, even the smallest room is bound to be plentiful.

As you go through the halls admiring the artwork on the wall you spot Spencer doing the same, staring at a particular painting on the wall. You take just a second to appreciate the way he looks, standing there and analyzing art. You've always had an appreciation for Spencer, and not just for his good looks, but also his intelligence and his company.

Since your first day at the FBI you've felt drawn to him, he made you feel important, and heard, when others dismissed you. In fact, he's the reason you're on the BAU team in the first place. He was the only one to recognize your abilities and talents. You try not to hold a grudge about the fact the rest of the team was ready to let you transfer out after your internship. But instead of standing there and gawking at him like some braindead fool, you walk up to him, setting your bag on the floor beside your feet.

You look at the painting that's caught his attention and try to see what he does, try to think about how he interprets it. His mind is an amazing, complex thing, and you hope that one day you'll be able to understand just a small portion of it. It's a painting of the Great Rocky National Park, you can tell from the mountain formation and the river running through it. The painting is almost an identical match, as if it's actually a picture rather than painting. However, there's one small spot on the painting that looks like it's been painted over and over, it sticks out to you.

"What do you think happened there?" You point out the flaw and look up to Spencer, whose eyebrows are drawn closely together as he leans in and looks at the spot. After a few moments of quiet reflection, he stands back to his full height.

"I'm not sure. It looks like maybe the painter had difficulties finding the right shade." He says, still staring at the spot. Your eyes linger on his face before tearing them away before he catches on.

"You're probably right. I'm going to go find what room they left me." You say, grabbing your bag from beside you. Spencer bends over to pick up his as well,

"I should probably do the same." A small smile adorns his face, and the two of you begin walking through the cabin to find the empty rooms the team left you. According to the venue's website there should be one room for each agent, and you're thankful for that. You had never been a fan of sharing room with your coworkers, something about it just feels wrong, but when there's no way to avoid it you endure without much fuss.

The two of you check every room on the first floor only to find that they had all been claimed, meaning you two had to climb the stairs for rooms on the second level. Of course the rest of them would all claim the first floor rooms first, nobody likes to bother with stairs first thing in the morning.

You and Spencer find the empty rooms, side by side with direct access to the porch. You suppose there are worse rooms to have. Eager to step out onto the porch, you toss your bag on the bed and open the sliding door. Colorado's crisp air envelopes you as you step out and you take a deep breath. The air out here feels so clean and refreshing. Great Rocky National Park is directly in front of the porch, giving you an eagle's eye view of a portion of it as you lean onto the banister. Might as well enjoy a little bit of peace before you start working the case.

-----

"Three women were found in the same spot days apart from each other. All bludgeoned and stabbed through the heart." The Park Ranger speaks, indicating to the crime scene that's been barricaded with yellow tape. The Ranger stares at the scene, which is now an inconspicuous patch of dirt and grass, as if there weren't several dead women resting here. The scene is right beside a big body of crystal blue water.

You hang back from the rest of the team, opting to look at the surroundings instead of the immediate scene. The team knows now that finding the tiny details is your forte, and they leave you to your own devices in the beginning of investigations. The cold breeze causes you to hold your too-thin jacket closer to your body as you begin your observations.

"They were all found in the same spot?" Hotch asks the Ranger, who confirms that all of the victims were found in the exact same spot. As you examine the landscape, your eyes narrow in an attempt to find even the subtlest detail. Before too long, you see something out of place in the lush grass and walk over to it while pulling on a pair of gloves.

There's a pamphlet laying in the grass and upon further examination you see that it's been marked up like someone gave the traveler directions. Directions right to this spot. The killer lured at least one victim here. This trail is far off the beaten path, it's not marked by the Rangers. Only someone familiar with the area would know about it.

"Look at this." You call out to your team, and soon a few of them join your side to examine what you found. Spencer and Morgan look over your shoulder at the pamphlet, which is in better condition than you would've thought considering it was laying in grass beside a body of water.

"They're familiar with the area, they had this planned." Spencer speaks up and you nod your head, agreeing with him. Morgan holds out an evidence bag once he's done looking at it and you slip it inside, protecting it from any further damage. Morgan walks off with the pamphlet, leaving you and Spencer together, both deep in thought.

"What have you come up with so far?" You ask softly, curious to see if his theories line up with yours. Spencer shifts his weight and sighs, looking back to the crime scene.

