soulsty · 1 year ago
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....dude Fi was designed to look 13-14 according to the devs. it's really creepy that you ship her with anyone tbh, ESPECIALLY Ghirahim. she's literally a child. says a lot about you imo
Alright alright alright, let’s clear this up.
!DISCLAIMER BEFORE I START!
Do not mistake this post as me trying to excuse weird shit. Ew. I hate pro-shipping. Get it away from me.
Now into the nitty gritty-
Quoting DIRECTLY, from Hyrule Historia, it is on my lap as we speak
“• Looks 13 or 14”
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Does this concept art look a lot like our finalized Fi design? Yes it does. This is the second closest to the finalized version in the book
So let’s go over more of this, and the several reasons why I think this isn’t canon.
“• metallic texture”
That didn’t stick around. I often joke that everything in Skyward Sword looks like it’s made out of fondant, and while her clothing does, her skin and wings looks much closer to porcelain.
“• a naive cuteness”
uhh, sure? She never seemed naive to me, but she is still cute so… that stuck I guess?
I don’t need to go over the last bullet point, because that is just true lmao
But here’s the kicker! Right?
“Like the Fairy Queen in Wind Waker”
The Fairy Queen is obviously a child. We know this, look at her, she also flirts with 12 year old Link iirc
But what makes this design look like the fairy queen? The hair does, it’s exactly the same, just parted on the opposite side. The grey-blue color is really similar. Her… eyes? But wait… that’s the same eye type as the regular Great Fairies? And Ghirahim?
She didn’t even carry over the circular toon style eyes in her final design
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I’m pretty sure I could assume the Great Fairies in WW are meant to be adults right? Other versions always have been, and they very clearly look like an older version of the Fairy Queen… so why does Fi’s finalized design actually look a bit more like them? From the pointed eyes to the strong nose-to-eyebrow ridge, she’s starting to look less like the Queen to me…
But let’s go back to the concept art. What else does it say?
These are the same design as the other one that says she looks 13-14, just a bit less detailed
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hmm… huh… that’s interesting. Her gem changes color? Well, that’s not canon
Wait what? “Connected to the arm, which is why it bends.” She has arms under her wings?
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THEY TOOK HER GODDAMN ARMS
So yeah, in that same design where she “looks 13 or 14” she had arms. Do with that what you will
How about we dive even deeper into Fi’s concept art, hmm?
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It seems pretty clear to me that she wasn’t meant to be a child character from the start, some of these designs appear child-like (the one next to the iron man design in particular), but lots of these are also just women
But okay, okay, let’s take a step back from Fi’s concept art. How about Ghirahim’s, what does his say?
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The same age as Link? This mfer is 17?? Jesus Christ, talk about the jock kid in high school
Jokes aside, I don’t believe that, he refers to Link as a child the entire time, all of his concept art pre-finalized, just looks like old men, so I assume that moreso meant they were straying away from that design element.
I would also like to mention that Ghirahim’s concept art states in his sword form “He shows emotion without using his eyes”
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While very clearly showing a picture of him expressing with his eyes, something that remains consistent in-game as well. So this could be translation error, or just… idk honestly it just doesn’t really make sense lmao
The tl;dr of all this concept art talk is this:
Don’t take concept art as fact. As an artist, concept art is literally that. A concept. I have made designs with elements that have been changed drastically by the finalized version. It’s all a process.
SO! Now that we’re done with the concept art, let’s actually move to references from the game.
At the beginning of the game, this is said, by Gaepora and Fi
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Link is referred to as “a/the youth” multiple times, as opposed to Fi being referred to once as “youthful in likeness yet wise with knowledge immeasurable.”
Youthful in likeness. Not an actual youth, and the youthful in likeness thing could not even necessarily tie back to saying she looks 13-14, just that she looks young. Youthful is a very large age-range after all.
My second point about in-game… Scrapper. This doesn’t really lead too far, because we have no idea how “old” Scrapper is “supposed to be”, he’s a robot, he has less of an age than Ghirahim and Fi, BUT he’s allowed to be an absolute simp, to the point of calling her “Mistress” non-stop, so idk, that just doesn’t read as something a child would go through to me.
UPDATE: more evidence on the front of Scrapper, when he firsts meets Link, he explicitly doesn’t want to help Link because, and I quote “Serving children is very low in my task priority.” Then Fi appears, blah blah blah, you can’t carry the windmill propeller in your pouch, right? Then Scrapper says “Who are you!?” And does what I can only describe as his version of an AWOOGA (what being “zrrt-FWOOOSH”, paraphrased) and continues, “Your name is…Fi? Should I call you Mistress Fi? Are you looking for something Mistress Fi? …I…understand. At your request, I will carry anything, regardless of weight or destination…”
So there you go, serving children is very low in his priority, Hylia was around at the same time the LD units were active, so Hylia would’ve known about the Scrapper units priorities, (assuming they all have the same priority list) so why would she make a child? Just why? And in the same vein, why would Hylia make her servant sword-spirit a child in the first place, that doesn’t make any sense 😭
Looping back around to where this all started, what does “looks 13 or 14” even specifically mean? She looks that age, not she is that age. And I’m not going to go Lolicon topic with this, I’m not here to say “she’s like 1,000 years old! So of course she isn’t a child!” I’m here to say, lots of people look older, or younger than they actually are. She’s almost the same height as Link, so if she were meant to be around his age, she’d probably be around 16, and if she’s 16, and Ghirahim is 17 according to his concept art, where did your argument go?
Speaking realistically, Hylia probably designed her to look young and ‘cute’ so she wouldn’t scare Link. Let’s be real, her personality is intimidating, and she was going to be projecting herself into his dreams, so if she had a intimidating appearance (like some of her old concepts), Link would probably be afraid of her.
That’s all. I could go deeper into some of these points, and add on other things, but I think some stuff is self-explanatory.
Now, even if you want to discredit everything I just said, Ghirahim and Fi are both adults in all of my work. Unless explicitly stated or shown otherwise.
I draw and write them how I envision them in my head. In Skyward Sword, I have always read both of them as adults. I have not aged-up Fi for this ship, that’s fucking weird. They are both adults.
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No one:
Me: Okay, but what if their relationship has nothing to do with Sonic and Tails? What if Metal literatally just saw Eggman working on Tails Doll and assumed without proof that they were created for him? What if Metal quite literally attached to Tails Doll through this assumption and then their partnership progressed naturally? What if the inorganic creations fell in love as an unorthodox power couple and just so happened to resemble a famous partnership?
#sonic the hedgehog#metal sonic#metdoll#tails doll#i just be ramblin#I am a great Sontails enjoyer okay#and I would be lying if I said I didn't originally consider this pairing because of this#However there is hilarity in making the relationship coincidental and have nothing to do with Sonic & Tails as there is interest to me in#inorganic beings growing close to each other and experiencing feelings they should not be able to#Eggman has a knack for even accidentally creating robots with souls#But also while I love the 'robot learns about love by spending time with a human'#I think it would be interesting for two inorganic beings to grow souls and develop/navigate feelings they should not be able to#feel together‚ even if they don't quite understand the exact nature of their relationship or what 'love' is (or possibly even that it *is*#form of love)#I think of two beings who are not supposed to be 'real' so to speak developing that quality of 'realness' by seeing each other#Kingdom Hearts did this to me btw#Nobodies and data copies and replicas and toys and HECK even in terms of people that are considered real#The ability to grow hearts when others see you and believe that you are real#The idea that you only truly exist when someone else sees you and believes in that existence#kingdom hearts has forever affected the chemistry of my brain#Oh and also if you're reading this and you do see me make a post later that's more related to Metal and Tails doll forming any sort of bond#because of Sonic and Tails‚ know that I am aware of this. I know what I said#The dynamic I've talked about here is a preferred one but I contain multitudes and sometimes it is fun to be like 'this relationship began#in any capacity because of sonic and tails' even if it could hypothetically develop without that connection#anyways#Metdoll💖💖#Oh wait one last thing. While this is a ship post I'm actually a bit fan of complex relationships#So if you have to put a name to the desired relationship I put Metdoll in it's better described as queerplatonic‚ but it's complex#They're just not siblings to each other. That's all#au musings
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www-pinkhearse · 4 months ago
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I’m sorry
#recently have been doing a bit of a musical marathon cause I’ll never stop being a fucking theatre kid (womp womp)#and like#okay so there’s musicals I outright dislike (dear Evan Hansen) but something rotten is in this middle section thats like#you had a cool premise. why the fuck are you so over saturated I’m sex puns and musical references to the point I can’t take u seriously#like I’m supposed to be invested in the romance between Nigel and Portia(?) but everyone of their interactions is just#sex innuendo sex pun sex joke#then there’s nick whos so fuckinh annoying I’m sorry#I’m supposed to feel sympathetic for him meanwhile he’s just like ?? defending a musical about eggs??#and during all of this his brother is clearly spilling his heart out to him#and he just never fucking approved of his love for Portia#even Shakespeare who’s supposed to be the villain or smth is more fun#(and the only British one)#AND NOT JUST IN THE villains are more fun way#but also in the HES ACTUALLY ENJOYABLE#man has a rivarly but still doesn’t want his rival dead cmon that’s interesting#and I’m supposed to be on nicks side durinh all of this#like???? the guy who’s had one song about him being sexist. the one guy who’s being so incosideto this his brother. the guy who’s-#-less enjoyable then the ANTAGONIST#idkkk. idk maybe it’s supposed to be light hearted and I’m being weird cause my favourite musical is falsettos so y��know-#-it’s a character exploration based story#and I know realistically not all musicals want that. but idk it’s just#boring to me#to have a cool premise and fill it with so many jokes it’s like. how am I supposed to take the deeper moments seriously#anyways the songs are good. I hate Shakespeare fucks#and obviously hard to be the bard is great#thank you Christian borle . you just have a knack for playing queer (in this case coded) men don’t you
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knackfandomarchive · 3 months ago
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Is it just me making assumptions at first glance (I am skipping around someone else's footage of 2) or did the creators of KNACK 2 diminish the identities of the different sizes of Knack? The distinctions I made in 1 were arbitrary before, but now even more so. Or maybe they just don't fall along the same lines...
I noticed it a little when playing myself; cracking open those crates, Small Knack and Short Knack did Not have the usual gangly appearance that characterized them in 1, and I couldn't distinguish them well. The same seems to be so with Short Knack and Tall Knack - I just can't figure out why. It's like the whole graduation has been turned into a gradient pointing almost straight-on to a modified Tall Knack and only then might pivot to Hero Knack as he grows even larger. Little Knack's metal skirt which would usually be carried into his later forms is forgotten ASAP.
This change in the graduations of his design might be foreshadowed in the museum room? Little Knack to some variation of Short/Tall Knack, to Hero Knack, then Boss Knack. The subtle distinctions in his smaller forms are forgotten because he usually skips those in 2.
But this is all conjecture mostly. I haven't observed as closely as I like, and my brain won't let me play the games because it's still butthurt about the 'best-picture' thing.
