#technically it wasn't you in the dream

[dear-eli]

That moment when you have a dream about somebody and it feels so real that your brain legitimately has to take a moment to grieve its loss when you wake up and realize it isn't

[amatres]

OCs as Siken Poems

rules: take this uquiz as your ocs would answer and post their results!

tagged by both @transprincecaspian and @demandthedoodles, thank you both for inflicting this on me! I highlighted lines I felt fit the ocs I used the most, so enjoy.

This time I won't tag anyone, but feel free to take this as a tag if you want to do this yourself!

Surana: I had a Dream About You

There’s nowhere to go, I thought. There’s nowhere to go. You were sitting in a bathtub at the hospital and you were crying. You said it hurt.

You said Will you love me even more when I'm dead? and I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.

I went to the riverbed to wait for you to show up. You didn't show up. I kept waiting.

Gwynnever Calear: Straw House, Straw Dog

you wanted an adventure, so I said Have an adventure. The straw about to burn, the straw on fire. Here you are on the TV, saying Watch me, just watch me.

I don't really blame you for being dead but you can't have your sweater back.

You can sleep now, you said. You can sleep now. You said that. I had a dream where you said that. Thanks for saying that. You weren't supposed to.

Allyn Hawke- Boot Theory

because you thought it would follow, you thought there would be some logic, perhaps, something to pull it all together but here we are in the weeds again,

You go to work the next day pretending nothing happened. Your co-workers ask if everything’s okay and you tell them you’re just tired. And you’re trying to smile. And they’re trying to smile.

A man walks into a convenience store, still you, saying: I only wanted something simple, something generic...

Adelaide Oftedahl: Self Portrait against Red Wallpaper

Take it or leave it, and for the most part you take it. Not just the idea of it but the ramifications of it.

I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. I'd rather quit. I'd rather be sad. It's too much work. Admirable? Not really. I hate my friends. And when I hate my friends I've failed myself, failed to share my compassion. I shine a light on them of my own making: septic, ugly, the wrong yellow. I mean, maybe it's better if my opponent wins.

[you-are-my-neverland]

taking a creative writing intro course this fall and i’m so, so excited!!!!

[leatherbookmark]

all this time i've been covering my ears going LALALALALA pretending that ~virtual idols~ don't exist and this is what you do to me? and hongjoong and yunho? please never fucking do that again it's an insult to them and real life actual human idols in general

[concerto-roblox]

i had a dream eddie came back to haunt steve as a ghost is this me prophesying

[unproduciblesmackdown]

skinamarble hornets, i was like i hope my favorite skinamascene has been uplomarinked on youtube....reminds me of that season one marble hornets entry that's the First House Visit and how i saw it described somewhere as like "absolutely nothing happens, & it's terrifying" & it reminds me of the torment of watching as the series was released & Every Time something came out, no matter what happened in like setting, atmosphere, plot, scares, there'd be someone going "ugh another Nothing entry" over the most crucial &/or enjoyable shit so long as it didn't feature [& he's cookin hot dogs on the stove???] & didn't feature it like every other minute for good measure. as though a format that is predictable, like the promise of the same kind of scene in the same intervals of timing, would actually be scary or at all interesting. shoutout to these the entries, or even intervals of time within entries, where "absolutely nothing happens" and it's called suspense in knowing it Could, tension in an unsafe, uneasy, unsettling situation in the meantime, & then also potential followup recontextualization that only creates more tension for later similar material. ("absolutely nothing" happens (of course, actually, things happen, but) in the skinamarink scene save for the literal last few seconds when the "jumpscare" is a very brief change in audio & visuals which is neither actually that loud nor like showing anything scary(tm) (technically a la marble hornets i think people say you can like see an arm extend for a nanosecond but i never catch it if so lol) but rather hits at all because of 8 minutes of suspense & tension & Nothing Happening But It Could) (also bravely standing up like "it's fine that skinamarink has some jumpscares, including the obvious few even jumpier than this" like who cares if it's "easy" necessarily & also that Knowing such startlement can happen ramps up the tension even when it didn't, but it could've. like so)

[evilminji]

You knooooowwww... >.>

The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...

Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?

How many people will dig deeper?

If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.

So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?

Well...

Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?

And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.

They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.

And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.

Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?

Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?

YOU COVER IT!

It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.

Danny was Not Prepared ™.

He loves it though.

Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr

If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.

He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.

Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!

He's probably gonna come back!

Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!

Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.

It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.

Who hired this man?

WHY!?

I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter

[miniyunart]

My piece I did for @turtlestogetherzine !

I truly cannot explain just how much this project means to me, and how PROUD I am of every single contributor!! Everyone did so amazing, seeing all the love and passion everyone had for the TMNT series was seriously so awe inspiring.

The amount of people who supported the zine, first with preorders then with Leftovers (sold out in ONE DAY! Crazy!) and those getting the digital zine still, you all are incredible and I genuinely hope you love this project!

This piece is so special, I went in thinking I'd do something Raph focused (my technically favorite turtle) or even something Rise focused (my fav version so far) but no, I went to the drawing board wanting to represent as many iterations I could with Leo!