"The killer is organized. They lured at least one victim right to this spot, and I'm assuming they did the same with the others. And they had to have brought the weapons with them. While there are branches to bludgeon people with, there's no evidence of anything nearby being cut down recently. If they used a natural object, it's likely they would've tried to blend it back in with nature." He explains and you nod your head along with what he's saying as you observe the scene and the scenery surrounding you.

"Unless they tossed the weapon into the water. They could have easily used a rock to bludgeon the victims." You counter his explanation. Spencer and you always did this with one another when forming theories. Not as to dissuade, or prove the other wrong, but to make your theories and explanations stronger. It's one of the qualities you most like about him. His eyes drift to the water.

"They could have. But they had to have brought the knife, there's no natural substitute that would leave that precise of a wound." He says, and you relent, agreeing with him.

"I want to question the Rangers, get their work schedules, and see the call logs. I also want to know where the victims were staying and if there's any camera footage of them in the welcome center." You shiver with a gust of wind and hold your arms tighter around your body as you walk off to gather the information you want.

Spencer decides to join you in going to the welcome center, claiming that in a huge national forest that none of us should be traveling alone. He has a good point, but you wouldn't have objected to his company either way. The Ranger from the scene escorts you two to the welcome center in his cruiser, the warm air letting your fingers regain their feeling.

"Who found the bodies?" You ask as you hold your hands in front of the vent emitting warm air. The Ranger looks at you through the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"I found one and Birch found the others during his patrols." He answers and you mentally make a note to find Birch.

"Is that area regularly patrolled?" You push further for more information and the Ranger shakes his head.

"No, it wasn't, until I found the first girl. She had to have been out there for at least three days. After that I sent Birch out to keep an eye on the area. He found victim two a couple days after the first, and found the third a single day after the second." He says and you look to Spencer, both noting the decrease in time between kills. A sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that if you don't find the killer soon, then you may be finding a fourth victim any day now.

Once you reach the welcome center, the Rangers are more than happy to provide you with the security camera footage, work schedules, call logs, and anything else you may need. In fact, it's Ranger Birch that hands over the information himself. He's a young man, maybe mid twenties, with meticulously groomed hair and pressed uniform pants.

"Thank you." You tell him with a warm smile, taking the footage and other information off the counter and into your hands. He nods back with a wide, white-toothed smile and tells you and Spencer to come back if you need anything else. The moment you step out of the welcome center you give Spencer a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think?" He asks you before you can ask him. You lick your lips and glance back into the welcome center, Ranger Birch still looking at you. Your eyes find Spencer's and you motion for him to follow you.

"I think he takes pride in both his appearance and work, and he knows the park well." Hotch pulls up in a black SUV to pick you and Spencer up to return you to the cabin, where the entire team will discuss what's been found so far.

-----

The trip up to the cabin only takes about ten minutes. Your mind works to put pieces of the puzzle together the entire trip back, but there's just not enough known information yet, and it bothers you. You like to have answers quickly because the faster you get answers, the less people will die. Your leg bounces up and down the entire way back, eager to begin deciphering the evidence.

The SUV comes to a stop outside the cabin and before Hotch can turn the car off, you're out and making your way to the entrance. A man dressed in a casual flannel shirt hunched over the flowerbeds stops you in your tracks before you get to the front door. He wipes the dirt from his landscaping gloves onto his worn overalls as he greets you.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I hope you enjoy your stay here. I'm James, I do the landscaping work around here and a few other cabins nearby." He offers you a warm smile, which you try your best to return, but your anticipation is causing you to become short.

"Nice meeting you." You go to walk into the cabin, but James' voice stops you once more. Spencer and Hotch approach, engaged in a conversation likely pertaining to what happened at the welcome center.

"Wait, ma'am. I never caught your name." James smile is reminiscent of an old friend, and he looks at you expectedly. Against your best wishes, you answer him, not wanting to be unnecessarily rude to your host.

"We'll, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Maybe I'll catch you around before you head out. Are you here for work?" He continues his conversation as Spencer and Hotch walk into the cabin undeterred by the landscaper. Maybe if you had just slowed down one of them would've been caught instead. James' eyes linger on the items in your hands.

"Yeah, the whole team is here for work." You answer, shuffling some items around in your grasp. James nods his head and tears his gaze away from the items, the warm smile returning to his face.

"Must be some important work if a whole team is here. By the looks of you all I'd say you're some sort of police." He guesses, eyeing the firearm that's strapped to your thigh. Your eyes narrow at the man, and you nod.