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yuribalisms · 1 year ago
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Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that
#I’m going to be depressing and self depreciating in the tags so. fair warning to anyone who reads them#I’ve known for a while now that I don’t know what to do with my life. I’ve thought of a few ideas but none of them seem to be working. and I#think a good chunk of what it’s boiling down to is that I am quite literally just stupid when it comes to an actual useful real life skills.#and it’s frustrating because I can’t even talk to ppl I know and confide in them that I feel dumb and stupid without them being like ‘nooooo#don’t say that! you’re not stupid! you were top of your class in hs!’ (that is their favorite thing to fall back on) but like. the thing is#I wasn’t even smart in hs. sure I did good but that’s because I cheated my way through and got lucky a lot. I never actually learned anythin#I never understood what I was being taught or how to apply it. I was good at English and art classes and that was it those were the only one#I truly felt I knew what I was doing in and grasped the subject matter well. I know I’m good at those two things and smart when it comes to#those subjects. but the thing is. in real life. both of those are useless skills. I can’t make money with them and it is highly unlikely#that will ever change. and yes I know not being able to make money with it doesn’t mean it’s useless but like it kinda does. capitalism#sucks. I know that. we all do. but that doesn’t change that we live in a capitalist society and it’s unlikely to actual change in my lifetim#so I’m stuck to try and figure out how to live in it. but I have no skills I can make money with so I will live my entire life poor and#miserable and working dead end jobs that make me want to kill myself. I’m not good at socialization I’m so fucking bad at it so I can’t work#any kind of job that hinges on networking or sales or human interaction which is MOST JOBS but I’m also too stupid for anything related to#STEM. I tried two different stem degrees and flunked out of both of them because I am a FUCKING IDIOT and I know there’s no point in trying#to go back to school for another one. but no degree in anything I naturally have a knack for will help me find a decent well paying job. ill#just be wasting my money to go to school for something like that. and then like. I don’t even think I’ll ever get married and I def won’t#ever have kids. so I can’t even put any hopeful stock in just being happy with a family one day. I know a lot of ppl who don’t like their#careers but they’re fine with that because they’re happy with their family but like I don’t even have that and I won’t ever have that. I#have NOTHING to strive for and NOTHING I am good at that’s meaningful I’m going to fail at having a career and a family and I know that#doesn’t mean I won’t be happy in theory but by societal standards I am and always will be a fucking failure of a person and since I do live#in this society yeah. it’s kinda fucking true. and I don’t know what to do about that. I’m just tired. I’m tired of being afraid and#struggling and going through patches of wanting to kill myself because of this because like what’s the point. I’ll never have anything#better so what in the actual hell is the point of me existing. and I know I’m being ridiculous and my brain is eating itself and none of#this is probably even true but that doesn’t change that it FEELS like it is a lot of times and esp right now and I don’t know what to do#to anyone who reads this I’ll be fine tbh prob as soon as tomorrow like dw about it I just need to get it out so I stop stewing in it.#I’m just. yeah. not having a great time rn but I left work so I’m gonna cry and then maybe sleep for a bit and hope that helps#kaz rambles
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theprissythumbelina · 10 months ago
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Hi there! Been having this reoccurring problem when it comes to a certain aspect of Swift Seas And Whirlwinds and the geopoliticsthat underpins it, and I wanted to ask you for your thoughts on it, what with your knack for politics.
To cut it mostly short, I feel like I'll be having difficulties balancing the 'weight' and overall significance of the conflict. Basically, the Islanders War, which the whole fic centers on, is simultaneously this paradigm defining moment in the geopolitical landscape of the 12 Worlds, yet also arguably just of the many crises the UC specifically will be managing at the same time in the period. On the one hand I obviously want to highlight how important the war was for the sake of the WIP being, well, interesting to read, and to those personally involved in its events, but I can't resist developing the 'grand strategic' perspectives and actors, for whom this conflict is one act among dozens, and who might show that sort of attitude in the writing itself.
This is a difficult thing to balance, especially depending on the depth and length of your work. I think that importance is best shown in people's lives and experiences, and I'll explain what I mean by that.
Something that is greatly valued in my rl field is testimony, an individual's account of what happened to them, and how it affected them. For many people, testimony gives a face and a sense of connectedness to events. It encourages empathy, and as writers, empathy is kind of our whole shtick. There is a world of difference in numbers and figures saying "this is how many soldiers were lost, this is how many were wounded, this is how many people were displaced", and listening to a person say "My brother was killed in the battle. He will never help me plant tulips again. My sister is missing limbs, she can never run and play with her children again. My home, that my parents raised us in, is destroyed". One is a list of facts, the other is a person you can feel for.
The workings of geopolitics always affects many layers of society, and the people most affected are usually the people with the least to begin with. If you can marry together cause and effect, or even better, the repercussions of a character's decisions, then you will be able to add human weight to the larger workings of the great movers and shakers. You could even bring testimony to a character that has the 'grand strategic' perspective, and show that character being changed by experiencing the real, lived consequences of moving pawns on a chessboard.
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theamazingannie · 1 year ago
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Why is it so hard for parents to tell their kids what they want for Christmas??? My dad has been going on for MONTHS about wanting this particular thing so I said my sister and I would get it for him and now he’s like “it’s too expensive don’t go it” when the thing is FIFTY DOLLARS. I spent that much on him last year just me!!
#like i am doing him a favor and splitting the cost with my sister and just getting him the one thing#cuz he’s always so annoying about that#i told him if he doesn’t let us buy him this I’m gonna spend a bunch of money on a bunch of useless things#Im already trying to resist the urge to buy this bag of plastic pigs#i am not rich enough to be spending a bunch of money on a gag gift#at least my mom is finally being reasonable this year#usually I gotta fight with her until December but she gave me TWO idea to split with my sister last week#my sister is also being annoying because she asked for ‘practical’ gifts#bitch when have I ever given you anything practical#i got her some turtle Knick knacks and some cactus magnets lmao#i did get her a paint holder set that I hope she likes#i bought it back in March and have been holding onto it all this time so I NEED her to like it lol#my brother is the easiest to buy for cuz I just always get him a tshirt for something he likes#and Im the only one in the family who really knows what he likes so I usually win Christmas for him#this year I got him the speak now tv playing cards cuz he collects playing cards#and Im Gonna get him a Taylor swift tshirt cuz he keeps asking for one#just deciding which one#no idea what Im getting for my grandma tho#she had the entire family getting her gifts so I need to get her something particular great to stand out#she liked the gnome sign I got her last year with I teach stable holiday gnomes#i bought her a CMU gnome like two years ago and then lost it so I gotta get something like that again#cuz my family loves getting CMU merch cuz my sister and I are the most accomplished members of the family#and They like celebrating that#(even tho I graduated over a year ago and am doing nothing with my life#)#anyways ignore my Christmas rant sorry for being that person who talks about Christmas in November#i love Christmas shopping so i start as soon as I can#i already got some gift bags and tissue paper and tags#i need a TJ Maxx trip soon tho cuz they have the best wrapping paper#i always choose the absolute tackiest thing I can find and they have great options
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moineauz · 5 months ago
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જ⁀ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , various ! pt two
synopsis: his voice lines about you as his beloved partner
including: boothill, aventurine
side comments: my first voice line fic was well received and for that I thank you all <3 so of course this is for all my boothill and aventurine lovers out there! (including myself for boothill...)
extra: gn reader, angsty and fluffy moments, I genuinely loved writing boothill's, minor spoilers for both favourites: boothill word count: roughly 1000+
care to see the first part? includes dr. ratio, jing yuan, & blade!
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𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋
WHO ARE THEY? I "Out here askin' question huh? Well if you're that curious... then you better listen close."
FIRST MEETINGS? "Met them on a bullet train in a neighbouring star system. Turns out we were chasing after the same fudge-heads. You could've seen them- a sly creature that's who they were, whipping out the most slick sniper I've ever seen. I'd reckon that was one of the most thrilling fights I've ever had: came out with dents all over my arms and a broken gun. Their bullets nearly punched a hole through my cheek... hah!"
GREETINGS? "They may be a load of dormant gunpowder, but they sure are sweet! Full of laughter and courtesy. But I'll let you in on a little secret... ( Name ) likes to walk in, pretty as always- and plant kisses all over my cheek before they even say a word."
PARTINGS? "Being a Galaxy Ranger means never staying in one place. ( Name ) is no Galaxy Ranger... I'd reckon it's better that way."
ABOUT US: SHOES IN THE HOUSE "I can't exactly 'take off my shoes' now can I? But ( Name ) likes to keep the house tidy and I best not anger them... like that one time- anyways, we came up with this whole fudging system just to keep the bottom of my damn boots clean! It's fudging ridiculous! *Chuckles* I can't help it, but ( Name ) is understanding. Even if I trudged through all the grime in the universe- they'd still wipe it all off."
ABOUT US: FAMILY "You see, ( Name ) has this big family. Siblings, cousins, extended cousins, aunts and uncles, you name it. We were on their home planet once, and I finally understood where ( Name's ) knack for puttin' a real good home together came from. Their family lives in the countryside where all you can see are open fields, lush hillsides, free-roaming animals and wildflowers. Consider it a quiet paradise. They even grow their own food for fudging sake! Everythin' made by hand and land. Darlin' nearly coaxed me into joining them for dinner once, but I knew better. Best not spoil the family get-together."
CHAT: HATS N' POSES "Personally, I like my hat and flare the way it damn is. How would fightin' be without it? But of course, your partner has to be a cheeky tease about it."
CHAT: WARMTH " I've seen it in the movies- those fudging 'romcoms'- and read it in books. When it gets cold... I'm no help. Can't do much except reach for a blanket and wrap them up. But even then, metal and skin don't fudging work."
PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Count me in on a dance sugar plum! Have to admit, darlin' has a fair share of good dance moves. Nothin' like a hard-earned victory being celebrated with a cool glass of whisky and a smooth dance."
ARGUMENTS: "Bitter things that's all they are. Leaves you knocked out cold. Reminds you of all the things you can't take back."
SOMETHING TO SHARE: "Following the hunt ain't an easy task. But someone has to punish the wretched. That's the thing about the hunt- you get cold, hard. Sugar follows another path that doesn't make any fudging sense to me. But that doesn't matter. None of that ever mattered, not to them, not to me or even the hunt. Call it selfish, but I'd like to one day settle down... Just like their family. Out where no one could find us."
WHO ARE THEY? II "They call me their 'sweet lover'. But really it should be me saying that. If anything I am the sweat of their brow- a nuisance at times. But they still love me. They still fudging love me."
EXTRA: IPC ENTRY "Normally, Galaxy Rangers travel alone. However, we have seen the wanted Galaxy ranger- Boothill- be accompanied by someone who appears to be a vagabond follower of Xipe. Despite the information we possess, the relationship between Boothill and his supposed 'partner' is very limited."
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𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄
WHO ARE THEY? I "Fancy meeting you here- oh? A rumor you say? Rumours do have peculiar ways of reaching the ears..."
FIRST MEETINGS? "All business ventures possess their gains and losses. However, I did not expect my pockets- alongside others- to be picked on a night meant to celebrate the Strategic Investment Department. The person who did it played their cards exceptionally well. I applauded them and the subtlety of their skills."
GREETINGS? "Despite their rather cunning nature, ( Name ) is quite kind... shockingly so. I thought their smile was a chip they played for their own meticulous advantage. *Chuckles* I was wrong, there was simply nothing to understand behind that smile."
PARTINGS? "One transaction after another, the universe keeps spinning. Don't keep up, you fall behind. Simple. I don't have to worry about that around them, or at least, for a while, until another wager must be made. Until the peck on the cheek is over."
ABOUT US: LOCKET "( Name ) has a keen eye for trinkets and bought- well stole- a locket for the two of us to share. I keep it with me, a lucky charm if you may."
ABOUT US: NAPPING "Personally, I don't nap. But, ( Name ) is a terrible influence and says I should. I must admit, waking up to them in the afternoon is not a bad way to spend my time."
CHAT: THEVERY "( Name ) is a thief... a good one at that. Oh don't worry, they struck a deal with the IPC. Primarily on their terms because they have been such a nuisance to the IPC. It's rather amusing seeing the IPC chase their own tail. We've definitely shared laughs over it."
CHAT: CONFESSIONS "Who could possibly love something so broken? It's like keeping a clock that won't tick or a deck of cards missing a queen. Sometimes, I wish they didn't care so much. It would be... easier."
PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Of course, a good game of cards is a fun way to pass the time. *Chuckles* Though, ( Name ) is a terrible player. Not that I mind, I'll guess I'll play the role of 'loser' this time around- best you not tell them."
ARGUMENTS: "What else is there to say? Nothing. That part is the worst."
SOMETHING TO SHARE: HEART OF GOLD "( Name ) steals to give to the poor. It's their motto... I saw them once with a group of kids on a planet in a distant star system. They were giving back to the orphanage- the smiles on the children's faces when given toys, marbles to be exact, were so bright."