My history with Leonardo is such a funny one, when I watched 2003 (my first iteration) growing up, I HAAAAATED Leo LMAO! I hated how boring he was and how much of a rule stickler he was, and I grew up with just this innate dislike of him for every following iteration, till I watched ROTTMNT. I went into Rise expecting to dislike Leo, but they did a complete flip on his character, and I loved it! It was so fresh and it was so fun seeing him be a goof.

So when I went back to watch 2012 for the first time, I found myself loving Leo and his traits there, and then when I went back to watch 2003, the appreciation for Leo grew TENFOLD and I just became smitten with this character!

Mutant Mayhem wasn't out yet at the time, so I wanted to create something that celebrated Leo, the series and the passing of the torch to the newer younger Leo! (WHOM I ADORE!!)

Sorry this was so long, but this project came out better then I could have DREAMED!! So thank you to all who helped bring it to life!

COWABUNGA!

[azulhood]

It all started because of a school project, technically two projects, while it wasn't a world ending threat they set of a change reaction that lead to startling discoveries.

Mr Lancer had given the class the task of looking through their pasts and finding an life changing event that helped shape them into the person that were today and writing about that event.

It was a ten page essay (they were allowed to go over that limit) the more details the better and if you had something from that event to show (such as photos or keepsakes or really anything) you were awarded extra credit.

Danny's choice of event was the school field trip to a nearby museum he went on when he was seven, the space exhibit they had was what sparked his love for the stars and kick-started his dreams of being an astronaut.

It wasn't like he had any other choice (he doubted mister Lancer would accept 'my death' as a good life changing event)

He knew that he had photos of the field trip somewhere with all the other photos taken throughout his life, he just had to find them.

And after digging through thousands of boxes and piles of discarded inventions he handled with care (in case they blew up) he found them tucked inside an old photo album covered in green stains that sat on top of a bookshelf.

Opening the book caused all the pictures to fall into his lap, it seems like his parents didn't get around to actually adding them to the book, Danny resigned himself to spending the rest of his day shifting through old photos.

It wasn't all bad though, he found pictures of when Sam still had blonde hair and wore pink and of that time Tucker wrote an 'I love you' on his parents cars with their keys and many other embarrassing photos.

A treasure trove of blackmail material.

He finally found the picture he was looking for.

All of the kids who are now students of Casper high stood in front of an old building each proudly holding up something they bought in the gift shop (Danny had bought a book on planets that had long ago fallen apart)

It was a normal photo.

And yet, something seemed off.

Sam and Tucker were there with him in between them, Dash was there too.

Along with Kwan, Mikey, Paulina, Valerie, and all the others.

And yet, something was missing.

Then it hit him.

Wes wasn't there.

Danny could've sworn that he had been on that trip, but the more he thought about it the less he was sure.

He couldn't actually remember Wes being there and Danny remembered nearly everything about that trip.

'Maybe he was sick or something?' It was the most logical thing he could think of to explain the other absence, that and his parents not wanting him to go for some reason.

Mystery solved he pushed it to the back of his mind , he had an essay to finish.

Still, it stuck with him.

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

The next school project Lencer gave them was one with assigned partners.

Danny got Wes who, despite not being Sam or Tucker, was leagues better then Dash and he'd take that as a win.

Wes had insisted on studying at his house so he could, and Danny quotes "Keep an eye on you Fenton"

Danny could practically feel the hidden cameras burning a hole into him while he stood in front of the Weston's door, waiting for him to go ghost for whatever reason.

Jokes on him though, Danny asked all the ghosts to leave him along for this month with the promise of giving them a head start the next time they caused trouble, so really Wes was just wasting his time.

"This way." Wes said already heading inside without caring if Danny followed.

Being the first time he had ever been in Wes's home Danny looked at everything and anything.

It was a fairly normal home, not like Danny's which had an anti-ghost defense system or Sam's super rich house.

But more like Tuckers

One of the things that drew his attention was the pictures that lined the walls.

There were so many.

Some with Wes and his mom, some with just him, some with just his mom, and some with people Danny didn't recognise.

But there were no baby photos.

The only pictures Danny could find of a young Wes seemed to be from when he was eight? Nine?

And nothing before.

'Maybe they were put away in storage' Danny guessed, but it still made his brain itch.

He remembered looking at old school photos and not finding any sign of a young Wes at all, he didn't even remember Wes coming to school any time before the year Danny turned eight.

And in a small town where everyone knew everyone that really wasn't possible.

'Maybe they moved here and lost a lot of stuff' Which would explain a lot, well no harm in asking. "Did you loss a lot when you moved here?"

Wes stopped walking and turned around to give him a look that asked if he was insane. "I've lived here my whole life, Fenton."

Danny froze, that couldn't be right, he'd remember that.

Something was wrong.

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

Tim Drake sat in front of the bat computer as the rest of his family patrolled.

He had one monitor displaying the other bats locations while all the other monitors were used to show him files, or rather the lack there of.

Wayne Enterprises had tournaments held for schools and the prize was an all express paid trip to Gotham and tour of WE and surrounding areas, Tim could think of way better prizes that weren't visiting the crime capital of the world but that wasn't the point.

What was the point was that every time there was a winner Tim preformed a routine background check on students and staff (and by routine he means learn their whole live story) just in case anyone happened to be trained assassins set to kill one of them, stranger things have happened.

Wes Weston was one such student whose background Tim had to check.

