#filler chapter? yeah

[vaya-writes]

Infernal Assistance (Option Four) - 2

You’ve been struggling to survive in a zombie apocalypse. Things are looking really bad before a demon swoops in to help. But that demon is an incubus. And he’s in need of help too.

-

Reader (GNC pronouns, AFAB, asexual spectrum) x incubus (cis male). Situationship. Allies to lovers. Zombie apocalypse AU. Banner by saradika-graphics. Wordcount: 2300.

Content Warnings: apocalypse setting, discussion and mild depiction of malnourishment, light discussion of sex, off screen implied violence and gore.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You might have felt self conscious inviting a strange demon into your cramped little apartment, if you weren’t so hungry. 

Gesturing him in behind you, you don’t even spare him a glance as you make a beeline to your pantry. There’s an open packet of crackers inside, a tupperware container of oats, and four small tins of assorted vegetables left.  

You don’t touch the crackers. Even stale, they can be eaten. You decide on a tin of beans today. If the fridge still worked you could ration out perhaps six meals from the tin (a bite and a half, three times a day, for two days). But you don’t want to get food poisoning on top of everything. So you’d consume the whole tin over the course of twenty four hours. Today’s lunch and dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast. Three full bites per meal. Approximately.  

Your hands shake as you remove the pull-lid from the tin. You’re careful not to spill a drop of bean juice, bringing the rim to your lips and drinking. Your stomach clenches at the flavour and you take your time eating. You don’t know how long somebody has to forgo eating before reintroduction of foods becomes difficult. 

You make sure to chew each bean, even as you grimace at the flavour; they’re not something you enjoy eating by themselves. And when a third of the food is gone, you pull out your makeshift foil lid and fasten it over the tin. You put the food back in the pantry. 

“Food’s scarce for you too, huh?” Your guest speaks. 

You don’t reply for a minute. Your hands are still shaking. You’d like to go and lie down. To sleep off the rest of this awful day. But there’s still an important conversation to be had. So you take a deep breath and turn to face the demon. 

“Are you going to stay?” 

The demon stills for a moment. Perhaps surprised by your bluntness. Before relaxing. Gesturing to the couch.  

You sit, your knees drawn up to create a barrier between you and the demon when he perches on the other end of the couch. He’s massive, and takes up most of the available space. 

“You’ll let me feed on you?” 

You’ve already come to terms with that. If the incubus stays, you’ll have to keep him fed. But there’s no point in keeping him around just to watch you starve. He’ll need to earn his keep. And today, you negotiate how. 

“If you help me in turn.” 

He seems to sense your seriousness, and pivots to properly face you. “What do you need?” 

“For starters? Protection. From zombies. Thieves. Any other external threats.” 

He nods. “Simple enough. What else?” 

“I’ll need supplies. Food. Water. Potentially medicine. I’m willing to scavenge, but not alone.” 

Something in his face twitches. An expression masked. But he nods again. “I can play bodyguard. That all?” 

You consider your plan for the future. What you would have done, ideally, if you were braver. If there were less zombies in your building. If you were desperate. Or reckless.  

“Last request. I want you to head to ground floor and pick up the keys to the other apartments. A master key if you can find one. And then I want help clearing the zombies from them.” 

The demon crosses his arms. There’s that twitch in his face again, before he bites his lip. “This is a big building.” 

“And I’d like to clear it. One floor at a time. It’ll be the safest way to scavenge too.” 

“The husks might come back upstairs when we rest.” 

“We’ll build barricades.” 

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve thought this through.” 

“I’ve had little else to do.” 

There’s silence for a moment. You think he’s considering. But you keep talking. “Originally, I would have had to do this to open apartments only. But if they’re open, it’s probably for a bad reason. I doubt they’d be safe. If you get those keys for me, I can be more thorough, we won’t have to travel as far, I could create safe rooms on multiple floors... There’s a lot of advantages to bringing the whole building under our control.” 

He tilts his head. “You were planning to do this all along?” 

“No. Maybe. There was an even spread before. A zombie or two on each floor. It seemed more doable.” 

“Before you went and caused a horde.” 

You scowl. “I did no such thing. Somebody else entered the stairwell that day. Started screaming their head off.” 

He stares. It makes you a little uncomfortable the way he examines you, seemingly mulling over your request. Before finally, he shrugs. 

“I’ll help. But I won’t be of any use if I’m weak. We should discuss payment.” 

You can appreciate his bluntness. Even if the topic makes you uncomfortable.  

“I assume you mean sex.” 

“Or sexual acts, yes.” 

It’s hard to meet his gaze. You stare at his coat instead. “How often do you need to..?” 

His hesitation is slight, but you do notice it. 

“Once every day.” 

You try not to frown. Glance at his face. “I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but is that safe?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll be taking my energy, right? I’m already malnourished. Is it medically safe for you to feed on me that often?” 

His hesitation is more prominent this time. He lets out a sigh. “You’re right, it’s not ideal.” 

You don’t know how to reply to that. Just wait for him to continue. 

“I’ll be careful not to take much. We can play it by ear. Skip a day every now and then, if you need one.” 

You nod. Things are making sense, but you still have questions. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

“What would you like to do,” his reply is almost instantaneous, a hint of suggestiveness slipping into his tone. 

You try not to wince, but he spots your reaction.  

“What?” 

You shake your head. You don’t want to discuss your sexual preferences with a stranger right now. “Can we get into that later? I just want to know what’s expected. Or needed. I don’t mean to... insult you, I guess, but what is the minimum?” 

He stares for another moment. An indecipherable expression on his face while he, you assume, tries to read you.  

He tilts his head and shrugs, that suggestiveness gone. “I feed on your pleasure. If I were healthy and well fed, the absolute minimum would be sitting in the room next to you while you wank. But to start with, I’m going to need a lot more than that. You’re not the only one who’s malnourished.” 

“Do I need to get off?” 

Another long stare. It’s an effort to not feel judged, but he’s entirely professional when he replies.  

“Is that something you struggle with?” 

You really don’t want to have this conversation with a stranger. But if you’re going to be living with him, relying on him... you should probably be honest. Secrets and dishonesty don’t make for a firm foundation in a relationship.  

Not to mention, he’ll probably notice when you struggle. There’s no point in hiding it. 

But you can’t meet his eyes when you nod. 

He sighs. 

At the noise you can’t help but stiffen. Your jaw locks and you stare intently at a spot on the ground. 

This is usually a point of contention in any sexual relationship you have. That and your inconsistent sex drive. You wouldn’t be surprised if the demon were exasperated. Angry.  If his next words invalidate you, or if he’s going to act like being an incubus will magically fix your sexual woes.  

“What’s your name, pet?” 