WHO ARE THEY? II "In all honesty, I'm not quite sure. However, what I do know is that luck finally worked in my favour... I'll hold onto that for as long as I can."
EXTRA: DR RATIO'S OPINION "The gambler- without hesitation- will bet 'all in' even if it means his own life hangs in the balance. However, amongst the chaos of his bets, there is one person who will drag him back to reality... ( Name ). Aventurine will never gamble nor forfeit the one person who truly understands him. Even I don't fully understand the gambler's crafty nature. I suppose a thief is the only one who can and more importantly, will."
masterlist.
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tinycoffeeroom · 7 months ago
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café de paris | max verstappen
face claim: none ᡣ𐭩
request: here !
a/n: all french / dutch is google translated blame them if it's wrong! race order is completely random here !
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
📍café de paris, monaco
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liked by bffstagram, friend1 and 294 others
y/nstagram me 🤝 café de paris
bffstagram bro those croissants look Fire ↳ y/nstagram my main source of sustenance in these hard monaco streets!
friend1 i have yet to see evidence of you shaking ass on a yacht miss y/n!! ↳ bffstagram so real... we're meant to be living vicariously through you!!! ↳ y/nstagram student finance doesn't stretch to yacht ass shaking, i can barely afford my daily caffeine fix 😭
friend2 oui oui hon baguette how is france? ↳ y/nstagram never let a monagesque hear you say that,,, bro i can't fight ↳ friend2 🫡 ... how is monaco?* ↳ y/nstagram 🫡 it's good!! def happy i chose here over france, even if my wallet doesn't agree 😭 ↳ friend2 we feeling fluent yet? ↳ y/nstagram oh god no, the other day this poor old lady tried explaining how to find the art museum to me and i just stared at her like 😶
friend3 spotted any f1 hotties yet? i hear they all camp out in monaco 👀 ↳ y/nstagram considering i have never watched a Single f1 race i couldn't tell you HAHAH i'm sure they're around here somewhere though ↳ friend3 dude i told you to brush up on f1 😭 how am i supposed to come visit you and have a meet cute with mr lando norris if you don't do your RESEARCH ↳ y/nstagram damn i see how it is,,, using me to get to your vroom vroom men,,,
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3 weeks later
📍café de paris, monaco
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👤 alexandrasaintmleux liked by bffstagram, alexandrasaintmleux and 270 others
y/nstagram finally found someone else to join my café de paris obsession 🥐
bffstagram next bff sweetie run while you can... ↳ y/nstagram stop scaring the pretty bitches off damn 😔 ↳ alexandrasaintmleux bffstagram she won't let me leave 😭 ↳ y/nstagram i deserve better friends ↳ bffstagram you couldn't live without us xx ♥️ y/nstagram
alexandrasaintmleux la prochaine fois, nous irons au casino ! (next time, we go to the casino!) ↳ y/nstagram finance étudiante a dit non (student finance said no) ↳ alexandrasaintmleux 😔 s'il tu plait... pour moi? 🥺 (please... for me?) ↳ y/nstagram pray for my wallet guys...
friend3 wdym you just casually befriended The Alexandra Saint Mleux??? ↳ y/nstagram i thought her skirt was pretty and had no idea she was like famous 😭 then we just kept running into each other !! ↳ friend3 i need to fly out to monaco damn you can't even see her in the pic but ik she looked So pretty... ↳ alexandrasaintmleux i like your friends y/n :p ↳ y/nstagram just wait til you see them drunk,,,
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📍 jimmy'z, monaco
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👤 alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris liked by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris and 2,962 others
y/nstagram started the night in a night club and ended on a yacht,,, just monaco things (apparently) 🛥️
friend3 y/n if you don't answer my texts RIGHT NOW !!!! ↳ y/nstagram 😉 any reason ml? ↳ friend3 i'm gonna swim to monaco and bite chunks out of your ankles what the FUCK ??? when were you gonna tell me you were just casually hanging with [REDACTED] ↳ landonorris i'm guessing i'm redacted? 😎 ↳ friend3 i need to go lie down ↳ y/nstagram landonorris dude 😭 ↳ landonorris was it something i said? 😉
alexandrasaintmleux meilleure amie 💗 (best friend) ↳ y/nstagram merci de m'avoir invitée ! je t'aime ! (thank you for inviting me! love you!)
maxverstappen1 was lovely meeting you last night schat x ↳ y/nstagram you too max! don't forget to send me those pics of the kids! x ↳ bffstagram kids? ↳ y/nstagram his cats! jimmy and sassy! 🐱❤️🐱 ↳ bffstagram your knack for finding cat people never fails to impress me ♥️ y/nstagram
danielricciardo dude my liver actually hurts... ↳ y/nstagram hey you're the one who suggested a drinking contest ↳ danielricciardo yeah because i normally WIN you freak ↳ y/nstagram i'm a broke uni student, my drink of choice is normally vodka so cheap it's legally paint stripper
georgerussell63 carmen's phone died but she said to remind you about brunch today ↳ y/nstagram on it!! alex is gonna come round and bring me 😊
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by maxverstappen1, bffstagram and 2,938 others
y/nstagram met some VIC's (very important cats) today! 🐱 also f's in chat for my café de paris 😔
bffstagram f ↳ danielricciardo f ↳ georgerussell63 f ↳ landonorris f ↳ carmenmmundt f ↳ alexandrasaintmleux f ↳ maxverstappen1 f
friend3 babies!! the second pic oh i could cry ↳ y/nstagram she slept there for like 3 hours 😭 managed to actually sit through a whole gp though so a wins a win! ↳ friend3 y/n watching f1?? who is she?? ↳ y/nstagram their dad forced me 💔 ↳ maxverstappen1 um who cheered so loud when i won that she woke poor sassy up?? ↳ y/nstagram 🤐
charles_leclerc i didn't know café de paris do takeout? ↳ maxverstappen1 they do if you're me :) ↳ y/nstagram the only reason i'm considering keeping him around 😉 ↳ alexandrasaintmleux charles_leclerc and why have you never used your influence to get ME takeout café de paris "prince of monaco" ↳ charles_leclerc look what you've done... y/nstagram ♥️ y/nstagram
fan they're definitely max's cats but who is she? ↳ fan she knows alexandra so maybe they're in the same friendship group??
3 months later
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liked by maxverstappen1, bffstagram and 308 others
y/nstagram working hard or hardly working 🌸
alexandrasaintmleux quand avez-vous passé votre examen ? (when's your exam?) ↳ y/nstagram lundi prochain,,, mon ami du café me manque 😔 (next monday,,, missing my cafe friend) ↳ alexandrasaintmleux nous fêterons cela quand tu auras terminé 💗 (we'll celebrate when you're finished)
bffstagram the red bulls... i wait 3 years white man does it in one week ♥️ maxverstappen1 ↳ y/nstagram hey! made him wait at least 2 months :p
friend3 the f1 book.. one of us one of us!! ↳ y/nstagram apparently i can't keep saying "the one with the red cow on it" when talking about his car,,, ↳ maxverstappen1 its a bull... literally a red bull... ↳ y/nstagram blah blah blah it's red and goes moo ↳ maxverstappen1 everyday i wake up to such disrespect ↳ charles_leclerc i'm just glad someone's keeping your ego in check ♥️ y/nstagram
friend1 when are you coming back to england :( ↳ y/nstagram i'm hoping to come visit next month! ↳ maxverstappen1 about that...
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📍 jeddah, saudi arabia
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👤 redbullracing, mine liked by redbullracing, y/nstagram and 1,928,385 others
maxverstappen1 First P1 of the season at the first race! Always grateful to stand on that top podium, especially today 🙂
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fan sorry WHO is that in the third pic????
fan bro soft launching on a race win post...
y/nstagram trots op jou ❤️ proud of you ♥️ maxverstappen1 ↳ fan 🤨
fan did you guys see the way his girl jumped the fence to get to him after he won? relationship goals fr
schecoperez another red bull 1-2! 💪 ↳ maxverstappen1 you gave me a run for my money at the end there old man! ↳ schecoperez less of the old thank you
redbullracing rue when was this ↳ fan admin finding out about max's relationship at the same time as us is so on brand ↳ redbullracing and here i thought we were besties 😔 ↳ maxverstappen1 😉
danielricciardo you look hot in the second photo and it's not just the heat 😍 ↳ fan maxiel lives on ❤️
fan he tagged her as mine BROOOOOO who's got this man so down bad??
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by maxverstappen1, bffstagram and 194 others
🔒 y/nstagram account locked DOWN but it's so worth it for you ❤️
maxverstappen i'm sorry liefje i should have thought about this before inviting you... ↳ y/nstagram i don't regret going maxie,,, and i certainly don't regret hugging you after the race,, i knew what i was getting into, it's just a lot ❤️ ↳ maxverstappen1 ik ben gek op jou ❤️ (i'm crazy about you) ↳ y/nstagram mijn charmante prins ❤️ (my prince charming)
alexandrasaintmleux you do what's best for you ma cocotte 💗 honestly going private at the start of mine and charles' relationship was one of the best things for us ↳ y/nstagram the woe of being a wag 😔
daniel.jpg dude can you accept my follow request ↳ maxverstappen1 you followed her from your jpg acc but not your main? ↳ daniel.jpg never said i was smart ↳ charles_leclerc ^ ↳ georgerussell63 ^ ↳ landonorris ^ ↳ alexandrasaintmleux ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ maxverstappen1 ^ ↳ y/nstagram ^ ↳ oscarpiastri ^ ↳ daniel.jpg oscarpiastri HOW DID YOU GET HERE?? you haven't even MET y/n yet ↳ y/nstagram that's my son watch your tone. ↳ daniel.jpg i am very sorry miss y/n l/n PLEASE let me in ↳ y/nstagram oscarpiastri shall i? ↳ oscarpiastri lemme think on it ↳ daniel.jpg i hate it here
📍 suzuka, japan
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by maxverstappen1, y/nstagram and 1,394,582 others
redbullracing a quick look into max's garage! already over halfway through the season and your current world champion is on track for his 4th year running 💪
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maxverstappen1 you know how we do 👊
fan i see a y/n at the back!! ↳ fan who is y/n? ↳ fan his gf! she was first spotted in jeddah and she's been to quite a few of his races this year! ↳ fan do you have her ig? ↳ fan y/nstagram but it's private!
fan 4 time world champ incoming! ♥️ redbullracing
user lewis is gonna reclaim his title! ↳ fan ok gramps lets get you back to the home
fan best team in the world
user oh the gold digger is back ↳ redbullracing blocked, deleted and reported ↳ fan red bull stand on business ↳ redbullracing no one messes with OUR redbull girl! 👊
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 274 others
🔒 y/nstagram did you know red bull gives you wings? 👼
maxverstappen1 must have taken you forever to think of that caption ↳ y/nstagram what can i say you're dating a comedic genius
friend1 damn ma lend me one of those jackets xx ↳ y/nstagram omg pls take one he won't stop giving them to me,,, ↳ friend1 i'll take the white cap too if you're offering 👀 ↳ y/nstagram 🫡
bffstagram the third pic... y/n STAND UP ↳ y/nstagram he has the prettiest eyes 😍 my man my man my maaaaan ↳ bffstagram we've lost her boys...
alexandrasaintmleux i see the ferrari jacket 👀 ↳ y/nstagram max nearly threw me out of the room fr ↳ maxverstappen1 you deserved it ↳ maxverstappen1 also i'm burning it when you're not looking ↳ y/nstagram charlie gave it to me :((((( ↳ charles_leclerc yeah max you wouldn't burn sweet charlie's jacket would you? ↳ maxverstappen1 i'd burn you IN the jacket if you don't stop ↳ charles_leclerc 🫦 damn i love when you talk dirty to me ↳ y/nstagram ,,, alexandrasaintmleux should we leave them to it? ↳ alexandrasaintmleux after what you showed me on tumblr... yeah maybe we should
daniel.jpg loving the drip ↳ maxverstappen1 has she still not accepted your main follow request? ↳ daniel.jpg no... i know it's oscars fault somehow ↳ oscarpiastri why am i catching strays? ↳ y/nstagram i watched baku 2018 ,, you're lucky i don't block your jpg account ↳ daniel.jpg THAT WAS SO LONG AGO LET ME INNNNNNN
📍 zandvoort, the netherlands
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by y/nstagram, maxverstappen1 and 1,998,928 others
redbullracing and maxverstappen1 getting P1 and being crowned a 4 time world champion at the final race of the season AND your home race? max verstappen we tip our hats to you 💙
see 98,284 comments
fan him lifting the trophy and mouthing "this is for you" to y/n i am so lonely oh my god
y/nstagram mijn kampioen ❤️ (my champion) ♥️ redbullracing, maxverstappen1
fan max verstappen world domination!! lets go champ!!!
fan y'know maybe the dutch national anthem isn't too bad...