And he found nothing.

Sure, there were hospital and school documents from age eight and upwards, but other then that nothing.

There was no birth certificate, no evidence of him attending daycare, nothing.

It was as if Wes did not exist before he was eight years old.

And perhaps the most interesting thing.

Amy Weston was listed as Wes's biological mother, DNA even said as much, and yet Amy's medical file said that she had never been pregnant and also had no siblings that could've been Wes's parent.

And yet Wes existed, appearing one day as if he had always been there.

Was it cloning? Aliens? Magic? A changeling? Someone creating false information to hide the truth?

It was a mystery, and mysteries had always been Tim's Kryptonite.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A (not so) little secret

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

Summary: even though you and Spencer have kept yours private pretty well, one night the universe seems determined to let everyone know.

warnings: established relationship but still secret, a mention of sex, and some references. I think that's all

The sound of the phone ringing pulled you out of your sweet and recent dream and when you opened your eyes you needed a moment to get your bearings. You were on a soft bed, a thin sheet covering your half-naked body, and the room smelled of lavender emanating from a humidifier. When you moved a bit you collided with a warm lump and that was the piece to finish building the scene: you were at Spencer’s house. You opened your eyes and that's when you saw that it was the purple phone on the nightstand that was ringing, next to the alarm clock with bright letters that said 4:00 am.

You had ended up in the man's apartment after a long day at work with the promise of ordering food at home and resting for a while, but at some point the kissing on the couch escalated to ending up in bed; it wasn't something you complained about, of course. He always took care of making you feel so good and had a resistance that came to surprise you, so you enjoyed each other for a long time. You were a little sore (in a good way) and exhausted by the end, but the thought that you would be able to rest up late the next morning had comforted you greatly. You would have fallen asleep barely two hours before then, but since the noise didn't seem to disturb your boyfriend's sleep and you were closer to the device, you decided to reach out to pick up the call.

"Hello?" you sighed sleepily. You couldn't imagine who could want something at that hour, although the fear that it was a call from Bennington Sanitarium about Diana's health made you think it would be irresponsible not to answer.

"Reid?" asked the voice on the other end of the line and you recognized it immediately.

"Hotch?" you murmured, a little more lucid. As soon as the last name was out of your mouth, you realized how stupid you'd been to answer instead of waking Spencer up for him to answer. It was your boss, calling the landline of one of his agents, and it turns out that it was you who had answered.

“Y/L/N?” he spoke again, sounding confused. "Are you with Reid?"

You were silent for a second as panic washed over you, your brain working at full speed to think of what to say.

“Huh… yes. I didn’t feel very well and he said that I could stay here” you confessed. Technically it was the truth, although you preferred to spare yourself the intimate details. 

Even though it wasn't a crime to go out with unit mates, if it was a little… how can I put it? Immoral maybe? It could take away from your objectivity in cases and it was definitely a distraction at work, but when it came to Spencer Reid, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help it.

You had already been together for a few months. You realized you had feelings for him after he offered to stay with you for some days in the hospital to care for the gunshot wound that grazed your shoulder during an unfortunate event. It was so nice to be under his care, he brought you delicious food all the time, every day he bought new flowers for the next vase and always made sure you were comfortable.

Probably the daily stress had clouded your vision a bit, but in an environment so far removed from all your work, it was when you realized how wonderful Spencer could be, and let's be honest, men like that don't grow on trees in droves. It didn't take long for you to buy him a drink, just to thank him for all he'd done for you, but then the dates became recurring. One night the two of you finally talked about what you wanted for your future and then decided to start something formal.

At first it was easy to hide it in the office, after all no one would have reason to suspect anything. Morgan was annoying sometimes, thinking that he was the only one who noticed how you looked at each other, but the others hardly noticed. The problem was when, over the months, the connection between you strengthened romantically and physically, coupled with the sweet nicknames with which you called Spencer in private that on more than one occasion almost slipped from your lips.

By this point you were enjoying being with him so much that you honestly didn't care what the team might think about the relationship, you thought hiding it was more of a habit than a necessity, but you didn't know if Spencer felt the same way. You hadn't really needed to talk to him about it, at least not until now.

“Okay, then tell him that something urgent came up. I need you both to come to the office as soon as possible because in a few hours we are flying to Boston."

"Okay, we'll be there"

"Fine"

The communication was cut off there and when you turned after hanging up the phone you noticed that Spencer had already woken up, probably by the sound of your voice having a chat. He looked so cute and sleepy that you couldn't help but caress his face with your palm to help him wake up.

"What's going on?"

“It was Hotch. They need us in the office”

"I figured," he grumbled, stretching a little to shake the numbness out of his body.

“He realized that I am here. I'm sorry"

"It's okay, love. Don't worry about it,” he said, totally calm, as he stood up and gave you an absent-minded kiss on the cheek. He got up and started rummaging through the closet for something decent to wear over the black boxer shorts he was wearing, while you rubbed your face with your open palms "How do you feel?"

"Tired" you laughed, unconsciously covering your torso with the sheet. You still didn't feel confident that he would see you naked for so long, even though you had already had sex on considerable occasions "So you're not angry?"

"Angry? Why should I be?"