"Yeah, something like that. I really have to get going, they're probably waiting for me in there. Have a nice night, James." You find your exit route out of the conversation with the friendly mannered landscaper. As you step through the door you hear his voice call out to you once more.

"If there's anything I can do to help, number's in the guestbook." The door closes, and the conversation finally ends.

Taking a cleansing breath, you join the rest of the team who are all gathered around the rectangular dining table, which has been designated as the investigation headquarters. On the table are a slew of files, photos, and papers. You add the information gathered from the welcome center to that collection and Hotch starts the conversation.

Hotch reviews the known information and circulates photos of the victims. They're all beautiful young women, and according to Garcia, were staying at nearby resorts and cabins for vacation. The photos get passed to you and you look at them intently, committing to memory every detail you can absorb before you pass them along. It's obvious that these victims were chosen because of their physical appearance, they all share the same basic features such as hair color, eye color, and stature. And eerily, you seem to match the profile as well. 

"The physical appearance of the victim is important to the unsub. Having three victims with similar features is no mistake, nor is it a coincidence." You add to the conversation, seeing your team members look from you to the photos on the table. 

"Maybe the victims represent someone who scorned the unsub? Extracting revenge through them." Spencer suggests, and it's a good theory. You chew on the skin of your bottom lip as your mind races with theories and trying to piece the information together like a puzzle. 

After the general briefing, Hotch assigns Morgan and Prentiss to interview the Park Rangers to establish alibis, JJ and Garcia to continue conducting their online investigation, and Spencer and yourself to go over the welcome center footage. Hotch was going to speak to the people running the cabins the victims were staying at to see if there are any leads there. 

You and Spencer are on the second hour of footage when your eyes start becoming heavy. Reaching for the remote, you pause the footage and stretch, needing to take a break. 

"You want some coffee?" You ask him, needing something to keep yourself awake. He nods his head, 

"Yes, please." You stand from your seat and go to the kitchen to prepare the two of you some coffee. You're sure to put an ungodly amount of sugar in Spencer's, knowing that if you don't you'll hear him complain about it. And most times you enjoy the sound of his voice, but you don't know if you can stand hours of CCTV footage and him complaining about a lack of sugar right now.

You return to the table and place his mug in front of him, steam rising from it. You sip your own and resume your position at the table and reach for the remote. Spencer reaches for it at the same time, your hands brushing one another's. His hand is warm and soft, perfect for the chilly autumn air. 

"Sorry." You say, pulling your hand away and forcing any other thought than the footage from your mind, knowing that there's already a faint pink adorning your cheeks. No matter how long you've worked with him, even just simple touches is enough to send you spiraling if you let it. You try not to delve into what that might mean; you profile people for a living, the last thing you want to do is profile yourself. Without a word, Spencer just smiles back politely and presses play. 

The footage rolls and you two identify the victims who all showed up unaccompanied, which you find odd considering they were on vacation with their families. Your hand jots down quick notes in sloppy handwriting as you critically examine what you do, and don't, see in the footage. Spencer and you replay the footage showing the victims easily five times each, both silently taking notes, knowing you're going to compare soon. After watching the third victim's footage for the last time, you look over to Spencer, who's face is illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun. 

"Do you want to go first?" He asks and you nod, trying not to stare at how the sunlight reflects the amber color in his warm prismatic eyes. You look down to your notes and try to get your thoughts straight before speaking. 

"I noted that all three victims walked into the welcome center with a pamphlet already in hand. None of them took the ones provided by the park. They all showed up alone. I can only assume that the unsub gave them the pamphlets with instructions on how to find the scene. Only, I'm willing to bet it was framed as a good-intentioned suggestion. There's no way those women would have gone if they didn't trust the unsub to some degree." Your eyes glance from your horribly written notes up to Spencer, who's leaning on the table, clinging to every word you say. He hums in consideration before he speaks up.

"I would agree. And if the victims were all staying at tourist destinations, those pamphlets were likely already there. So now the question is whether or not the unsub talked to them at their cabins or before they walked into the welcome center." He says, and a lightbulb goes off in your mind. 

"Wouldn't it make more sense for the unsub to speak to them at their cabins? I mean, if the unsub caught them in the parking lot there's a chance they might have their families with them. But if the unsub spoke to them at their cabins, the women might be persuaded to leave their families behind for some reason." You say, going with the logical deductions that pop into your mind. Spencer mulls over your words, his eyes narrowing, staring back at you in deep thought. 