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👤 maxverstappen1 liked by bffstagram, maxverstappen1 and 290,948 others
y/nstagram i moved to monaco for a degree in french and fell for a dutchman,,,
max, it has been a privilege to know you, to share your happiness and to love and be loved by you. watching you do what you do best fills me with so much joy and i can't wait to see you dominate the track for many more years. here's to you. ik hou van je, mijn kampioen ❤️ (i love you, my champion)
(also hi fans of max, i am very scared about being perceived by so many of you, please be nice ❤️)
maxverstappen1 mijn hart en ziel, ik weet niet hoe ik het in het Engels moet uitdrukken maar bedankt dat je in mijn leven bent gekomen, je maakt alles een beetje mooier. ik hou van je ❤️ (my heart and soul, i don't know how to express it in english but thank you for coming into my life, you make everything a little brighter. i love you) ↳ y/nstagram maxie 🥹 can't wait to celebrate you tonight ❤️
fan hi y/n!!! glad you felt comfortable enough to come off private! we're a nice bunch i promise! (at least most of us are) ♥️ y/nstagram ↳ fan also if anyone is mean to you i will do something that puts me on the national news 🫶
fan we've only seen glimpses of her on tv, max you bagged a baddie DAMN ♥️ maxverstappen1
fan mama y papa ↳ landonorris real ↳ oscarpiastri real
danielricciardo I'M IN !!! ↳ danielricciardo WAIT YOU WENT OFF PRIV??? y/n thats so mean wtf :(
alexandrasaintmleux mon couple préféré 💗 (my favourite couple) ↳ y/nstagram c'est grâce à toi alex, je t'aime 💕 (it's all thanks to you alex, love you)
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👤 y/nstagram liked by y/nstagram, landonorris and 1,386,297 others
maxverstappen1 an appreciation post for mijn liefje. being able to put up with me dragging her halfway across the world nearly every month so i can drive fast cars whilst studying for her degree. graduated top of her class (with an elective in dutch 😉). here's to you and to us. (oh and happy 11 months, i may love you a little bit) ❤️
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y/nstagram my boy ❤️ could't have done it without your support ↳ maxverstappen1 i know, i am an Amazing boyfriend 😉 ♥️ y/nstagram
landonorris congrats y/n! knew there had to be a big brain in that ol' noggin of yours ↳ y/nstagram thanks lan! maybe i can actually teach you some french now 🤓
fan taking a long walk off a very short bridge
redbullracing congratulations to the brains of the couple! hoped you liked the gifts 💙 ↳ y/nstagram a dutch for dummies book, you think you're so funny don't you 😐
fan the flowers 😭😭😭
fan doesn't post about his championship but posts about his girl... need me a man like that
3K notes · View notes
soulsty · 6 months ago
Note
Gimme your AntaCinnaPhos head canons
Oooh I don’t have too many atm as this ship in particular only permeated my brain intensely about a week ago, but here’s my current list
For reference the scenario I envision them in is; Phos gets his new arms but manages to barely rescue Antarc, and eventually ropes Cinnabar into not hibernating so he can meet Antarc
-Antarc and Cinnabar got along really well when they met (even if Cinnabar didn’t think so), and that made Phos happy since the winter squad is getting bigger
-Phos is generally the one who initiates physical contact (carefully of course), he frequently pulls Antarc and Cinna into group hugs
-Cinnabar starts researching plants and flowers more actively so he can have something to casually talk about (infodump) to Antarc and Phos
-Antarc is aro spec and has more of a queer platonic relationship with the Phos and Cinnabar
-Cinnabar frequently gets startled by Bort’s sleepwalking and by the sound of Sensei Kongō ramming his head into the wall when he’s sleepy. Phos’ sympathizes with this, and Antarc thinks it’s a little cute
-Antarc and Phos do winter duty while Cinnabar cheers them on from the sidelines and tries to avoid dirtying the snow (the ice floes like Cinnabar)
-Phos’ new arms make him really good at shoveling snow as he can hold several shovels at once with gold tendrils, and henceforth work very quickly, but it does creep Antarc and Cinna out a little bit
-during the rest of the year, Phos and Cinna both visit liquid Antarc and talk about virtually anything to him
-sometimes Cinnabar relapses into feeling useless and wanting to be taken the moon, Antarc is very good at calmly assessing his feelings, giving advice, and relieving Cinna’s mind, while Phos cries on him /hj
-in an event where the Lunarians do appear in the winter, Antarcinnaphos would fend them off amazingly and nothing bad will ever happen to them because they’re all kickass at fighting together now (I’m coping)
12 notes · View notes
gghostwriter · 21 days ago
Text
A Series of Happenstance
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Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader
Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist
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The first meeting
Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation. 
He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team. 
That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was. 
The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in. 
No, he needed to. 
He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze. 
In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers. 
You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks. 
You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him. 
A genius, then.
A prodigy in your own field just like him. 
“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on. 
He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.
“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”
He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”
“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?” 
He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.
“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.
“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”
You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”
He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions. 
For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.
You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone. 
A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.
“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”
His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”
“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.
The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that. 
To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.
“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”
You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”
His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm. 
A small smile graced his face. The time was up.
“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”
Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior. 
A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same. 
As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.
“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”
He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”
There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over. 
Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho. 
The second meeting
There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door. 
As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call. 
It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI. 
That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.
He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.
“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.
The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid. 
With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team. 
“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.” 
Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”
A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.
A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.” 
“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically. 
You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.
Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?” 
You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else. 
His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.
Ah.
Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.
And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.
You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor. 
“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.
Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone. 
“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”
He opened his mouth to argue.
“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”
You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.
“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end. 
“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back. 
Check. 
He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”
Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake. 
He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.
As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.
There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—
Everybody lies.
The third meeting
The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days. 
This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.
The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.
“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.
Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.
A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.
You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”
“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”
A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.
“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”
He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”
You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.
“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.
A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.
Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be. 
“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”
“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”
A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?” 
“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”
He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”
You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.” 
“So, how do you know Spence?”
You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.
From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.
Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career. 
A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.
Water. It was water.
You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.
Checkmate.
“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger. 
You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed. 
“I graduated early.”
Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“
“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”
Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”
“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.
You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need. 
The fourth meeting
A warbled hum roused you from slumber. 
With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.
You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.
“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.
No answer. 
You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.
“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”
There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t. 
You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.
“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.
A deep groan answered.
“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.
It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.
Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time. 
“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?” 
A light rustle replied. 
“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.
Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.
Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.” 
“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.
You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”
There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.
Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.
“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”
And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door. 
Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.
Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home. 
The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.
“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.
No rise and fall of the chest.
And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.
One. Two. Three—
“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.
One. Two. Three. Four—
You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.” 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five—
“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—
“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”
A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late. 
Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”
You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.
Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle. 
“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.
The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.
It was sad. It was hopeful.
It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.
You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.
Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.
“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.” 
“But—”
“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.” 
His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 
His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.
He was alive.
And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months. 
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luveline · 11 months ago
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your bombshell!reader x spencer is feeding me so well, i'm obsessed!! SJSJS since we've seen reader jealous, is it possible to have a fic where it's spencer that's jealous?
thank u!! fem!reader
Your outfit today is simple. Pencil skirt, dark stockings, hair pristine. The thing that catches Spencer's attention, holds it between two squeezing palms, is the shirt and blazer ensemble you've styled. It's cut to fit, sleek and dark and hard to look away from. 
You brush past the back of Hotch's chair with a sigh, clearly unaware of the attention you're garnering from across the way. “What's wrong with him?” you ask. 
“The same thing as usual,” Hotch says. 
“It's not like we've ever instantly solved a case. Gideon knows this takes time.”
Elle pokes her tongue into her cheek, eyes flared wide. She says a lot without saying anything, flicking through the police files in front of her dispassionately.
“How come you stayed?”
It takes Spencer a moment to realise you're talking to him. “What?” 
“You didn't go with Gideon?” You hold your chin in your hand. “Not getting along anymore?” 
Spencer isn't not getting along with his mentor. He would've accompanied Gideon to meet with a past mass murderer, only you're here, and so he'd found unrelated reasons to stay. 
“We're fine,” Spencer says, not wanting to say more and give himself away. 
“Well, he took Morgan.” You pout, your voice dripping to a wistful whine. “What am I gonna do now without him? None of you guys ever wanna play with me.” 
Hotch smiles to himself. Spencer's stomach ties itself in knots, a tight noose that grows tighter still when you notice his expression and lean in toward your superior. “What's that smile for, Hotchner?” 
“Don't you have emails to look through?”  
You hold your cheek in your hand lightly, fingertips digging into the soft of your cheek. Your smile is like a kick to the chest, achingly sweet on such a pretty face. “No…” Your pinky digs into the corner of your mouth. “I don't remember that being on my agenda today.” 
“Consider it an addition.” 
Is Hotch flirting back? Spencer isn't sure why that strikes him so hard. Maybe because Hotch would actually have a chance with you if he wanted it; your flirting with Hotch is more real than if it were with Spencer, because Spencer is a twenty-something know-it-all who still dresses like his mom buys his clothes. 
“It's a lot of emails, boss,” you say. 
“You have time. Start with the ones sent by Hughes and work your way down.” Hotch slides the login information across the desk into your reach. 
You look at it unhappily. Look up at him. 
Just being looked at by you is a full body experience. Whenever you look at him, he begs himself to play it cool as Hotch is now, to treat it as the affectionate playfulness of a friend rather than serious flirting. He'd have a better chance of being taken seriously by you if he didn't blush whenever you so much as breathed in the same room. 
He wishes he could respond calmly like Hotch. (He wishes you'd flirt with him and him alone. He buries that deep.) 
Envy eats at his hands. Pins and needles he tries to shake away. His movements draw your attention, and your smile worsens, which is to say sweetens, like seeing him again is a treat for the eyes. 
“You'll help me, won't you, baby?” you ask.
He goes a little blind. 
Hotch and Elle watch the encounter with similar parts pity and amusement. 
“You can read through them so quickly, I could really use your…” —you drag your fingertips down your face until your nails are at your jaw— “expertise.” 
“Reid has his own tasks–” 
“I can help,” Spencer interrupts. 
You drop your hand from your face altogether. “Thank you. Have I mentioned how much I missed you while I was away?” 
“Only five times,” Elle says under her breath. 
“They try so very hard to keep us apart. It's not fair.” 
Because unlike Reid, you don't have multiple degrees. You're still learning, and you can't be here permanently, but your talent, your knack for profiling, is unignorable. You're guaranteed a place on the team as soon as you can prove yourself to Strauss. Without a Gideon to vouch for you, that could take a while, and yet you're never jealous of Spencer skipping a few hurdles to get here. 
If anything, you admire him. “They don't understand our bond, that's all. And together we're hard to beat. Isn't that right, Spence?” 
Perhaps Spencer shouldn't be jealous. You don't call Hotch by anything so saccharine, after all. 
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inkedinshadows · 3 months ago
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Where You Belong
Pairing: Azriel × reader
Summary: last part of "A Helping Hand". When Y/N realizes Azriel is her mate, it's only a matter of who will admit it first.
