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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

She’s An Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer discovers that Reader has a rather promiscuous personality behind closed doors, and he can’t help but give into her. Category: SMUT (18+), (there’s a lil fluff at the end, but it’s mostly filth lol) Warnings: Language, heavy flirting and sexual tension, female/male-receiving oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, innocence kink (kinda?), breeding kink, dirty talk Word Count: 10.8k

***EDITED: 7/23/2021***

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, guys! This is my entry for @willowrose99 ‘s 1-Year Writing Challenge Celebration! My prompts were: Only Angel by Harry Styles (fun fact, this is my favorite Harry song! And the notes/texts that Reader sends to Spencer are lines from the song), stealing clothes, and the dialogue “You know, I kinda like it when you call me -pet name-” I hope you all enjoy it! I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!!!

Also! Little fun fact: sex and metaphors/references to religion is like... my favorite thing in the whole world, so I made a tiny playlist for you to give a listen if you’re interested! If you have song recs so I can add them, please let me know! I’m always on the lookout for new stuff :) Enjoy!!

***

He didn't think much of it the first day she started working at the BAU. If anything, Spencer was glad that they had an intern— someone who could share some of their responsibilities without completely changing the dynamic of the work. She even became part of their family, going out with them after cases, attending every workplace gathering, whether it be a wedding for a co-worker they didn't see often, one of Rossi's dinner parties, or Henry's birthday party.

It wasn't until they were setting up for the BAU office Halloween party that he noticed something was... different.

Y/N and Spencer were put on decorating duty while everyone else brought food and music, and whatever else. They stopped by extra early to set up, meaning they would be there together, alone, for at least two hours before anyone showed up.

Normally that wouldn't have been anything to worry about, but Y/N showed up in costume, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Now, he wasn't one to really care whether or not people used Halloween as an outlet to dress like sexy nurses or cheerleaders or whatever else. Sure, he'd rather go with something on the scary side, something with a creepy mask or intricate makeup, but in the end the holiday was everyone's to enjoy how they wanted to. And one way or the other, he never saw anyone in a sexy Halloween costume and found himself tempted by them in the slightest. In fact, it was rare that he ever saw anyone in one at all.

So, when Y/N slowed up to the office wearing a very skin-tight, tiny schoolgirl costume, and his heart leapt out of his chest, mouth going dry and blood running hot at the sight of her?

He was a goner.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, dropping the large bag she was carrying to run over and give him a hug, which he shakily returned, trying to snap out of his daze. Suddenly he felt a little underdressed, not wearing his costume yet, and truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to wear one at all now, fearful that she'd think it was too immature.

Even more frightening than the holiday itself was the fact that Spencer found himself caring about what Y/N would think of his costume when a minute ago it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly before she released him from her hug, hoping to expel his fear and remember that she was his friend and she'd never actually say anything bad about his costume. Not that that'd even mattered in the first place. It shouldn't have mattered, right?

God, pull yourself together! She's just a pretty girl dressed in a suggestive costume, it's nothing you haven't seen before...

Though, he wasn't even sure he could call her a pretty girl right then.

Because when she pulled away from him, talking about some of the decorations she brought, he had ample opportunity to get a good look at her costume up close. And she wasn't pretty. She was downright sexy, all legs protruding underneath a short plaid skirt and adorning shiny black heels, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders in pigtails. Her shirt was so low, most of the buttons undone to reveal a black lacy bra underneath. She wore a pair of glasses that sat cutely on the tip of her nose and minimal makeup, the only noticeable thing being bright red lip color.

That wasn't what was different, though.

Sure, she'd never worn anything that scandalous around work or even on nights out, but it wasn't the fact that she'd done so now that felt strange. No, it was the way she looked up at him, her head hung low and her eyes looking up through eyelashes. When she got excited to tell him something, she pitched her voice higher. And often times, she'd put herself in compromising positions, and it seemed like it was on purpose.

At one point she stood right in front of him trying to hang a streamer on a beam she was most certainly not tall enough to reach. Her arms stretched high, all fabric on her body rising up and exposing more skin. Spencer quickly tried to avoid any problems, offering to help so she wouldn't hurt herself, first of all, but also so that he wouldn't find himself staring too long when he shouldn't have been staring at all.

The whole time they were decorating, she found excuses to drop things and pick them up, to stumble and hold onto his arm for steadiness, to accidentally brush past him... And that's what was so different about her.

He didn't want to assume she'd been drinking before coming to the office, and if he'd known any better he wouldn't have assumed it in the first place. But that was the one and only thing that crossed his mind that could have been the answer to her strange behavior, despite the lack of alcohol on her breath. (The only reason he knew her breath didn't smell of alcohol was because at one point, she hugged him again and pulled back to look in his eyes, brushing stray curls from his face and telling him they did a good job finishing up the room they'd been working on.)

Now they were in the conference room, and Spencer was hanging streamers as Y/N sat in one of the chairs, wheeled back to the middle of the room so she could observe everything. Well... observe Spencer was more correct. At least that's what he figured, anyway. It was like he could feel her eyes burning into the back of him. Or maybe he was just still unable to get over the fact that she and her stupidly hot costume had had that big of an effect on him.

He stood down from the chair and asked Y/N to hand him more tape, refusing to look at her.

"Spence, are you alright?" she asked sweetly, rolling her chair over to the table so she could reach the tape. The innocent concern in her voice had that same suspicious tone to it that wouldn't leave him alone, like it was nagging him and calling to him... begging to confront her.

He flicked his gaze down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the table. "N—Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She picked up the tape and toyed with it between her fingers, which were manicured a light pink color. He couldn't help but stare at them. "You seem a little... on edge."

With a swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back to his throat, Spencer shook his head. "I'm... No, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I've been working with you profilers for some time now, and... I think I can tell when you're lying. Was it... something I did?"

There she went again, her voice high and soft. Innocent. Like she was in character.

Spencer looked at her face again, and then immediately he regretted it. She was half pouting at him, doe-eyed and head tilted to expose her neck. He swallowed again, trying to figure her out while also figuring out what to say.

"No," is what he settled on, audibly nervous.

She could tell, too, because he thought he saw her smirk for just a split second. But then it was gone, replaced once again by her pout. "Oh... Good. Because I thought for a second that you didn't like my costume."

She obviously had to be up to something, right? Was she... flirting with him? And more importantly, did he want her to flirt with him? He'd never really thought about Y/N in that context before, but she was single, beautiful, and... well, truthfully that's all he really knew about her. They'd been friends for about a year now, and he couldn't put together one single thought about her other than the stuttering, muddled confusion over the fact that she was in a sexy Halloween costume and most likely openly flirting with him.

What was that Emily said once about his IQ dropping in the presence of a pretty woman?

Y/N had rendered him utterly thoughtless.

And speechless, too, apparently, because he stood there, staring at her without saying a single word.

"Spencer," she called out softly, almost like a lullaby. Her chair rolled back, away from the table to give him a better view of her legs as she un-crossed them and very slightly opened her knees. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

As if he wasn't already practically burning inside-out since the moment she arrived at the office, now his blood ran hot, and he was suddenly very uncomfortably warm. "U—Um, y—yes, you're... You're beautiful, y—your costume... It's nice, it looks nice on you."

Her pout slowly turned into a smile as she patted her knees. "Thank you... I wore it just for you, you know."

Is this some sort of bizarre dream? he wondered, his knees almost buckling at her words, their tone, and the meaning of it all.

"Y—You did?" he whispered brokenly.

"Mnmm," she drawled as her fingers toyed with themselves. "You teach, right?"

"Sometimes."

Y/N hummed and nodded, her legs still closed enough that he couldn't see anything... extra promiscuous. "You know, I bet you have quite a few students who find you attractive... Tell me, do any of them dress like this?"

She leaned back in the chair and started to run her hands slowly up the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. "Do they ever... Sit in the front row and... spread their legs just enough for you to see the pretty panties they picked out... just for you..."

By now her hands were resting on the inside of her thighs, her legs spread in exactly the way she'd described. He couldn't help himself. There she was, offering herself to him, and in his line of vision was the faintest glimpse of baby pink fabric that matched the color of her fingernails.

He didn't even know how to verbally respond. By now he was sure his face was beet red, and his palms were sweating so badly and struggling to keep him upright as he leaned forward on the table. Ah, the table— the only thing separating him from her, a fact which he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful for or not.

The spell she had around her broke when her phone rang. And just like that, it was like she was... herself again. At least, the 'herself' Spencer had always known. She sat up and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her phone from her bag, reading the screen as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's Penelope. She has a costume emergency I have to help with. Are you good putting the rest of these up?"

"U—Um, yeah. Yeah, go."

Y/N smiled and grabbed her bag, thanking him as she walked past and left him behind.

He heard her call back as her figure was etching itself into his brain, ready to remain there until the end of time. "Can't wait to see your costume!"

***

Luke and Tara were having a conversation that he was supposed to be paying attention to, but Spencer's mind was still occupied by Y/N and her... outward display of sensuality.

Her voice was echoing in his brain, replaying over and over how she'd dressed up for him. And the longer he tried to wrap his brain around everything, the more he wound up confused. Where had her forwardness even come from? Had she been actively interested in him this whole time and he just hadn't seen it until now? A possibility, but why had she chosen to go to that extreme rather than just tell him the truth? Maybe she'd just found being overtly sexual an easier tactic than others?

Or maybe, in the end, she was just messing with him. Even though Derek had moved away, it was entirely possible that he'd somehow concocted one of his ridiculous pranks and roped Y/N into helping him since he wasn't around to do it himself. A smart move, though it was highly unlikely.

Spencer just didn't know what to do. Depending on how the rest of the night went, he was probably just going to have to muster up the courage to ask her what her intentions were. And depending on what she says, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted from their relationship... Did she want just sex? Did he want just sex? Did she want to go out with him? Is that something he would want as well?

He was just about to mull it over when Penelope's boisterous laugh sounded from the other side of the room. Spencer looked up, eager to see if Y/N was with her, since she'd been called away on a costume emergency. Penelope was dressed as a devil, red sparkly horns on her red-streaked, curled hair. She was dressed head-to-toe in a red dress and shoes that felt very much like her, with feathers and sequins, and her makeup was also red and black and absolutely glittery.

And sure enough, behind her stood the woman who'd been occupying Spencer's mind for the past hour and a half. Though, she wasn't dressed as a schoolgirl anymore.

He found himself swearing under his breath as he took her in, shimmering where she stood, dressed in all white.

She was an angel.

An actual angel. Her hair fell loose around her, accessorized with a headband with a golden halo attached to it. Her dress was still pretty form-fitting, though nowhere near as scandalous as her previous outfit. It was long and flowed out at the bottom until it hit the floor, a ring of gold at the hem. The sleeves were also long and bell-bottomed, accented with gold at the end.

And from where Spencer stood, even that far away, he noticed the glitter that surrounded her eyes, gold to compliment the color on her dress. Her lips were still bright red, and her glasses were gone. And the wings... As small as they were—most likely to keep from taking up too much space—they stood out in any crowd, purely white and outlined in gold, just like the rest of her outfit.

Why had she changed? Did... she actually change at all? Had he truly only imagined their encounter hours ago?

"Any... specific angels crossing your mind?" Spencer heard Luke say, punctuated with a pat on the shoulder.

He blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Y/N... She makes a pretty good angel, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, I—I guess so."

Luke and Tara laughed, obviously amused by all of this. But they hadn't seen her earlier. They hadn't been there to witness her seducing him and acting like she'd done it a million times over. They didn't know what she was doing to him, inhabiting every corner of his brain and driving him mad trying to figure it all out.

But it wasn't uncommon for his friends to tease him about the female attention he got sometimes. And when it was obvious that he was flustered, they kept the friendly teasing going. And every time, he settled on leaving it alone, because he knew it would pass and he wouldn't have to worry about it again, at least until the next woman hit on him in public.

And Y/N? She worked with them. As long as she was in his head, he was afraid he'd never stop being flustered in her presence.

So he had to know. He had to talk to her and see what was going on, no matter how awkward it might get.

For now though, it was Halloween, and he was going to spend the night with his friends while doing the very rare amount of drinking and the more frequent amount of laughter.

The night didn't come without a few looks in Y/N's direction, though. She never came up to him directly, though a few times he'd catch her looking at him. And each time, she'd wave and continue on her merry way, laughing with Emily or doing some silly dance with Penelope in their coupling costumes.

Honestly, if earlier hadn't happened, he would have thought nothing of it. She was being completely normal. Happy, friendly... Simply Y/N, as he'd known her for the past year and a half.

He just finished saying goodbye to JJ, who was leaving early to go trick-or-treating with her kids, when she finally approached him. At the sight of her getting closer, her otherworldliness making his blood go warm again, he tried to compose himself. After all, there was no way she'd do anything sensual in public like this, right?

"I didn't get a chance to compliment you on your costume yet," she said brightly, her voice not carrying that higher tone from before. "You make a very believable zombie."

He looked down at his tattered clothes, a small laugh escaping him. "Thank you... It's no high-level makeup job, but I tried my best."

When he looked back up to her, the shimmer of her makeup basked her in a glow that made it incredibly hard to breathe. She really was pretty. Still sexy, of course, but in an understated way this time.

And he couldn't help but bring up the difference. "You... changed."

Something sparkled in her eyes then, giving them a devious glint that inherently contradicted her costume, and the mere implications of that made him tremble, especially as she said, "Mhm... I figured the schoolgirl costume was a little too inappropriate for the workplace. And besides... I did say I wore it just... for you..."

So he hadn't imagined the whole thing... On the one hand he was relieved to know he wasn't freaking out over something that hadn't actually happened. But... on the other, what did that leave him with?

It left him with a woman who was standing in front of him, dressed like an angel while giving him all sorts of devilish feelings.

Once again she'd rendered him speechless, though now his thoughts were filled with images of those pretty, glimmering eyes above him, watching as he worshipped her between her legs... Of her hands twisted in his hair as he showed her just how much he wanted her, to show her how beautiful she was.

Those thoughts were interrupted when she got closer, toying with a stray curl that stuck out from his head. She twirled it around her finger and looked up at him, doe-eyed again as she purred, "Happy Halloween, Doctor Reid."

She was gone too quickly, whisked away by the throes of an office holiday party that, one way or another, served as the beginning to a long, tempestuous affair.

***

In the weeks that followed, Spencer went about his days as normally as he could, focusing on work, and getting ready for another month of teaching, where he'd be away from his friends and, therefore, also away from Y/N.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be away from her... Yet, after constant flirting with no direction other than his dreams filling with filthy images of the two of them together and no actual outlet for it, he figured a break would do him some good. Of course, he wasn't sure what would await him when he came back—if she'd forget about all of it and give up or if she'd come at him stronger than before.

It was his final day before leave, and so naturally, Y/N had to make it hard on him. He was sure that's what she was doing.

Since it was getting colder, she strayed away from skirts, though occasionally she would show up to work in a longer dress or a shirt that hugged her in all the right places, especially on the days that he would be working with her more. She had the BAU's schedules on hand always, so she had to be using that as a way to get to him.

On those days, she often used her higher pitch when she spoke to him, and her eyes were always adventurous— they wandered over every part of his body and sometimes quickly blinked away when he caught her, accompanying an embarrassed smile. (Though, Spencer was convinced she really was absolutely not embarrassed.)

Other times she pulled the "Oops, I dropped something," trick, and "You know, it's almost Winter but it's still so warm in here, don't you think?" followed by a stretch of her body as she slowly put her hair up or dragged it over her shoulder.

His plan was to wait until he got back from leave, assess their situation from there after he'd cleared his head for a while, and then talk to her about what the hell was going on. Though the thought of confronting her scared him a little, he knew he couldn't let this go on any longer without some sort of conversation about what was next... What it all meant. It would drive him crazy otherwise.

With all the sensual, suggestive looks and actions she was throwing at him, though, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten to that point already.

As if she'd figured this out—because of course she would have found a way to get into his brain and know what he was thinking and feeling before he could even do so himself—Y/N stood by a storage closet with a clipboard. She pretended to write things down, when in reality she was looking up at him every so often, biting her lip and crossing her legs where she stood. She looked utterly desperate for something, almost like it was painful for her to be deprived of whatever it was she was looking for.

Spencer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that was. And the thought sent a wave of electricity through his veins. All day she'd been going extra hard in attempts to catch his attention, and since it was his final day before leaving for a month, he knew that had to be the reason why.

If catching his attention was her goal, she'd definitely succeeded.

Across the room, and across a small sea of co-workers who were head-down, going through paperwork, he caught her eye and waited, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out to her. She tilted her head to the side and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, staring back at him like she was in a daydream.

And sure enough, she was standing underneath a light, one singular beam that sat atop her head like a halo and bathed her in a soft glow.