"Because he knew I'm here" you answered softly and he stopped what he was doing to look at you. You knew it took Spencer a few minutes to fully wake up, though he seemed quite conscious as he knelt on the side of the mattress you were on so he could speak. "I mean… do you think we're going to get in trouble?"

"I don't think so" he replied, as one of his hands slid down your bare leg to rest on your knee "Does it bother you that he knows?"

"No, no. I'm just… I'm worried that he'll send us to different departments”

“Just because we're dating? He would never do that” Reid laughed, finding your panic a little cute “He would lose his best agent”

"Are you referring to you or are you referring to me?"

"Applies to both" he replied quickly. You thought he would be more reluctant about the matter, so you practically took a load off your mind seeing him so calm by your suggestion “Actually I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Garcia and Kevin had no problems with their relationship so… why would it be any different with us?

"Because they weren’t in the same unit"

"So you don't want to try it?" he asked, sounding a bit dejected. Apparently it was a subject on which he had previously reflected.

“Of course I do, Spence. If you want to do it, then so do I" you assured him. He looked at you with some admiration and smiled happily, feeling satisfied with the answer “So it's a fact? Shall we just say it, just like that?” you muttered nervously.

Spencer took a few seconds and you could almost see the gears of his brain working behind his front.

“First we can talk to Hotch and explain the situation. Then there will be an opportunity to tell the others."

"Good"

“But we can discuss that another time, okay? for now just… get dressed. Not that I'm jealous, but I wouldn't want to see you walking around in nothing but your panties”

"Perhaps you would like it, what you would not like is for others to see me" you argued, managing to get a giggle out of him before he got up to continue with what he was doing. 

It didn't take long for you guys to get ready, and considering it was early morning, Spencer rummaged through his closet for a hoodie he could fit you into, even though you'd refused. You didn't even bother to dress up, you just tied up a messy ponytail and walked out of the place like that.

Normally you arrived at the office at different times, almost always the fifteen minutes between each subway schedule, but you thought that right now that was the least important thing. Although he didn't like to drive, he let you sit in the passenger seat of the light blue car that he only used in very necessary cases.

During the journey you got distracted looking at the city lights and at some point these lulled you so much that you ended up asleep against the seat. Spencer made sure to drive more carefully and avoid potholes, until he parked outside the FBI building. When he stopped and looked at you so peacefully, he wished he could just leave you like this, even though he knew everyone was probably already waiting for you inside.

Despite the urgency that the situation required he took a moment to look at you, feeling his chest swell with love. A part of him was guiltily glad you'd answered that call, because for the past week he'd wanted to talk to you about stopping keeping things secret and that had given him the perfect excuse. He wanted to have more moments like this with you, not just limit himself to giving you his love imprisoned by the four walls of an apartment.

“Hey,” he called to you in a small voice, when he finally snapped out of his trance, leaning down to stroke your arm hoping you'd react “We're here, pretty. Wake up"

You let out a groan, clearly not wanting to leave, and when you opened your eyes you felt your eyelids completely heavy. By way of persuading you, Spencer reached up to kiss your lips, in a prolonged and loving way that helped you remove all traces of sleepiness.

Inside the car you were oblivious to anything, without knowing that a person had been watching everything with their mouths open. Emily Prentiss practically ran to get to the office before you did and once she entered she desperately searched for the rest of her coworkers, finding Morgan, Garcia, and JJ talking to each other.

“Prentiss. where in such a hurry?

"You won't believe what I just saw," she said, without even saying hello, and the three of them stopped talking to pay attention to her, after all the tone warned them of a sure gossip "Reid was kissing a girl in his car"

“Spencer?” Garcia said, sounding incredulous but also excited.

"Yeah! I was getting out of my car when I saw him park with a girl in the passenger seat and then he leaned over to kiss her. Do you think she’s his girlfriend?

“Maybe we interrupted him in the middle of an adventure. Poor boy,” Morgan laughed, feeling sorry for his younger friend.

“I didn't get a good look at her face, but she was wearing a hoodie like… grey? I think so, it was grey."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the elevator opening and the three of them turned to see who it was. There was Hotch, of course, Rossi next to him, and behind both of you were Spencer and you.

"Thank you all for coming. Let's go to the meeting room” your boss announced, not stopping his walk and waiting for the rest of you to follow. Everyone ignored Rossi's greeting as Emily's eyes widened and she jerked her head in your direction, as if trying to make out some feature. JJ nearly choked on her own saliva when she noticed your gray hoodie, while Penelope and Derek shared a knowing look at the obviousness of it all.

You two didn't even notice what the rest were up to, so before long the whole team was already seated at the round table. It was a custom not to sit next to Reid, partly so you wouldn't be tempted to touch him, but also so you could look at him all the time.

When JJ started giving you the details of the case you were fighting to keep your eyes open, feeling disgusted and worried about the serial killer you had to profile this time, but also completely exhausted. Spencer's hoodie felt so comfortable that you hugged yourself hoping for some comfort, and then you noticed that he was looking at you. You smiled at him from where you were, wishing you could sit on his lap to listen to the rest of the meeting, while he circled his index finger on the left side of his chest, where his heart was. It was a sign he had adopted to let you know you were there. Derek, who was next to him, watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself. Several times he had noticed his coworker doing that but until now he could understand why.