You’re taken aback at the gentleness to his tone. It takes a moment before you can find your voice and tell him. 

“Charmed. You can call me Veron.” He offers his hand to shake, brevity lifting the tension for a moment when you take it. 

But his smile soon disappears as he sits back and looks serious. Addresses you by your name, before, “I’ll take what you can give me. An orgasm is like a solid meal, but as you know, it’s possible to survive on scraps. It will just take longer to get me up to full strength.” 

You swallow. Nod again.  

“There anything else you think I should know?” 

You shrug. You’re feeling pretty done with this conversation. Eye contact is getting harder. Conjuring up full sentences feels monumental. “Maybe. Probably. Nothing that’s a deal breaker, I don’t think.” 

He offers another smile, uses a casual tone. “You don’t prefer women?” 

“Uh-” 

“No particular revulsion towards demons or monsters?” 

You shake your head. “No strong preference. To either point.” 

He smiles a little more cheerfully. “Great! We can go over limits and boundaries and wants later if you like. But for now, would you say we have a deal?” 

You take a breath. “Yeah.” 

His smile stretches wider, and he places his hand over his chest. “I’ll keep you safe, scavenge with you, and help you clear this building. In return, you’ll feed me once each day, unless it becomes medically unsafe for you to do so. Yes?” 

You shake his outstretched hand once more. “Yes." 

“Then it’s a deal.” 

- 

You give Veron a brief tour of the apartment. The bathroom. The open plan living area/kitchen/lounge.  You show him the reservoir in the bathtub and teach him your water usage rules. The water stopped running when the power was cut. Since then, you've had to dole out your reservoir using a measuring cup whenever you need to do hand washing, or your occasional sponge bath.  

You don’t know how the zombie virus is transmitted, so you’ve been hesitant to drink any of the tap water. Instead, you rely on your store-bought reserves. You’d been down to a single bottle when you’d set up catchment on the roof.  

Veron surprises and absolutely thrills you with his display of prestidigitation. A snap of his fingers and the blood and viscera coating him disappears. Another snap and your layers of sweat and dust and grime vanish into the ether.  

Knowing that he’s capable of basic magic and needs only energy to fuel it is a weight off your mind. If anything, it’s more motivation to keep the demon fed. 

You offer him the couch as a bed. You don’t actually know if demons need to sleep. Some do – dreamers for instance. But aside from the sex stuff, you’ve no clue about the physiology of concubi.  

Lastly you take down the evacuation poster. Show him the map of the building. There are some amenities on the first floor, along with a maintenance room. The remaining six are dedicated to housing. One stairwell snakes up the side of the building, an elevator shaft sits at the other end, and hanging down the outside is a rickety and broken fire escape. 

You don’t know if the spare keys are kept on site, but if you’re lucky there might be copies somewhere. Checking the pockets of the local dead might be another option to find some. 

Veron process this information, and with a glance towards the window stands.  

“Okay. Today I’ll search the first floor. And make sure none of the husks in the stairwell will get back up.” 

You don’t want to dwell on what he means by that. You hadn’t realised that there were surviving zombies on the stairs. But you walk him to the door and wish him luck regardless. And then you’re left alone. 

- 

The sun has dipped well beyond the horizon when Veron returns. It’s dark and you have to light a candle before you open the door. He’s covered in sweat and blood, looking quite disgruntled; face set in a scowl.  

“You alright?” 

“Fine,” he grumbles, snapping away any blood splatter before stepping into your apartment. 

His posture is tense, and his jaw is set. It's obvious he’s in a bad mood. 

“Did something happen?” 

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a handful of keys, dropping them onto the counter with a sneered irreverence. “These were a pain to collect.” 

“Oh?” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask. I’ll just get mad.” 

You’re not one hundred percent, but you’re pretty sure he’s not directly mad at you. It’s a relief, and you’re able to crack a smile. “Got it. Thanks for this.” 

He waves the comment off, before rolling his shoulders. Gradually losing some of his stiffness. “What now?” 

You hold up your candle. “I’d like to save these for emergencies. And it’s too dark for me to see. So, I’m going to turn in for the night. I’ve made the couch up for you. I don’t know if you sleep or whatever but...” you trail off.  

He glances at the couch, at the blanket and cushions you’ve set out, and nods. “Sure. I’ll just... be here then. Until tomorrow.” 

You conjure up a polite smile. “Until tomorrow.”  

You put the candle out before heading to your room. Briefly wonder if you should lock your door before doing so. Sure, he could probably break it down if really wanted. But it puts your mind at ease.  

You let out a groan as you sink into your bed. Your back fucking hurts. It’s so good to be on a mattress, using a pillow. Enough so that even with all the trepidation, all the anxiety circling your thoughts, you’re soon out like a light. 

-

Next (to come)

[enhas-bestie]

Idol Crush! [37]

► THIRTY SEVEN: please say sike ("I've been TELLING all of you that Jungwon is a solo stan!! ")

prev ⇥ THIRTY SEVEN⇥ next

Idol Crush!💞 masterlist

SYNOPSIS: Y/N knew that once she and her group, IKONIC, finally debuted, there'd be a chance that she'd run into YANG JUNGWON: The leader of the global rookie group ENHYPEN. But JUNGWON isn't just the leader of a famous 4th gen boy group... he's also the boy that she confessed to three years ago and got rejected by. The last thing Y/N needs to do is fall back in like with him, because even something as simple as an idol crush! could bring about some unwanted drama and Dispatch worthy headlines.

[TAGLIST #1]: @acciomylove @mitsukifilms @ncityy04 @ja4hyvn @navsnct @hwalllllllelujah @shit-idek-meself-at-this-point @lullabyinparis @masterofdoom @enhacolor @mochisnlix @hiqhkey @vlykai @pshwyfie @hyuka-luvbot @yvesismywife @one16core @en-boyz @moon-lys  @liliansun ​ @jungwoniie @spicynlong @ramenais @bigtoewinwin @catbitchh111 @c9tnoos @missmadwoman @haoreo @doodlewon @enhaswab @alyselenai @moasworld @yyunari @chirokookie @yjwfav @kyutekyuala @giyyuzz @andromedawillburryyou @tlnyjoong @sarahxy537 @darlinluvsu @fairycheol @love-4-keum @ohmy-fandoms @yyunari @centheodd @mavlogist @jungwonnieee @emoworu

[CAN'T TAG #1]: @shit-idek-meself-at-this-point @vlykai @pshwyfie @jungwoniie @spicynlong @itboyjungwon @enhaswab @kyutekyuala @darlinluvsu

[choices-binglebonkus]

Nearly every chapter of Blades 2:

[smartass-hoot]

published stories have such a no-nonsense and cutthroat kind of pacing like,,, where are the grocery runs? the casual moments of gay panic? the slowburn that edges the living fuck outta you? the sideplots that are borderline crack but written so well? LIKE FUCK THE PLOT, GIVE ME CHARACTERS

[hesthermay]

things that have happened since i posted chapter 2 of the great fight:

work drama rama!!!

got subpoenaed to testify against my dad :)

had one trial prep, have a second one scheduled

working my ass off to cover my bills and feed myself

got new shoes! converse are falling apart </3

got mad at my dad bc he insinuated i’m not taking care of our old man family dog (who lives it up at my house) good enough even tho he’s IN JAIL??

added a 3rd roommate (temporarily)

completed chapter 3 entirely!!!