Even without the costume, she was an angel... For a moment Spencer wondered if maybe she'd planed on it all from the start— making her move by dressing like an angel on Halloween for one night and then finding any way on purpose to replicate that presence without actually dressing up again. Was it a way to mess with his head, to make him believe that she was calling to him? That she would... save him somehow?

He had to know what she was doing.

So he gave in and stood up, his eyes keeping contact with hers as he got closer and closer. Before he could get to her, though, she winked and then turned around, entering the storage closet and disappearing before his eyes. Still, he followed her, desperately hoping that's what she wanted.

And with a silent prayer that felt ironic as he thought it, Spencer opened the door and entered the adventure that awaited him. Whether it would be heavenly or otherwise he wasn't sure, but either way he was ready to confront it.

Y/N had turned on a desk lamp, its orange glow the only source of light in an otherwise pitch-black space. She leaned back against a table, still standing with her legs crossed over each other, hands bracing themselves on the tabletop. "How's it going, Doctor Reid?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost immediately after she greeted him. Now that he was alone with her, away from unassuming eyes, he exhaled and visibly showed his confusion through pleading eyes. "Please, I need to know what you're doing..."

He barely saw the contours of her face through dim lighting as she smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Y/N... Don't do that." He took a step closer, even though the quick beating of his heart signaled that it might have been a dangerous move. "Tell me..."

"Isn't it obvious?" she cooed, her hands coming out to toy with the hem of her frilly skirt.

As he looked down at it, he had to wonder if there really was a God out there, some higher being that sent this angel down to destroy him. How else did it stand to happen that even though it was nearing the end of November, the one day it was warm enough for Y/N not to freeze while wearing a skirt was the final day he had before leaving for a whole moth?—Before it was inevitably snowy and she wouldn't have the luxury to tease him with her skin?

She must have caught his lingering gaze on her legs, because she laughed softly, spreading them to stand a bit further apart while her fingers very lightly pushed the fabric of her skirt up. "I've been trying to get your attention ever since I got here... But you never seemed to notice. So I figured... Why not be a little more... forthcoming..."

"Y—You could have... said something," he whispered, forcing himself to look at her face. But as he was learning, he couldn't look at any part of her without his whole body going up in flames.

By now she was walking closer to him, small, languid steps that perfectly showcased how her body could move. "Well... Truth is, I was scared... Every time I tried to talk to you, I got really nervous..." Her voice was demure, apologetic almost... Embarrassed. But it had to have just been part of the allure, right? Part of her show? "You're just so... intimidating."

Spencer swallowed, a small laugh coming from him as he tried not to collapse at her closeness. "I'm... I'm really not..."

But she laughed, finally close enough to reach out and grab his tie, which is what she did. She held the fabric in her hands for a few seconds before letting it drop, bringing her pointer finger to gently trace patterns on his chest. "Not in a mean way, silly... You're... incredibly smart, and you're good at your job... You're always so nice to everyone... And I bet you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

He found himself trembling under her touch again as she brought her hand down to meet his. She leaned up to nudge his chin with her nose as she moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. It was only the slightest of touches, nothing rushed or passionate about it. In fact, Y/N seemed more taken with the idea of using her touch to draw everything out— to make him pine for it, lose all semblance of sanity until he finally gave in and did whatever he wanted to her.

"Don't you wanna know what it feels like to touch me?" she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. Meanwhile her hand guided his own farther up her skirt, until he felt her skin getting warmer and warmer with each millimeter. His throat was dry, breath shaky as he fluttered his eyes closed and embraced the moment, embraced the guidance... "To feel how wet you make me?"

His heart practically leapt out of his chest once his hand was finally met with said wetness. Her panties were damp and oh so warm, and he couldn't stop the whine that left his throat as she pressed his fingers hard into her against the fabric. Her fingers covered his like a glove, guiding them in small circles over her clothed clit as she sighed into his neck.

"You feel that?" she asked, nuzzling into his skin. "That's what you do to me, Doctor. From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd ruin me..."

He breathed a laugh then, finding it utterly ironic how that's how she felt. She could have just been toying with him, but there was enough longing and desperation in her voice to let him know she really meant it. She'd been waiting for him to come along and whisk her away...

So that's what he was going to do.

Spencer removed his hand from her then, walking them over to the table and pulling her right to him by gripping the waistband of her panties and keeping her still. The gasp she let out fueled him in a way that would have wrecked him if the job hadn't already been done. As he looked down at her, her body was basked in the soft orange luminescence of the desk lamp, a sight that aesthetically added to his desire and farther fueled the heat that had been accumulating in his veins, waiting to be released.

"Is that what you want, angel?" he breathed, the words even taking him by surprise. His sexual experience was far from non-existent, but it was limited enough that he'd never acted this feral before. Never had a partner ever had this strong of a hold on him, so tight that he found it a struggle to breathe. Add on the fact that he wanted to embrace that struggle if it meant being this way with her, and you had a man who was completely unraveling under the allure of one single woman until she ultimately brought forth his demise. "You want me to ruin you?"

Though he was giving in, like he assumed she wanted in the first place, Y/N hummed, tilting her head again and blinking up at him. "You know, I kinda like it when you call me angel..."

Spencer gripped the fabric tighter, and she whined. "Is it what you want?" In other words, Do you want this?

Y/N nodded, and then he crashed his lips with hers as he tugged at her panties and let them drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him more, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her with liveliness. She was more than welcome to embracing it, verbally giving him praises in the form of whimpers and physical ones in the form of her hips rolling forward to get more friction.

As one of his hands found purchase under one of her thighs, he thought back to Halloween night, and how he'd imagined his head between her legs. The memory had his entire body tensing with pleasure, and without a second thought, he pulled away and dropped to his knees, looking up at her with what he hoped was the purest form of desire.

He looked up at her, admiring the way her face looked in the dim light, as he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. Still keeping eye contact, he tilted his head and kissed the inside of her leg. But eventually he let his focus lean to immersing himself in her pleasure, tearing his eyes away from hers and completely shifting his head to face her leg. His lips trailed upwards, taking his time to remember the taste and the feel of her soft skin.

The higher he got, the heavier her breathing became, and it wasn't long before he fully had his head under her skirt. She tried to move the fabric so she could see him, but he gripped her wrists and pinned them at her sides, eliciting a laugh from her that quickly turned into a whimper once he brushed his nose over where she ached for him.

Without being able to stop himself, Spencer inhaled, breathing her in and letting out a shaky breath as he inched closer and involuntarily closed his eyes, completely wrapped up in her like he'd never felt before. He was intoxicated by her, even more so when his mouth finally made contact with her dripping cunt.

Feeling her shudder above him was almost as heavenly as the way she tasted, sweet and bitter and oh so delectable. He'd never craved anything more than her in that moment, his tongue lapping her up and making a point to taste all of her. He explored and worshipped and praised her just how he'd imagined he would, though now that it was actually happening and he'd really had a taste of her, he wasn't sure he could ever go back.

Not that he wanted to. Especially as she whined and rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pleasure as she tried to be quiet in the closet.

Spencer, though he knew the importance of keeping it quiet right then, couldn't say he was the same way. Since his head was hiked up her skirt, and his sounds were muffled by her skin, he was as loud as he wanted to be, groaning into her and mumbling praises in between while catching his breath. He reveled in the feeling of her wetness coating the lower half of his face and the sounds that both pairs of her lips were providing. It truly was better than any symphony or choir he'd ever heard, and if he could spend the rest of his life down there, worshipping at her altar and giving her everything she desired, he would have.

But they were at work, and if they were gone too long, it would get suspicious.

So, as much as he wanted to draw out her pleasure—and by association, his own—he focused on getting her to her peak, flicking his tongue out over her clit and letting her hips rock forward to get her exactly where she wanted to be.

He knew she was about to come when she stopped whining and whimpering altogether, the leg she had draped over his shoulder curling and tightening around him to keep herself steady.

His tongue was relentless, keeping at what it was doing while Spencer imagined what her face must have looked like. Were her eyes rolling to the back of her head or were they squeezed tight? And her mouth— was it hanging open? Was her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she attempted to keep herself from yelling out? And as her hands struggled in his grasp, trying to escape most likely in favor of gripping his hair, he imagined them tied up above her head, attached to his bedframe as he took his time, drawing out every little sound she could have possibly made until she was just as unraveled as he was.

And then her grip loosened all around him, a whiny sigh escaping from her mouth, and Spencer reluctantly drew himself away from her. He dropped her leg from his shoulder and licked at his lips, tasting as much of her as he could before he had to return to work. And then, when he was moving to remove his head from under her skirt, he caught sight of her panties on the ground, picking them up and sliding the garment lightly up along her leg as he stood.

The only thing was, he wasn't putting them back on her.

No, they hung loose between his fingers as they tickled the inside of her legs, and when he finally stood tall enough to tower over her again, he got as close as he could to her, bringing the fabric up between her legs, right where he'd just been, and pressed them firmly to her sensitive pussy.

"Time to clean you up, angel," he whispered, swiping his hand forward and doing exactly that. Y/N whined against his mouth, faintly tasting herself on his lips as he cleaned her.

He kissed her then, gently, removing his hand from under her skirt and depositing the damp fabric right into his pocket.

If Spencer hadn't known already that he was done for, he would have figured it out right then, when he pulled back far enough to see the high, blissed out look in her pretty eyes. She blinked at him and sighed, telling him one final thing before she pushed past him and walked out into the office with no underwear and half-wobbly legs.

"I miss you already, Doctor..."

***

He missed her, too.

The month-long leave was supposed to assist in letting him clear his head, but the longer he was away from her, the more it drove him mad. Occasionally he'd still taste the sweet tanginess of her on his tongue, and no amount of coffee could rinse it out. Sometimes he'd be grading papers and daydream about hearing her whimper out his name as he took care of her.

It didn't help that she also sent him texts, little things that would have sounded innocent to anyone else but had a way more promiscuous meaning to the both of them. They mostly involved the discussion of angels, of course, as she left him with a quote or a song lyric, and other days with a fact about a specific angel.

Today, the morning before classes started, she sent him, She's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see... Spencer didn't know what it meant, what it was referencing, but it was innocent enough that he didn't think anything of it until lunch rolled around and he checked his phone to see another text.

...When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. All day, even as he was trying to distract himself by lecturing, all he could see in his mind was Y/N. Sometimes with her angel costume on, but mostly with nothing on, her body fitting into his like a puzzle piece as she sighed out his name like a prayer.

And to think, he had one more week until he would see her again.

But then he was looking through his students' quizzes, small sheets of paper with some terminology and matching definitions they needed to pair together. Since there were only about five minutes left until the class was over, he let his students spend the rest of the time how they chose, not really in the mood to burn himself out speaking when he knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped and said something about Y/N that he shouldn't.

The next quiz he grabbed was folded in half, unusual, but he opened it and was looking to go about his merry way regardless. But then he saw a post-it note right in the middle of the paper, reading She's an angel, my only angel, and punctuated with a pair of red lips.

The first thing he did was drop the pen that was in his hand. Not like he did it on purpose, though, he was pretty sure all joint and muscle function was lost upon reading the handwriting he knew so well, and a reference that only she could make.

And then he looked up, eyes scanning the sea of students to find her. She had to have been there, right? A few of the students found it odd that he was just looking through all of them, but all he was worried about was finding her.

And there she was.

Y/N had tucked herself all the way in the back, her eyes locked directly onto him. She winked then, when she knew she had his attention, and all Spencer could think about was how it must have been another dream. Her texts from earlier had gotten to him more than usual, and because of it, he was seeing her everywhere, seeing what he wanted to see.

Even though he wanted to keep looking at her, to try and figure out if she was really there or if she was just a figment of his devilish mind, he didn't want anyone to catch him. To anyone else it would look like he might have been staring at another student, and with the lust he knew was definitely swimming in them, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble like that.

So, to his dismay and reluctance, he slipped the note into the drawer beside him and quietly finished grading, even though he was longing to see how else he could let Y/N destroy him.

Even as the bell rang and everyone filtered out, Spencer kept his head low, refusing to look up until everyone was gone and only one person remained.

The quieter it got, the harder he could feel his heart beating. And then the only thing that cut through the silence was that unmistakable, angelic high pitch that would surely never fail to bring him to his knees.

"Did you get my note, Doctor?"

Only then did he allow himself to look up, and when he did, seeing her closer to him than she'd been in almost a month now, it was like the stars aligned. "Yes," he whispered, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk to be as close to her as possible.

She laughed and met him in the middle, nearly trapping him between herself and the desk. Her hands reached out to grab at his suit jacket and he wished that she'd touch him somewhere else. Anywhere else, just to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

"And my texts?" she cooed, taking another step and actually trapping him between her body and his desk.

"Y—Yeah, I got them."

"Oh, good. I've been thinking a lot about how you left me..." She slid her hands then, under his jacket and across his stomach until they reached his waist. "The second I got in my car to go home, you were already on your way here... And I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing with my panties..."

They were currently back in his hotel room, in the drawer and laying atop of his own clothes, a vision that had him reeling, wondering if she was wearing any now. So he asked. "Are... Um..."

Well, he tried to ask, anyway.

Y/N caught on, though, beaming at him as her hands removed herself from him and slipped up her skirt. "You wanna see the pair I'm wearing now?"

"Y/N... There's... Someone could come in, I..."

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, don't worry. I'll just... Give you a quick peek."

She didn't wait for him to respond, lifting the hem of the skirt and stepping back so he could see the front of her underwear, which were white and printed with black cursive lettering.

Angel.

As soon as he exhaled, loud and obviously very turned on at the sight in front of him, she dropped the skirt and smiled. "You like them? I needed to buy a new pair since you felt the need to steal my others..."

Spencer really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and the tightening of his pants was extremely dangerous since he had another class in a half hour and there wasn't enough time to take care of it unless they did something right now. And even then, they were in a public area with hardly anywhere to go. His best bet would be to go to the bathroom and be as inconspicuous as possible to take care of it himself. Or, Y/N needed to leave immediately so he could settle down and just let it go away on its own.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have a hard time denying her of anything.

Which was why he didn't stop her when she sunk to her knees.

As she undid his belt, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, she spoke to him. "Honestly, I had every intention to just make out with you a little, just enough to satiate myself until I can see you again next week, but... Well, I'm wearing lipstick, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He'd made out with a woman before, who'd worn lipstick, and surprisingly it was pretty easy to remove, so he knew she had to have been lying as some part of a bigger scheme, but... he couldn't quite figure out what that was. Obviously she had plans to take care of his erection for him, so why make up the story?

But then she kept talking, only slightly pulling down his pants and palming him through his underwear. "And then I thought about how pretty you'd look covered in lipstick kisses, and, well... It's always good to start somewhere, don't you think?"

Oh...

His stomach did flips when she traced his dick through the fabric covering it, gently with her middle finger. And then, looking into his eyes from below, she pulled it out and slowly stroked it with her hand, a low hum coming from her throat. "Mmm, I can't wait to mark up this pretty cock..."

That's when he lost all semblance of control, a strained groan falling from his lips, coming from the great depths of his chest, just from her words alone. And she took that moment to lean forward and press the gentlest of kisses to the base of his dick. She held her lips there for a second or wo before removing them and moving just a little higher, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her kisses trailed higher and higher, centimeter by centimeter until she reached his tip, where she ever so slightly flicked her tongue over the slit at the top, tasting his precum. And then gave him one final kiss—one final red mark.

The temptation to grab her hair and hold her there while he fucked her throat was strong, but as he looked down at her, she was examining her handiwork with a seductive hunger that made him realize that no matter how strong his urges got, she would always be the one in charge. Even if she acted all innocent and submissive, she was the one who held the key to his sexual desires, and therefore she was the only one who had the ability to unlock them.

So, he contained himself as she looked up at him, winked, and quickly tucked his hard dick back into the confines of his pants.

And when she stood up, she leaned up to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, leaving behind a red mark and all all his sanity with it, quickly turning away before he could catch her.

"See you later, Doctor," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Spencer let out a long, unsteady breath, debating on whether or not he should take care of his situation in the bathroom or right there in the classroom, behind his desk and into the trash can underneath it while he still had ample time to do so.

He sat in the chair about a minute later, his hand moving furiously under the desk as he breathed out hushed whispers of her name.

***

No matter how badly he wanted more alcohol in his system, he wasn't going to allow it. After one drink he was already starting to feel the affects, veins buzzing right along with the low hum of the music from inside. The single streetlight above him provided only the dimmest of lights as he took deep breaths in and out, focusing on the bitter cold from the December air and the soft pelting of snowflakes upon the skin of his cheeks.