Warnings: language if you really squint, Azzie being a little (just a little, I promise) cocky, but honestly who can blame him
Word count: 4.5k
A/N: here it is. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you like it! 💙
A Helping Hand (part 1), Echoes of the Bond (part 2)
֍֍֍֍֍
Y/N didn't see anyone until dinner.
She spent the day alone, roaming the family library in the House of Wind, sifting through the books until she found one that piqued her interest. From that moment on, she'd been curled up in one of the cushioned armchairs that dotted the room. Occasionally, thoughts of her last conversation with Azriel interrupted her reading, but she did her best to block them out. She didn't want to think about his mate.
Only when her stomach grumbled did she rise from her comfortable position. Placing the book on the table next to her seat, she left the library and headed toward the dining room.
Indistinct chatter was coming from inside, and she quickened her steps, a smile already on her face as she pushed the door open.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to Azriel, standing in a corner with Cassian and Rhysand. But before she could even consider taking a step in their direction, Feyre appeared in front of her.
“Y/N!” Her friend linked their arms to lead her toward the table. “I was just about to come looking for you. Sit next to me.”
Y/N obliged, and everyone slowly took their seats around the table. Though she noticed Lucien's presence seemed to make everyone a bit wary, the atmosphere was lighter with Feyre back with them. Rhys, who was sitting on his mate's other side, looked particularly relaxed.
As food appeared on the empty plates and conversations started around the table, Feyre turned to face her.
“I'm sorry I didn't greet you properly this morning,” she said. “But my mind was… elsewhere.”
Y/N peered over at Rhysand, who was talking to Lucien and Cassian but seemed to be listening to their conversation.
She looked back at Feyre with a smile. “I know, Fey. Don't worry about it. I'm just happy I have my friend back.”
Feyre returned her smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am too. I was worried about you, you know. How are you adjusting to this life?”
Taking a bite of her food, Y/N used the few seconds to weigh how much to tell Feyre. She wouldn't usually hesitate – not with her, never with her – but maybe a family dinner right after she'd come back to the Night Court wasn't the right moment for this sort of talk.
“I struggled at the beginning,” she said finally, avoiding details for the moment. “But Azriel helped a lot, and I'm doing much better now.”
As if mentioning him was enough to summon his attention, she felt his eyes settle on her from the other end of the table. She met his gaze with a smile, and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in response.
“Azriel?” Feyre's surprised tone brought Y/N's mind back to her friend, and the Shadowsinger refocused on his own conversation. Y/N rubbed a little spot on her chest.
“I'm glad he helped,” Feyre continued. “And that you're doing okay.”
Y/N nodded and took another bite of her food, but her thoughts were already drifting back to the spymaster. Now that they were in the same room again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and she kept going back to that morning – Azriel’s words about his mate.
“Y/N, what’s wrong?”
Feyre always had a knack for knowing when something was on her mind. Even when Y/N thought she was concealing her thoughts, the youngest Archeron could pick up on them.
“I was just wondering… how does it feel to have a mate?” Y/N asked, her gaze drifting back to Azriel for a moment before returning to Feyre. “I mean, what kind of bond is it?”
Feyre’s expression softened, her eyes settling on Rhysand, warmth shining in them. As if sensing it, the High Lord turned towards her with a smile that spoke volumes about his feelings for her.
“It’s a bond between souls,” Feyre finally answered. “Like an invisible thread binding two people, a tug toward each other. If two mates accept the bond, then they belong together.”
A tug. Y/N had been feeling a tug toward something for a while now. What if it was toward someone instead?
“Honestly, I hope you'll get to experience it one day,” her friend went on. “It's a connection on a new, deeper level. It's always there, even when you're apart.”
“I hope so too,” she murmured, her hand once more massaging her chest.
There was a pause as they both took a sip of their drinks, the conversation still buzzing around the table. Y/N's thoughts wandered back to Azriel, his quiet presence and the comfort he had provided. There was something more there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
“Have you ever met Azriel's mate?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence between them.
Feyre's brow furrowed in confusion. “He doesn't have a mate.”
Y/N's fork paused halfway to her mouth. “He told me he did,” she said slowly. Something dangerously close to hope stirred in her chest.
Feyre's frown deepened, and she shook her head slightly. “I had no idea.” She cast a glance at the Shadowsinger. “He never mentioned having a mate. I always assumed he didn’t.”
Y/N's heart raced as she processed the new information. Why would Azriel lie about something like that? She glanced down the table at him, her mind racing with questions.
A wisp of shadow curled around his ear, and his eyes slid toward her. He almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow, but this time she didn’t meet his gaze and looked down instead.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than to Feyre. “Why would he tell me that?”
Feyre reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Maybe there's more to it than just that,” she suggested gently. “He’s quite reserved. I’m sure you’ve noticed that too.”
Y/N nodded, her thoughts a whirlwind. She knew Feyre was right. She needed to confront Azriel, to understand why he had lied to her or why he’d told the truth to her only and not to the others.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur, the Inner Circle and Lucien delving into a more serious discussion about war and High Lords, most of which Y/N didn’t really comprehend – even less so when her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Azriel and Feyre's words about the mating bond.
As they finished their meal and began to disperse, Y/N wished everyone goodnight and quickly slipped out of the dining room. She needed to be alone, a moment of quiet to think things through before talking to Azriel.
Because things didn’t really make sense right now.
Either Azriel had lied, or he really did have a mate. But if that was true, why didn’t his friends know? And why would he spend so much time with her and away from his mate?
His mate – the one he’d found just recently, who was as kind and gentle as she was, who he would leave behind every time Y/N needed help.
That last part didn’t sound much like the Azriel she'd gotten to know over the last few weeks, though.
With a sigh, Y/N closed the door to her bedroom and started getting ready for the night. 
Tomorrow, she’d find Azriel. But for now, all she wanted was to turn off her thoughts, if such a thing was even possible.
Sliding under the bedsheets, she tossed and turned for a while, trying to keep her mind blank and fall asleep instead. But every time she thought she was about to enter the realm of dreams, some kind of insect would fly so close to brush her face and she had to bat it away constantly.
After what was probably the fourth time in just as many minutes, she groaned and finally opened her eyes to find the culprit.
It wasn't a fly, like she’d thought.
In the dim moonlight, she could just make out one of Azriel’s shadows hovering right over her nose. She’d gotten so used to their subtle presence in her room that she’d forgotten about it. But that tendril was definitely seeking her attention now, and she watched as it surged forward and gently brushed against her cheek.
Something slid into place inside of her.
Azriel's shadows had been with her since she'd been given this room. They seemed to like her, and judging by Cassian’s reaction that morning, it wasn't common to be favored by the dark companions of the Shadowsinger.
And then there was that tug that Feyre had mentioned – a tug toward each other. She had felt it often during the last three weeks and it always seemed to grow stronger when Azriel was close.
It's always there, even when you're apart. She could feel it now too, like a thrumming presence next to her heart.
What had Azriel said about his mate? That Y/N reminded him of her, that they were a lot alike… and that he'd found her recently.
Just like she had met Azriel only recently.
She jolted upright as realization settled upon her.
But… could it be true? Could it really be that she was the mate Azriel had mentioned? The signs were there, yet he hadn't said anything about it. Not even that morning, when she had blatantly asked if he had one.
Every remnant of doubt and uncertainty faded away when she noticed the rising darkness in the room. From the tiny cracks on the floor and the little gaps under the furniture, shadows were now slithering out of their hiding spots to gather at the foot of her bed, seemingly writhing in what she thought was excitement. The lone tendril that had woken her caressed her cheek once more.
“Alright, alright,” she chuckled, waving it away. “I get it. He’s my mate.”
The solitary strand stilled its movements, and she took the chance to shoot it a warning look, though she couldn’t help the smile on her lips. “Now let me sleep, okay? I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
She was now too tired to go looking for Azriel’s room. She didn’t even know if he was in his room anyway. Besides, this was not a conversation she wanted to have when her mind was a bit sleepy. Better to let the realization fully settle in and deal with it in the morning.
The shadows seemed to understand, because they halted their swirling, and even the stray tendril drew back, returning to the pool of darkness next to her bed.
Y/N lay back down and closed her eyes again. A small smile still graced her lips when she finally fell asleep.
She woke up only a few hours later, her breath gasping and Azriel’s name on her tongue.
A nightmare, nothing more. She tried to calm down, silently repeating it in her head. It was just a nightmare.
But she had to check on Azriel. Her stomach was clutched by an uneasiness that she couldn’t shake. Yet she didn’t move.
It was the middle of the night. Surely Azriel was sleeping by now, and she didn’t want to disturb him, not for something as silly as a nightmare. He’d done enough for her already.
She tried to go back to sleep, to ignore that invisible thread that was pulling at her chest and the thoughts that kept drifting back to Azriel. But every effort seemed useless.
She sat up, running a hand through her hair. The shadows seemed to stir on the floor as if knowing she was considering getting up.
She had no idea where Azriel’s room was. But after realizing they were mates and now the nightmare… she had to see him. It was like a physical need, nudging her to go.
As soon as she rose from her bed, a single wisp of shadow flew from the floor to her, curling around her wrist. She had a feeling she knew exactly which tendril it was.
The bond seemed to pulse in her chest as she headed for the door. But once she was outside, she didn’t know where to go. Nesta and Elain were in the same hallway, but what about Azriel? Maybe he wasn’t even on the same floor, for all she knew.
The bracelet of darkness tugged her toward the left end of the hallway, and she looked down with a frown. It did it again.
“You want me to go in that direction?” she whispered, taking a single, tentative step.
A third tug.
This was a potentially bad idea. She should have stayed in bed. Azriel was no doubt sleeping, and she would only bother him.
Yet her feet moved, and she didn’t fight the shadow as it guided her through the hallways.
~~~~~~
Azriel knew Y/N had left her room the moment she closed the door behind her thanks to his shadows. What he hadn't expected was that she was coming here, yet a few tendrils curled around his ear, whispering the same word over and over.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
A moment later, he heard her soft footsteps down the hallway. They stopped right outside his door.
He waited for her to knock, but when no sound came, he debated whether he should go open the door and let her know he was aware of her presence.
Just as he stood up, three light and quick taps on the wood resonated in the room.
Azriel swallowed. Maybe this could be his chance to tell her about the mating bond.
He walked up to the door, opening it to reveal Y/N, barefoot and clad only in her nightgown. She was fidgeting with her hands and he could bet he heard her hold her breath when she saw him.
“Did I wake you?”
Azriel glanced down at the Illyrian leathers he was still wearing. “No,” he answered with a small smile.
Only at that moment did he realize a shadow was wrapped around her wrist, just like that morning. Knowing it had been caught, the stray tendril flew back to hover around his wings with the others. His dark companions seemed to be as captivated by her as their master was.
Azriel took a better look at her. She was beautiful, even with her unbound hair a bit tousled on one side of her head. That detail, and the fact that she hadn’t bothered wearing slippers, told him she had slept – at least for a while. But judging by her fidgeting and her presence here, something was gnawing at her.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, moving to the side in a silent invite to step in. “Did you have a nightmare?”
She didn't hesitate to walk past him. “Yes.”
Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, clouding his mind so much that he barely heard her answer. She was looking at him now, her brows furrowed.
“I thought you didn't have them anymore,” he finally replied.
“Not usually, but… this one was different.” He didn't miss the tension in her voice, or how she was avoiding his gaze. “It was about you, Azriel.”
His eyes widened. If she was upset about something, if he'd maybe hurt her in her dreams… but she probably wouldn't be looking for him if that was the case, right?
“It was about that day in Hybern,” she went on. “But I wasn't being pushed into the Cauldron. It was…”
When her voice trailed off and she didn't continue, Azriel stepped closer to her and gently brushed her arm. For someone who'd lived for more than five hundred years, he wasn't sure how to act around her. He didn't know if he was allowed to touch her to comfort her, despite the help he'd already offered her multiple times. Things were different now.
“It's okay, Y/N,” he said gently. “You don't need to tell me.”