STARTED ON chapter 4 already!!

chap 3 sneak peak:

[vamptastic]

i think when i read the picture of dorian grey i got way too into trying to understand and form a defensible argument for the philosophy in it because i was very much in my debate team reads the stanford encyclopedia of psychology for fun phase. i mean obviously hedonism is an interesting ideology and the book does talk about it a lot, but i think the prime appeal of the book and why it's a classic is not the philosophy whatsoever it's definitely the drama and the art discussion, and i was so caught up on keeping notes on hedonism that i kind of neglected to pay attention to the characters in the literal and not subtextual sense until the tail end of the novel.

[technicalthinker]

Being excited about TYBW because we get to see Ishida and Chad again, but absolutely bummed out realising that despite their interactions showing so much potential, they barely have any scenes with each other

[aenhanse]

people weren't lying those crossroads of twilight can really slog

[amtrak12]

My spouse read chapter 12 of my Lucifer fic and he called it my best chapter yet :') Definitely did not expect that for this one, but I am Pleased.

[thatonebjp]

So apparently past me had some very weird priorities when it came to planning out and writing notes for my stories, because there's one set of chapters where all I've written down is this:

Does he win the contest? What are the other characters doing? Does this have any impact on the plot whatsoever? Who cares, somebody drinking Dragon Piss is clearly the only thing that matters.

[sc-intothedarknightofthesoul]

Sleep on my rough draft, why dontcha?

[uncaught-coolfish]

ok I’ve got. the basics down for chapter 4. aka now im gonna rewrite a shit ton

[rosesradio]

thinking about updating ceaseless eve tonight...

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE + SMAU ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( seventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , masturbation , angst , profanity , descriptions of violence , toji being a pathetic little sicko :D

୨୧˚ an; sorry this part is on the shorter side😅😅 it’s more of a filler chapter but i still like it!

It’s well past midnight when Toji slips his way back into his motel room. It’s dingy and drab, the once-white walls twinged a sickly yellowish tint from chain smoking guests. Ugly bedspread details different flowers that Toji couldn’t name, the same aged pattern clinging to the drapes that were pulled shut over the front window, never to be opened. It smells of heady sweat and open wounds, though maybe that’s just him. No, it definitely is him. He’s hyper aware of the grimy layer of filth that acts as a second layer of skin. It’s gritty and uncomfortable.

The bathroom cubicle is claustrophobic; if Toji were to stand in the center of the room, he could easily touch all four walls that boxed him in. He sits on the closed toilet seat lid, staring at his hands. They’re huge, intimidating. Trembling, spattered in blood that’s long since crusted into a dark concretion, cracking at the hinges of his fingers. His hands that took the lives of two innocent men just hours prior. Toji didn’t want to kill them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Oh, how they shrieked and hollered for their lives as he dragged them into that alley. They just kept fucking screaming. 

“Fuck…” The man sighs grimly, letting his head dip forward to rest in the cups of his filthy palms. His bangs feel matted and crunchy with remnants of sweat. Disgusting self-pity blooms at the base of his hollow chest, and suddenly Toji has the urge to ram his skull into the drywall. Or dislocate his finger. Or do anything to punish himself for that feeling of defeatism. The nerve to possess such a shameful victim mentality, as if he deserved sympathy. He’s a killer; the best he deserves is a fucking electric chair.

Toji showers. A long, scalding shower that singes him to the bone. Water stained red cascades down the rippling wall of muscles that was his body and swirls down the rusty drain. These post-slaughter showers used to be blank canvases of his life. Ones where Toji’s brain would shut off and try to forget the atrocities committed by his hand. He would scrub his flesh raw, scrub scrub scrub mindlessly until he ached all over. But now, he only thinks of one thing.

You.

Maybe it’s some sick coping mechanism, turning to thoughts of you in times like these. In a pathetic form of self comfort, he reminisces. Your hands holding his face, your know-it-all smile, your way with words. God, your fucking way with words. 

“My sweet boy,” Toji whispers under his breath, touching himself. As if he could replicate the delicate way in which you spoke to him. His eyes shut, desperately clinging onto the mental image of you beneath him in his bed. Your arms outstretched, reaching for him like you want him. Like you love him. “My sweet…” Toji tries to fade into the warmth of the spray, imagining it to be your body heat encapsulating him instead. But the water is far too hot, it hurts; you wouldn’t hurt him like this. He tries so damn hard to disassociate into the pleasure, as if his hand would magically dissolve into yours. Yeah, right. His hand is too big to ever compete with yours. Too fucking rough and gritty and mean.

The flat of his palm finds the greasy tiles of the shower wall. Toji fucks himself with all the roughness he deserves, lower lip staked between two rows of teeth to cease its quivering. He’s going to cum. Your face appears in his psyche once more, but this time, it’s from the first time you visited him in the hospital all those months ago. He can see the picture so vividly, it scares him: you seated at his bedside, poking and prodding over his obliques, muttering a stream of concerned questions. But you were never upset or angry. No, despite the worries, you were still smiling. At him. 

Fuck, he’s really going to cum.

Toji grits his teeth, climaxing with a harsh shudder and a broken gasp of your name on his lips. Small jolts force him into a twitchy state, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against the tiles beside his hand. Semen paints the wall below, too far to the left for the shower spray to rinse it off. He doesn’t bother to clean it off. He’s too repulsed by himself to do much of anything. 

The plasticky sheets stick to his skin. Sleeping in just a pair of boxers was probably a stupid idea, bed mites were a real cause for concern, or so Shiu had told him. But it’s hot. He’s hot. And restless. And uncomfortable. He always had trouble falling asleep in foreign beds. Lidded eyes peek over to the alarm clock perched on the side table, its cherry digits splaying 2:47am. You were asleep. 

He reaches for his phone anyway, wracked with guilt all the while. The tension in his thighs still persisted, still succumbed to the aftershocks of his orgasm he fucked himself to with your face in his mind. He’s fucking gross. This is gross.

She’s sleeping, jackass. Don’t wake her up because you’re lonely.

Be a fucking man and lick your own wounds. That’s what his father would say.