Y/N's touch still burned him, right along his inner thigh where her hand had firmly rested while they and the rest of their friends ate dinner at the bar. All night so far, she'd been teasing him to no end, whether it was a brush of her hand against his crotch or a tiny kiss on the shoulder when no one was looking.

How no one had figured them out yet was a mystery.

Spencer rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm when he felt it. She was behind him.

"You've been out here for a while, Spence, is everything okay?" Even when she wasn't speaking to him in her angelic higher pitch, he still felt like succumbing to the sound her voice regardless.

He turned around to face her, and sighed. It figured that even surrounded by a street that was covered in brown-tainted snow, she wouldn't have let it taint her beauty. He was convinced that no matter where she was or what she looked like, she'd always be perfect— capable of knocking the breath out of him every time he looked at her. "Honestly, you've been driving me crazy."

"Oh," she said, her eyes slightly shifting to the ground. "Maybe I... did take it too far, I... I'm sorry." The slight tinge of embarrassment and maybe regret that filtered through her voice nearly ran him to the ground— How could she ever believe that he would feel overwhelmed by her? Sure, to some extent, he was extremely overwhelmed by her, but it was never a negative thing.

"Oh, angel, that's not what I meant," he explained softly, taking a few steps towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes doe-eyed and sparkling, though not as they usually were. This time they were swimming in a softness that made him yearn for her even more. "What?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm absolutely mesmerized by you... Y/N..." Spencer brought a hand to lightly caress her face, and when she leaned into his touch it made him so warm he thought it would melt all of the snow. "I can't get you out of my head, and I... I don't know if I ever want to. I mean that."

"Y—You're not... weirded out or anything?" she asked softly. "That I just... sprung all my feelings and my lust out onto you all at once? B—Because I know it was sudden, and I came on really strong so fast, I just... I thought you liked it, and so I just kept going, but really I should have stopped and... I don't know, asked if you were okay with it..."

He'd seen this softness in her before— When she watched over JJ's kids in the office sometimes, and when she helped Penelope set the table for their 'family dinners'. Every time, on the rare occasion that she actually went on cases with them, when she helped JJ comfort the families who'd lost their loved ones, he saw it. And even through all the lust, that sweetness in her soul was what truly made her an angel. Even though the lust is all he'd been swimming in since Halloween, deep down he really knew that it was only a small part of who she really was.

So, he said to her, "Y/N, I'm enchanted by all of you. I don't... I don't know what happened to make you want to come on strong to me, but... I'm glad you did. Believe me when I say, there is nothing about you that would scare me away."

He didn't know how she was feeling, but she practically visibly melted at his words, right in front of him. "You really mean that?"

With a smile, Spencer stepped even closer and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I mean it, my angel."

She laughed then, her hands wrapping themselves over his waist. "Your angel, huh?"

"Mhm... If you'd like to be..."

Y/N leaned up and pressed her lips to his in answer, firmly and with all the sweetness she had nestled inside her soul.

But the longer they stood there outside the bar, kisses growing warmer and hungrier with each passing second, Spencer realized that he didn't want her sweetness any longer, not tonight anyway. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling the fire in his veins come alive when she whined into his mouth and willed herself closer.

Before he could say fuck it and decide to take her right there outside, he pulled away, still needing her but not entirely willing to get themselves caught for public indecency.

Y/N spoke before he got a chance to, her higher pitch coming back and almost bringing him to his knees.

"What do you say you take your angel home and show her a good time?"

***

She didn't even get a chance to close the door to his apartment before he was on her, his hands tugging at her coat to get it off.

It was a frenzy, at least while they were stripping. Jackets and boots and scarves were strewn across the entryway and leading into the living room, until each of them only had two layers: their regular clothes and what they wore underneath. And that's when they finally allowed themselves the luxury of wrapping their limbs around each other.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he grabbed ahold of her ass to keep her steady. For added support, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him the whole way to his bedroom, but not without a few stumbles. Either way, they were so quite literally wrapped up in each other that the imperfections didn't matter.

Like she could ever come with imperfections... Spencer thought as he set her down, immediately bringing his hands to the back of her dress.

Meanwhile she unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling around so much that he thought she might choose to rip it open, and selfishly he wished she would have. But she got it open without tearing any buttons, and the fabric slid easily off his shoulders at the same time her dress slid off her own.

He was going to kiss her again, but once he caught a glimpse of what she'd been hiding under her dress, there was nothing he could physically do but rake his eyes over her figure and pray for forgiveness for all the devilish things he wanted to do to her.

It was a white set, all lace that was detailed to look like feathers as it hugged every curve of her body perfectly. She wore a set of garters that attached to the panties, which he was pretty sure were crotch-less and outlined in a pretty gold shimmer.

"I knew you'd like it," Y/N drawled sweetly. The pure innocence that dripped from her tongue would have thoroughly wrecked him had her appearance already not taken care of that. And she seemed to understand how immobile he'd become at the sight of her, because she moved of her own accord, gliding over to him and reaching her hand out to undo his belt. "I'm gonna take your silence as a good sign..."

"You're stunning," he breathed, just barely, and she gave him a smile through softly biting her bottom lip.

"You're too good to me..." Her hands pushed down his loosened slacks and waited until they fell to the floor. And then she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and leaned into his neck. "And I think your kindness deserves a reward..."

Her lips gently pressed to his neck before she dropped to her knees once again, and as she descended, her hands and his underwear did the same, leaving him completely bare and open for her to do whatever she wanted. No matter how badly he longed to throw her on the bed and get to showing her just how much she'd inhabited his every fiber of being, he didn't dare stop her as her tongue darted out and licked a featherlight line along the length of his hard cock.

He let out a sigh and twitched at her touch, a feat that must have pleased her, because she smiled and hummed happily as she repeated her action. Only, this time her tongue was more firm on him— not teasing anymore, but it brought him to damnation all the same.

And then she fully wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, slowly gliding herself down until he hit the back of her throat.

The sound he made was inhuman.

She wasted no time then, bobbing her head at a steady rhythm and moaning around him as she did so. It didn't take long for saliva to start gathering above her chin and dripping down onto the exposed area of her breasts, just above her bra. Occasionally she would hold him at the back of her throat and choke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and the sight of his little angel happily crying with his dick in her mouth sent Spencer into a tailspin.

But as tempting as it was to paint the back of her throat white, he knew he'd prefer to take that action to a more interesting place. So he pulled away from her and breathed out, "Please, not yet..."

He looked down at her as she smiled, wetness coating her skin in the form of tears on cheeks and saliva on breasts. Her hands rested at the tops of her thighs, even as she stood up and blinked a final stream of tears down her left cheek. "Why, is there somewhere else you'd rather fill me up?"

"Please," was all he said, his breathing labored as he imagined what she would feel like.

Thankfully she seemed to take mercy on him— Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed, where she laid him down at the headboard and straddled his thighs. "As much as I love spreading my legs for you, I think I'd much rather take a ride..."

"Anything you want," he told her, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she got comfortable. She was, in fact, wearing crotch-less panties, and the feeling that coursed through him at the sight of her glistening pussy in decent lighting (AKA when he wasn't under her skirt in a storage closet) sent him straight to Hell all over again.

He sighed out as she played with herself, gliding her fingers delicately along the planes of her body, from her thighs to her clit, and eventually she gripped his dick to line it up, lifting her hips above him.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently, rolling her hips to slick him up with her arousal.

"Always ready for you, angel..."

The pet name sprung her into action. She sunk down slowly onto him, and he willed his eyes to stay open so he could watch as her mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back into her head as she moaned out deliciously. He let out a groan himself, the feeling of her tightly wrapping around him like velvet almost too much to handle.

"Ohhh, you fill me up so good," Y/N sighed, gently grinding her hips in slow circles as she finally had all of him inside her. "Just like I knew you would..."

Everything she was doing, between the gradual increase of the speed at which her hips rolled and the way she looked down at him with pure desire, had Spencer wondering what he'd ever done without her. What had he known before knowing the feeling of her nails gently digging into the skin of his stomach as she rode him, before knowing the sound of his name falling from her lips in a whisper? It couldn't have been anything good, because as far as he was concerned, she was as good as it would ever get.

But at some point it felt like he needed to take more. She was giving him her body, offering it to him like the most precious gift she had to offer, and yet he wanted to tear into it and leave nothing behind except her voice, calling out his name into the heavens above. He longed to give her something in return, something that would leave her just as ruined as she'd left him.

And, as always, she could tell.

Y/N laughed seductively as she leaned down, her hips still rocking into his. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his before she spoke. "Everything alright, baby?"

All he could do was let out a broken moan as she clenched around him on every upstroke.

"Aww... You want more? Huh, you wanna lay me down and give it to me good? Show your little angel what it feels like to be fucked so good she can't even speak?"

"Don't... tempt me," he was finally able to choke out, and she laughed.

"Aww, come on... Show me what you got..."

Spencer wasn't sure when he actually did it, but one second she was nipping at his bottom lip, challenging him to take control, and the next he was on top of her, her legs spread as wide as they could possibly get as he rocked his hips into her at a deep, bruising force.

She laughed amusedly through whimpers of pleasure, her hands spreading out at her sides like wings as he gave her everything he had. Looking down at her, head thrown back and hair fanned around her head like some sort of angelic crown, he soaked it all in and wondered if this was what Heaven was— the feeling of her succumbing to his lust, the sight of her lost in the throes of weeks of pent-up sexual tension that never entirely got released, the sound of her near-incoherently whining at how good he was...

If it wasn't Heaven, it was surely something pretty damn close.

He was almost there, tension stretching out inside the pit of his stomach, when Y/N grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her lower belly. He felt himself slamming into her at full force every time, the small bump against his hand bringing him further along the road of release.

"You feel that?" she whined, keeping his hand there. "You know what that means, don't you?"

It could have meant a lot of things, but his brain was too far gone, lost in in the fog of pleasure to even begin to think about what it was. But then she answered for him, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard come from her mouth.

"It means I'm all yours... to do whatever you want with... to fill me up with your cum as much as you want... maybe turn your little angel into a mommy..."

With a loud, guttural groan, Spencer held himself still, deep inside her, and gave her every last drop, his hand remained pressed firmly to her stomach. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his cum spilling out and filling her to the brim through the barrier. She pulsed and came around him at the same time, warmth spreading between the two of them like a drop of water would soak through fabric, until it completely enveloped them like a heavy blanket.

And then they'd given everything, their bodies clinging to each other for dear life as they settled into the gentle aftermath of such a heavy feeling of ardor. Their breaths slowed and their lips explored each other tenderly, hands doing the same until, finally, they felt themselves drifting off.

***

Spencer dreamt of Heaven that night, glimpses of a future he'd always longed for with other people, but that he would get to spend with her.

A wedding dress, white, but haloed by a gold fog as the woman wearing it glided along the aisle and made her way to him.

A house, small, but fenced in and just perfect enough for the two of them and the baby that was on the way.

A picnic table, damp, but drying out in the sun as it gradually became littered with plates of birthday cake and a little candle that was shaped into the number 3.

A woman, old, but beaming as she showed a photo album to her multitudes of grandchildren, telling them stories about the wonderful life she lived with her husband who always called her Angel.

And when he woke up, seeing that old woman as she was now, sleeping in his bed as the sun beamed through the curtains and basked her in a heavenly light, he knew what Heaven really was.

It was her.

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chibimyumi · 3 years

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Kuromyu 2021 - First Review

So, yesterday 05-03-2021 was the First Day Performance of Kuromyu 2021, “The Secret of the Boarding School”. It is no secret that I am no fan of the Boarding School Arc, but even so I was very, very curious to see this arc being translated to a stage media.

This review shall not be without spoilers. Not just the story itself, because I think by now most people know how the story unfolds. I mean the execution of the stage play itself.

I shall not lie and admit that my review WILL contain my opinions, meaning it is by no means objective and might influence your opinions. For people who wish to experience the production entirely objectively for themselves, I recommend NOT clicking “keep reading” to reveal the spoiler section.

For now, I shall give my spoiler-free rating per category.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐★

Script: ⭐⭐ ★★★

Acting: ⭐ ★★★★

Singing: ⭐ ⭐★★★

Music: ⭐⭐⭐★★

Dancing: ⭐⭐ ★★★

Stage & Costume: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Hereunder I shall give the spoiler-section first preceded by “First Impression”, and then followed by the categories listed here above.

First Impression

The stream started, and seeing the Kuromyu logo in present day again after three years really was very exciting. Since 2010 on as always, Kuromyu opened with the contract scene, and I was positively surprised to see the stage set being quite elaborate! This set was the largest and most elaborate one so far without TOHO’s help.

After the contract scene the prologue gave a very quick recap of the Jack the Ripper, Circus, and the Campania Arc. I am not sure whether it was necessary to show the Jack the Ripper and Circus Arc as they provide no information needed to understand Weston Arc. But I think it was mainly inserted to speak to the nostalgia in Kuromyu fans, and as a Kuromyu fan myself, I have to say it did work. It did not take much time, I think maybe 1 minute per arc, so it was fine.

The recap of the Campania Arc was important as it served to equip the audience with the information that there’s a reaper who creates zombies. Undertaker was shown as the main antagonist of the Campania Arc and responsible for the bizarre dolls.

There was a short brawl between Undertaker and Sebastian, which is in fact a very good choice in my opinion to showcase the dynamic between these two supernatural powers...............except that only 10 minutes in, and the musical already MASSIVELY screwed up by portraying the fight as though Sebastian beat Undertaker. The ONLY reason Sebas is still alive is because Undertaker decided so. Normally I wouldn’t care that much about errors in a recap, but this time it serves as the exposition of Undertaker and Sebastian’s dynamic: It should have shown that Undertaker is an incredibly dangerous foe and that Sebas is scared shitless because of that. Especially because this ties in with how this arc was concluded.

“But okay, fine. Maybe the script has other plans, so I shall let it be,” I thought. Moving on. But it did “plant a seed” in me that this musical is either going to contradict itself, or that it is going to defy canon. That was the first impression.

The prologue transitions into the setup of the case quite smoothly, and I have to say it was skillful. You very quickly see Ciel change into the Weston uniform and the admission ceremony was swiftly started. Immediately you get introduced to Agares, the prefects and their fags, and the musical does a good job defining the atmosphere as: “something is off here”.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ ★

The overall musical was really quite faithful to canon. Most plot points were as they were in the manga, and enough so that I would recommend anybody who doesn’t understand Japanese to first re-read the arc as homework. If you have the arc fresh in your memory, it is very easy to trace every action back to the canon.

There are some details that were omitted or changed, probably done so in consideration for the stage medium or run-time, and done reasonably so. Unlike the previous Kuromyus, 2021 adds very little new elements that were not there in the manga. No added extra depth, but also no unnecessary additions.

There were a few things that were very off-canon, namely the characters. But I think that falls under the “acting” header, rather than this header.

Script: ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

The script was a real disappointment. You might wonder how faithfulness to canon can be 4/5, and yet the script only a 2/5 in my opinion. WELL, most dialogue was based on the text in the manga, but told as dry as possible. It was also as though the script writers didn’t trust its audience intelligent enough to understand things on their own, or even remember something that was said literally 5 minutes ago.

Exposition Ad Nauseam

There was a tremendous amount of exposition, exposition, exposition, ad nauseam. There was exposition about who Ciel is and what the Queen’s Watchdog is and what his job entails, and that is entirely fine. That’s necessary background information for spectators unfamiliar with Black Butler. However, there was also a lot of exposition that could easily have been left out, or concluded through context. For example, there were quite many expositions about the history and status of the Weston College. In my opinion, a competent script writer could have let the audience known that the Weston College is really important just by giving the information that the blood relative of the QUEEN attends the school, and by showing the Red House, since their entrance is based on social status.

In this post I wrote about my following concern:

Unlike tennis, cricket is a very foreign sport to most people. Cricket cannot be shown without explaining the rules. So if Kuromyu were to happen, these expositions that were dry in the manga to begin with, are going to be even dryer on stage. Does an actor narrate the rules? Do we want Sebastian to sing us the rules??? Or do we want the kids to sing us the rules themselves while they are batting the balls?

And alas, true to my fear, Sebas indeed narrates the rules to us... But even worse, he also explains cricket by using baseball analogy... This is an incredibly ineffective and time-wasting method, because:

it takes the audience out of the moment,

it assumes the audience knows enough about baseball to let it help understand cricket,

and it assumes the audience actually cares about the name of every single strike....