“We're leaving for Boston in an hour, just pack your bags and come back here. We'll better build the profile on the jet,” Hotch announced, and most nodded as he got up from their seats. Except for you, who leaned your cheek against the table.

"It's honestly not how I planned to spend my Saturday morning," Penelope complained, pouting in disappointment.

"Well, neither do I, but this isn't paperwork that can wait for Monday”

"Are you alright, lover boy?" Morgan asked now, paying attention to Reid's hunched posture. "You look like you're going to pass out at any moment”

"We didn't sleep well"

"We?" Prentiss pointed out accusingly. Spencer frowned at her, not noticing his mistake, but when he finally did, nerves invaded him.

"I meant me. I didn’t sleep well. I had… some things to do”

Yes, things.

"Huh, I see," she scoffed, not believing him one bit. That he had spoken in the plural and you were in the same condition only gave the team the confirmation they needed.

You had spent the night together.

"See you in a bit," Rossi said goodbye and the rest soon left through the same door as him. Only when Spencer made sure no one around did he come up to you.

"How come you can fall asleep anywhere?"

“It's my superpower. You're a genius, I have this” you teased, hearing your boyfriend giggle before taking a seat next to you. Once he was there, he started stroking your back gently, as if he wanted to comfort you.

"I take you home?"

"If there is no other option" you sighed, getting up from your comfortable position only to lean against his chest in a hug. Spencer loved physical contact, so he didn't put up the slightest resistance. "Have you ever thought what it would be like for us if we had normal jobs?"

"What do you mean?"

"Outside the FBI"

"Do you want to quit?" he asked, feeling alarmed, but you shook your head against his chest.

"No, is not that. I love this unit. I only asked myself if it would be easier if we worked on something... I don't know, less demanding, that would allow us to have days off or that it wouldn't take us out of your apartment at 4 in the morning. Something safer” 

"If that were the case, we wouldn’t have met"

“Did you always want to be an FBI agent?” you asked, raising your head so you could look at him. Your eyes looked bright in the light from the room, something Spencer couldn't ignore.

"Not always. There was a time when I wanted to be a cowboy”

"A cowboy?" you laughed, but with no intention of mocking. Of all the occupations that was the one you had least imagined for a mini-Reid "Well, you know what they say, save a horse..."

You expected him to complete the sentence, but seeing him scowling because he clearly didn't understand your country reference was enough to make you laugh and ask him to just forget it.

"And you? Did you always want to be an agent?”

"No," you said immediately. You had thought about it many times “When I was little I wanted to be a vet”

“A cowboy and a vet. That doesn't sound so far-fetched, maybe one day I would have even called you to take care of one of my animals."

"And then I would have fallen in love with the gorgeous cowboy Mr. Spencer Reid" you smiled, looking affectionately into the pretty eyes of the aforementioned "Can you imagine?"

"Maybe we really were already destined"

You liked to believe so. You liked to think on a daily basis that as horrible as being a profiler could be, every decision in your life had been worth it just to get to know people like your coworkers. That the world wasn't so horrible if it had allowed you to have a boyfriend as wonderful as the man in front of you.

"You're the best I have, you know that?" you exclaimed without hesitation "The best" you repeated and Spencer pulled you back into a hug just to avoid the embarrassment of you seeing his slightly moist eyes. Your face was leaning comfortably against him and your ear enjoyed the soft beat of his myocardium “I like to hear your heart”

“Did you know that a study showed that two people's heartbeats can be synchronized when they are in love?”

When he told you this, your ear was pressed against his chest and your hand went up to your neck to press it on the pulse line, paying attention to the rhythm of both of you. You smiled widely when you saw that, as always, your boyfriend was correct.

“And if one day we part ways? Will we keep beating at the same time?”

“I don't know, but I don't plan on checking either,” he assured you. Spencer really did see a future with you, and you inevitably did the same.

Before you got up you made sure to kiss him nicely on the lips and you left the boardroom hand in hand, arguing over which of your departments you would go to first. You didn't count on the fact that JJ would still be at the entrance, that when you arrived she looked at your perfectly intertwined hands.

"Hi," you said nervously, both of you letting go as a reflex, "Why haven't you left yet?"

“I need to close the door. I have the keys” she smiled. It was obvious, but you had forgotten it because you were chatting.

"Huh, yeah. We are very sorry. See you in a while"

"Good trip," she said, with the most teasing smile she'd ever given you.

You two rushed out of there and when you got to the elevator you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"For God's sake, is today the day we have to expose ourselves to the whole world?" you exhaled, covering your face with both hands to hide your blush.

"At least no one has seen us kiss yet"

If Emily had been in that elevator, she would have laughed in Spencer's face.

[redroom-rainbowguts]

I think lucid dreaming could be used more as a horror concept

You're aware you're dreaming, in full control as far as your consciousness extends

But your subconscious couldn't care less, it's faster

Stronger

It knows every fear, every insecurity

Every possible rebuttal you offer can be countered just as fast

Caught in an endless race with your own mind begging to wake up

But the only chance your mind has to truly relax

To give up

Is to succumb completely, totally

And allow your miserable lucid dream to dissolve into nothing but another nightmare

Where you're nothing but a puppet

Dangled by the strings of unconsciousness

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

Summary: Your relationship with Farleigh Start has always precariously walked the line between friends and enemies for years.