He texts you anyway.

He presses the call button. It only gets through half a ring before the line cuts on and he hears a groggy “hey” filter through the receiver. How long has it been since he’s heard your voice? Not that long, only three days and yet it feels like it's been three lifetimes. And that’s truly the moment when Toji knows you’ve fucked him for life, because when did he start thinking such sappy shit like that?

“Hi,” he answers, melting back into the stiff mattress. His gaze wanders along the waterlogged ceiling, tracing the abstract damp stains that have settled in its popcorn surface. He thinks offhandedly that one of them vaguely resembles a rabbit. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You already apologized, silly. I told you it’s okay.” There’s a pause. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

It’s nice to hear yours, too. “Go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, okay.” The sound of sheets stirring crackles, Toji assumes you’re tossing in bed. “You’re sleeping now, too, right?”

He paws at his stomach, the pads of his rough fingertips tracing the gutters of his abdominal plates before he sinks his blunt nails into his own flesh. “In a bit.”

“Soon. It’s late, Toji.” You order him to bed like a mother would her child.

He nods as if you could see the gesture. “Soon, then.”

You bid him a good night, turning once more into bed before settling back into the depths of the slumber Toji had interrupted. He clasps his cell between his ear and shoulder, basking in your gentle breaths. It’s the same sounds you made the night you fucked him. He slept upon your chest, head over your heart, listening to its beats. You drooled on his pillow, he gave a quiet scoff at the memory. Are you drooling now?

Toji never sleeps.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS part 5 - LN

content warnings: FULL SMUT, cute sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected - MDNI !!

this is lowkey a filler chapter, so you can skip it and read part 6 if you dont want to read smut :) - i have kept the same taglist so if you have been tagged but dont wish to read this part please do skip <3

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

“morning,” lando’s rough morning voice travelled through the hotel room as he saw y/n’s eyes open below him. during the night, y/n found herself wrapped around him, her leg slung over his whilst her head rested on his chest, her arm stretching over him, pulling him in closer.

lando had been awake for a while. he’d decided that today, they would drive down to max’s and try and talk some sense into him. he’d woken up to a text from P, telling him to come to the house and talk to max in person - she was equally as fed up with his foul mood and angry outbursts.

“how d’you sleep?”

“shush,” she hushed him, “still sleeping.”

“i was thinking we should go see max and talk to him in person. today,” he said, earning a groan from the half-asleep woman who rolled off him to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling.

“and i was thinking i could just change my name, cut all contact with everyone i know and live the rest of my life in the woods.”

“i don’t think that will work,” he said, laughing softly at her remark.

“yeah? i dont think your plan will work either so at least were both coming up with stupid ideas today,” she said, as he rolled onto his side to face her.

“you always look pretty in the morning,” lando announced, ignoring her insult.

“you always lie in the morning,” she replied. once again, he ignored her insults, moving to press a quick kiss to her lips. well, he intended for it to be quick, but before he knew it, she was straining her neck up to join their lips together again.

“i could get used to this,” he said, grinning against her mouth.

“not if max has anything to say about it.”

“y/n,” he groaned, still hovering above her, “im trying to be romantic and you’re talking about your brother, fuck him.”

“and fuck you instead?” she quipped.

“well, if you say so,” he hummed, taking the opportunity to kiss her again and shift his bodyweight so he was hovering fully over her, using his arms to hold himself up. she deepens the kiss, tracing her tongue over his bottom lip while burying her fingers in his curls to pull his face closer. his head drops to her neck, pressing small kisses along her skin.

“if you don’t want max to rip your balls off, i recommend you not leave marks on my neck, lan,” she said breathlessly, his breathe tickling her skin as he laughs.

“i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget all about your stupid brother and the things he said about you,” he grunted in her ear, lowering his hips to roll over hers. and for the first time that week, she couldn’t think straight enough to respond with anything other than a quiet moan.

lando slides down the bed, pulling at the waist band of her shorts as he goes, but looking up at her. she nods at him, and he pulls her shorts down her legs, discarding them off the side of the bed. her fingers lace through his curls, her eyes focused on his head tilting to the side to press kisses to the inside of her thigh. he nips down on the skin, sucking slightly, leaving bruises in his wake. at least max wont see those, she thought to herself.

with no warning, his face dived into her folds, her hips arching up, pulling him in closer. he parts his lips, dragging his tongue up to circle her clit.

“taste so good,” he muttered, “wanted this for years.” another moan fell from her lips, spurring him on. one arm came to wrap around her waist, holding her hips down. the other arm reached up, pushing her top up, his hand kneading at her breast.

“fuck, lan, keep going.”

her view is something she wish she could take a picture of and tattoo on her arm. lando’s veiny arm pinning her hips down, his jaw muscles peaking out as his tongue moves in a steady rhythm, his curls falling over his forehead, as his eyes glance up to see her facial expressions. the arm on her breasts drops down to her heat, parting her folds and his fingers pushing gently into her. her hips struggle against his arm, desperate for more.

within a matter of seconds, two of his fingers are twisting into her, hitting that spot that has her almost purring for him repeatedly. before she knows it, she cums around his fingers with no warning, legs shaking, loud moans filling the room. lando crawls back up her body, grabbing her jaw with one hand, opening her mouth and pushing his fingers slowly into her mouth. her tongue moving to lick up the length of them, tasting herself on his calloused fingers. the moment he retracts his hand, her hand is pulling his head down to hers, kissing him hastily as his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

he used one arm to balance himself, the other moving down between them to tug at his own shorts. he grabbed himself, rubbing his hand up and down and few times before sliding his cock through her fold, eliciting small whimpers from her as he hit her sensitive spot.

“you sure you want this? there’s no going back after this, he mumbled in her ear.

“i never want anyone else for as long as i live.”

slowly, he entered her, pushing into her slowly. her face screwed up slightly from the stretch.

“you’re ok, you’re ok,” he reassured her, stroking the side of her cheek softly, waiting a moment before he retracted and pushed back in.

“you’re doing so well f’me.”

his began to build up his pace, the headboard moving with each thrust. y/n moaned out beneath him, grabbing his arm to stabilise herself. her noises encouraging him more, he grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his back, hitting new angles that brought out obscene noises from the two of them. y/n’s hands wrapped around the back of his head, pulling lightly at the hair at the top of his neck, his own hand moving down again to play with her clit. he could feel her walls tightening around him, pulling him closer and closer to his own finish.

“fuck, lan. don’t stop,” she cried out, her head rolling back on the pillow.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarked, his thrusts getting faster and faster with each pant.