Repetition Ad Nauseam

Then there is the problem where many info-dumps sounded like: “LIKE I JUST SAIDDDDD, DON’T FORGET!!!”. The script for Sebas is the biggest offender. There were many moments Sebas was just saying the same thing twice. At times he repeated the same information, and there were some moments where he regurgitated already given information. (Sorry I’m just being nasty here, but that’s what it felt like (;;≽▽≼;;) )

Sebastian has this obsession with constantly proclaiming himself an omnipotent, one hell of a butler, which makes him capable of doing anything... and after a while it just gets a bit tedious. I have the feeling the scriptwriter really has the hots for him, and therefore can’t shut up about how powerful he is.

While Sebas is the biggest offender, he is by far not the only one. This musical is guilty of doing a lot of very unnatural lines that no person would ever say. Soma for example, seems incapable of saying anything without shouting that he is the Prince of India and Ciel’s BFF. First time, FINE. But the entire time? My god....

Characterisation

Then there is the characterisation of characters in the script. Of course in great part the characterisation is dependent on the actors too, but no matter how amazing an actor is, you do as the script demands.

As discussed above, Sebas is done dirtiest by the script. This script also makes him incredibly arrogant and a bit too happy to be in his master’s service. Similarly, Ciel is also written entirely dependent on Sebastian, and equally happy that Sebas is happy to serve. In the first song between Ciel and Sebastian, without any prompt Sebastian asks his master for his orders, as though that’s what Sebas is looking forward to all day. And the first thing Ciel says in response is: “can you take on this reaper [Undertaker] and the large number of moving corpses?” to which Sebas responds: “Leave everything to me, because I am the Phantomhive butler.” ........and then he proceeds to defeat Undertaker effortlessly.........!?!?!?!?!?! When fighting Undertaker, Sebas also says: “what a bother” as though it’s just a bit of an unpleasant chore rather than a life-threatening fight. And just before Undertaker disappeared all the way at the finale of the arc, Sebas seriously says: “I really don’t get along with you”. SERIOUSLY, WHO WROTE THIS?!

Myu!Ciel is CLEARLY the master of this Sebastian as he seems to be on a permanent power trip. He “it’s an order”s Sebastian for the most trivial of things. At the beginning when Sebas was fighting intruders already, Ciel “it’s an order”s Sebas to take down the intruders.... HE’S ALREADY AT IT!!!

In chapter 70 where Sebas and Ciel simultaneously think of Soma, Ciel doesn’t give Sebas an official order. This shows the audience that there is a certain level of trust between master and servant that they’re on the same page AND that Sebas has come to a stage where he will actually do what’s necessary.

In the musical however, Ciel gives a full “Sebastian, it’s an order, get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College.”

This is also an example of how unnatural and repetitive the script is. Who would EVER say “get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College”???? Of course procedures need to happen first! And “here” alone would have sufficed, scriptwriters. We KNOW where “here” is! We didn’t forget since 5 seconds ago!

Lyrics

The lyrics are technically not the script, but they are ridden with the same problem as the script itself, so I shall take the liberty of discussing these under the same paragraph.

There is a LOT of repetition in the lyrics as well. The P4 especially sing “Weston” and “tradition” like the ENTIRE time. One song literally goes: “this is Weston, Weston, Weston, Weston, at Weston we uphold our traditions, traditions, traditions, traditions.” The other song is: “It’s cricket, it’s cricket, it’s cricket,” and another “I am Ciel’s BFF, BFF, BFF, Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel’s BFF.”...... *shudders* ((ﾟﾟ((Д))ﾟﾟ)) AAAAHHHH!!!!

Acting: ⭐ ★ ★ ★ ★

The acting was by far the most abominable in the musical safe for two gems: Chesslock and Derek. There are too many characters to discuss, so I shall keep it to the main/noteworthy ones.

The gems

Chesslock has this tremendous energy and something very wild about him, and his jumps are so incredibly precise it’s amazing! Derek has but a very small role, but the moment he showed up as the zombie you already immediately saw there was something “off” about him. It was very subtle, but still clearly unhinged. When he was acting living-Derek, you also clearly saw what type of prick he was. Amazing! These two were the brightest stars of the show.

The....... not gems

The most unwatchable ones were Soma and Harcourt. Soma doesn’t have a big role, but he bothered me so much he is ironically the most memorable one. It’s like Okada saw “loud and obnoxious (in a good way)” in the manga, turned it up to 12, and gave the worst portrayal possible. As said above, the script making him repeat “Indian prince” and “BFF” the entire time doesn’t help, but blaming just the script would be letting Okada off too easily.

Harcourt...... gave me so much secondhand embarrassment I literally got a cramp looking at him. When the diarrhea happened he was screaming like a pig about to be raped and slaughtered... and I am NOT making a rape-joke here. I would never. He really did sound like he was unwillingly aroused and terrified at the same time.

Sebastian

Let’s start with the good things: Tateishi’s Sebas did have his presence and his movements were fairly neat. He was never just standing there. He is quite elegant, and not swaggering or pulling spasms on stage unlike a CERTAIN someoneeeeee. He could work a BIT on the coordination of his extremities, but that’s only when I’m nitpicking.

But otherwise.... he was a bit underwhelming to be honest. The main problem is not necessarily Tateishi’s acting-skill maybe, but his interpretation I think... but I can’t say his acting was amazing even at knife-point. The way he acts Sebas makes him look like a complete fanboy of Ciel... which is just not Sebas. He is incredibly eager and at times I could almost see a puppy tail wagging. Whenever he is getting an order from his master he is just beaming. And with Undertaker there was not a single hint that Sebas is scared of the only foe who managed to mortally wound him.

His interaction with Ciel was also very SebaCiel heavy. In the manga where Ciel challenges Sebas why he didn’t go after Undertaker, Sebas is clearly emphasising the importance of the contract, and half-threatening his master not to dare “it’s an order” him to go after Undertaker.

In the musical however, Sebas is all UWU, as though saying: “I couldn’t let the big baddy hurt you... uwu”. Without exaggerating, Sebas caresses Ciel’s face THREE times and then embraces him.

Ciel

Ciel was very unbearable to watch in my opinion. Not as bad as Soma and Harcourt, but otherwise an “honourable” third place after them. In the manga it was a bit cringey to begin with because he is supposed to fake being (*ÓωÒ*), but seeing a 20 year old man do that... and play it up to 11 was just jarring. Ciel is like “tehe” very often, but never actively skipping like a forest fairy.

This Ciel also has tremendous mood-swings! He is either UWU or actively a ice-cold diva... and at times he is also being UWU when he’s not around others???? There was also not a single moment where I could see him cooking up a plan. No hint of intelligence or cunningness to be found.

Unlike with Tateishi I can’t really come up with anything good to say about him.

Undertaker

Undertaker was the best among the main three (not that the bar is very high). He is making efforts to tease-threaten Sebas, which I think is a very nice added detail (it’s just that Sebas reacts to none of them... sad.) and even though his role is pathetically small (he doesn’t show up as the principal), he still managed to present himself in the spotlights.

Greenhill had his energy, he was funny, and something really funnily militaristic about him. Though, I was missing nuance in his acting because at not a single point could you see Greenhill might have a trauma for killing people.

Redmond was Viscount of Druitt light and he had a very strong emphasis on the BL aspect with Maurice......which was just personally not my cup of tea. But I have to admit that aspect was played up too in the manga. So I guess he was faithful to canon.

Violet was quite charming and eccentric. He did play up the gothicness of the Violet house, which was actually kinda nice! He also had a deep friendship with Chesslock, which I really liked. When Violet didn’t do shit during the tournament Chesslock was really miffed about that, and challenged him. And then Violet showed Chesslock a portrait he drew of him, saying: “you just looked so cool I had to capture that.” That was amazing! He is a bit bitchier and sassier than in the manga, but I really don’t mind.

Bluer.... William light. He was the least memorable of all of them.

Singing: ⭐ ⭐ ★ ★ ★

Nobody really hurt my ears, but also nobody quite hit the notes... and the notes weren’t that hard.

Music: ⭐⭐⭐ ★ ★

Eehhhhhhhhhhhh I’d say the songwriter played most songs a BIT too much on the safe side. Not a single song was memorable, but they didn’t offend me either. The main theme was fairly nice actually, but only when just the instrumentals played. I think it might have been the singing just being too chaotic for me to actually hear the music.

Dancing: ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

Chesslock is an tremendously good dancer, his movements were precise and energetic. But otherwise.... nobody really popped out, but there was nobody who looked like a noodle on stage either.

The main problem is choreography; with some exceptions they were very underwhelming and messy. There were a lot of group dances, but often enough people were just a bit out of sync and messy.

Stage & Costume: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Stage Set

The stage set was VERY good. It was well made and mobile; they could be moved around and functioned as different props. Examples include the cellar in which Derek and his gang were committing crimes, and the boat of the parade even. The set also had this really magical aesthetic about it which communicated the glamour of the Weston College well.

Costumes

The costumes were well made. The logo on the uniforms for example were actually embroidered rather than those iron-on plastic things. The wigs were .... very messy after jumping around a bit and they looked very greasy. But that’s fine. They did their job and I realise I’m just spoiled. TOHO makes their wigs using real human hair, and that’d be an astronomical sum for any normal 2.5D company.

My ONLY problem is Ciel’s “lord costume”. This photoshoot photo underneath is doable, but trust me, on stage it is a nightmare. There are no clear photos of this costume on stage, and I think I understand why.

It was glittery velvet which just SCREAMS cheap Halloween costume, it was ill-fitted, almost like it was 2 sizes too large. The costume makers didn’t take stage-lighting into account, so the fabric and details glistened all over the place. Under the limelight the “golden” aiguillettes were PISS yellow. And the suddenly black sock suspenders protruding from his white boots were just...... distracting.

BUT, this was just one costume and he only wears it in the prologue and the finale of the show. Even though it’s God-awful, the rest were well made enough to compensate for this abomination.

Conclusion

So now finally the conclusion! The musical was..... fairly faithful to canon, but the execution leaves quite a lot to be desired. The interpretation/acting of the characters were the most disappointing one, while the stage/costumes were the most charming.

Do I recommend buying the stream/DVD/BD?

Stream: Yes.

I personally do recommend buying the stream as it’s only 3800 yen, especially if you like the Weston Arc itself, and/or are curious to see how they did it. Even though I myself really hate the Weston Arc in and of itself, I was very curious to see how it’d be translated to a stage medium. Despite my mostly negative opinion of the musical, I don’t regret buying the stream at all!

The best reason in my opinion to buy the stream though; it’s a very good and legal way to get a “preview” to see if you want to spend approximately 10000 yen on the proshot.

DVD/BD: Depends on you.

I myself have decided not to buy the DVD because I don’t think I’ll be rewatching it after the stream-archive period is over. The DVD/BD are the most expensive so far, and to me the final product is just not worth that amount of money.

But if you like the Weston Arc, or the performers, or you think you will be rewatching it and you are a collector, I think it is a very nice addition to your shelve.

#Kuromyu 2021 #Kuromyu #Secret of the Boarding School #Review #Weston Arc #Musical

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magicrowiswritingstuff · 3 years

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Prompt List 3

(Mostly) Angsty Dialogue Prompts

Pronouns can be changed to I/You/He/She/… as well as the context of the Prompt (you can change it to a fluffy request, etc.) just send the changes with your request! Also, I'll add more over time.

1. “Forget that I said anything...”

2. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

3. “Can you shut up for once in your life?”

4. “You’re not the person I thought you were.” / “No. I’m not the person you wanted me to be.”

5. “I don’t want to feel this. I want to be numb again.”

6. “Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

7. “I love you.” / “No, you don’t”

8. “You’re lying to me again. Why can’t you just tell me the truth for once?”

9. “I was such an idiot... to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me.”

10. “They warned me about this.” / “About what?” / “You.”

11. “Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?”

12. “You hurt me...”

13. ”This is real life! You don’t get to restart things when you make a mistake!”

14. “I just wanted to see you one last time.”

15. “You know, there was a time that I would have died for you.”

16. "Please, don't talk to me right now, im not in the mood."

17. "You're not the man I fell in love with anymore..."

18. "You deserve better." / "You're not the one to decide that!"

19. "Please, don't go."

20. "You mean nothing to me."

21. "Just leave. I dont want to see your face anymore."

22. "Please, just take my hand!"

23. "I can't lose you!"

24. "I don't need anyone."

25. "Why does this sound like a goodbye?"

26. "You flinched."

27. "You won't die, not on my watch!"

28. "Give me one reason to stay."

29. "You can't save everyone. You can't save me."

30. "I'm tired."

31. "You don't scare me."

32. "You're scaring me!"

33. "Why are you always putting yourself in danger?"

34. "You lied to me."

35. "You don't get to say sorry now."

36. "I loved you..."

37. "Please, stay with me!"

38. "You'll make it. You have to make it."

39. "I don't know how to help you. I-"

40. "There's so much blood..."

41. "What are you doing?"

42. "You're all I have left."

43. "I'm scared..."

44. "I won't make it."

45. "Are you okay?" / "No, but I will be."

46. "I never said I loved you."

47. “I don’t need to be loved by you.”

48. "How much of that did you hear?"

#prompt list #Angsty Dialogue Prompts #Magicrow's Prompt List #angst #angst prompts #angst prompt

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stargazerdaisy · 3 years

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Tagged by @abedsmessedupmeta and @vesperass-anuna

How many works do you have on AO3? 40

What’s your total AO3 word count? 200,109

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I Get The Feelin’ That You Wanna Fall

I Want You to Stay, You Have to Go

Except Your Touch

Couldn’t See You Coming

The Moments In Between

Wow, I didn’t realize my three highest were all Chenford. Nice!

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do my absolute best to reply to every comment left on my stories. Interaction with authors was one of the things that got me more actively involved with fandom and led to me writing my own fic, so I try to pay that back.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It’s a toss up. The Fuse Is Lit, So Stand Back and Watch It Burn is one of the very few (might even be the only?) fics I’ve written that has a confirmed, definite angsty ending, because it’s basically a canon scene where I added in Ward’s inner thoughts. And well...that didn’t end well for anyone. But Don’t Go is probably the angstiest, despite it being an intentionally and very ambigious ending. I think the ambiguity adds to the angst and I got a much bigger reaction from readers for it.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the strangest one you’ve written?

Not really. I don’t have a lot of personal attraction to crossovers (they’re really, really hard to do well and serve all of the characters properly). I applaud people who can do them well, I’m just not intrigued enough to try. I’ve joked around with little headcanons and daydream ideas here and there that I discuss with friends, but nothing that I have sat down to actually write and publish.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Surprisingly no. I actually haven’t really gotten any hate, either on fic or in anon asks. Maybe I joined the fandoms too late or maybe I’m too boring to pick on. Either way, works for me!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Siiiiiigh. This is a weird one for me. No, I do not write smut. I do however cheer on my co-writers to write the smut for our stories. And I have definitely helped choreograph and beta’d smut (making sure everyone get their clothes off is harder than you think). But writing smut myself is one of those lines that I drew for myself, whether it makes sense to anyone else or not.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. But it’s one of the things I’ve always been concerned about when people have asked to translate my fics (which is also incredibly flattering!).

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Hahahahahahahahha. Yes. I’ve done headcanon ‘verses with @vesperass-anuna and @agentramsey where we exchanged prompts and wrote stories for each other. In those, the individual stories were each written by us, but all together, the whole collection was definitely co-written. And then there’s @evieoh with whom I co-write a TON of stories. Seriously, all of my best stories are the one we co-wrote. And we really and truly co-write. There are scenes that one or the other of us wrote, but there are parts where we literally alternated sentences or even words. It’s a very enmeshed process. Bless Google Docs!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Skyeward. Chenford is working hard to climb up there, but at the end of the day, Skyeward has my heart, my ass, and my soul. Just the other day I was listening to random songs and having major feelings about them with Skyeward.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Alias AU. It’s just too big for our brains to handle. We have SO MUCH of it mapped out, but there’s a lot of mythology that needs to be detailed, and we’re just not gonna get there. So we scaled it down to Blalias AU, as we nicknamed it. Hopefully we’ll work our way through that.

What are your writing strengths?

Banter. For sure. I love writing dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action. Don’t think I can do it at all. But then again a lot of my fics are in settings that don’t require a lot. Also, slow burn is actually hard to write! I just want them happy and comfortable in a relationship.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t really do it, mostly because I don’t have a good reason to in the stories that I write. As a reader, I like a little bit, like a sentence or two, where you can guess the meaning from context. And I really love little terms of endearment (bless Darklina fic for all the Russian endearments) in other languages. But if there are big blocks of dialogue, I just skip over them. If there’s a translation, then it takes me out of the story, and if there isn’t, I’m not going to go look it up, so.... yeah. As a writer, if I had a reason to use another language, 1) I would make sure I got the translation from an actual human that speaks it (i.e. not Google Translate) and 2) it would be just a line or two that wouldn’t need a separate translation to understand.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Very very very first, was Hanson. Yup, that Hanson. I even turned in a self insert fanfic as a Creative Writing assignment in high school. I still can’t decide if my teacher knew what it was and died laughing at me or had no clue because he was an old grizzled English teacher who would rather listen to jazz than Mmmbop. But like, as intentionally writing fic, it was actually Skyeward.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Hmmm.....that’s really really hard. I loooove Couldn’t See You Coming (Skyeward Soulmate AU I wrote for Evie’s birthday a few years ago). I think Finders Keepers is my best single fic. And From My Hands, I Could Give You (Restaurant AU) might be the one I’m the very most attached to. I haven’t updated it in 2+ years, but I still think about it and daydream plan for it on a near-daily basis.