But maybe there's something else there, too.

Warnings: 18+ content; MDI. AFAB, Oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (this is fiction, please use protection in rl), hints at s and d dynamics; brief, barely there choking, outdoor/technically public sex. Sex while under the influence ( takes place during Oliver's party, so drugs for Farleigh and alcohol for the reader). Farleigh being an a*s, but what's new. Reader is American. Heavy denial of feelings in the beginning.

Notes: 14.6 k words. There is an abhorrent lack of Farleigh content on this site, so I thought I'd contribute. Not proofread, divider by @saradika-graphics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

Honestly, it's a wonder how you always manage to forget the sheer opulence of the Saltburn Estate - even when it wasn't in the throes of a celebration that costs more than your yearly salary. It's like some sort of dream almost. While you're in it the details are all startingly intense. Overbearingly so. Flaunting in front of you with all of its details and sights; like a kaleidoscope. The memories never do the estate any true justice. The soft, rolling lush fields; the crystal blue skies that loom over the tall gray spires. It's all painted behind your eyelids with a haunting clarity. But as soon as you leave - as soon as you wake up - the entire experience never truly feels real. Bits and pieces slip through your fingers. It loses its tangibility somehow and you can't help but wonder if you had imaged the whole thing, even with Felix's number programed into your phone; a physical reminder that Saltburn is indeed a real, tactile place. 

But even here tonight, while walking the halls and strolling through the courtyard, it doesn't feel like reality. It seems as though you've stepped into a fever dream, crossed some imaginary threshold and entered some mirroring realm. The air is charged. Electrifying. And you swear you could feel the magnetic net of adrenaline and excitement prickling at your fingertips. A cocktail of emotions amplified by alcohol and drugs and endorphins. 

Everywhere you looked there were jovial, writhing bodies. People dancing and laughing. Some full on making out - and others dangerously close to toeing the line of having public sex - and others were having a less enjoyable time by collapsing in exhaustion or blacking out in an inebriated haze. One unfortunate soul had thrown up all over the floor boards of the foyer, and you had just narrowly missed being sprayed by the projectile vomit as you had passed. It was like the Exorcist. 

Thank God it hadn't been on one of the Persian rugs. 

It was someone's birthday, it seemed. A little impromptu. Not initially planned. Oliver's - at least that's what you believed it was. The same Oliver that Felix had mentioned during one of your phone calls. He had spoken of him fondly, but when Felix had rushed outside this evening to greet you from your taxi and help you gather up your bags, he had seemed less interested and even a little irritated in the mention of his newest companion - or as harsh as it sounds, charity case (he seems to have a new one each summer). And he had been quick to divert your line of questioning, stopping you with a somewhat curt, "he's just a friend from Oxford. That's all." And that was that. You knew not to press him over it. 

But your time with Felix was cut short when he was pulled aside by an excited Elspeth, who had spared you a quick glance and a "hello, darling," before eagerly trying to get his advice on the party preparations. Which he didn't seem particularly enthused about being dragged into. And it left you to stand awkwardly on your on in the middle of the foyer, trying to force your bleary eyes open. Jet lagged with your will to live paper thin from only having a rough five hours of sleep to back it up. And for a moment you had feared that you might actually pass out on your feet but luckily Venetia had sought you out and saved you from feeling too awkward amongst the others. Occupying the time by gossiping and interrogating you about your time back in the States. All of which, you had confessed have been rather boring. Filled with exams and dead-end dates and careless flings. And even though the initial arrival always leaves you feeling like a fish out of water, you were thankful to have been invited back over to Saltburn. The sprawling, golden fields and fresh crisp air always a welcome reprieve from the loud, chaotic clamoring and the smog blanketed horizon of Los Angeles. 

Even though the wild, scattered throng of sweating bodies that were bumping into you honestly weren't all that different from the clubs you frequent back home. Of course, the sheer show of wealth and splendor that had been rolled out for Oliver was nothing that you had ever seen before with the only thing to rival it (and surpass it, probably) being Felix's very own birthday party that you had been able to take part of a few years back. One that had been themed after a strange but no less entertaining amalgamation of cowboys, space and disco, and the costumes and decorations then had left you in a state of awe, much like tonight. 

Everywhere you looked there was something else to gawk at. Glittering lights, a hired contortionist and at one point you had even seen a swan rush past you out on the courtyard - which you had only felt sad and a little angry for. 

It was pure, unbridled pandemonium. Noisy and cloying with the scent of perfumes and marijuana and alcohol; and you couldn't escape it. Not even when you had gone outside to take advantage of the dark, balmy summer breeze to cleanse your lungs. And everything had been going well until a drunk man had lunged out of the crowd towards you. Wobbling on his feet with a loud wail akin to a war cry as he aimed a narrow tube directly at you. And you only had a fleeting second to wish that it was one of those party canisters full of tensile when he had set it off with a loud pop! And a large, shimmering cloud of glitter had burst over you like a mist, layering across your hair, and costume and skin like a sheen of sweat. You didn't even have time to yell at him before he was scurrying off into the crowd with a demented cackle, probably on his way to find some other unfortunate person to glitter bomb. 