“i’m gonna c-”

“i know baby, come for me, come with me,” he said, wrapping himself around her to bring them closer together as they both reached their orgasms.

he waited a few moments, before pulling out of her, flopping down on the bed beside her, both of their chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“stay there,” he said, kissing the top of her head before rolling out of the bed, and walking to the bathroom. he returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water, handing her the drink he then crawled back to clean her up.

when he did return to lay next to her, his arms instinctively moved to pull her in closer.

“so… when should we go and break the news to your brother?” he asked, grinning.

“id so nearly forgotten about him,” she groaned in annoyance.

“clearly, i need to try again,” he said, still smirking at her.

★ ☆ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✶

tag list: @harrysdimple05 @scopeiguess @hiireadstuff @landosgirlxoxo @natt9598 @phantomxoxo @val-writes @secretgal66 @ririyulife @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream @mehrmonga @eviethetheatrefreak @thatoneembarrasingmoment @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @formula1mount @lottef1 @rayna-s @5starl1ght @cthgee @thesiduation @urfavsgf @littlehoneyfreak

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 3: X marks the spot

genre: finally some fluff! still some angst, but some fluff too!

word count: 5804

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you need spencer back home. so spencer comes back home. simple as that.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: you folks are amazing! thank you so much for the support and I know this chapter is a bit duller (aka famous filler chapter) but y/n needs a break from pain and suffering all the time lol <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“She knows who I am.” 

That is the sentence that sets off Plan B. 

Spencer’s instructions are clear: call Penelope and go to the BAU. Office Kaper is to stay with you at all times until you enter the FBI and even then, he will personally deliver you to her caring hands, and for once, you don’t argue. In what has been a very dark past few days, you think that Penelope’s bright colours might do you well. “I have to close the shop,” You tell him on the phone, already changing from your sleeping shorts into some jeans, but keeping his hoodie. Right now, you’re not focused on appearances; you’re focused on getting the hell out of there. 

“That’s fine, but keep Officer Kaper with you. Was the envelope delivered to my place?”

“No,” You breathe out, backpack on and ready to go. Nodding to man that has become your loyal companion, the two of you walk out of the building like any civilian couple. It’s unsettling, watching a man that is not Spencer wear his clothes, but he had to blend in so you two didn’t stand out. 

“And he’s wearing my clothes?” 

You turn to look at Officer Kaper and you snort despite the situation. “As best as he can, though he is considerably shorter than you, Spence.”

“You’re calling me Spence,” He says, and even his voice sounds a bit more at ease. Somehow, in the midst of this craziness, you two find time to ease back into what once was and you manage a small smile despite the anxiety rushing through you. “I missed that.”

“I miss you,” Is what you say back, and you blame it on the adrenaline of being outside, so open and vulnerable to prying eyes. “I… I feel safer when you’re here.”

“I know,” You swear you hear something skin to a smile on his voice. “I’m on my way back.” 

“Yeah, in like three days,” Talking on the phone and closing your shop is no easy feat. You’re no genius and having to split your focus onto two different tasks is quite hard, but you manage. You don’t want to let him go yet, scared that one you can’t hear his voice, he’ll be as good as gone. 

“No, I’m on the jet right now, I should be landing in an hour.”

You shouldn’t feel this happy about having Spencer come back this soon and probably in the middle of an active case, but when a psychotic killer starts sending you handwritten letters, you feel entitled to being a little selfish, even if guilt and anxiety are mixed it like the perfect emotional cocktail. “You didn’t have to,” You say, biting your nails when you finally grab everything you need and lock the door behind you. “Spence, I– thank you.” 

“You need me home,” Is all he says before announcing he has to go.

The silence doesn’t make things easier. Now that you don’t have to split your mind in two to multitask, you can fixated on the fact that this is serious. This is quite serious– Cat Adams has just confirmed she knows you. She has also, however, confirmed she does not know where you are, and just like you told yourself before, you have to believe that there is something better than this out there. There is a moment in time, reserved and crafted by the sisters of fate, in which Cat Adams gets bored with you. You are no longer a struggling rat under the weight of her paws, and she is no longer entranced by how you try to wriggle out of maniacal grasp. In another moment, another sliver of an alternate reality, Cat never even finds out who you are. You like that reality a bit better, because then you also don’t know who she is, and the knowledge of her presence and her impact on Spencer’s life is as weightless as a feather. 

While the city passes by you, the taxi ride to the FBI not as quick as you’d like with the early morning traffic, you allow yourself one more scenario. One more reality. 

In this one, you live in an apartment with muted green walls. Your furniture is that fancy, dark shade of oak and you don’t have to keep your books on the store; instead, you have space to add them to your decoration. You have shelves and shelves of books lining your walls and you think you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than that place. The windows, large and usually covered by cream blinds, are open to allow some sunshine inside. In this reality, you’ve told Spencer all about the benefits of sunlight to your books– none of them true, of course, but he still pretends to believe you, and he still opens the windows before leaving for work. This time around, you dream big– in this alternate life, Spencer never even met Cat Adams. He never even applied to the FBI, in this odd, hallmark version of your story. It doesn’t really matter what he does, but all that matters is that you get to be with him. You get to wake up next to him, to talk to him, to call him… hell, you even get to kiss him! 

This reality, as utopian as it seems, it’s fragile, though. Unrealistic. Spencer loves his job, you know that now. A world where you keep him from it can’t truly be a perfect world, not when he’d be so, so unhappy without his team standing next to him. “Ma’am,” Officer Kaper calls. “We’re here.” 

“Oh!” Grabbing your backpack, you follow him inside, feeling a bit awkward at the way people started at your with puzzled looks on their faces. “Wait! Before you leave, this is for you! You mentioned your daughter likes stories and that she’s about five or so, so these should be fun!” Children’s book is one of your secret passions, and you’re happy to see him smiling as he looks through the titles. 

“You really didn’t have to, Miss Y/L/N.”

“I really wanted to, though,” You smile. You need some light in your life as you walk those beige hallways. “Let me know if she wants more– her dad is a hero, so we have a special deal at the store for you.” 

“I’ll tell little Jane that a very nice lady from work gave her new books then,” He says, nodding as Penelope rushes to your side. “Call me if you need anything else, Miss Y/L/N, I’m happy to help. If it makes you feel better, you’ve been dealing with this exceptionally well. It can’t be easy.”

The validation has you pursing your lips, trying to hold back the need to hug him. In no way, shape, or form are you two close– to be honest, this is the most you’ve spoken with Officer Kaper during the forty-eight hours you spent together; and yet, his opinion seems to mean something to you. Your hands hide behind your back and you exhale sharply, nodding at him, eyes glassing over with emotion. “Thank you,” You whisper, head whipping at the familiar sound of heels waddling down the hall. “I’ll uh, I’ll go… but thank you. For everything.” 

He just nods, leaving with a wave and a smile. 