Tagging: @universallongings, @firstdegreefangirl, @inthemovingcastle

#ask daisy #daisy writes #or at least thinks she does #writer things #shameless self promotion

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sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 4 years

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Ain’t Family Great? ~ Lucifer Morningstar x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: You have come from a very religious household, and they don’t take too kindly when they heard that you are dating someone literally named the devil.

Author’s Note: I literally got this idea from seeing a dialogue prompt on Pinterest, and it just spiraled out of control.

Trigger Warning: Curse words, some innuendos, biblical literalism, religious talk (It is Lucifer)

You were a friend and coworker of Chloe Decker, you mostly worked in the background doing research and gathering the data on the criminals and suspects of the cases your unit was working on. That is how you met Lucifer, Chloe asked you to gather information on two main suspects on a case she was working on and Lucifer was lingering on in the background.

When you gave Chloe the information you gathered and she left, Lucifer piped up, “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you before” “That’s because I mostly work on research stuff for cases, so I do a lot of the office work and investigative work that requires me to be in a chair for the whole day. My name’s (Y/N), Chloe’s mentioned you before,” you replied with a small smile. “Ah I hope not all of them are terrible, even if I am the Devil I like to think I have a certain amount of charm,” he said with a smirk.

That’s when you first heard him call himself the devil, and if you were honest with yourself you were always curious about his name: Lucifer Morningstar.

You grew up in an extremely religious household, which at times felt like you were suffocating from the relentless biblical literalism that was upheld in your house. You were always curious about the Devil in the biblical stories and you always found the quote by Mark Twain interesting if read in a certain context otherwise it’ll sound like an angsty emo kid trying to be philosophical.

There was an instance where you were on a case with Chloe and Lucifer, and the killer had said, “Oh, you know that phrase? The devil made me do it? It felt like that”

You let out a light snort at that as you immediately responded, “The devil didn’t make you do anything. Your poor impulse control and anger management, and might I add quite a horrid spectacle of internet history could certainly be a bad combination to make you do something.”

After the case, Lucifer was very curious about your statement towards the killer as you guys headed to a cafe to get some lunch together, he asks, “Why were you so against the man using that phrase? I mean I hate it because it is so demeaning, I’ve got better things to do.”

You shrugged as you sipped your beverage and responded, “I don’t know, maybe it’s partly because of my very religious family which I have realized how much bullshit I was forced to listen to since I was born, so I guess I grew to have sympathy for the devil.” “Oh really?” Lucifer’s small smile grew to a smirk as he leaned forward, Chloe swatted him to move back.

“Not you. I don’t know you, but one of my favorite quotes about the devil is from Mark Twain,” you commented. “I don’t think I have,” he continued to have that smirk on his face. He was very handsome but he was so goddamn annoying, you thought. “Well, it goes: ‘Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?’ Like, there’s this whole thing about redemption in the Bible and catholicism but does the Devil ever get the chance to get his redemption? No, I think God wanted a scapegoat and he got it from a rebel,” you ranted.

Lucifer looked shocked for a moment but gathered his posture and said, “Well, you thought about this quite a bit. I assume because of your family?” You just shrugged at first, took a sip from your drink, then nodded. “Their family is very strict, I thought my family was weird but they got me beat, ” Chloe informed him.

“They stopped talking to me, they didn’t think that I was enough for them. It hurt at first but y’know as time moves on I figured that I have better things to do than wallow in my past, so I realized I needed help so I got therapy and now I’m here,” you surmised. “Family is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Filling us with traumas and issues since we were created,” Lucifer commented.

Time has passed between that first case with Lucifer and Chloe, now whenever they needed an extra pair of eyes they’d call on you to help with them. It was an interesting dynamic that you and Lucifer had developed over the weeks that you were going with them on cases. You were able to talk about literally anything with Lucifer, he made you feel comfortable which is odd since his persistence on him calling himself the Devil. By him associating himself with it, you thought he was supposed to be like an actual bad guy, but gauging his reaction to your conversation about your first case with them, you made a realization that because of his name people treat like the actual devil.

One day, you went through your mail in the apartment lobby and spotted a letter that was from your hometown, and another one with the return address being your parents’ house. ‘The hell is this?’ you thought.

When you opened the first one you found a wedding invitation that your cousin was inviting you to, you were actually pretty close with this cousin, she was really chill and she understands the conservative and religious household you used to live in. The second one was your parents’ basically condemning you from being at your cousin’s wedding, and that pissed you off. You were a grown adult, you would be damned if you’d let your parents try to control you anymore.

You decided to go out to LUX, because if there is one person who understands controlling parents it was Lucifer and maybe he’d be able to give you the extra courage you need to stand up to your parents. You had on your favorite party outfit, and when you entered the club you could feel the thrum of energy and the bass of the music go straight to your heart. As you walked to the bar you spotted Maze whom you’ve met before when you came here out of Lucifer’s request, you waved her over.

“What can I get for you?” She asked. “I’m sure you know what’s the best drink here, so I’ll leave that to you,” you said. You turned around to just watch the crowd and started to get a little nervous about the idea of going back to your hometown for the wedding, you love your cousin but hate your parents. So, you were at a bit of a crossroads with this. While you were watching the crowd you saw Lucifer come up to you with a big grin on his face.

“Well, hello (Y/N) this is a surprise. What brings you here?” Lucifer beamed.

“I actually came here to see you, to ask for advice,” you replied.

“A horrible decision really,” he smirked.

“My cousin invited me to her wedding but my parents know and basically condemned me from going to the wedding, and I’m unsure of whether to just stay here in L.A. or to go to the wedding and just be resilient against what my parents’ might say to me,” you said crossing your arms and rubbing them back and forth.

“Well, that sounds like quite a situation you got yourself in”

“I know, that’s why I am asking what I should do?”

“You know I’m all about that rebellion against parental figures, so I say go to the wedding and have a good time, your parents be damned. In fact, I would never say no to a party, so I could come up with you,” he added with a wink.

“Would you like to be my plus one? But please don’t start anything with my parents,” you begged him.

“I thought you’d never ask, and I can’t promise you that,” he smirked.

After, that conversation both of you got ready for travelling out to your hometown and you made sure to bring the outfits that gave you the most confidence in yourself because you knew that you’d need that.

You admitted to yourself a while ago that you had a crush on Lucifer, he was hot as hell, always polite with you, and treated you with genuine interest and respect. You also made a promise to not let your feelings get caught in the middle of your mission. You are going to have a good time at this wedding, congratulate your cousin and just have a good time.

Both of you made it one piece to the hotel that Lucifer somehow booked without your knowledge, because you swore you got a cheap motel room but as you tried to convince Lucifer to let you go to your motel room, he just said, “Are you crazy? I’m the devil for a reason, darling, I got connections everywhere and plus this place is much more spacious. We don’t need to sleep in the same bed if that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.”

“I just thought you would probably be looking for hookups or something and would want your own hotel room for that stuff,” you sputtered.

“Well if that comes to it, I’ll go to their room because I wanted to give you the comfiest place to go back to because I know how family can be,” Lucifer answered.

“That’s really nice of you, y’know for someone insisting he’s the devil you can be really sweet.”

The hotel room was really nice, it had two bedrooms and a large tv screen in front of the dining area. As time moved on and you guys decided to decompress and relax on one bed and decided to just mindlessly watch the tv. You fell asleep and Lucifer watched you for a moment as he realized you were asleep, he put you under the covers and fell asleep next to you.

The next day you woke up to the sunlight hitting your eyes, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and as you took a deep breath in you smelled something delicious. You turned around and saw Lucifer cooking breakfast with his shirt half undone and his hair all curled up.

“Good morning (Y/N), how did you sleep?” Lucifer asked.

“Pretty good, actually,” you answered with a yawn still trying to wake up.

As you both ate breakfast in relative comfortable silence, you looked at your phone and noticed the time. “Shit, we should get ready to go to the church and the party afterwards,” you told him as you got up and went to your suitcase to gather your things.

After what seems like hours to both of you, you managed to get out of the hotel room and to the church. Lucifer dropped you off in front of the church as he wanted to find a parking space for his car. As you waited in front of the church you noticed your parents walking to the church and felt your stomach churn as they were inching closer to you. Your mom looked furious and it was like her whole head was on fire how red it was. Your dad had a more quiet anger to him but you saw the clenched fists and the tightened jaw on him. You put out a little prayer to whoever to get Lucifer faster to you.

“What are you doing here? I thought we told you to not come here,” your mother sneered.

“The last time I checked I am a grown adult and (Y/C/N) invited me to their wedding,” you stated.

“Listen here you bitch, you are a disgrace to this family and that is why we didn’t want you here,” your mother hissed.

Before you could get another word in you heard Lucifer, “Oh there you are, love, I was looking for you.” He kissed the side of your head as he wrapped a hand around your waist and looked at your parents as he continued, “You must be (Y/N)’s parents, I’m her boyfriend, a pleasure to meet you.”

You looked at him a bit surprised and your parents’ faces were that of a gulping goldfish. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar,” he stated.

“Like the devil?” your father said with apprehension in his voice, he made your mom step back behind him.

“Oh, I’m not as bad as the books say, you know,” Lucifer spoke with a wink.

“Quiet, evil one,” your dad sneered.

“Oooh, name-calling so fearsome, “ Lucifer scoffed. He looked towards you as you were just staring at the three of them. “C’mon love, we’ve got a wedding to go to, can’t be late.”

After that encounter the wedding reception went quite beautifully, you may or may not have teared up hearing your cousin and their spouse recite their vows. When you both went to the after-party you both stayed away from your parents and they seemed to have lost interest after that conversation earlier.

A slow dance came on while you were at the bar getting a drink when Lucifer appeared next and offered you his hand. You just raised an eyebrow at him in response and just said, “I thought you weren’t the type for slow dancing?” “Only with the right partner I find it enjoyable,” he smirked with a wink.

You hit him on the chest playfully and replied, “How do you know I’d be the right partner?” you asked. “Ooh I’d figure you’d be good at from the first day I saw you” he quipped. “Okay show me your moves, then,” you replied, taking his hand and walking to the dance floor.

He led most of the dances, keeping you close to his chest with his hand on your back. It was nice, the rhythm of his heartbeat in your ear was very soothing as well as him occasionally humming with the song if he knew, which more often than not he did.

You looked at him and you both started to stare at each other’s eyes. You felt your eyes flutter between his eyes and his lips, he was doing the same to you. His hand cupped the back of your head and he engulfed your mouth with his. You kissed back with as much passion, but as soon as he was kissing you it was over. That kiss left you wanting more and you subconsciously leaned in closer to him.

“Wow” you whispered looking at him. Lucifer just smiled at you for a second. “I hope you wouldn’t mind if you became my real girlfriend then a spontaneous fake one?” he asked. “I would love nothing more Lucifer,” you replied with a huge grin. “Let’s get out of here then, love,” he said as he took your hand and led you out of the building and back to your shared hotel room. This time there didn’t need to be any excuses to sleep next to each other, you just did.

#lucifer #lucifer fox imagines #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fox x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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zabiume · 3 years

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Fic Writer Review -tag game

Thank you @recurring-polynya for tagging me! I wish I could say I’m a Pisces so I love talking about myself, but I think that’s just a core personality trait at this point so! Let’s go!

1. How many fics on AO3?

17 Bleach fics (but many of them are short enough to be drabbles), 1 The Mandalorian fic, and 1 DC Comics fic under my pseud that I created specifically for Jason Todd. zabiume is where I fawn over Orihime and lazarus is where I fawn over Jason -- hence the distinction.

2. Total AO3 word count?

219,317 over two years but there are some fics I wrote that are only on Tumblr so maybe I’d add a couple 100-500 words to that? It did say AO3 word count, though, so maybe not.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I used to write for the TV shows Psych and Supernatural when I was really little but I never posted it anywhere lol. I’d say the fandoms I wrote the most for were Bleach and the 80s Batfamily, which was my favorite Batfamily era and probably still is. I don’t write fic as much as I read fic, so there are some fandoms I really, really love but never actually wrote for like the Spiderverse fandom, or the Death Note fandom (lol, don’t judge me). I probably write for Bleach the most.

4. Top Five by Kudos?

six hearts beat as one (164)

Make My Wish Come True (120)

The Epic Highs and Lows of Ghost-Hunting (102)

with you, anything is pawsible (100)

Tell You My Sins (97)

I’ve got a higher kudos count on my old Batfamily account I think, but I will not plug that here because I’m embarrassed and want to leave it in the paaaast.

5. Do you respond to comments, why/why not?

Absolutely! I feel grateful when people take the time out to leave a comment so I try my best to reply to all of them. Sometimes people might be binge-reading my longer fanfics and commenting on every single chapter (which is fun) but I don’t know if I’m supposed to reply to all of them so I might have just replied to the earliest/latest one and thanked them for all of it. Sometimes I get comments that are only emojis/in languages I don’t speak, and I don’t know what the proper etiquette is to reply to those but trust me I saw them and they made me vvv warm :’) I never reply on ff.net because I have no idea how that website works lmao but I get a lot more reviews there than I do on AO3 so it’s always exciting to post there even though the formatting makes me cry.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t write a lot of fics with angsty endings as much as I do with angsty beginnings and middles, but the ending for Tell You My Sins is something I still get a few comments about saying “Oh my god!! How could you leave it there!!! Why do you hate me!!!” but I’d say that was more of a bittersweet, yearning ending than an angsty one, but who knows!

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t write crossovers, but I have a lot of them in my head; my most buckwild one is probably Mom!Orihime Inoue/Mom!Talia Al Ghul but I’m not going to go into it unless someone actually wants to hear it sfjfjjf

8. Have you received hate on a fic?

Once? It wasn’t hate, per se, it was just the condescending brand of “oh I like your writing, but I’d like it better if you wrote [ship name] instead” which is...a bit annoying but I generally get a lot of kind comments from people I know here/on ff.net/on AO3 so I can’t complain.

9. Do you write smut?

In theory

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked if they could translate my fic and post it on a Brazillian fanfic website, but I kind of hesitated because I had to make an account there and I didn’t want to make an account I don’t actually use, so I refused :/ We’re still talking about having it up on AO3, though, so you never know!

12. Ever co-written a fic before?

I’m very shy/self-indulgent so I usually do everything myself (both writing and editing). The most I’ve collaborated with people is when they send me prompts or I send them prompts. Hehe.

13. All-time favourite ship?

IchiHime, if we’re talking romantic, but if platonic relationships count then nothing will ever beat Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd for me!

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

Technically, Epic Highs and Lows is a WIP, but it’s not a WIP I want to finish, so no? I’ve made my peace with giving up on that one but I still get a few comments every now and then asking for an update (I’m sorry).

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at describing feelings, and how much characters care about each other. I’ve been told I’m good at writing the relationships between characters, too, but if I had to pinpoint one strength I’d say it’s probably...my characterization? Characterization is pretty subjective but I’d say I like that I write characters exactly the way I see them. Sometimes I might write a light-hearted fic and go, “This could have been an excellent premise for a filler episode if Studio Pierrot weren’t absolute cowards” but I think that’s a bit egotistical.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m not very good at writing Plot/World-building, and my best fics are generally born from a short-term, situational idea, rather than a long-term fic that spans over chapters and chapters or across series. I don’t have a distinct writing style, which is something that bothers me sometimes, because I feel like I don’t have any Trademarks(tm) that would make a reader go, “Oh, yeah, that’s a Zabiume fic.” I feel like that makes my writing forgettable idk. I get very excited about sharing my fics with my readers so I hurry on the editing sometimes and might end up overlooking a tiny spelling error here and there, but that is just because I am excited to share my things with you guys okay!!! I’m a Golden Retriever.