And even worse a quick glance downward had revealed that the drink in your champagne glass had been tainted by a thin coat of sparkling silver. Even if you wanted to be lazy and drink around the floaters, the amount drifting around in the champagne was too much. You probably would have ended up choking on all of it. It was with a defeated sigh that you tossed out the remainder of your drink onto the trampled lawn. 

For the first time tonight you're actually thankful that Venetia had chosen to leave you for some tall, dark, and handsome stranger that she had met near the beginning of the party. You hadn't seen her since, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. You would hate for her to see the state of her dress. It is just glitter, easy to wash off in the grand scheme of things, and too be fair she had said that she didn't even like the garment. It was just some random piece from another one of the Catton's wild parties - themed after Renaissance art and fables, you think. And she had sifted it out from the depths of her closet with little fanfare.  "It's just some old thing, " she had told you plainly, even though the dress probably cost more than your monthly rent. Clearly, she wouldn't be distressed over some glitter, but you were still having a hard time fighting the sinking feeling in your gut. It was borrowed. She was letting you wear it. And now it was covered in a dust of silver because some guy decided to be a dick. 

It could be worse though. It could have been a glass full of wine that he had dunked on you instead. You suppose you should take your wins where you could get them. 

A part of you thinks about returning inside the manor and calling it a night. Taking a much-needed bath to clean off the layer of glitter from your skin and just going to bed. But really, you aren't sure if you'll even be able to manage falling asleep with the sheer volume of the music playing throughout various sections of the house, and the sound of the raucous cheering and laughter. And you could imagine what Venetia or Felix would tell you, to quit being so reclusive and to get out and socialize. 

You did fly all the way over here. Planned this trip for a few weeks and made preparations with your job and roommate when Felix had called to invite you over for the summer. It would be a complete waste to turn in for the night and huddle yourself up in your quarters. 

And with the fog of alcohol draping over your body you know you should probably put a pause on it for a bit but fuck it, it's a party and you need another drink. 

 You glance around the courtyard, hoping to spy one of that servants that have been forced to parade platers of alcohol around for the many guests but all you see are the scattered throngs of people dressed in fairy wings, strange animal masks, and plastic swords. Honestly, it never amazes you how many people get invited to these events. Even with all of the family members combined, there's no way they all know every individual here directly. There's probably enough to fill a damn stadium. 

In your search your gaze sweeps over the steady bonfires, the temporary lovers grinding against each other and a pair talking amongst themselves - wait. That catches your attention. You feel heat prickling at your chest; irritation rising in some subconscious sort of reaction and as if they have a mind of their own your eyes skitter back over to them to confirm if what you thought you saw was true. And lo and behold, there he is. The bane of your existence. Farleigh Start. 

Your eyes flicker across him from his head to his old-fashioned boots. He's holding some sort of mask in one of his hands. A big bulky thing with long protruding ears and an equine shaped face and you have to squint to come to the concussion that it appears to be a donkey.

 He seems to be talking to someone. A person that you don't recognize but they both seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated stare off from near a rotating pig on a stick. It looks like he's found another unfortunate victim to prod at and humiliate. Not that it was difficult for Farleigh. He was always eager to find someone to harass and belittle. And the more that someone fought back, the more interested he seems to become. He's been a personal thorn in your side for longer than you'd like to admit. 

Of course, you knew he would be here, but that didn't necessarily mean that actually seeing him made it any easier. It had to have close to a year since you've last interacted with him, which had to have been during that awful Christmas party back in the States. Why Graham had invited both of you when he knew that neither of you get along is a mystery. It could have been some lame attempt to get two of his closest friends to finally clear up whatever animosity was between them, but in all actuality it had just made worse. All of the passive aggressive barbs and thinly veiled sneers had nearly reached a boiling point that night when Farleigh wouldn't just leave you alone. Seeming to make it his mission to antagonize you at every turn with childish insults. But as childish as they might have been, they added up over time until you were giving him what he wanted, lashing out in response to his nasty little comments. 

And to think at one point you had actually been excited to meet him. As Graham's close friend and roommate, you were interested in getting to know the guy that he couldn't stop gushing about. The one who he had praised nearly nonstop. Farleigh had been nice enough in the beginning. And you even enjoyed his company for a time. His humor had always been a bit snarky, and the jokes he told were usually at another's expense. But he had been - as much as you hate to admit it, fun. And at one point, you had even considered him a friend of sorts. Or at the very least an acquaintance whose company you enjoyed while you both rambled on about nothing and everything, often gossiping about others. 

It had all been fine between you. That was until Felix had come down to L.A. to visit. He had gone out with Farleigh and Graham to go and sightseeing, which eventually steered into hopping from club to club as the day wanned into night. And when the invitation had extended to you, your relationship with Farleigh had taken a turn. For whatever reason talking to Felix was easy. But that was just Felix you suppose; always able to make friends with just about anyone in the room. And the closer that the two of you had become, the more strained your association with Farleigh had grown until it was filled with nothing but sardonic remarks and passive hostility. And instead of being a sort of surface level confidant, he gradually became a presence that you detested. And your relationship had gone from a mutual respect and cordial conversations to some sort of strange cat and mouse game. The both of you exchanging snarky jabs in an attempt to see if the other would crack. 