“Either you joined the FBI since we last saw each other or this sweatshirt belongs to a certain genius man,” Penelope says, looking at you with the ghost of a smile. If you didn’t know any better, 

“What? Oh. Yeah, I borrowed it from Spence,” You mumble, hands nervously fidgeting with your backpack. There isn’t much of anything inside, and you think you got flustered when you had Spencer on the phone telling you to get ready to go. All you remember is packing your toothbrush, a couple of books, and some underwear. “Oh, sweet girl,” Penelope sighs, her arm light on your shoulders, guiding you through those horrid halls. You think you hate the FBI headquarters more than you hate Cat Adams, and that is saying something. “Everything will be okay. Boy genius is on it, and he’ll figure this out in no time.”

“Seven days is quite a lot of time,” It’s not fair, how your words make her frown, but you have no one else. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can control them because this is what you’ve been dying to do since you first left that goddamned office, seven fucking days ago. And that is your regret– not talking to Spencer when you had the chance, not letting him talk to you, not… not letting him be therefor you. “God, seven days is a lot– it’s a whole week! I don’t know what you believe in, but if you’re Catholic, God created the Earth in seven days and– well, six days and Sunday he rested, but honestly, semantics. And it’s a whole week, one-fourth of a month. Seven days, and– and–“

“I am not judging you, because I am the biggest yapper of this team,” Penelope cuts right in, hand up in the air between you two. “But you need to breathe. I know seven days is a lot. And I hate that you’re in a position that you feel like you need to count the days. But there are no better people to have on your corner than this team. I promise you, Y/N, and– look!” She shakes her phone in front of your face. “Lover boy just landed! He’ll be here soon, so for now, please sit down and drink some tea?”

The door in the end of many, many hallways later is her office. You don’t really understand the juxtaposition of Penelope Garcia, and that’s okay– you might not understand her, but at least, with her, it feels like what you see is what you get. She wears her authenticity on her sleeve and you actually feel at ease around her because of it. There is not an ounce of ambiguity, not a shred of secrecy coming from her. She looks at you– really looks at you– and in her eyes you know how she feels. Penelope, unlike the rest of the team, is not a trained profiler, and even though you are quite limited in your knowledge of what exactly a profiler like Morgan and JJ does, the internet provided you with enough general background that you know just how… proficient… they are in hiding their own selves from the world. Apparently it’s a part of the job, but at one point, you have to wonder just how intrinsic is the job and their overall selves, and if when Spencer comes back home, does he leaves the job behind or is he always on the clock?

“Here, it chamomile,” The mug is bright pink and purple, and despite the room being dark and cold, you see how she has made it her own. The figurines and stickers on the screens around you make you smile weakly, sipping on the tea while sitting down next to her. Her screens are locked, and you are thankful for that– it makes you feel like at least someone is trying to separate you and the world you never wanted to know existed. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug a little, finger running around the rim of the cup. “I… I’m scared. And this feels really stupid, you know? It’s not even about me, but I’m the one kicking a fuss about everything,” Shaking your head, you let out a big exhale, like you have been holding it in for the longest time. “All because of a silly crush, oh my god…” 

“Wait… Wha– What…?” 

“I know,” You laugh at yourself, that type of chuckle that is so dry and void that even you worry. Underneath it all, underneath all the anger and the confusion and the disbelief, you think you just feel… dumb. You feel stupid. Like you’ve played yourself, and poor Spencer doesn’t even know. “How stupid am I? Getting a serial killer on my back, all because I liked a boy? And it’s not even like he likes me back, so this is all just… so fucked up. I wish I could go visit her and tell her that I don’t have Spencer, not like how she thinks I do.” 

“You like Reid?” Her smile is so big that her voice comes out all weird and squeaky. “You actually have a crush on little boy genius?”

“I–“ The hesitation in your voice is obvious. “I did. Spence is just so kind. And gentle, and loving, and he has this huge heart, you know? He used to bring me coffee every day he visited, and he would tell me all these really cool facts about the most random things, and I swear, I loved listening to him talk.” Without even realising, you’re smiling, wide and true, for what it felt like the first time in forever. You bring your legs up on the chair, hugging your knees close just to feel that sense of security it brings you, grounding you in the moment. The memories of your time with him, your favourite customer, are precious to you; and much like old time treasure, you hide it in the depths of your mind, away and untouched by prying hands of people around you. 

Except, Cat Adams found your map. 

And X marks the spot. 

It’s just a matter of time until she finds the golden chest and picks at the lock. 

Slowly, your smile slips away. “But now… now things changed, you know?” You gulp, not having the capacity to face the pitiful look she gives you without crying. And you’re tired of crying. 

“You didn’t change. Reid didn’t change, he’s still the same kind and gentle and loving man…!” You’re almost swayed by the desperation behind her voice. Penelope is a great friend and you can’t believe you were once jealous of her, but even then, you grimace. It’s not like you don’t want to let yourself be guided by these feelings– you want to let the butterflies loose, you want to allow yourself the giddiness of being with him, you want to have this quintessential girlhood experience, but the threat looming over your head pushes you down and away. You’re scared and you have all the reason to be. 

“Haven’t I?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. “Anyways, at the risk of sounding like a middle schooler, it’s not like he likes me either.”

“Y/N, he– he’s different,” Penelope whispers, reaching for your hand. “He’s afraid of germs and rambles a lot and he’s been hurt before, but please, if you just give him a shot, I think you could be really good for him.” 

“How would you know?” You’re not trying to be rude, you even smile a little, but the question stood– how would she know? You two had very limited interactions. 

“Because he talks a lot about you, and… well,” She confesses, chuckling like she had just done something naughty. When she points at the screens though, you gasp. “I know more about you thank you think.”

That makes your blood run cold. “You– what– what did you find out?” 

“Not as much as I could’ve!” She quickly promises, turning to the screen and quickly pulling up a file. The first thing you see is your driver’s license, and you wince at the picture. “This is all I managed to get before Reid put a ban on me!”

“He put a ban on you looking me up?” 

“Yes, he said he didn’t want to cheat and that he wanted to wait for you to tell him whatever you wanted to tell him,” Her words come out so fast you barely understand them, but it still tugs at your heart. “He said you didn’t know who he was because you didn’t know he worked for the FBI, and I tried telling him that’s not all he is! I did, but Reid is a stubborn, stubborn genius and wouldn’t listen to me! But he is, Y/N, he is much more than this job and–“

“I know that,” You whisper, eyes running through the documents on the screen. Degrees, past addresses, old jobs, family… and past relationships. Your body tenses up at the small list of names, one in particular making you gulp, glancing quickly at Penelope. “This is all, right? You… you didn’t dig more, right?” 