17. What are your thoughts of writing dialogue in other languages?

Hmm, this is an interesting one. Since I write a lot of IchiHime fics, I feel like the honorifics make a lot of difference in their relationship i.e the tenderness that comes from calling someone by their last name, especially if you’re shy. I mean, the whole reason Ichigo calling Orihime by her first name in the epilogue is so special is because of how long it took for them to get there. I’m also fond of how softly Masakazu Morita says “Inoue” so now I can’t unhear it when I read the manga/write fic lolol. I’m Asian (and obviously I don’t want to generalize because there are. many countries in Asia) but my culture has a few similarities with the Japanese culture and some of my aunts call their husbands by their last names+honorific sometimes after marriage as a joke/term of endearment so that’s why I think I use the honorific sometimes, but mostly I don’t. Depends on the context. I’m not from Japan, but I’m not from America either, so I try to avoid “culturizing” my fic too much and keep it like,,,as universal as possible but I do try to do my research to the best of my abilities and not offend anyone. If I mess up somewhere, I’d love for people to correct me/teach me, though. Mostly I just write in English.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote Psych fanfic on MS Word and made my sister read it when I was like, ten I think. Mostly I just wrote fic in my head and never posted it anywhere because I’m horribly shy.

19. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

My favorite fic I’ve written ever is my Batman fanfic, All the Memories Left By the Day, but my favorite fic I’ve written for Bleach would probably be my five lifetimes, one love series because I’m having a lot of fun writing it and roll back, like press and rewind, which is a fanfic where Ichigo Gets Pegged by Orihime.

Tagging: @ulquiorracifer, but no pressure! If any of my followers want to do this, you can just say I tagged you :)

#asks #tag meme

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

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Spitting Venom (Supernatural x Criminal Minds)

Word Count: ~10,300 yikes

Warnings: Non-explicit violence, nothing more than you’d see on either show. More cursing though. Don’t even try to tell me Emily Prentiss doesn’t swear like a sailor.

A/N: This is for @stunudo and her “Lie To Me” Challenge! My prompt was the Modest Mouse song “Spitting Venom.” Thanks to @fookinghelljensensthighs for reading and exclaiming and also just loving Sam and Spencer with me.

This is part of the “Coffee & Psychopaths” series. It follows the events of Quitting, but you don’t need to read that to understand anything that happens here.

This centers around (and steals dialogue from) the events of “Slash Fiction” (SPN) and “Proof” (CM). In order to smoosh the timelines together right, I had to do some wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, so don’t think about it too hard. You should be able to tell from context clues, but for reference, the flashbacks (in order of appearance) correspond to “Shut Up, Dr Phil” (SPN) / “It Takes A Village” (CM), “To Hell... And Back” (CM), “My Bloody Valentine” (SPN), “Amplification” (CM), “With Friends Like These” (CM) / “Unforgiven” (SPN), “Appointment In Samarra” (SPN), and “Memoriam” (CM). Seriously, wibbly-wobbly. So much canon juggling. Just go with it.

“Just for the record, the weather today is partly suspicious with chances of betrayal.”

― Chuck Palahniuk

“Strap in, folks, we’ve got a weird one,” Garcia says cheerily, handing Spencer a paper folder as everybody else opens their tablets.

“I thought the Winchesters were dead,” Hotch says.

“That is part of the aforementioned weird, yes. Okay, for those of you who weren’t paying attention four years ago…”

Spencer opens his file, and Garcia’s words stop making sense, because that’s Sam in the mugshot.

His first instinct is to shout, This is a mistake.

Spencer’s stomach churns. He’s cold all over.

This feeling (betrayal, his brain supplies helpfully) is becoming a little too familiar, lately.

Garcia is showing a video: a bank, a group of people scared and screaming, two men opening fire. That’s Sam. His expression is stone-cold, maybe even satisfied, as he empties the clip into the crowd.

That’s Sam.

Garcia’s talking about M.O. now, or the total lack of a consistent one, and Spencer can’t listen. He forces his features into the bland, neutral expression that has made people underestimate him for years, and he takes slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Spence?” he hears, and when he looks around the table he realizes that it wasn’t the first time somebody said his name. They’re all staring.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Spencer insists, with a shrug.

“No you’re not, I know that face. Are you feeling okay?” Emily prods, and Spencer hates her for a moment, hates that she can still read him.

He tries to force a smile, but it feels stiff on his face.

“I know him,” Spencer blurts out. “Sam. Sam Winchester. He’s… he was my friend. Or I thought he was.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence all around the table. Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling a pen idly, instead of looking any of them in the eyes.

“Reid,” Hotch says quietly.

“We met at a… meeting,” Spencer says. He looks up at Hotch to make sure he understands, and Hotch nods. “About two years ago. He was only here for a couple weeks. We got along, though. We… he left. We kept in touch.”

“When did you last speak to him?” Hotch asks, frowning.

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s taking his best effort to maintain his mask of composure.

“It was eight days ago.”

Hotch nods. “I’m assuming he’s already using a new number, but just in case, we’ll need you to give Garcia any contact information you have.”

Spencer tries to smile. “Of course.”

Emily asks, “And he didn’t say anything that would…”

“That would, what, tip me off that he was planning a massive murder spree?” Spencer says. His voice cracks.

“Anything that might be helpful,” Morgan interjects diplomatically. “Locations, names.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, it was… we didn’t talk about that sort of thing. It was random, mostly. When something was on my mind that I couldn’t… couldn’t talk to you about, or - when I couldn’t sleep. But there wasn’t much small talk.”

“And you never suspected?” Garcia asks, wide-eyed.

“Do you really think that if I suspected -”

“We know that if there were any hints, you would’ve seen them. Nobody is suggesting that you should’ve known,” Hotch says firmly.

“I should’ve, though,” Spencer insists, with a hysterical edge in his voice. “There were so many things that he just… avoided talking about. He looked familiar, even! I kept wondering where I recognized him from!”

“Enough, kid,” Rossi interrupts. “Getting angry at yourself doesn’t help anybody. It was before you joined the Bureau, there was no reason for you to remember his face.”

“This is a good thing, right?” Emily points out. “The better you know him, the easier it’s going to be for us to catch him.”

“Apparently I didn’t know him, though,” Spencer says hoarsely. “I didn’t know him at all.”

“Are you going to be able to work this case objectively?” Hotch asks. “We’ll all understand if you want to sit this one out.”

Spencer stares at him helplessly. He’s not sure he knows the answer to that question.

“I remember Gideon talking about the Winchester case,” Rossi muses. “Couldn’t make head or tail of it, no apparent connection between victims, witnesses who kept changing their stories…”

“Your insight will undoubtedly be useful,” Hotch adds quietly.

Spencer grits his teeth, shock turning quickly to anger.

“I want to find him,” he says. He wants to know. He wants to hear the confession.

Hotch gives him one more steely, appraising look before nodding.

“Very well. Let’s talk victimology.”

* * * * * * * * *

September 2011 (eight days earlier)

“I don’t understand how she could do that,” Spencer says bitterly. “If I saw one of my friends hurting like that, and I knew something that would stop them hurting…”

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Did they not trust me to keep the secret? Did they not think I could handle it? We’re a team. We’re not supposed to keep things from each other. Not important things, not like that.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Sam leans against the kitchen counter, watching Dean through the window. Baby’s hood is open and Dean’s wrestling with something inside, and Sam wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s imagining the wariness in Dean’s face whenever they talk these days. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something Dean’s not saying.

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer says quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, except give it time.”

“I hate that answer,” Spencer says flatly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah. But… I think hearing the truth is the hard part, sometimes. Or saying it. Right? It hurts like hell, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but now that it’s all out in the open… now it’ll start getting better. It has to.”

“I guess.”

“She thought she was doing the right thing,” Sam repeats. “Do you really think she’d do that, if she didn’t feel like she had a choice?”

Spencer sighs in a rush of static. “No,” he says begrudgingly. “But I think she had a choice. And now it’s my choice whether to trust her or not.”

“You’ll get there.”

“How do you know?”

“A very smart man once told me that’s what friends do,” Sam says wryly. “They trust each other.”

“Quoting me back to me doesn’t seem fair,” Spencer grumbles.

“Doesn’t make it wrong,” Sam retorts with a grin.

Sam watches Dean slam the hood shut, and he wonders why his brother has such a hard time trusting him.

* * * * * * * * *

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean snaps, and the sneer in his voice makes Sam feel all of six years old again.

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding,” Sam says stubbornly. He leans against the doorframe and watches Dean pace back and forth, like a wild animal on a too-short leash in the tiny living room of Rufus’s cabin.

“Dead or alive, Sam. We’re wanted dead or alive. You try to talk to a Fed, which one d’you think it’ll be? They’ll have you pumped full of bullets before you can blink.”

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby says quietly.

Sam rubs his eyes, feeling a headache building. “I trust him.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t,” Dean retorts. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway? When’d you make a friend I don’t know about?”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam asks bitterly. “You’re pissed there’s something about me that you don’t get to control?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a great track record here,” Dean spits, and Sam’s throat clogs with anger even before Dean says, “Whenever you’ve made a friend on your own, how’s that gone for you, huh? Meg, Ruby, Amy… two demons, a monster, and now a fucking Fed?”

Sam balls his hands into fists to fight the urge to start swinging. “Why can’t you just trust me? You don’t know Frank, either.”

“I trust Bobby,” Dean says. The I don’t trust you goes unspoken.

Sam clenches his jaw, breathing until he knows he can talk without shouting.

“Just go, then, Dean,” he says, quiet and venomous. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m going to call Spencer.”

Dean’s frozen for a moment, stone-faced. Then he whirls around and heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll check in when I get to Frank’s.”

Sam sits down on the couch, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hears the dim rumble of the engine starting outside.

“I’m gonna use the landline, if that’s okay,” Sam says quietly.

“I sure hope you’re right about this, boy,” Bobby growls.

“So do I.”

He finds Spencer’s number on the worn slip of paper in his wallet, written down with the five or so others that he doesn’t want to lose, and holds his breath as he dials. He has a feeling Spencer might not pick up on the first try, if he picks up at all. For all he knows, Spencer’s on the job already, in Colorado with his team looking for clues that aren’t there.

He closes his eyes and thinks, please, and then Spencer picks up.

“Hi, Sam.” His voice is icy.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s a long, weighted pause before he continues, “It’s not me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” It’s clipped and robotic and forceful.

“No, look, I - it’s not me, okay? That’s why I’m calling. I’ll turn myself in.” Another weighted pause. Sam clears his throat. “Not to the police, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’ll shoot me on sight, but. To you. It’s hard to explain, but I’m innocent, it’s someone else pretending to be me, so if you can get to Montana -”

“Montana?” Spencer interrupts incredulously.

“Montana,” Sam repeats. He hesitates. “I figured you’d be tracking the call, I used a landline to make it easy for you.”

“She’s working on it,” Spencer admits begrudgingly.

Sam feels a twist of guilt, wondering how Spencer’s coworkers are reacting to this… even worse than Dean, probably.

He hears a faint female voice in the background, too quiet to make out more than, “...not sure how, but…”

“Fine, then,” Spencer says quietly. “Montana.”

“Wherever you want, okay? I - I won’t put up a fight. Just…” Sam can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let them shoot me, okay?”

There’s a crackle of static as Spencer sighs. “We’ll call you with details when we land.”

A voice in the back of his head that sounds like Dean is shouting, this is a terrible idea.

Sam ignores it.

“I trust you,” he says. “And Spencer?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for picking up.”

* * * * * * * * *

May 2010

Spencer feels like he’s choking on the thick stink in the air. He looks around the packed dirt yard of the farmhouse and can’t find any relief; he’s surrounded by ugly raw grief, and he can’t stand it. Emily is consoling the crying girl. Hotch is talking to the locals, tying up loose ends. Morgan is staring numbly at the rows and rows of muddy shoes on the ground.

He knows he’s not the only one dealing with the weight of what they saw today. He should find Penelope, give her a hug, face this together, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sharing this would make it a little too real.

Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at being alone; his first instinct is to hide, when things start to get overwhelming, and to maintain a certain level of clinical detachment until he can make sense of what he’s feeling. He can dissect his own feelings. When his friends are hurting, though… that’s a different story. When he sees his friends hurting, he hurts too, hurts in a way that chokes him, hurts in a way that crowds everything else out, and all he wants to do is fix it. Even when it’s not something that can be fixed. It’s illogical.

Love doesn’t leave any room for logic, he’s learning.

He slips away, into the barn.

Dust motes and chaff drift in the scattered beams of light that cut through the empty space, swirling around him as he climbs the ladder to the dark drafty loft. Spencer sits down on the floor in front of the wall of drawings. He hugs his knees to his chest and looks, committing the clumsy crayon strokes to memory, because it doesn’t seem right to let all those empty shoes live on without also remembering this: bright color, crushing loneliness, constant fear.

The loneliness is too much, after a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and closes his eyes.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just not having a great day,” Spencer says, aiming for casual, falling short.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Spencer says. His voice is thin and scratchy and small in the darkness of the barn, lost immediately in the blanketing silence.

Sam hesitates, and Spencer waits, hoping he’ll understand.

“If you could have one object from a fictional universe, what would you want? Has to fit in your pocket.”

Spencer lets out a grateful little huff of a sigh. “Obviously the -”

“TARDIS doesn’t count,” Sam interrupts, laughing. “It has to be portable in its normal everyday form, not just temporarily shrinkable.”

“Sonic screwdriver, then. Obviously.”

“Right? That’s what I said.”

“What else would there be?”

“Dean would go with a lightsaber,” Sam says, and Spencer can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

It’s the first time Spencer’s really smiled all day. “Based on what you’ve told me about your brother, that doesn’t actually surprise me.”

“Yeah. That’s Dean…”

* * * * * * * * *

There’s a dial tone. Spencer closes his phone and tries to breathe.

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asks quietly.

Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling his pen again, feeling claustrophobic with all their concerned gazes pinning him in place. There’s too much going on in his head, too many things trapped and buzzing inside him with nowhere to go, and he wants to start running but all he can do is shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice strained.

“Even if he is telling the truth, there are parts of this case that just don’t make any sense,” Morgan says.

JJ adds, “If it’s a ruse, it’s a bizarre one.”

“Gut feeling, kid,” Rossi says softly. “Are we walking into a trap?”

Spencer wants to scream. Instead he says, “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but…”

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for us,” Emily says fiercely.

Spencer can’t help it; he looks at JJ before staring stubbornly down at the table again. The words burn on their way out: “This wouldn’t be the first time I trusted the wrong person, though.”

“We need to make sure we’re prepared for all eventualities, but I think it’s worth the risk,” Hotch says. “We can discuss it more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

Spencer refuses to meet any of their eyes as he gathers up his folder and his bag. He gets out of the conference room before anyone can try to talk to him. His cheeks are burning, and his hands are shaking, and he’s already jittery but he really needs coffee; beyond that singular thought, his brain is stuck between stations, all white noise and useless static.

The coffee pot in the break room is empty. He’s glad; it’s good to have something to do with his hands, a ritual, a tiny piece of his life that he can still count on. Filter, measure grounds, fresh water…

“Spence.” It’s JJ, of course, and Spencer’s first petulant instinct is to ignore her. “Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“About what? The fact that one of the few people I still trusted turns out to be a serial killer?” Spencer says sharply. “It’s becoming a pattern, me trusting the wrong people. I’m getting used to it.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking to a victim’s family.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I get it, okay?” she says, still in that calm, professional voice. Spencer wishes she’d scream instead. He wants to scream. “You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” he says coolly.

“You know what I think it is?” He doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway: “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

It hurts. Her words bite down somewhere deep, venomous needle-sharp fangs that sink in and sting, and the toxic ache spreads through his system before he can take a breath.

“You think it's about my profiling skills?” he spits back. “Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Her expression is hurt, confused, and she says quietly, “I couldn't.”

“You couldn't? Or you wouldn't?” he snaps.

“No, I couldn't,” she insists. Her eyes are brimming with tears now, and Spencer feels a sick rush of satisfaction.

He knows it’s cruel, but he lashes out anyway: “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

She recoils. “You didn't.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It’s petty and it’s unfair and it’s vicious, and he doesn’t care, not even a little bit.

It stuns her into silence for a moment, and he turns to pour coffee into his travel cup, hands shaking so badly he almost spills.

“Spence,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

He whirls on her, almost shouts: “It's too late, all right?”

“Reid,” she says, but he’s already brushing past her, and he doesn’t stop.

* * * * * * * * *

February 2010

He’ll never forget the look on Dean’s face. He knows it a little too well, by now: disappointment, disgust. I expected better. This isn’t who I raised you to be. You’re not the person I thought you were.

“You know I couldn’t have gotten out of that bathroom on my own,” Sam says. “You know I wouldn’t have - I wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

Dean doesn’t trust him, though. He’s not sure Dean will ever trust him again.

Sam lets Dean lock him in the panic room. He doesn’t protest; he goes without complaint, head down, like a dog with its tail between its legs as it waits for a kick that never comes. Detox will hurt. It always does. He feels like he deserves that, though.