"You're right. The unsub likely works for the resorts. It would give them access to the victims and it wouldn't be weird for them to give suggestions to guests." He confirms what you thought and you look back to the screen, seeing the third victim frozen in time. 

"We should let the team know." You say and Spencer nods. The two of you finish off your coffee and wait for the rest of the team to arrive. You're confident that the two of you have a solid lead on this case. You only hope you can find the unsub before there's a fourth victim.

-----

The sun sets on the scenic landscape and you lean against the banister of the wraparound porch. The rest of the team isn't back yet, and the last thing you want to do is stay inside when it's so beautiful out here. The snowcapped mountain in the distance gleams brilliantly, and it's almost blinding, but you can't look away. Sounds of water rushing and birds chirping fill the air and if you let your mind relax enough it's almost like you're not here to solve murders. 

Your head rests atop of your arms on the railing and you breathe in the cool air. The breeze gently blows your hair around, sending a shiver up your spine. You had severely underestimated how cold it would be here, and as a result, you failed to pack adequately because you were basing your packing off of Virginia fall time temperatures, which are noticeably warmer. 

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Spencer walking out of his room. He joins your side and leans forward on the railing, looking out at the breathtaking view. His curly brown hair gets blown into his face, and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear. You're also enjoying the breathtaking view. 

He looks at peace, which is not something you usually see in him. His mind works overtime almost twenty four hours a day, especially on cases. It has to be torturous sometimes, to never get a reprieve from your own thoughts; and that's something you know all too well. There are some nights where you can't sleep because gruesome memories from the job haunt you. 

Noticing that you're staring at him, you turn your gaze back to the colorful trees. The two of you enjoy a moment of tranquility together, a rare moment in the fast-paced career you pursued. A bird flies by, and you can only imagine what that freedom feels like. Most times you feel like your job keeps you cemented in one place, always dealing with death and the most heinous monsters that reside in this world. You often forget just how beautiful and free life can be. 

A particularly crisp breeze comes through and you visibly shiver, which Spencer notices. Without a word, he goes into his room and comes back moments later with the throw blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed. It's burnt orange in color and is made of faux fur, warm and soothing. Spencer drapes it over your shoulders and you hold onto the ends, keeping it secure around you. If you could stay in this moment forever, you would. 

Spencer stands so closely beside you that you feel his warmth coming through the blanket, and without much thought, or care, you lean into him just slightly. He makes no effort to move, and the two of you stay like that for what seems like an eternity. His warmth and his smell are so comforting and makes you feel safe. Deep down in your heart you know he makes you feel at home.

The two of you enjoy each other's company in a peaceful silence. There's never been the need to fill the silence with him, like there is the others. While you two are quite talkative in the team dynamic, when you find yourselves alone it's often relaxed with no expectations. You two talk when you want, or is needed, but when there's nothing to say you're more than happy to just be around him. And you hope he feels the same about you, and you think he does, but you're never brave enough to ask for fear of ruining whatever relationship it is that you two share.

Sighing, you cuddle yourself further into the blanket as the sun dips lower and lower, the golden hue turning orange. Spencer moves beside you, and you see his fingers twitch, like he was going to reach out for something but doesn't. Your head turns to look at him above you, and his head lowers, so that your eyes meet one another. 

You had always known his eyes were beautiful, but up this close you can truly admire the depth of them. The golden hues remind you of the sunsets, the green in them is like the rich moss that adorns the sides of the rocks; or like the pine needles on the tall trees, and the brown is reminiscent of swirling espresso. Taken aback from his closeness and the heat creeping up your spine, your lips fall open and his eyes glance between them and your eyes. He's so close to you, your bodies practically pressed against one another. You feel yourself being drawn to him, like he has his own magnetic pull. 

But whatever was about to happen is cut short by the rest of the team arriving back to the cabin. You and Spencer seem to come back to reality and step away from one another. Flustered, you unwrap the blanket from your shoulders and hand it back to him, already missing the warmth.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft and tender, and his hand brushes your own as he grabs the blanket from you. 

"Of course." He smiles softly back, and the two of you part ways to join the rest of your team downstairs to catch up on the latest information. But you can barely pay attention to what is being said, for your mind is drowning with flashes of Spencer out on the porch. 