But she shook her head. “You were dead,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “In the dream, you… you were dead and I couldn't do anything.”
Before he even knew what he was doing, Azriel wrapped her in his arms. He stroked her hair, his shadows joining in and swirling through her locks.
“I'm alright. It was just a nightmare,” he whispered. He felt a sob tear through her body, and for a horrible moment he thought she'd shrink back into herself like weeks ago.
And so Azriel kept murmuring soothing words while he held her close, to prevent her from turning again into a shell of herself or having another panic attack.
Yet when Y/N pulled away just enough to look up at him, her eyes were dry. Azriel could get lost in their depths.
“I know what you are, Az,” she said, and time seemed to slow as his mind came up with all the different possibilities of what she meant.
But what she said after wasn't one of them.
“I know you're my mate.”
Time stopped completely. Azriel froze, his shadows with him, halting their swaying around her.
He seemed to watch in slow motion as she brought up a hand to cup his cheek. As her eyes softened and a smile appeared on her face.
Maybe this was all some kind of dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep without realizing. But his shadows were whispering to him again.
Real. Real. This is real.
Azriel let himself enjoy it then. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. His hand came up to cradle hers, a small sigh leaving his lips as he relaxed.
“You are my mate.”
How she knew, Azriel had no idea. He knew for a fact his brothers and Amren – the only ones who had figured it out – wouldn't tell her before he could. And if Y/N had pieced it together herself, it still wouldn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was that she was here now, and she didn't seem upset or angry.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” he finally replied. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him.
The sight threatened to make him crumble. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss that soft smile.
Y/N just shrugged. “It's alright. I'm not sure I would have understood it if you'd told me sooner.” Her thumb brushed against his cheek before she stepped back, and Azriel reluctantly let go of her hand and mimicked her movement.
“But you could have told me this morning,” she added, her tone amused. “When I asked if you had a mate.”
Azriel ran his fingers through his hair as he offered her a small, nervous smile. “You caught me off guard. It doesn't happen often.”
“Oh?” she chuckled, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He even forgot to say something else.
Instead, he reached for the bond he'd kept buried deep down and let it come back to the surface. He gave it a tentative, gentle tug and watched as Y/N tensed and her eyes widened, her hand going to that spot he'd seen her rub multiple times already.
A moment later, he felt her tug back. And knowing she wasn't running away from it, from him, he closed the distance between them once more. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back and earning a small gasp in return. The need to kiss her was taking over his senses and he struggled to keep control.
Normally he'd go for it, the fact that Y/N didn't pull away and instead seemed to wait for his next move enough to tell him she wasn't going to reject him. And if she were any other girl, he'd do it. But with her, he needed to be sure. He didn't want to rush anything.
“Do you still think what you said earlier?” he asked in a hushed tone. “That my mate was lucky to have me?”
“I'm only more convinced of it now that I know it's me,” she murmured. Her smile lit up her whole face as she moved even closer. “I'm lucky to have you.”
For the first time in centuries, Azriel was feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by her scent now permeating his room, by their bodies brushing against each other, by the mating bond finally out in the open and not hidden in the depths of his soul.
“No, I'm the lucky one to have you, Y/N.”
Their eyes met again and he was about to ask her if he could kiss her – Cauldron, he might even beg for it – when her gaze dropped to his lips. He waited one heartbeat, two, but when she still hadn't looked up by the third one, it was both the confirmation and permission Azriel needed.
With his hand still cradling the back of her head, he pulled her closer while he leaned down. They met halfway and Azriel’s first thought was that he would gladly stay like this forever.
Her lips were soft and warm, and they parted slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He felt her hands on his chest and his wings rustled quietly behind him, an involuntary reaction to her touch.
But Y/N pulled back, the absence of her lips on his like a sudden emptiness in his heart.
His fingers tightened in her hair and when she moaned softly against his mouth, Azriel knew he was a goner.
Her cheeks had taken on a light shade of pink that made him smile. He was so lost drinking her in that he almost missed the words she whispered.
“Stay with me tonight.”
His smile widened. “You're in my room, Y/N.”
“Right.” She chuckled even as she blushed, the sight endearing. “Then let me stay with you for tonight.”
Azriel tucked her hair behind her ear. “You can stay with me every time you want. Every night, if that's what you wish.” He leaned down to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Wait in bed. I just need to get changed.”
She nodded and stepped back, his hand falling away from her cheek.
As he moved towards his drawer, the shuffle of the sheets brought a smile to his lips. He fought the urge to turn and see her lying in his bed. His mate, in his bed. Something he had almost stopped hoping for, after so many centuries.
Eager to join her, he quickly took off his Illyrian leathers to replace them with his sleeping pants. 
He didn't need his shadows to whisper in his ear to know she was watching him. He paused just as he was reaching for the shirt and lifted his head instead.
“Like what you see?” he asked, a teasing not in his voice.
The only answer he got was a low mumble that he couldn't quite make out, which only made his smile widen. Cauldron, he really wanted to turn around and see her face. He was ready to bet she was blushing.
Deciding against wearing his shirt – definitely not because he was a smug bastard who wanted to see her reaction – he turned and walked towards the bed.
He was rewarded by Y/N quickly looking away, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red as she lay back down.
Azriel chuckled, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. A part of him felt a twinge of guilt, maybe he should have donned the shirt to spare her the embarrassment. But he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing her flustered.
With a swift movement, he joined her under the bedsheets. “Y/N,” he called gently. “You know you don't have to shy away, right?”
He ran a hand down her spine and felt her shiver through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “You're my mate,” he continued. “You can look as much as you want.”
She scooted over until her back was pressed against his chest. Azriel immediately wrapped her in his arms and relished in the way her body seemed to fold into his, like that's where she belonged.
“Those are dangerous words, Azriel,” she warned. He could hear amusement in her voice and he knew she was smiling.
“Why?”
She intertwined their fingers and, to his greatest shock, brought them up to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.
It had been decades since Azriel had learned to accept his hands and his scars, decades since he'd stopped hiding them with gloves or in his pockets. He'd done horrible and unspeakable things with those hands, but to protect his court – his family – he'd do them again. And yet to have Y/N, his mate, openly kissing them so tenderly…
He wasn't sure he was breathing.
His shadows curled around his ear, whispering something about an answer, and he realized Y/N had turned her head to look at him. She was frowning, the expression creating a small crease between her brows that he had never noticed before.
“You didn't hear what I said, did you?”
She only smiled, turning around again. “I said that I might not stop looking then.”
Azriel felt a heat creep up his cheeks. “Sorry,” he murmured.
His arms held her tighter, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies. As he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, he whispered, “You're very beautiful too, Y/N. I've had a hard time not staring at you since the moment I met you.”
With their joined hands resting close to her chest, Azriel could feel her heartbeat increase. Grinning from ear to ear, he waited as she shifted a bit like she was debating whether to turn around in his arms or not. But she eventually settled against him again and murmured a thank you.
Shying away from compliments, then. He would remember that. And he would shower her with compliments until she too believed she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on.
He wanted to start now, to make her turn around and kiss her again till their lips were swollen. Instead, he draped his wing over them, creating a little cocoon of darkness and warmth where only the two of them existed.
“It’s quite late,” he murmured against her neck. “We should sleep.”
 She hummed in agreement. “Goodnight, Azriel.”
“Goodnight.”
He closed his eyes, ready for the long hours it usually took him to fall asleep. It wasn't until he heard her voice again that he realized he was already falling into a peaceful slumber.
“Az?”
“Mh?”
Her voice was a whisper, barely audible even in the silence of the night. “This morning, when Cassian mentioned having the biggest wingspan and you snapped… is that a mate related thing, or just Illyrian?”
He had no idea how she'd come up with such a question at this hour. Smiling at her innocent curiosity, he tried not to let his mind wander into dangerous territory.
“I'll explain another time,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”
She giggled, the sound like music to his ears. And with his mate in his arms – her scent filling his nose, her hair tickling his neck, her soft body pressed so perfectly against his – he knew he wanted to sleep like this every night.
After centuries of searching, Azriel had finally found the place he belonged.
֍֍֍֍֍
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rynwritesreid · 11 months ago
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Take a ride| Spencer Reid
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A/N: First of all, I hope that this is suitable compensation for everyone affected by my last fic. Second, my next non-requested smutty upload will be Sub! Spencer. And lastly, thank you so much for all the love guys, I am slowly working through your requests. Jag älskar dig 🫶🏼
Summary: You love to challenge authority, always knowing when to stop pushing buttons. However, you decide to see how far you can push Spencer before he gets angry enough to do something about it.
Content: Fem!Reader. Smut. Dom!Spencer Sub!Reader. Oral (both f & m receiving). Thigh humping. Fingering. Light bondage. Angry Spencer. Semi humiliation kink. Edging/overstimulation. Bratty reader. Power imbalance kink. 18+
Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation
Spencer knew what he was getting into when he started dating you.  You weren’t defiant, per se, you followed the rules but only when you thought necessary. You didn’t mind getting lectured by Hotch, in fact, Spencer thought it was something you enjoyed.
 
Spencer knew you would not be someone who would easily submit to anyone or anything. He knew you were going to be a challenge, he just underestimated how much of a challenge you were going to be.
 
It wasn't just your defiance that fascinated him; it was the way you effortlessly challenged authority without ever crossing the line. You had a knack for bending the rules while still managing to stay within their boundaries. It was as if you had an innate understanding of when to push back and when to surrender.
 
Even though you loved pushing Hotch’s and the FBI buttons, you loved pushing Spencer’s more. Normally you wouldn’t take it too far, just far enough where you knew you were in for a treat later on. Spencer would normally overstimulate you; he loved hearing you beg for forgiveness, saying sorry over and over again until all you could do was moan.
 
But you wanted to see how far you could take it with Spencer, what he would do. You decided to play it safe to start off with. Every time he spoke, you would roll your eyes. At first, he didn’t seem to acknowledge what you were doing, he would simply carry on talking. Though after about a day of doing this, he would glare at you.
 
But instead of discouraging you, his glare only fuelled the fire within you. You craved his attention, even if it meant pushing his limits. So, you intensified your defiance, not holding back anymore.
 
As Spencer continued to talk, you let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms, openly displaying your disinterest. The room fell silent, all eyes on you and Spencer. His glare intensified, a mix of frustration and intrigue evident in his eyes.
 
"Is there something you want to say?" he finally asked, his voice slightly strained.
 
You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Oh, I'm sorry," you replied sarcastically. "I didn't realize I had to be interested in every little thing you have to say."
 
Spencer's jaw clenched as he fought to maintain his composure. He wasn't used to being challenged like this, especially not by someone he cared about. He didn’t say another word to you, he just took his eyes away and talked to the rest of your peers.
 
Once everyone had gone back to their desks, Spencer walked over to you. His eyes never leaving yours. “Roll your eyes one more time at me, and so help me God.” You could feel the tension in the air as Spencer stood before you, his voice low and controlled.
 
You knew you were starting to get to him, but you knew you could still take it further. “I thought you were an atheist, Spencer. Why are you asking God for help?” Even though your question was rhetorical, you asked it with a level of sincerity.
 
"Enough, Y/N," he growled, his voice full of warning. "You know exactly what I meant."
 
You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the underlying intensity that had been simmering beneath the surface. You had pushed him to his breaking point, and yet, you couldn't help but feel a strange surge of exhilaration coursing through your veins.
 
Spencer took a step closer, his proximity only heightening the charged atmosphere between you. The air crackled with unspoken desire and unyielding defiance. There was a part of you that wanted to relent, to submit to his authority, but another part revelled in the power play that unfolded before you.
 
"And what if I don't comply?" you challenged, your voice laced with defiance. "What will you do?"
 
He didn’t answer straightaway, so you answered for him. “Exactly, nothing. Maybe you should go back to your desk and get some work done before Hotch complains.”
 
Spencer's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and desire as he watched you, the challenge in your voice only serving to further ignite the fire within him. He could feel his control slipping, his usual calm and composed demeanour unravelling at the sheer audacity of your defiance.