Dean almost says something, before he closes the door. The words catch on his lips and die on his throat, and he just shakes his head as he slides the deadbolts into place.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, but Dean’s already walking away, and the hallucinations are already creeping in around the edges of his vision: his mother sighing sadly, his younger self shaking his head in contempt.

Sam sits down, curls up, and looks around at the bare walls and the locked door. The floor is cold under him, and he can already feel the chill sinking into his skin, down to his bones. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe through the panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again, but he’s not really sure who he’s talking to any more.

The hallucinations fade. The bloodstains won’t, not really. Dean will see those forever.

He can barely look at Sam when he finally unlocks the door.

Sam’s still itchy and wired, that night, even though the worst of it is over. Dean’s not even trying to pretend he’s doing anything other than keeping watch outside. He’s sitting in the hallway with a bottle of whiskey for company. Sam can’t leave, and he sure as hell can’t sleep, so he calls Spencer, and he doesn’t realize until it starts ringing that it’s two in the morning.

“Hi, Sam,” Spencer says, staticky and distant.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Sam sighs, stammers, stops, tries to start again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Not really,” he manages. There’s another long pause before he can admit, “I fucked up. I keep fucking up.”

“Oh,” Spencer says softly. “Okay.”

Sam exhales. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I believe you.”

“You’re the only one who does.”

“I trust you,” Spencer says. It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, and it’s been a long time since someone trusted Sam like that. He didn’t realize how much he missed it.

“Why?” Sam asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and choked.

“That’s what friends do, right?”

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows down the lump in his throat, trying not to wonder if Dean’s still standing guard outside his door.

“Thanks for picking up,” Sam says, barely a whisper.

“Any time.”

* * * * * * * * *

They cuff his hands behind the back of the uncomfortable metal chair. Sam didn’t expect anything less, but he still hates it. They had the entire team except for Spencer there to take him in, and that was a few too many guns trained on him for comfort, but he’s alone now. It’s cold, and the walls are blank, and he shivers.

He’s spent too much of his life locked in cages of one sort or another.

When Spencer finally opens the door, Sam can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as his stomach twists with nerves. He’d worried they would insist on sending someone else in.

“Hey, Spencer,” he says quietly.

Spencer doesn’t answer. He avoids eye contact as he sits down, settling in with his posture stiff and his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looks like a different person from the one Sam first met; the jittery, fidgety, chattering Spencer is gone, and there’s an actual Fed in his place. Even when he meets Sam’s eyes, his expression doesn’t give anything away. He’s ice-cold and completely closed-off.

Sam tries to breathe.

“Where’s Dean?” Spencer asks bluntly.

“He’s at a friend’s, trying to figure out how to clear our names.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

“He didn’t think this was a good idea,” Sam says. “We haven’t had great experiences with law enforcement, but… him even more than me. I trust you. He doesn’t.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You trust me.”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Spencer’s face goes stormy immediately, and he leans closer, glaring at Sam with startling intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I are not friends. You’re a murderer, and the only reason I’m here is that I want to see what you look like when you’re telling the truth… because apparently you’ve been lying to me since we met.”

It’s not unexpected, but it still hurts. Sam hesitates for a moment before saying softly, “I’m not a murderer, and I haven’t been lying to you.”

“There’s video.”

“It’s not me.”

Spencer stares at him incredulously. “All that stuff you never wanted to talk about. All those times you talked about… being scared of yourself, worrying what you could do. What was that, then?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam says. He feels exhausted, suddenly.

“You’ve never even told me what you do for a living!”

“I can’t.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Spencer asks. He’s starting to lose his composure, an agitated edge creeping into his voice.

“Look, remember when you called me, and told me you might be dying?”

“How is that relevant?” Spencer hisses.

“I figured it out, afterward. Anthrax. Right?”

“How did you…”

“And you told me that you couldn’t give me details, and the details weren’t important anyway.”

“That’s right.”

“And I accepted that, because I trust you, and I trust that if you’re not telling me something, it’s for a damn good reason,” Sam says determinedly. “They tried to keep it out of the news, but later, once I knew you were okay, I did some digging, and I figured it out. Why didn’t you alert the public?”

Spencer looks utterly baffled. “Because people would panic. There’d be mass hysteria.”

“There you go. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer exclaims. “I work for the federal government!”

“Look, I know you, okay?” Sam says desperately. “I know that your job is to notice the details that don’t make sense. Even when something seems obvious, you and your team pay attention, and you make sure everything fits, and you figure out the truth, not just whatever bullshit explanation seems easiest.”

Spencer nods slowly.

“That’s why you’re here, and that’s why your team didn’t shoot me on sight,” Sam continues. “And I know you’re good at your job, so I know you’ve noticed that there are things about this case that don’t add up. Okay? Why would I be here talking to you, if I was guilty? Did you ask yourself how I got to Montana so quickly? Did you talk to any of the witnesses from the old cases? Diana Ballard? Rebecca Warren? Did you try to profile us? Find any similarities in m.o. between all those murders? No. None of it made any sense then, and none of it makes any sense now. You know why? Because it wasn’t us,” he finishes.

“Sam. Maybe there are details from the old cases that don’t make sense, but…” Spencer trails off, shaking his head, like he doesn’t even know where to start. Then he stops himself, sets his jaw, refocuses, and when he looks at Sam again, there’s nothing but pure clear anger in his face. “Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you’ve never killed anyone.”

Sam instinctively goes to tuck his hair behind his ears, but the cuffs cut the movement short. Spencer sees it. His face falls, bitter and disappointed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters.

“I’ve never killed anything that didn’t deserve it,” Sam insists.

“Any thing? Really? Or any person?” Spencer asks. Sam doesn’t answer, and Spencer continues, rushing, like he can’t stop the words from coming out: “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a serial killer say that? Everybody thinks they have a reason, Sam, whether angels told him the guy was guilty, or… Satan was possessing them, or… a talking dog told them the meaning of life.”

Sam lets out a borderline hysterical laugh, and Spencer just stares like he’s completely crazy. Sam can’t blame him. He’s starting to feel crazy.

“Okay, here, look,” he says, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Go through the old case files, look at the dates. Every one, I guarantee you, people were dying before we got to town. There’s gotta be a way to prove it, right? The murders started happening before we got there. Everything you’ve told me about Penelope, I bet she can do it, easy.”

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re some sort of vigilante?” Spencer half-shouts.

“Not exactly, no.” Sam’s starting to run out of ideas.

The door opens abruptly, and a stern-faced agent says, “Reid. A word?”

Spencer gives Sam one last look before he gets up. It’s a familiar expression: disgust, disappointment, you’re not the person I thought you were. Then he turns his back, and the door slams shut behind him. Sam can hear the click of the lock.

* * * * * * * * *

April 2010

He writes to her every day, pages and pages of words. He hopes she realizes that they all boil down to “I love you,” because right now, he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hi, Mom, this is Spencer,” he says, “I just… I just really want you to know that I love you. And -” when he blinks away tears he can practically see her, her smile swimmy through the salt water, same as it looked when he was small and crying over a scraped knee, and if he keeps thinking like that he’ll never make it through this message. He pauses, gulps for air, steadies himself. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

She hasn’t taken care of him since he was small. Right now, though, he feels small and scared, and all he wants is for his mom to tell him that she loves him, and that it’s going to be alright.

“Reid?” Penelope whispers, and then he hears Dr. Kimura, and he doesn’t get to be a child right now; there’s nobody there to take care of him.

“I gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before Garcia can ask questions.

“Doctor Reid?”

“You look nice,” he jokes, with a watery laugh, and she smiles. “How are the patients doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she says smoothly.

Spencer forces a smile and shakes his head. “I actually… I feel fine.” It’s one of the most obvious lies he’s ever told.

“If you feel any pain, I could give you something,” she offers.

“No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.” His hands are shaking, but at least his voice sounds strong.

She looks concerned. “We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable, and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” he says fiercely. It’s not easy to say the words, but he feels better once he does; he feels proud.

There’s someone else he needs to call, Spencer realizes.

“Tell me how I can help,” Dr. Kimura says, and Spencer nods. First things first: if the poison is here, so is the antidote.

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says, ignoring the way his chest aches.

“Well, shall I start here?”

“Yes, just… I just need a moment.”

Spencer looks down at his phone. He could call Garcia, again, have her save the message as a contingency plan, but he’s not sure he could handle her questions right now, and he can trust Sam not to push for details; he’s always been good about that.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Hey, so, I can’t explain, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Don’t interrupt, I can’t - I just wanted to say thank you. In case I don’t get to say it again. Recovery was… I don’t… you helped. Thanks for always picking up the phone when I needed you.”

“Right back at you,” Sam says quietly.

It’s getting harder to breathe, and the panicked hammering of his heartbeat isn’t helping.

“Thanks,” he says again, and closes the phone without saying goodbye.

* * * * * * * * *

“Reid, you need to calm down,” Hotch says, as soon as the lock clicks behind them.

“I know,” Spencer says, rubbing his eyes, agitated. “There’s just… there’s so much that doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more than that.” Hotch gives him one of those piercing glares he’s so good at. “You’re allowing your anger with JJ to cloud what you’re seeing in Sam.”

Spencer can’t really argue with that. He just nods.

“When this is over, I want you to take a couple days,” Hotch says. “You need some time to process.”

Spencer’s instinct is to argue, but one look at Hotch’s face tells him it’s pointless. He nods again, reluctantly.

“Garcia is checking into the pattern that he talked about,” Hotch says, as he leads Spencer back into the observation room. “She may be able to pin the Winchesters’ locations at the times of the original murders. JJ’s talking to old witnesses. There has to be something Henricksen missed.”

Emily, Morgan, and Rossi are clustered in the small, spare room, watching Sam through the one-way glass. Emily cuts herself off mid-sentence as Spencer and Hotch walk in.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks again, looking at Spencer like he’s a bomb about to go off, and Spencer tries to smile for him.

“All my time in the Bureau, I’ve never seen a case that made less sense,” Rossi comments.

They all look at Sam, who’s frowning down at the table, deep in thought.

Spencer clears his throat and asks, “Do you believe him?”

“I believe that he’s telling part of the truth,” Hotch says. “It’s what he’s not saying that concerns me.”

Inside the interrogation room, Sam starts, eyes wide, and looks from the door to the one-way mirror.

“Hey,” he barks. “Hey, I know you’re listening! It’s St. Louis. I figured out the pattern, and they’re going to St. Louis next.” He tugs at the cuffs, clearly agitated. “Come on. Can anybody hear me?”

“He’s genuinely distressed,” Emily says, frowning.

“If it’s a delusion, it’s a complex one,” Morgan adds.

The door swings open, and JJ starts talking before any of them can ask: “That was Diana Ballard. She swears up and down that it’s all a big misunderstanding, but she’s not clear on any of the details; she just said that she’d trust the Winchesters with her life. Rebecca Warren said the same. There was someone impersonating the Winchesters, back then, and she swears up and down that someone’s got it out for them now.”

“How did Henricksen not have that statement in his file?” Morgan asks.

“Maybe Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it,” Emily says. “Maybe this is a case of agents just wanting the easy explanation.”

“You guys are gonna want to see this,” Penelope interrupts, hurrying through the door as fast as her hot pink heels will allow, holding out her tablet.

“Another one?” JJ asks.

“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s a doozy. This just came in from -”

“St. Louis,” Hotch fills in grimly.

“How did you know?” Penelope asks, but she presses play without waiting for an answer, and they all cluster together to watch the grainy cell phone footage: Sam, leaning in close, giving the camera a smug smile before he opens fire.

“Is that really…” Spencer says numbly, looking from the screen to the window, where Sam is tapping his foot, impatient, undeniably solid and real.

“It’s real,” she confirms. “And to top it off, I found a call that the local brass dismissed, but I just talked to him a couple minutes ago and it sounds like the genuine article. A guy thinks he saw the older Winchester just a couple hours after Sam originally called us. He was at a gas station in, you guessed it, Montana.”

There’s a stunned pause, while everybody tries to digest that news, until Emily breaks the silence with a succinct, “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening.”

“I’m going to talk to Sam,” Hotch says.

Spencer’s acutely aware of everyones’ eyes on him again as he moves closer to the window. His reflection in the glass looks masklike and composed, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort.

He’s kind of starting to believe Sam. That’s his first instinct, at least. Something deep in his gut is telling him to trust, but it’s being strangled by the suspicion and twisted fear that have been poisoning him slowly since Emily came back. Now that it’s in his system, Spencer’s not sure how to flush it out; it’s just in him now, like some sort of chronic infection.

* * * * * * * * *

March 2011

“I hate how often we see it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s the first thing everybody thought of, with this kid, even though it wasn’t just schizophrenia, but… what’s the difference, between him and my mom?”

“Your mom has you,” Sam points out. He can hear the murmur of Dean and Bobby’s voices downstairs, constant and comforting.

“The headaches haven’t stopped.”

Sam grimaces. “No answers, still?”

“They all say there’s nothing wrong with me, physically.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “That’s… kinda harder, isn’t it?”

“I hate not knowing,” Spencer fumes. “I hate that there’s no test for it. Even if it was a positive diagnosis, I’d rather have that, you know? I mean, that’d be awful, obviously, but… ”

“At least you’d know,” Sam finishes. “Yeah.”

“It’s like my brain may or may not be a ticking bomb. No way of knowing what’s hiding up there,” Spencer bites out, with a warped attempt at a laugh.

Sam can’t help but think of his flashback: coming back to reality with Dean pale and wide-eyed above him, the disorientation of feeling the solid floor under his back, the way his skin still burned. It felt so real.

He pushes those thoughts away.

“Like you can’t even trust yourself,” Sam says softly.

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice is small and thin, and he sounds very young, suddenly. “My mom’s counting on me. What if… if something happened - I don’t know who would take care of her. Of us.”

“Your family,” Sam says, without hesitating.

“My team? Yeah, I… I guess so.”

“Your family,” Sam repeats. “Even if you can’t trust yourself, you’ll be able to trust your family.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heart leaps at the sound of the door opening again.

“They’re going to St. Louis,” he says, all in a rush, before the stern-faced agent from earlier can even sit down. The guy doesn’t bat an eye, just sits down calmly, pinning Sam with a stare that could strip paint.

“Sam, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Sam’s heard Spencer talk about “Hotch,” and it all makes sense now. “What makes you think St Louis is next?”

“They’re retracing our steps,” Sam answers. “Dean and I, when we started working together. They’re hitting each town we stopped in. Jericho, Black Water Ridge, Manitoc. St. Louis is next.”

Sam holds his breath, hoping he won’t be pressed on his definition of working. He can see the moment Hotch comes to a decision with an infinitesimal nod.

“We’re too late,” he says. “We just got the news.”

“Shit,” Sam can’t help but mutter, and he tugs instinctively at the handcuffs, frustrated, done with sitting still.

“This means you’re innocent,” Hotch points out, clearly watching Sam’s reaction.

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, but I already knew that. It’s… Iowa next, then. Ankeny, Iowa.”

“Very well,” Hotch says flatly, giving Sam a critical, evaluating look. “It’s very clear that you’re not what we thought you were, and you may be able to help us end this. Are you still interested in accompanying us?”

“Yes,” Sam replies impatiently.

“First, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth about what’s going on here,” Hotch says, in such a low, dangerous voice that Sam’s almost intimidated. “Otherwise, if one of my agents gets hurt because you withheld information, or if there’s even a hint that you’re leading us into a trap, I will shoot you without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

Jesus. But if the FBI can help him get to Iowa in time, with enough firepower to put a dent in the Leviathans, this’ll all be worth it.

Sam leans forward, as much as his cuffs will allow, meeting Hotch’s impenetrable glare with a determined stare of his own.

“Look, I could tell you more, but you’re not going to believe some of it until you see for yourself,” he snaps. “So as far as I’m concerned, the only truth that matters is this: people are dying, and we both want to put a stop to it. Now, are you going to waste time asking for irrelevant details, or are you going to choose to trust me?”

Hotch holds his gaze for a moment before nodding tersely. “Let’s get going, then. I’ll go get the keys.”

He gets up and Sam grimaces at his retreating back, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to get the bobby pin at the right angle. Then the cuffs fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, and Hotch looks back at him in disbelief. Sam smiles at him, equal parts sheepish and smug.

“I told you, full cooperation,” he explains, and Hotch shakes his head like he might just be a tiny bit impressed.

The rest of the team is waiting out in the hallway, some looking skeptical (tall, dark, handsome, eyebrows; Morgan, if Sam's guessing right), others nervous (pink pom-poms in her hair; that’ll be Penelope), but almost all with some degree of confusion written across their faces. Sam can’t exactly blame them. Spencer’s staring at his shoes, avoiding eye contact.