“Yes, this is all! I promise! To be very honest, I could find anything I wanted, but as I mentioned, I’ve been banished and threatened with a long, long lecture on privacy laws.” 

Her words echo in your mind for a moment, eyes unmoving from the bright screens. “Anything?” 

Penelope looks at your with hesitation. “Anything that has been online, yeah. Why?”

Sitting back down, you take a deep breath and nod. “Show me Cat Adams.”

“Oh… Oh, Y/N, no, no no no, I can’t–“

“Yes, you can! You just said you can find anything and, honestly how hard would it be for me to pick up my phone and Google her? If the FBI made the arrest, I’m sure media has picked it up!” Before you can even reach for the device, Penelope is grabbing it, hiding it behind her. “Penelope, please! This woman wants to kill me, I deserve to know what she looks like!”

Your voice is hushed, the undertone of desperation seeping through every word. “What if she gets out?” 

“Y/N, she has a life sentence, she’ll never get out.”

“You don’t know that!” This is what scares Penelope, the way you screech in panic, hands flying to the neck of the hoodie and tugging it away from you like you need it to breathe. “You don’t know that and I need to know what she looks like! Please, Penelope, I’m begging you!”

The tension in the room is palpable, but you know you got through her when she sighed. “I’m doing this for your protection,” It’s more like she’s talking to herself, so all you do is nod quietly, getting up and walking to the back of her chair. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” You are holding your breath while you squeeze the back of her chair, trying to keep yourself upright for a moment that could easily throw off your balance. 

In all honesty, you are not sure what you’re expecting. The little you know about black widow killers comes from a fictional world of made up characters, a place where the fantastical magic of made up stories meets the trauma ridden lives of turbulent characters. In them, these killers are beautiful. In fact, their beauty is their weapon, right before their grace and intelligence. It’s almost sick, how you remember liking those stories so much you once called it ‘a form of female empowerment’, and just thinking about it has your stomach tied in a bunch of knots, each one pulling and tugging at you in a rhythm that is too chaotic to not have you hunched over, panting next to Penelope like the photo she pulls up on her computer has just punched you in the gut. 

Because despite all your silent prayers, Cat Adams, in her orange jumpsuit and messy prison hair, is gorgeous. It’s something about her eyes, so cold and distant, yet holding an invitation that even you might not be able to resist. Is this how she draws men in? Is this how she drew Spencer? “I–“

“Garcia, what are you doing?!” 

Both of your turn around at the same time, both of you shocked at the sight of Spencer, in all his sweater vest glory and red face anger, marching towards you both. “Take it down.” 

You have never heard him sound so cold. “Spence, I asked her to pull it up. I was curious.”

“She should’ve known better, she’s an FBI agent!” Now he is screaming, and you can’t help but feel overcome with a familiar type of shame. Part of you, a specific part you left back in New York, expects him to to keep screaming. It’s the part of you that unconsciously pushes the tea mug away. It’s the part of you that looks at the door and feels relieved to see it unlocked. It’s the part of you you’ve been hiding from him and everyone else you met since you’ve moved. 

It’s the part of you Spencer just noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, squinting his eyes at your so quickly it’s almost imperceptible. Almost. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed, I’m just–“

“On edge,” You whisper, nodding in agreement. “We all are, Spence. Don’t scream at her, please.”

“I know, I know, I’m really sorry,” This is more like him– shy eyes casted down between glances here and there. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on someone like her. She doesn’t deserve it.” 

No one says anything for a while. Until you notice it. 

“Spence,” You mumble, smiling a little in an attempt to ease the high emotions in the room. “You cut your hair.” It’s shorter now. His shaggy curls still peek out, but it looks more… grown, even if it enhances his boyish charm. 

“I did,” He mumbles, blushing a little. For a second, he looks at Penelope, like he’s asking her what to say and what to do. “It was getting too long.”

“It looks really good.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” God, you love when his voice gets low and airy like that. Garcia is looking between you two with a certain kind of spark in her eyes and it makes you shift on your feet. “Uh, shall we go home?” 

“You’re going back to your apartment?”

“Yeah, Officer Kaper said that the letter came with the batch of mail they got from Y/N’s apartment, so it’s safe to assume she has no knowledge of her current whereabouts,” Spencer picks up your backpack without even asking, smiling at you innocently. “I reviewed the security footage you sent of my apartment entrance and there is no suspicious activity happening during the days I was gone. And, well, you know, I’m here now. She’s safe.” 

No one will ever understand the amount of relief you feel in that exact moment. “Thank you for coming back.”

“You need me home,” Is all he says before guiding you away. When you turn to say bye to Penelope, she is smirking, giving you two thumbs up and a giggle. In the midst of all this mess, you actually feel happy to have someone allowing you to enjoy a moment of silliness. “Are you okay? Do you feel a bit better?”

“Now that you’re back, yeah,” You sigh, sticking close to him as you pass by a group of agents. “Officer Kaper is really sweet, but he’s not you, he’s not–“

“Familiar,” Spencer says, but you shake your head. 

“He’s not my friend.” 

“And I am?” The hope in his eyes crushes your heart. You never meant to make him feel like you had left him behind, but you know you have pushed him away when he tried to stand by you. 

No more. 

“You are, Spence,” You breathe out, hand gently falling on his arm and squeezing it adoringly. “You’re my favourite customer and I guess now you’re my living room-mate. But you should really sleep in your bed tonight, okay?” The joke is just an attempt to make him smile, and you’re happy to see it works.

“Will you sleep next to me?” 

His question is not that unexpected, really, but it still makes you freeze in place. “Uh… What… What do you mean?” 

“Sleep next to me,” His bluntness doesn’t help with the way your cheeks fire up. “I know you’re scared, so if you’re next to me, I’ll be watching over you at all times. I’m a light sleeper, so even if something happens, I’ll wake up. We can put pillows between us, if the thought of me that close to you makes you uncomfortable and–“

“It doesn’t,” You say before you can give up on it. “I just… I know you’re a germaphobe and I don’t know how many germs can be shared when you sleep next to someone and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Actually, when you sleep next to someone, there is an exchange of bacteria and skin microbes when we turn and move around, but your brain compensates by releasing the ‘happy’ hormones because you’re sleeping next to someone you care about, so I wouldn’t mind the former much considering we would wake up pretty content.” 

Someone you care about. You hold your tongue back from asking him if he cares about you– at this point, you should know he does. You shouldn’t need the reassurance, as nice as it would feel to have it, but you really, really want it. In a time where everything is uncertain, you pray so that Spencer can be your constant. “Okay,” You nod, hand slowly slipping down his arm, brushing yours fingers through his, before letting it go altogether. Looking down to the ground, embarrassed with your own courage, you follow him out of the building. “The subway is that way.”