 
With a calculated move, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped to a low whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "You underestimate me, Y/N," he said, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. "But I assure you, I'm more than capable of making you comply."
 
He walked back to his desk, not allowing you to have the final word. You could see that you had rattled him, and that only fuelled your determination to push him further. You wanted to see how far he would go, how much control he was willing to relinquish.
 
For the rest of the day, you played it cool, focusing on your work and pretending as though nothing had happened between you and Spencer. You barely looked up at him, you wanted him to think he had won for now.
 
But as the hours ticked by, you could feel Spencer's eyes on you, his gaze burning into your skin. You knew he was silently contemplating his next move, strategizing how to regain control over the situation. And you were eager to see what he had in store.
 
Finally, as the workday drew to a close, Spencer stood up from his desk and walked purposefully towards you. His steps were measured, his expression unreadable. When he reached you, he took hold of your arm firmly but gently, guiding you towards the exit.
 
"Where are we going?" you asked, feigning innocence even though you had an inkling of what Spencer had in mind.
 
He didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at you. “Spencer, where are we going? I wanted to go to Rossi’s tonight, he’s teaching us to make homemade linguini, remember?” He still remained silent though.
 
“Are you ignoring me? How mature Spencer.” Spencer's grip tightened on your arm as he led you outside, away from the prying eyes of your colleagues. The cool night air brushed against your skin, adding a layer of suspense to the already charged atmosphere between you.
 
"Enough, Y/N," he finally spoke, his voice laced with both frustration and desire. “You’ve being testing me all day. And I think it’s time someone reminded you who’s in charge here.”
 
“No one’s meant to be in charge in a relationship, but if you want, I can go grab Hotch, I mean he is the one in charge after all.” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, annoyance and irritation flashing across his face. He had reached his breaking point, his patience worn thin by your relentless defiance. Without a word, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, his grip firm and possessive.
 
"Enough games, Y/N," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. "You push me, you challenge me, but do not mistake it for a lack of control."
 
He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispered, "You want to play? Fine. But just remember, I always win."
 
“You don’t always win. I mean you haven’t won today. And what about Rossi’s?”
 
Spencer's gaze bore into yours, his intensity unwavering. "Rossi's can wait," he replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Right now, I'm going to remind you who's in charge."
 
He walked you over to his car, letting go of your arm so he could open your door, a gesture he always did, not matter how angry he was with you.
 
You slid into the passenger seat, still unable to hide the smirk playing on your lips. Spencer closed your door and made his way to the driver's side, taking a moment to compose himself before he started the engine.
 
As the car roared to life, the tension inside the vehicle matched the charged atmosphere between you. Spencer's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles turning white as he navigated the streets with a precision that mirrored his meticulous nature.
 
You decided to break the silence, you wanted to apologies to him, not because you were actually sorry but because you wanted him to think you were. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I was just bored today, and I thought it would be fun seeing how far I could take things. But I now realise that’s something I shouldn’t have done. So, I am truly and utterly sorry.” Your voice calm, but low, so it seemed like a real apology.
 
He remained silent, his eyes never leaving the road. “Spencer, please respond. I didn’t mean to anger you, I thought you would find it fun.”
 
“I don’t want to hear excuses, or fake apologies. You obviously need to learn a lesson.” Spencer's voice was cold, devoid of any hint of forgiveness or understanding. The atmosphere in the car became suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You swallowed hard, feeling a twinge of unease crawl up your spine.
 
As Spencer continued to drive, the surroundings began to blur into a blur of streetlights and passing buildings. His steely gaze never wavered from the road ahead, his control unyielding and unwavering. It was as if he had transformed into someone else entirely, someone you had never seen before.
 
You glanced at him cautiously, trying to gauge his reaction. The anger in his eyes was still palpable, but there was something else there too—a hunger that made your breath hitch and your heart race. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, an electrifying current that left you both exhilarated and apprehensive.
 
"Spencer," you whispered tentatively, reaching out to touch his arm. Your fingers brushed against his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from it. But before you could say anything more, he abruptly pulled his arm away, his gaze still locked on the road ahead.
 
"Don't touch me," he snapped, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. The sharpness of his tone startled you, causing your hand to retract back to your side.
 
Once he had pulled up to his apartment, you didn’t wait for him to open your door, and simply jumped out and waited for him. As you stood outside his apartment, you could feel the tension between you and Spencer reach its peak. The air crackled with anticipation, each passing second heightening your desire for him. You knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for, the culmination of your shared lust and pent-up frustration.
 
Spencer finally emerged from the car, his tall figure casting a shadow over you. He eyed you intently, his gaze burning with a mix of anger and longing. Without saying a word, he walked towards you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards the entrance of his building.
 
He pulled you up the stairs, not even letting go off you to open up his door. Once inside his apartment, Spencer slammed the door shut behind you, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the walls, amplifying the intensity of the moment.
 
“Spencer, I said I’m sorry. What else do you want me to do?” Spencer's silence hung heavy in the air as he continued to hold your wrist tightly, his grip unyielding. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in around you, intensifying the sense of anticipation and unease. You watched as his eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of sincerity in your words.
 
His voice was low and gravelly as he finally spoke, his tone laced with a mix of frustration and desire. "Sorry isn't enough, Y/N. Words won't be sufficient to teach you the lesson you so desperately need."
 
He paused for a second, trying to come up with a good enough punishment. “The only way you’re getting off tonight, is my thigh.”
 
"Are you serious?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intensity in his eyes was enough to confirm that this was no idle threat. He meant every word.
 
“I am very serious. Remember, you did this to yourself. If anything, I’m going too easy on you. Maybe I shouldn’t let you cum for the rest of the week, or make sure you struggle to walk for the next few days.”
 
You gasped, the gravity of his words sinking in. As much as his punishment excited you, it also stirred a deep sense of vulnerability within you.
 
"Spencer, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and apprehension. "I didn't mean to push you this far. I just wanted... I just wanted to feel your control."
 
A flicker of understanding flashed across his eyes, but he remained resolute. "Control is not something to be taken lightly, Y/N," he said sternly. "It is earned and respected. And tonight, you will learn exactly what it means to surrender."
 
He led you to the living room, fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, every second stretching out into eternity as you waited for his command.
 
"Undress," he ordered, his voice firm. A small part of you wanted to tell him that if he wants to see you naked, then he should undress you himself. But you knew then that would be pushing it a little too far.
 
He stood still, watching you as you unbuttoned your blouse, revealing a light blue lace bra. His eyes scanning your body, his tongue licking his lips. He looked at you as if you were prey. As you moved onto your trousers, his eyes followed. It was almost humiliating. He was staying fully dressed, while watching you undress yourself for him.
 
Your heart raced as you slid your trousers down your legs, feeling exposed under his unwavering gaze. "You look beautiful," Spencer murmured, his voice low and husky. His eyes continued to roam over your body, taking in every curve and dip, fuelling a fire deep within you. You couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words, even though you knew it was merely a precursor to the punishment that awaited you.
 
“But when I said undress, I meant fully.” His voice had gone back to being cold.
 
You hesitated for a moment, uncertain of whether you were ready to bare yourself completely. The room grew colder as you stood there, shivering slightly under his gaze. With a deep breath, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it slide down your arms and dropping it to the floor.
 
Spencer's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and dominance as he watched you undress. The air crackled with tension, the anticipation thickening with each passing moment. You kicked off your panties, finally standing before him completely exposed and vulnerable.
 
You watched as he walked over to his sofa. He sat himself down and open his legs slightly. He patted his thigh, as if he were asking you to sit on it for him.
 
Taking a step forward, you approached him with a mixture of trepidation and longing. You felt the cool air brush against your bare skin, heightening your senses. With each fleeting moment, the anticipation grew, electrifying the atmosphere.
 
You positioned yourself in front of Spencer, his thigh invitingly raised and awaiting your compliance. Slowly, you straddled him, feeling the heat of his body radiating through his clothes. The contact sent a wave of electricity coursing through your veins, causing you to inhale sharply.
 
Spencer's hands found their way to your hips, gripping them firmly as he guided you onto his thigh. The pressure against your core was immediate, eliciting a soft moan from deep within your throat. The friction of his thigh against your sensitive flesh sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making it difficult to suppress the moans that threatened to escape your lips.
 
"Ride my thigh, Y/N," he growled, his voice laced with a raw hunger that sent shivers down your spine. "Show me how badly you want to be controlled."
 
Spencer's hands tightened their grip on your hips, guiding your movements with precision. Each motion sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, building the tight coil of desire within you. The room filled with the sound of your moans, mingling with Spencer's low groans of pleasure.
 
As you rode his thigh, the intensity of the moment consumed you. The room fell away, leaving only the two of you entangled in a dance of desire and control. Spencer's hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your movements with expert precision.
 
“Is this all it takes for you to actually listen to me? You just want to cum huh?” He chuckled.
 
You only seemed to be able to nod your head, the only thing leaving your mouth were moans. “Maybe I should have asked you to grind against my shoes instead, you seem to be enjoying this too much.”
 
Your body trembled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation as Spencer's words sank in. The thought of grinding against his shoes sent a surge of excitement through you, despite the humiliation it would bring. You were at his mercy, completely under his control, and you craved more.
 
Spencer's grip on your hips tightened as he felt your body tense with desire. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of his lips, reflecting the dominance that radiated from him. With a sudden surge of confidence, he released your hips and reached down to unbutton his pants. The sound of metal against metal echoed through the room as he unzipped his fly, freeing himself from the confines of his trousers.
 
You watched with hungry eyes as Spencer's erection sprang free, standing proudly before you. A shiver ran down your spine as desire pooled between your thighs, the ache for release growing stronger by the second. The anticipation was palpable, hanging thickly in the air like an intoxicating fog.
 
"Get on your knees," Spencer commanded, his voice low and commanding. You obeyed without hesitation, the need to please him overpowering any remnants of resistance. Your knees sank into the plush carpet, bringing you eye level with his throbbing length.
 
You could feel his gaze burning into you as you took him in your hands, stroking his length firmly. A groan escaped from Spencer's lips; his head tilted back in pleasure. The power dynamic between you had shifted completely, and you revelled in the sense of control you now held.
 
With every stroke, Spencer grew harder in your grasp, his desire evident in the way he gripped onto the edge of the sofa. You marvelled at the way he responded to your touch, relishing in the way his body reacted to your every movement.
 
You leaned in closer, flicking your tongue against the sensitive tip of his cock. Spencer's breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you as you took him further into your mouth.
 
Your lips wrapped around him, the taste of his desire lingering on your tongue. You reveled in the power you held over him, eager to please and satisfy his every need. Your tongue glided along his length, tracing the veins that pulsed with his desire. Spencer's grip on your hair tightened, his hips canting forward, urging you to take him deeper.
 
The intensity of the moment consumed you as you surrendered completely to him. Each thrust of his hips brought you closer to the edge, your own desire building with every flicker of your tongue against his sensitive flesh. Your senses heightened, the sound of his moans filling the room, mingling with your own pleasure-filled gasps.
 
Spencer's control wavered as he neared the precipice of release. His grip on your hair became tighter, guiding you with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. The powerful waves of pleasure coursed through him, radiating from every inch of his being.
 
As Spencer's release neared, you could feel the tension in his body intensify. His breaths became ragged and irregular, and you could sense that he was on the verge of losing his grip on control. With a final, desperate thrust, he released himself into your mouth.
 
You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste of him as his essence filled your senses. The primal satisfaction that filled the room was overwhelming, leaving you both breathless and intoxicated with desire.
 
Spencer collapsed back onto the sofa, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You rose from your knees, licking your lips and savouring the lingering taste of him on your tongue.
 
Spencer knew he wasn’t done with you yet; he knew this wasn’t a proper punishment. Spencer's eyes burned with a renewed determination as he met your gaze. Despite the intense pleasure that still lingered within you, there was a hunger for more, an unquenchable longing that pulsed through your veins.