They’re a very clean, professional-looking bunch, and it’s making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, even aside from the obvious awkwardness inherent in the situation.

“I’m Sam,” he blurts out, and then winces. “Um. You knew that.”

“Yep,” Penelope squeaks. “This is weird.”

“Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi,” Hotch says brusquely, pointing to each in turn. “Jennfer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and you know Spencer. There’ll be time to talk more on the jet. Everyone, grab your things, meet outside in five.” He’s already pulling out a cell phone and striding away as the team scatters, and Sam feels sort of windswept in his wake; the guy’s intense.

Sam and Spencer are alone in the hallway. Sam’s stomach twists. This is familiar. This is another person he’s let down, and the bitter voice in the back of his head whispering you fucked up again is familiar too.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry.”

Spencer looks up at him with a quizzical frown, head tilted. “I was going to apologize to you.”

Sam blinks. “Why?”

Spencer presses his lips together in a funny little grimace. Sam had forgotten that face, the weird things he does with his mouth when he’s not sure what to say.

“For not trusting you.” His voice is scratchy and uneven and honest, now that there isn’t any anger keeping it strong and sure. “I wanted to believe that you… that it couldn’t be you. When I saw the first video, that was my instinct. But my instincts haven’t been great, lately.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I think maybe I don’t trust myself right now?” Spencer barrels on. “But there’s video, and... I trust Hotch. If Hotch believes you... yeah. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s not used to being forgiven so easily. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak.

“You gave me a chance,” he says. “Most people wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. And there’s still… I still haven’t told you everything, why would you -”

“There are a lot of things going on that I don’t understand, and I want answers, don’t get me wrong.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment. “But… knowing that you’re not a murderer goes a long way. The details can wait.”

“When I start sharing details is when most people start running in the opposite direction,” Sam admits.

“I think that’s sort of a universal human experience,” Spencer offers. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, now. “Or at least, the fear is. Nobody likes telling the full truth. It’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.”

Sam huffs out a laugh and swipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Got me there.”

“I’ll trust that you’re not lying if you trust that I won’t run,” Spencer says, and he’s not smiling now. He’s dead serious, determined, maybe a little scared.

“Okay,” Sam says hoarsely. “Deal.”

There’s an awkward moment where they both just look at each other, but then Spencer jerks his head in the direction of the front doors. “C’mon, we should go.”

Sam nods and lets him lead the way. “Should we - do you know where my phone is? I need to call my brother.”

“Garcia will have it.”

They walk out into the bullpen, where the team is bustling around, collecting their things, and Sam’s reminded again of how much they’re risking on his word. It’s overwhelming. His throat feels too tight.

“So, that handcuff thing,” says Rossi, tossing his bag over his shoulder and falling into step next to Sam.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I can teach you. It’s just a bobby pin.”

“Might help next time I get kidnapped,” Spencer says, with alarming nonchalance.

“Would’ve come in handy a few times during college,” Rossi comments.

“You mean as a party trick?” Spencer asks him.

“Yeah. Sure, kid. A party trick.”

“...oh.”

* * * * * * * * *

November 2010

“Spencer?”

“I… is that you?” Spencer asks, so shocked he feels dizzy. It’s been six months.

Spencer’s first thought had been, ‘Weird, that's the second “just in case” call in a month,’ when he got the voicemail. He’d almost laughed.

Spencer had called Sam from the hospital, though, after the anthrax thing, when the antidote worked and he woke up.

Sam never called. Spencer assumed he never woke up.

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“What happened?”

“I was… sick,” Sam stammers. “Really… really sick. I’m sorry.”

Spencer has to pause for a moment to digest that. His head is spinning.

“What -” he starts, but he cuts himself off. He has some idea of what kind of sickness might cause someone to go away for six months, and it’s not physical. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He sounds miserable.

“No, don’t apologize,” Spencer protests. “You shouldn’t - it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought…”

“Yeah.”

All Spencer can say is, “I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Sam says quietly.

Spencer’s been wanting to talk to him for six months, but now he can’t think of anything to say. Eventually he just goes with the first thing that comes into his head: “You missed some really good episodes of Doctor Who.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Spencer closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He’s never been so happy to be wrong.

* * * * * * * * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Emily says flatly, as Spencer brandishes the Super Soaker in her direction. “Of all the stupid fucking ideas.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p and maybe kinda enjoying the way her eyes have gone all buggy. In a low voice, he adds, “Play along, remember?”

She casts a glance over to where Sam is busying himself with the rest of the water guns and a box of Borax. “As long as he doesn’t try to take my fucking Glock.”

“Nobody is taking your Glock, Emily,” Spencer says dryly. She shakes her head and goes over to join Morgan, Hotch, and JJ, who have already been outfitted and are standing at the other side of the parking lot. Garcia is sneakily taking a picture of them.

Admittedly, when Sam insisted that they make an emergency stop between the airstrip and the police precinct, Spencer wasn’t expecting Toys R Us, but he was also pretty gobsmacked when Sam started talking about monsters. He’d waited until they were in the jet to do so, which was probably a smart move. This isn’t the first time they’ve played along with a delusion in order to get answers, but it’s definitely the strangest.

Funniest, also. Spencer hopes Garcia got a lot of pictures.

Sam will definitely be headed to an institution, when all of this is over, and Spencer’s having trouble processing that, but… well, it’s not like Spencer’s unfamiliar with that sort of facility. Spencer’s just glad Sam’s not a murderer, and he’s ready to get Dean, arrest whoever’s framing them, and get some answers. He can deal with the rest later; there’s only so much he can handle right now.

It’s been a weird day.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sam announces, passing the last Super Soaker to Spencer. “Bobby didn’t know where they’re keeping Dean, but I’m guessing the cells. I’ll lead the way. Don’t trust anyone, we have to assume the local cops are Leviathans, at this point. Stick together, don’t let them touch you. Clear?”

“And I’ll be right here with the emergency radio,” Garcia chimes in cheerily. “Thank God.”

Sam tucks his own water gun into the back of his jeans, hefting the fire axe he’d somehow stolen from the cockpit of the jet without anyone noticing. “Let’s go,” he says authoritatively.

“We’re right behind you,” JJ says, in her warmest, most soothing “placate the crazy man” voice.

Sam leads them around the corner and through the front door of the station, easing the door open without a sound, and they follow, entering the oddly quiet precinct quickly and efficiently.

Spencer can see his teammates starting to draw their real weapons; luckily, Sam’s too focused on what’s in front of him to notice what everyone is doing behind him. Spencer hooks a finger on the Super Soaker and lets it dangle from his left hand, drawing his gun with his right, and most of the team is doing the same, for the sake of appearances. Emily and Morgan just set their water guns on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam calls out.

“Sammy!”

Dean walks jauntily out into the bullpen like it’s a very normal thing to find a team of federal agents aiming their guns at him, but he does a double take, disconcerted, frowning for a moment at all the neon plastic toys on display. Then he recovers and turns a wide grin on Sam, who’s hanging back, wary.

“You brought backup,” Dean says, laughing. “Good, I’m hungry. I’m very glad you made it.”

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says, low and certain.

“No, I am not,” the man says, almost gleeful. “Close enough, though! I have all his memories, and I wanted to chat for a moment, before I eat you. I like my meat a little bitter.”

“What the almighty shitfire,” Emily breathes, but neither Sam or Dean pay any attention to her. Spencer has a hysterical urge to laugh, but he swallows it, heart pounding, not daring to look away from the insanity that’s unfolding in front of them.

“Dean thinks you’re nuts, you know.” The man’s eyes flick behind Sam, taking in the team fanned out behind him. “So do your new friends.”

Sam reaches behind his back to grab the handle of his water gun, but he holds it out of sight, still. Spencer keeps his finger firmly on the trigger of his real gun.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snaps.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to the point.” He’s wearing a smug, nasty smile, and this isn’t going the way Spencer expected at all. “Dean killed Amy.”

Sam seems frozen, completely paralyzed.

“There it is,” the man who isn’t Dean says, laughing. “Now I can eat you.”

Sam draws his water gun so quickly it’s just a blur of neon orange, and then the man (thing, Spencer corrects himself frantically) is smoking. He’s smoking and sizzling wherever the water touches, and he’s screaming, looking just as stunned as Spencer feels in the split-second before Sam swings the fire axe and chops off his head with one powerful blow.

There’s a moment where everything seems to slow down, like Spencer’s moving underwater, as he takes in the black goo pouring from the stump where the creature’s head used to be.

“What in the almighty motherfucking shitfire,” Emily says again, into the momentary silence.

“More incoming,” Sam snaps. “Heads up.”

Then everything speeds up, too fast for Spencer to process, and it all blurs together: he’s holstering his gun, spraying water at something that’s wearing Sam’s face, as someone screams. Glass shatters, somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer sees Morgan pulling the station’s fire axe out of its case, whirling around without hesitation in a spray of black goo, and he keeps getting caught in the water pistol jets but it’s better than all those goddamn teeth, what the hell, in the massive mouth that just appeared, so he shoots, what, how, and then -

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began.

It’s over.

Spencer’s heart is racing. He’s surrounded by puddles of water and puddles of oozing black, Morgan’s clutching an axe like it’s a life raft, and everyone is okay. Spencer looks around frantically, double-checking, but everyone is okay; they’re still standing, at least, although JJ, greenish-pale, looks like she’s seconds away from keeling over in shock.

“Back here, Sammy!” comes a muffled voice from the back of the station. Sam casually wipes the blade of his axe on the side of his pants, expression unreadable. Spencer watches him clench his jaw and take a deep breath.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rossi mumbles.

Sam’s face is blank as he looks around, taking in the mess and the team.

“I told you so,” he says mildly. Then he steps over the headless remains of a monster and goes to get his brother.

* * * * * * * * *

November 2009

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after the second nightmare. He goes outside instead, sits on the curb in the parking lot, looks up. The stars are barely visible with the Vegas light pollution, but it still helps to be outside. He can breathe a little easier.

There’s this tightly-knotted mess of rage in his chest, sitting on his ribcage like a tumor, poisoning him slowly.

It’s almost four in the morning, and he has no idea where Sam might be, or what time it is there. He takes out his phone anyway and fires off a text.

You awake?

The phone rings less than a minute later.

“What’s up?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound like he was sleeping.

“I’m in Vegas,” Spencer says softly, and then realizes that doesn’t mean anything to Sam. “It’s where I grew up.”

“Win big on the slot machines?”

“I guess. I won two thousand dollars today, actually. I… I gave it to a prostitute,” Spencer admits. He adds hastily, “Not for sex.”

Sam laughs. “Right.”

There’s a moment of silence. Spencer could make small talk, now; he could pretend he called for no reason in particular. Sam wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t question it, either.

He takes a deep breath and spits the words out fast, before he can regret letting them loose. “Apparently my dad lived really close by my entire life, even after he left my mom and me. I didn’t know. He never told me.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“He was keeping tabs on me my whole life,” he says. His voice gives him away, breaking and rasping, and it hurts to keep forcing the words out. “He read all my articles, my dissertation, everything I ever had published. My friends seem to think I should be happy about that.”

“That’s bull,” Sam says firmly.

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Spencer whispers. He’s been holding that question in all day, and it’s been choking him.

His lower lip is wobbling. He’s glad Sam can’t see him. This is the sort of honesty that’s much easier from a distance; Sam might hang up right now, but at least Spencer won’t have to watch him walk away.

“Do you think they know?” Sam asks. “How badly they messed us up, I mean.”

“Do you think they care?” It comes out more bitter than he intended. Spencer makes a face and looks down at his feet in their mismatched socks. “I think that’s the important part. If he cared, I could probably forgive him, but… I don’t think he does. Not really.”

“Yeah.”

Spencer takes a breath. The anger is gone now. He doesn’t like how hollow he feels in its wake, but he does feel lighter. He feels better.

“Thanks for listening,” he says. “It helps.”

There’s a long pause, and Spencer thinks maybe he should hang up, now, try to rest even if he can’t sleep.

“Want to hear a joke?” Sam asks. “I tried to tell Dean, but... I don’t think he got it.”

“Sure.”

“How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“How many?”

“Two. One to change the light bulb and one to to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness.”

Spencer laughs, grinning up at the stars. “That’s good. I’m gonna steal that.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam sighs as he closes the door of the precinct behind himself. They’re not totally done with cleanup, but all Hotch’s wild-eyed muttering about paperwork is starting to make him anxious.

Also, every time he looks at Dean, he feels sick.

He sits down on the bench that’s out front, under a little awning. The sky is dark with clouds, and the air is thick, threatening rain, so humid it seems hard to breathe… but maybe that’s the shock setting in.

He barely gets a minute of peace before Dean comes out to find him.

“Hey,” Dean says cheerfully. “Ready to go? I’m starving, and I don’t want to be here when that bunch starts asking questions. Pretty cool, though, having an in with the FBI. Definitely makes life easier, bein’ dead again.”

He’s standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, grinning like it’s just another day. Sam’s chest hurts.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, frowning.

“You killed Amy,” Sam says, and he watches Dean’s face as he realizes, the way he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Listen, Sam...” he says.

“No, you know what, don’t,” Sam spits. He knows the drill. Dean thought he was doing the right thing, he made a choice, he had to take responsibility if Sam couldn’t. Sam looks at his feet and says, “I don’t think I can be around you right now.”

“So… what, you -”

“You should go,” Sam says. He looks up and searches Dean’s face for some sign of guilt, remorse, empathy, but Dean just looks resigned. Sam wishes he would just start screaming, or throw a punch so Sam could hit him back. It’s not fair that Sam’s the only one in pain right now.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean says, and he turns to go. Sam watches him walk away.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the bench, watching people pass. The sky is getting darker by the minute.

Spencer doesn’t announce his presence when he comes outside, just sits on the bench next to Sam and waits quietly.

“He killed my friend,” Sam mumbles, without looking at him. “She was a monster, but she didn’t… she didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Let me guess, he thought he was doing the right thing?” Spencer says wryly.

The lack of pity in his voice makes it easier for Sam to keep talking, and sarcasm feels better than grief. “Shocking, right?” he says. There’s a low rumble of thunder overhead, and they both look up at the sky. “I didn’t have many friends, but… I liked her.” The grief seems to be creeping in whether he wants it or not.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s throat feels tight. “He’s my brother, I just… I’ve fucked up in the past, I know I have. But I always feel like I have to earn his forgiveness. It feels like I’m always asking him to give me another chance, to trust me again, and… and he still doesn’t really look at me the same way. Then he pulls something like this, and I know, one way or the other, he just doesn’t trust me. He thinks it’s okay to lie to me, because I don’t deserve the truth.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just makes an unhappy, understanding sort of sound. The first fat raindrops start to fall on the concrete in front of them, and they’re both quiet for a moment.

Sam smiles in spite of himself, remembering. “She changed her name, since I met her. Her name was always Amy, but she changed her last name to Pond.”

“Cool,” Spencer says.

“Yeah. I mean, no, she wasn’t cool, neither of us were, but… yeah.”

Sam can breathe a little easier, now.

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asks.

Sam looks sideways at him and sees the way his mouth is twitching. “Don’t.”

“Nothing you can do, is what I seem to remember you saying,” Spencer says innocently. “Give it time. Right? Does that make you feel any better?”

Sam laughs, burying his face in his hands. “That was fucking useless advice. Fuck, don’t ever listen to me.” He wipes his eyes. “This just sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Spencer agrees. It’s pouring steadily now, rain streaming off the sides of their little awning. “Apparently Hotch thinks I should run away from my problems for a little while, give myself time to process, so I’ve been ordered to take a couple days off.”

“JJ, still?”

“Yeah. I think maybe he’s right. But… I was going to rent a car and drive back to DC, instead of taking the jet. Make a couple detours. Get some space. Give it time. You could come, if you want.”

Sam turns to him, surprised, but Spencer looks sincere; he’s giving Sam one of his trademark anxious not-quite-smiles.

“I was just going to hotwire a car,” Sam blurts out, and then winces. “That might be a better idea.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I guess you probably have some questions,” Sam says reluctantly.

Spencer grins. “Harder for me to run away if we’re in a moving vehicle, right?”

Sam laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Yeah, guess so.”

“After today, I’m not actually sure I want to know all the details,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “But I do have some questions.”

“Anything you want to know,” Sam promises. “The truth. I promise. I should’ve… I should’ve told you sooner.”

Spencer shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure you were right, I would’ve run away screaming.”

Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, and they sit there in silence for a moment, watching the rain start to slow. The clouds are already starting to blow over.

“Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.”

― Mark Twain

You can now read about the road trip right here!

#criminal minds fic #spn fic #supernatural x criminal minds #sam winchester #spencer reid #spn #cm #crossover

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