“We’re getting a taxi,” He mumbles, signalling one down as he spoke. “I don’t think public spaces with that much visibility are a good idea for now. I don’t want you paranoid, Y/N, but I need you to be careful, okay? Subways, buses, all of these get crowded and they have a large amount of surveillance. We still can’t figure out how Cat found out where you live or who is her connection that got your name through the UPS delivery, but we’re not stopping until we do, I promise you that. For now, we just ask that you be careful around people.”

“I work with people. I have to talk to them to sell them stuff… I can’t lose my store, it’s all I have!” The two of you turn to face each other on the back of the car. He is shaking his head before you can even continue, and when you feel it, the warmth of his hands covering yours, so much bigger and steadier to the point that is like he’s holding your fists in his palms, you hold your breath. 

“You won’t,” He whispers, shaking his head so gently that wisps of hair fall over his forehead and you have to fight the urge to push it back. “Y/N, you won’t. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Okay,” The trust you have in Spencer is enough to have you nodding along. Until the car stops in front of his apartment, he doesn’t let go of your hand, and you make no effort in letting go of his. 

It’s only when it’s time to pay for the ride that you pull away, faster than him in getting the money to the driver. “Hey!” 

“Be faster next time, boy genius,” You say, smiling tiredly while walking next to him through the hallways of his building until you reach Apartment 23. Using your key in front of him, the one he gave you when he went away, feels weird and oddly intimate. “Do you want this back?”

“Keep it,” Spencer says, giving you his trademark tight-lipped smile. The way his shoulders sag a little as soon as he is inside the familiar apartment has you frowning. He is exhausted, tired from flying and rushing through the city, but he still made the effort to come get you at the BAU. “What do you want for dinner? We can get some pizza.” 

“I have leftovers in the fridge,” You mumble, suddenly too out of place in the apartment you know at the palm of your hand. Standing in the entrance, you just look at him, watching him walk around the apartment so carelessly and you wonder if Spencer knows just how meaningful it is for you to have him back home. “I bought groceries, don’t worry, I didn’t use any of your food or anything like that.”

“I wasn’t worried, but now I am. I told you to be comfortable Y/N.” 

“I am…” You mumble, moving to sit down on the armchair. 

Under his watchful gaze, you’re not sure how much Spencer can get out of your behaviour right now. It’s a bit sad that you’re even thinking about this so consciously, observing him as he observes you right back. You know you will never win a battle of wits against the genius across the room, but no ones knows you better than yourself and that is currently your only leverage in this entire situation. But… why do you even need leverage? What is this war you have started with yourself and pulled poor Spencer in without even letting him know? The blanket you adore so much is right by your feet and you pull it up to cover your whole body, all the way up to your face. At this point, you don’t want him reading you because you’re afraid of what he will find. Specially because you don’t know what he will find. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” When he sits on the corner of the chair, your body dips to the side, rolling closer to him. “Are you hiding?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And why are you hiding?” 

“Because you’re an avid reader,” Even you want to cringe at your own words. “And I’m not really sure what story I’m telling, right now.” 

His laughter takes you by surprise– this has to be the loudest you’ve heard Spencer be. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m not going to read you!”

“Spencer, you can’t help it! It’s what you do– I see the way you look at me, okay? I know what you’re doing, and I have to say I am not a fan!”

With one tug on the blanket, your face is exposed again with hair all over it. But then you see his smile, and it looks so honest and happy, like a version of him you thought you had left behind days ago. “You think I’m reading you?”

“Are you not?” You ask, sitting up to try and look at him with a serious expression. 

“No, Y/N, I’m not looking at you because I’m reading you.” 

There are moments in your life, unique and specific in their own credits, that you are sure you will never forget. The day you decided to leave New York is one of them– you bought tickets last minute and left with only a rucksack you found in the back of your closet. On the way to the airport, you called your parents, waking them up at three in the morning to tell them they were going to need to ship your stuff to a PO box address. Y/N, where are you going?, your mom cried out. What is going on? To which all you said was I’ll tell you when I can, before hanging up and throwing your SIM card out of the window. 

Opening your store was high in the list too. Not the day that you conceptualised it or rented the place– the day you truly opened it. The day your first customer, your favourite customer, walked in, that’s the day you truly opened the place. The day he bought a book and promised to come back again. 

Of course there are other dates, too; simpler dates. Birthdays, christmases, random family dinners. The small things that build-up to be big memories. But then there are the big things that are even bigger memories, and you’re intimidated, with the size of it all. It’s too big, too tall, and when you fall, it might just be high enough to break all your bones, but not kill you completely. No… that would be too merciful. 

This– Cat Adams, Spencer, the box– this is not just big. 

This is huge. 

In comparison, tonight is not all that big. In fact, his living room feels quite small now that both of you are back inside. The green walls descend and it’s just you and him, squeezed close in an arm chair you both love, surrounded by books you both love, and you still can’t help but feel afraid. This is as small as it gets, as monotonous as it gets, and yet, this is the most scared you’ve ever felt, because no matter what you do, it’s like you can’t stop climbing– you go higher, higher, higher. His words, replaying in your mind, keep pushing you up, without any regard of how you’ll ever come down. 

Truthfully, you don’t want to come down, even if he brings you down gently. 

“Then… why do you stare at me, Spence?”

He doesn’t answer you, shaking his head slightly before looking away and clearing his throat. Uncomfortableness doesn’t look good on him, and that is saying something, coming from the one person who thinks everything looks good on him. “I uh, I’ll heat up some of those leftovers. Shall I get you some, too?” 

Spencer might the profiler, but you are still able to read the blooming colour in his cheeks. “Yeah,” You say softly, I would love some, Spence.”

Dinner with him is peaceful. You’re learning how to live this new life with a plus one. You learn his habits and his quirks– you learn that he likes to put ketchup on his pizza and that he drowns his coffee in sugar. That despite his immense IQ, he still can’t quite cook for himself– or prefers not doing so. That he made sure his cleaning lady came during the times he was away to avoid small talk and human contact. You learn, through a lot of trials and a lot of success, that you are his one exception. 

For you, Spencer is malleable, and he has no qualms in moulding himself to your needs, except… except you don’t want him to do that. You don’t want him to be someone he’s not and you don’t want the Spencer you know and adore to be someone curated just for you. 

“I’ll go take a shower and change into some comfortable clothes,” He says after he finishes eating. “Thank you for the food.” 

“No problem.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You can keep that hoodie. You look good in it.” 

Just like that, you chuckle, shaking your head when he disappears behind the bedroom door. If Cat Adams has the map to your past memories, Spencer Reid has the map to your future ones. 

X marks the spot. 

And for him there is no lock to pick– the door is wide open. 

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

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