 
"Get on the bed," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. The room seemed to dim around you, shadows dancing against the walls, as you obeyed his command.
 
The bed beckoned you, its soft sheets invitingly cool against your heated skin. You climbed onto it, positioning yourself on all fours, ready and exposed for whatever Spencer had in mind.
 
Spencer stood up from the sofa, his eyes fixed on your vulnerable form on the bed. He moved towards you slowly, the anticipation building with each step. As he reached the edge of the bed, he trailed a finger lightly along your spine.
 
He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a length of silk rope, his eyes never leaving yours. With a swift motion, he secured your wrists together, binding them tightly but not painfully. You tested the restraints instinctively, feeling the rush of helplessness mingling with arousal.
 
With your wrists secured, Spencer moved to the foot of the bed, his gaze darkening with a predatory hunger. He wasted no time, his hands trailing up your legs, skimming over the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. A shiver ran through you, anticipation coiling tightly in your core.
 
His touch was teasing, tormenting, as he neared the apex of your thighs. His fingers danced along the edges of your arousal, but never fully delved into it. It was a maddeningly slow torture that left you trembling with need.
 
"Please," you whispered, unable to contain the desperation in your voice. The ache within you was unbearable, the longing for release. Spencer's lips curled into a devilish smile, relishing in the power he held over you. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Patience, my love. I deserve patience after the stunts you pulled today.”
 
His fingers continued their torturous dance along your inner thighs, inching closer to your throbbing core. Every brush of his fingertips ignited a fire within you, intensifying the ache for release. Your body quivered with need, yearning for his touch to finally grant you the satisfaction you craved.
 
Finally, Spencer's fingers made contact with your slick folds, teasingly skimming against your sensitive entrance. A gasp escaped your lips as he dipped a single finger inside, drawing out a slow, deliberate stroke that had you arching your back in sheer ecstasy. Each movement was precise, calculated to push you closer to the edge without granting you the climax you so desperately sought.
 
"More," you begged, your voice filled with a desperation that matched the wildfire burning within you. Spencer's eyes gleamed with delight at your plea, relishing in the power he held over your pleasure.
 
With a wicked smile, he added another finger, curling them inside you expertly, hitting that spot that made your entire body quiver with every stroke. The intensity of the pleasure built rapidly, transcending everything else in the room. Your moans filled the air, mingling with the sound of his fingers slipping in and out of you.
 
But just as you were on the precipice of release, Spencer pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping and reaching for something to cling onto. The sudden emptiness made you whimper with frustration. Spencer's eyes held an intoxicating mix of dominance and satisfaction as he watched you squirm on the bed.
 
"You don't get to come yet," he murmured huskily. "Not until I've had my fill." Spencer's words hung in the air, teasing, and taunting you. Every fibber of your being throbbed with desire, yearning for release. The hunger in his eyes reflected your own as he positioned himself between your spread legs.
 
Lowering his head, Spencer's hot breath fanned across your sensitive flesh. His lips brushed against your inner thighs, peppering soft kisses along the way, deliberately avoiding the centre of your need. The anticipation was agonizing, a delicious torment that made your body ache for his touch.
 
Finally, his tongue flicked out and traced a slow circle around your swollen clit. A gasp escaped your lips as pleasure surged through you. He continued to tease, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks that had you writhing beneath him.
 
Each flicker of his tongue against your most intimate place intensified the fire within you. Your hips rocked instinctively, seeking more friction, more pleasure. But Spencer held firm control over your pleasure, denying you the release you so desperately craved. He continued his torturous ministrations, never relenting, never granting you the satisfaction of that mind-numbing climax.
 
Your body trembled with every stroke of his tongue, your need escalating to a maddening frenzy. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans, your pleas mixed with the wet sounds of his mouth on your throbbing core. The tension coiled tighter and tighter within you, threatening to shatter your sanity.
 
Spencer's hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger. You were at his mercy, surrendering yourself completely to his touch. The pulsating waves of pleasure radiated through every fibber of your being, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
 
Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, when the ache for release became unbearable, Spencer pulled away.
 
Your whole body cried out in protest at the sudden absence of his touch. You whimpered, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Spencer's dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you, revelling in the control he had over your pleasure.
 
"Please," you begged, your voice dripping with need. "I need to cum."
 
Spencer's lips curled into a wicked smile, knowing full well the power he held over your satisfaction. He crawled up the bed, positioning himself over you, his hard length brushing against your thigh. The hunger in his eyes was palpable as he captured your gaze.
 
"Oh, my love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "I'm not done with you yet. I want to watch you unravel completely."
 
His words sent a shiver down your spine, desire pooling between your legs once again. Spencer grasped your wrists, releasing them from their restraints, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.
 
With a swift motion, Spencer positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the head of his throbbing length. The anticipation was maddening, the need for him to fill you overwhelming every inch of your being. You let out a soft whimper, begging him to take you, to quell the ache that consumed you.
 
But Spencer relished in your desperation, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. It was a battle of dominance and surrender as your tongues danced and clashed, melding together in a frenzied embrace.
 
When he finally pulled away, his lips trailed down your neck, peppering heated kisses along the curve of your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. As his teeth grazed along the sensitive flesh, a bolt of pleasure shot through you, electrifying every nerve ending.
 
With agonizing slowness, Spencer entered you, his hard length filling you inch by inch. You gasped at the delicious stretch, the feeling of him stretching you to your limits. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, a mix of pain and ecstasy that had your body arching off the bed in pure bliss.
 
He began to move within you, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, intensifying the ache for release that had been building within you for so long. Your fingers clenched against the silk restraints, the sensation of being bound adding an extra layer of arousal.
 
Spencer's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, hitting that spot deep inside you with every powerful stroke. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, mingling with your moans and gasps.
 
Your senses were completely consumed by the pleasure, nothing else existing except for the connection between you and Spencer. His gaze locked with yours, his eyes filled with an intensity that matched the blaze within you. Every movement, every thrust, carried you further and further into a state of raw ecstasy. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of desire.
 
As Spencer's rhythm became more erratic, your body responded in kind, meeting his every movement with unyielding fervour. The bed rocked beneath you, a symphony of creaks and moans echoing through the room. Sweat glistened on your skin, the scent of desire mingling with the air.
 
Time lost all meaning as pleasure coiled tightly within you, ready to unravel at any moment. The fire burned within your core, threatening to consume you whole. Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive yet exhilarating.
 
With one final thrust, the dam broke.
 
An explosion of sensation ripped through your body as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his skin. He quickly followed you, releasing his seed deep in you.
 
He pulled out and had a look a triumph plastered across his face. “I think we should probably get ready to leave now, huh?”
 
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ozzgin · 9 months ago
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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.
Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out
Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave
Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)
Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.
Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader
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You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?
[Part 2] | [More original works]
Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror
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You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow
He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.
Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.
“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”
It’s you.
He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.
You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.
“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.
“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”
He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.
A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.
The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.
Only at night does it become unsettling.
“Going for a walk?”
You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.
“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”
It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.
To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.
You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.
With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.
When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.
Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.
“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.
Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.
Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?
You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.
Fingernails.
“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”
It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.
“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.
“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.
“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”
He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.
Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.
“I’d like to go to my room now.”
“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”
Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.
“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.
“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”
You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.
You want to cry.
He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.
“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”
“I just wanted to lay in bed.”
He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.
“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.
“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.
“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”
You briefly look at the drawer and nod.
“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”
The man ponders his next words with a hum.
“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”
The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.
“Eat up!” He encourages you.
You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.
“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”
He gazes at you in disbelief.
“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”
You return the smile without responding.
“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”
“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.
“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”
The knot in your stomach tightens.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”
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p0orbaby · 3 months ago
Text
It’s Generational, Baby!
summary: babies kick, who knew?
warnings: pregnancy
a/n: sorry this is short but you get what you get am afraid
word count: 920
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“Your child is really getting on my nerves, you know?” you groan, rubbing your swollen belly like it’s a genie lamp and you’re hoping for a wish that involves a whole lot less peeing.
“My child? Don’t you mean our child?” Leah asks, arching an eyebrow so high it almost disappears into her hairline. She has this knack for looking entirely too amused at your discomfort, like she finds the whole pregnancy thing charmingly hilarious.
“No. She’s all yours when she’s sitting on my fucking bladder,” you shoot back, making a face as another well-aimed kick from inside nearly has you waddling to the bathroom yet again. Honestly, if you had a pound for every time you had to pee, you could afford that beach house in Malibu you've always dreamed of.
Leah can’t help but chuckle at your outburst, her laughter warm and familiar, the kind that makes you feel like even in the middle of all this chaos, everything is going to be A-OK. She sidles up to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “What can I say? She’s got good aim”
“Good aim? She’s using my internal organs as a trampoline. Is that the kind of skill set we really want to encourage?” you huff, though you can’t help but lean into her touch, the heat of her body a comforting, relieving presence against your back. You wonder briefly if you should get in early and sign this kid up for gymnastics, or boxing, or karate.
“Maybe she’s practicing to be the next big athlete in the family,” Leah suggests, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You know, like her mum”
“Which one?” you quip, earning another laugh from your ever doting wife. “Because right now, I’m not feeling very athletic. More like a bloated whale.” Not that you have anything against whales, but you doubt they’d be thrilled with the comparison either.
Leah tightens her hold, her breath tickling your ear. “A very beautiful whale, though”
“Don’t think you can get away with that smooth talk,” you warn, though a smile is already tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not that easily charmed”
“Lucky for me, we’re already married,” Leah murmurs, her voice low and playful. She shifts, her hand moving to rest on your belly, feeling the little kicks and movements beneath her fingers. “Hey there, kiddo. You giving your mum a hard time?”
The baby responds with another swift kick, and you groan again. “See? She listens to you more than she listens to me”
“Of course she does. I’m a captain, I talk, people listen,” Leah says, her tone dripping with mock arrogance. “Maybe I should start giving her pep talks. Teach her the fine art of not kicking her mother in the bladder”
“Please do,” you sigh, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “Though knowing our luck, she’ll just end up kicking harder”
“Well, if that happens, we’ll just have to negotiate with her,” Leah says, gently rubbing your belly. “Promise her all the ice cream and chocolate she wants if she stops using you as a punching bag”
“You really think that’ll work?” you ask, skeptical but hopeful.
Leah shrugs, her smile bright and confident. “Worth a shot, isn’t it?”
You sigh, resting your head against her shoulder. “Fine. But if it doesn’t work, you’re the one who has to deal with her when she’s pushing against my ribcage at 3 AM”
“Deal,” Leah agrees, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “Anything for you, love”
You lean into her embrace, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the baby growing inside you. It’s moments like these, amid the teasing and the jokes, that you felt the depth of your connection with Leah. It’s more than just love; it's a partnership, a shared journey that is as full of laughter as it is of challenges.
"Hey, Leah?" you say softly after a few moments of comfortable silence.
"Yeah?" she replies, her voice equally gentle.
"Do you think we'll be good parents?" It is a question that has been gnawing at you, one that you hadn't voiced out loud until now.
Leah turns you around to face her, her eyes searching yours with a seriousness that is rare. "I know we will be," she says firmly. "Because we've got each other. And because we're already so in love with this little one”
You feel a lump form in your throat, emotion welling up inside you. "You really believe that?"
"With all my heart," she says, her smile soft and sincere. "And besides, we've got 23 free babysitters if our patience runs out. And from what I’ve heard, getting good childcare is half the battle with this parenting thing”
You laugh, a sound that feels like a release. "Yeah, I guess it is”
"Come on," Leah says, guiding you to the sofa. "Let's sit down and you can tell me all about how our child has been tormenting you today. Or we could start a record, you know, of particularly impressive kicks? For posterity. Or maybe for her first therapy session”
As you settle into the cushions, you can’t help but feel a wave of contentment wash over you. Despite the discomforts, the uncertainties, and the incessant bladder attacks, you know you are in this together. And with Leah by your side, you feel ready to face whatever comes next, one well placed kick at a time.
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