-----

The next morning you wake up as the sun shines in through the windows, illuminating the room beautifully and warmly. Hotch had given everyone the night to mull over the information and said that the investigation will pick right back up in the morning. After you get dressed and ensure your service weapon is properly attached to the harness around your thigh, you make your way down the stairs for a morning cup of coffee. Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch are already sat at the table, picking at some toast for breakfast as they get the sleep rid from their systems. 

You make a cup for yourself and Spencer, knowing he will be up any moment now. As per usual, too much sugar gets put into his and then you pour your own. The warm drink calms your nerves and you close your eyes, trying to get your mind prepared for whatever the day may bring. You know there may very well be a fourth victim found soon and you need to be on the top of your game to find the unsub.

"Good morning." A raspy voice makes your eyes open, and you see Spencer walking into the kitchen, dressed in a button up and tie. It's quite casual for him, but you like it, it looks nice on him. 

"Good morning, made yours right here." You say and nod over to the mug on the counter. He looks from you to the mug with a smile on his face.

"Thanks." He says, and the two of you stay in the kitchen, sipping on your coffee and waiting for Hotch to give everyone orders. 

"Feeling good about today?" It's something you always ask when an investigation seems to be coming to a close. You think it sets a tone, an expectation that the team will succeed. Spencer sips his drink and nods, 

"I feel good about today." He confirms, flashing his bright white smile. 

Last night, after the team had arrived, Hotch had shown everyone the list of employees from the neighboring resorts and cabins and today the team will be interviewing those employees. You're convinced the unsub has to be on that list and you intend to find out who it is. The questions have already been sorted in your mind, though you're able to adapt to anyone's personality and are prepared to get answers. 

"Same teams as yesterday, we're going to divide and conquer." Hotch says, handing each team a list of names. You look down at the list he handed you and see that there are a total of fifteen employees for the small resort that you and Spencer are covering. It catches your attention that seven of the fifteen are women, and you mentally place them lower on your suspect list. This doesn't seem like a crime women usually commit, no, this seems like the work of a man as evidenced by the brute force used. 

Morgan and Prentiss take off in one car, Hotch takes another, leaving you and Spencer with your own SUV. The two of you gather your needed materials, such as photos and notepads, before you head out. Spencer grabs the keys and tells you that he's going to warm up the car as you finish organizing your things, and you're grateful for that. Sitting in a cold car doesn't really appeal to you right now. 

Once you're content with the items you've chosen to bring along you head out of the cabin. The bright light almost blinds you, and you squint in order to see. From the corner of your eye you see something move, and when you turn to look you see it's the landscaper from the other day, already flagging you down. Resisting the strong urge to just ignore him, you wait for him to reach you on the porch steps. He looks like he's already been hard at work today, he's covered in dirt and sweat. 

"Well good mornin'. Got anything interesting going on today?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the light with his gloved hand. You shift your weight and look to the running SUV, already planning your escape route out of this conversation. 

"Uh, yeah, you could say it'll be an interesting day." You reply as politely as you can. James smiles widely at your response. 

"What sort of thing you have planned?" He asks and you sigh, not wanting to be part of this conversation any longer. 

"I'm not at liberty to say, but I've gotta go, my partner is waiting for me." You excuse yourself from the conversation before he can get another word in. From behind you, you hear him say. 

"Well alright then, I'll be around if you need anything." As you slide into the driver's side of the car and hand your bag to Spencer, you see the man heading back to the tool shed. 

"That's twice now that he's singled me out." You say, keeping your eye on him for a moment longer, watching his moves. The fact that you match the victim profile is not lost on you, and you think it might be making you just slightly paranoid.

"I noticed that too. Could be that you were the first one there the last time, and the last one out this time, but it's definitely something to keep note of." Spencer says as you drive off to the tiny resort the two of you had been assigned. You know he might be right, but the man went out of his way to flag you down this morning and completely ignored everyone else. An uneasy feeling in your stomach tells you that the landscaper should be looked into more thoroughly. 

When you and Spencer reach the resort you waste no time in beginning your investigations. The two of you are laser focused on the task at hand, and agree to split the list equally. Spencer volunteered himself to question the extra person. Luckily, the front desk attendant was more than helpful and secured two rooms for the interviews to be conducted. 

The first four interviews go by without incident, all front desk attendants and kitchen workers who have no indication of manipulative traits and answer your questions openly. You've done this enough times to spot exactly what you're looking for, you know what gets under the skin of unsubs, especially the organized ones who think they have it all figured out. 

A couple other interviewees give you good information about the victim who stayed here. They tell you how they remember seeing her with her family in the hall, and how nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the room when it was cleaned. Hotch had questioned the families last night, and cleared them from the suspects list. 

By the time you reach the end of your list, you know you can safely cross every one of them off. None of them responded to the misinformation you sprinkled in the questions, things the unsub would've been known to be untrue. And none of them had any sort of reaction to you insulting the intelligence of the unsub, something that would have surely set them off in some way. But to your dismay, none of them had any clue of who could be capable of this kind of malice. Typically, there's at least one person who's able to spot something weird about someone, but not this time. 

You group back up with Spencer, the two of you comparing notes in the room he used for his questioning. He had the same results as you and you both were hoping someone else on the team was more successful. 

"We got all of them except for James Hilton. The others said he bounces around to each place and some days he's not even here." Spencer says, pointing out the only uncrossed name from the list. 

"James Hilton. That's the landscaper." You say, barely able to recall his name from yesterday. The uneasy feeling in your stomach grows. 

-----

In the afternoon, the team reconvenes in the cabin around the table to compare findings. Every other agent was able to interview everyone but James Hilton. Granted, his job requires him to go from location to location, but it seems like he's been hanging out around this cabin often. However, he was nowhere to be found when everyone came back. But maybe he went to another location to work on their flowerbeds. 

"We'll need to get his statement today. Anyone up to track him down?" Usually you volunteer to go after someone like this, but something is telling you not to, and you listen to your instincts. Thankfully Morgan offers to track him down, and Prentiss joins him once more. You pick at a piece of paper on the table as your mind works, mulling over what you know about the case and the overly-friendly landscaper. 

Before Morgan and Prentiss leave, Spencer informs the team about the conversations that James has dragged you into. You tell them exactly what happened, and they all agree that it seems suspicious. Hotch goes off to make some calls to JJ and Garcia, leaving you and Spencer at the table. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks, leaning forward on the table. His voice snaps you out of your trance and you cease to fiddle with the paper. 

"Me? Yeah I'm fine, why?" You ask, not sure why he's concerned. He looks conflicted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he answers. 

"Well, it's just that you fit the victim profile and the conversations with the landscaper seem to be suspicious. And you keep playing with the paper which is an indication of anxiety." He says, trying his best to not profile you in front of your face. 

"Spencer, I'm okay, promise. I was just thinking." You tell him, and it's the truth. While James makes you feel uneasy, you're confident that nothing will happen to you. Spencer nods and you stand from the table, wanting to inspect the cabin with finer detail and stretch your legs. 

After going from room to room looking for the tiniest thing that might be relevant to the case, you find yourself staring at the same photo that caught Spencer's eye when you all first arrived. There's something about it, something about the discolored spot, that you just can't let go of. It's bothering you for some reason. Frustrated, you take it off the wall and bring it to where Spencer is in the main living area, nose in a book. He looks up from the page when he hears you coming, his eyebrows scrunching closely together. 

"What are you doing?" He asks, putting the book on a side table. You place the painting on the large coffee table and put your hands on your hips. 

"There's something about this that's driving me insane." You say, eyes drifting from Spencer's face to the painting. It takes Spencer all of ten seconds to analyze the painting again. 

"It's the same place the bodies were found." He says and your eyes widen, taking in the scene again and realizing he's right. 

"Wait. If this is the same place the bodies were found, then that, is the exact spot they were in." You say, pointing to the discolored spot. The discoloration is where the grass meets the water, the mountain in the background. Your eyes drift to the bottom corner of the painting where you see a cursive 'J' painted in white. 

"Do you think the killer is the one who painted this?" Spencer asks you, and you nod. 

"I'm sure of it. There's a J painted in the corner. It has to be Hilton. Can you call Garcia?" You ask, mind feeling like it's running a marathon. Spencer doesn't hesitate to get Garcia on the phone. 

"Hello my beautiful boy genius, what can I do for you today?" Penelope's voice sounds throughout the room and you smirk at her entertaining phone greeting. 

"Hello my beautiful computer genius, can you do me a favor?" You speak first and you can hear her laugh through the phone. 

"Oh my darling anything for you." Her voice is melodic and you shake your head at her antics. You love Garcia, she's one of your closest friends inside and outside of work. 

"Can you find anything on a James Hilton from the Boulder, Colorado area?" You ask her, knowing your answer is about to be served on a silver platter in just a few moments. Garcia's quick typing echoes through the phone. 

"James Hilton, born and raised in Boulder. Has been working as a property manager for the last ten years at the property you all are staying at. Has one traffic record from the nineties, but other than that he's clean." She says, but you were hoping for something more incriminating. 

"Anything about a wife, or a girlfriend? Maybe even a sister or mother?" You ask her, staring down a the painting. 

"It looks like he was in a long term relationship with Valerie Wilson, also of Boulder. But according to her Facebook page, they are over with." She says, Spencer and you looking at each other, knowing you may have just found a potential piece of the puzzle. 

"Perfect. Can you tell me what she looks like and how to contact her?" You ask and write down the details Garcia recites. After you get the needed information, Spencer hangs up and calls Hotch to inform him of what the two of you just found out. Hotch tells us that he's on his way back to the cabin after he's done with the last interview. 

The painting lays in front of you two, and you take a seat on the arm of the chair Spencer is sitting in, your leg brushing up against his and your arm resting behind his head to keep yourself stable. Your eyes are glued to the discoloration, and you know there's just something about it that's more than just not being able to find the right shade. 

"Is there a way to see if something has been painted over?" You ask Spencer rather than Googling it, knowing he can probably get you an answer faster. He clears his throat and nods his head.

"A few years ago it was found that Vincent Van Gogh painted over several of his works due to the cost of canvas. Experts used x-ray to see through the layers, revealing the original painting." His answer is exactly what you were looking for.

"We have to get this thing x-rayed. And someone needs to contact Valerie and ask her about her relationship with James. His tool shed should be examined as well" You jump off the chair's arm, ready to leave immediately, but having to wait for Hotch before you can proceed with anything else. 

-----

Hours later, your leg is bouncing up and down, eagerly awaiting the results of the x-ray. The hospital staff had never encountered something quite like this, but you were thankful that they were cooperative. Spencer had come along with you while Hotch stayed back to get in contact with Valerie. You check your phone every ten seconds to see if you have a new message for him, but your screen is blank.

Thankfully, a few minutes later an x-ray technician comes out and beckons you to a dark room where she clips the x-ray images onto a lightboard. While the images aren't in color, you can still see exactly what you need to. The images show that where the discoloration is, there used to be a woman standing and a man on one knee. A gasp leaves your mouth, the pieces finally fitting together in your mind. Without a doubt, James is the unsub. 

Spencer and you race back to the cabin and spill the findings to the rest of the team. Hotch informs you that Valerie had confirmed that James recently proposed, but she turned him down. All of the victims match her appearance. He must have been killing to fulfill some sort of revenge he felt was necessary. 

The team calls each of the resorts that James is employed at only to find that he's not at any of them. While the others scramble to try and find a way to find him, your eyes land on the guestbook. 

"Guys. I can call him. He told me his number is in the guestbook and we know I fit the profile. He won't be able to help himself." You say, and the others don't have any good reason as to why you shouldn't do it. Your hands shake from the adrenaline as you dial the numbers and the phone rings, your heartbeat resounding in your ears. You're so close to catching this depraved man. 

"Hello?" He answers finally. You let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding and speak up.

"Hi James, you told me to call you if I needed help with anything. And, um, I think I might have broken one of the outside lights." You quickly come up with a lie, hoping to lure him out here for the arrest. You hear him moving around on the other end and the start of an engine. 

"Of course, I'll be there in just a moment, honey." He says and you hang up the phone, trying not to gag from his pet name. 

It takes James all of fifteen minutes to reach the cabin. When he pulls up, the entire team is waiting for him, but you were the one with cuffs in your hands. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Hotch and Morgan were out the door ordering him to the ground. With smug satisfaction, you step over the man and secure his hands in cuffs behind his back. 

As the local police show up to take him away, he's spitting every expletive in the book at you. Rage and hatred show themselves very clearly on his face, and you see who he really is. You smile sickly sweet at him as he's shoved into the back of the cop car. Another monster off the street, unable to do harm to another woman. It's like a weight gets lifted from your shoulders. 

-----

After the excitement of the arrest, you come down off your adrenaline rush. The rest of the team are packing, getting ready to leave in the morning, but you can't find it within yourself to do it. You're too struck by the beauty in front of you to worry about going back home. You just don't want to part with this yet. So you find yourself out on the wraparound porch once more, the sun retreating far too quickly behind the horizon for your liking. 

Despite the waning sun, the landscape looks brighter, more vibrant now that you know that the killer is in custody. Usually, the team gets only a few hours of celebration before you're saddled with paperwork and the next case. A bird flies past again, and you appreciate its freedom again. Its sweet melodies carry in the breeze and soothes your weary soul. 

You love your job, you can't imagine doing anything else, but it does wear on you. Both physically and mentally. Before you had started working with the team, you never could have imagined the kind of evil lurking everywhere, even in a place as gorgeous as this. But now, it's like wherever you look, no matter how beautiful the surroundings, you can always spot something amiss. You feel weighted by the knowledge of what reality actually is. 

The familiar sound of the sliding door catches your attention, and you see Spencer coming towards you, blanket in hand. A smile finds its way onto your face as he closes the distance between you, securing the blanket around your shoulders. Just like yesterday, he stands right beside you, admiring the view. 

"The others are all leaving tonight, they said they want to get a headstart on the papers. But I told them we'd go back in the morning." His voice is raspy, yet soft.

"But what about the plane?" You ask, eyebrows knitting together. He shrugs his shoulders and looks down at you. 

"I told them we'd fly back in the morning, already have the tickets arranged." He says, easing some of your anxiousness, but not satisfying your curiosity.

"Why?" You search for the answer on his face. 

"Because I saw how much you like it here. You deserve one workless night." He says with sincerity and your heart swells at the sentiment. You fully turn towards him, soft blanket draped lightly across your shoulders. You notice that Spencer has traded his button up for a simple pullover. Something so simple has never looked so good before. 

"Thank you, you really didn't have to-" He cuts you off with a smile, 

"I know, but I wanted to." He admits, pink coloring his cheeks. You stare up at him in awe, not quite sure what you did to deserve his thoughtfulness. Not being able to hold back your affections, you reach out and engulf him in a hug. 

"Thank you, Spencer." You reiterate into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you. After a few fleeting, precious moments, you let go of him. Staring up into his eyes, you reach a hand up and stroke the soft skin of his cheekbone with your thumb. He doesn't flinch from your touch like he does with others, no, he leans into it as if he's savoring the feeling.

His arm that was around your waist come up to cup your cheek, and he gently brings your face towards his, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You hold him close, a flurry of warmth spreading from your face down to your body. His other hand finds its way around your waist, securing you to his body. 

You break the kiss as your chest begins burning with the need of oxygen, and he rests his forehead against yours. Your hands come up to gently grasp the sides of his face, keeping him in place so that you can admire his beauty. After minutes pass by in silence as you two appreciate each other, Spencer tilts his head up and kisses your forehead. 

He turns you around so that you're facing away from him, and he grabs the blanket from around your shoulders. Seconds later, you feel him standing behind you, wrapping the soft blanket around the both of you. His chest is behind you, and he hands you the edges of the blanket so that his hands might find the soft curve of your waist. Spencer pulls you in to him so that you're leaning back on his chest. 

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather. 

Spencer rests his head atop of yours as the two of you relax your minds and bodies, focusing solely on each other and the scene in front of you. Your hands come down to entwine themselves with his with a soft smile on your face. 

A lone tear falls from the corner of your eye as you're overcome with emotion. You cannot recall a single time in your life that you've felt this serene, where everything just feels perfect. Your soul is well nourished and full from Spencer alone. All of those cases you worked together, the stolen glances across the office, the simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness for each other has culminated to this one precious moment in time; and you've never felt more content. 

The sun eventually sets behind the horizon, the chilly breeze billowing the blanket around you both. Above you in the sky, the stars shine brightly, and you tip your head back to admire them. You can never admire their true beauty in Quantico, their shine is dulled by light pollution, but you can see them clearly here. You can see everything clearly here.

"You know, scientists estimate that there are about two hundred sextillion stars in the sky within the Milky Way." Spencer whispers in your ear as you two bask in their soft white light. You turn around in his hold and smile up at him, 

"And yet none shine as brilliantly or as beautifully as you." You say, and pull him in for another soft, heartfelt kiss. As you pull away, you watch as his eyes flutter open and he smiles endearingly. You've never seen such a beautiful sight, never felt comfort as warm as him, and you know as you lean into his embrace, that you will not bear the weight of this world or this life alone.