You would be lying if you didn't admit that some part of you enjoyed your little spats. And maybe you had hoped that he would be here tonight. Not that you'd ever tell him that. You'd rather trip onto the sharp end of a knife. 

Suddenly Farleigh is stepping towards the stranger, shoulders rigid and body pulled taught, seeping with irritation. And he takes ahold of their face, forcing the shorter man to look into his eyes in some sort of intimidation tactic.  Farleigh's nearly seething. And his expression is firm with an apparent frustration. You don't think you've seen him so visibly aggravated before. You can't help but wonder what the mystery guy may have done to warrant such a response from him. 

And then Farleigh is pulling away, releasing the stranger from his grip with a smug smile. But on him it looks more like a sneer with the way his lips are stretched and showing off his teeth. He's moving towards your direction now, probably intending to head back to the house, and he's yet to notice you. You contemplate leaving. Of slipping back under the cover of the scattered crowd and disappearing before he sees you, but your body doesn't move. Instead, you're stock still.  There's some awful feeling in your gut that seems horrendously akin to anticipation; fluttering and soft and nauseating. 

You should just leave. You could leave if you'd just move. But it's too late. You swear there's some awful full body reaction that occurs when Farleigh's gaze meets yours and he stops in place to assess you. For a moment it's like you've been sucked into a black hole. It's like time has dilated and shrunk down around you until it's frozen solid and suddenly the lively chaos around you falls quiet, muffling down into an insignificant hum in the background. Recognition flickers in his eyes and something else crosses his face too. Something that you don't quite recognize but regardless, it feels as though the both of you are engaged in some sort of wordless exchange. There's another smile growing on his face. It's mischievous but still much more relaxed and familiar than the previous one that he had worn, and you can't help but return one of your own. 

It's then that you're finally able to gain control of your own body, walking backward a few steps before you twist around to slip amongst a gaggle of passing girls with something that is suspiciously close to excitement bubbling in your gut. You briefly use them as cover to get you closer to the house entrance, and they're all too occupied with giggling and gossiping to notice your presence. But you're able to remove yourself from the cluster when one of them drunkenly trips on her skirt, and she saves herself by latching onto the shoulder of one of her friends with a wild laugh. The others all gather around her to jokingly reprimand her as they assist her in righting herself but you're already stepping through the back threshold of the manor, and you're thrown headfirst into the alcohol infused, neon casted mayhem. Party streamers, glow sticks and blaring upbeat music. It's complete madness. You can hardly hear yourself think and trying to work yourself through the tight gaps between people's swaying bodies proves to be a challenge of its own and it's a heavy reminder as to why you had even gone outside in the first place. 

The atmosphere is cloying and thick; you feel as though you might actually be able to choke on it like it's a physical thing. As otherworldly and exciting as this party is, it's another experience entirely when you're being elbowed in the ribs by an oblivious drunk girl who isn't aware of her windmilling arms and all the intoxicated men who think that you're trying to feel them up and flirt with them when in reality you're just trying to get by. And for a split second you feel as though you may never make it out of the tumultuous sea of bodies. That you'll be cursed to wander around aimlessly in the wild, dancing masses for eternity. Subjected to the ear shattering music and scent of spilt wine and bourbon and sweat. 

But then you hear something that sounds suspiciously like your name. It's distant and damp as though your ears are plugged and for a second you had thought that you imagined it before you hear it again. This time louder and there's no mistake that someone is calling you. It has you pausing for a moment to analyze your surroundings and then you catch sight of someone familiar at the far end of the room and for a moment you think that your eyes might be lying to you with the aid of the dim lighting. The deep, saturated, shifting hues of purple and blue and red tinting the chaotic space doing very little to aid you. But someone is waving their arm up the air for you to spot them better and a long glance confirms that you were right in your assumption. The relief that sweeps across your bones is insurmountable and the glimpse of a hand raised up in the air to beckon over you is even more incentive to press forward. And you have to shoulder past people until you enter a small break in the crowd. 

"There you are!" Venetia shouts triumphantly, swaying to the rhythm of the song playing at full blast. "I've been looking all over for you!" 

You don't bother refuting her. Of countering that she was the one who had wondered off without any plans to meet up afterwards. Instead, you just move up closer to her, doing your best to match her movements and energy but you're entirely too self-conscious to actually meet her. And you feel the fleeting sense of relief that she has yet to notice all of the glitter covering her dress or doesn't care. 

"I had to go outside and get some fresh air, " you confess and even underneath the low lighting you can see the way that she nearly rolls her eyes at you, but even then, there's a well-meaning smile on her face. 

"You're at a once in a lifetime party, and you were spending it outside?" 

"Just for a minute." But she looks completely unamused by your apparently flimsy defense and suddenly she's grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning towards you like it might seal in her words better. 

"Well, you're supposed to be inside. Dancing and partying and getting drunk." She squeezes her hands against your skin. "Seriously, it's like you're allergic to fun." 

Okay, a little bit rude. And you try to remind yourself that she's just saying it because she's probably drunk. For the most part, all of the younger Catton's (Farleigh included) have a tendency to be social butterflies and party animals. It was something that you had struggled to keep up with when you had officially become friends with Felix. Luckily, he was typically the most understanding out of all of them, and he was aware enough to take notice when you were burning out. It was something that you had thought that Venetia had come to terms with as well, but every now and again she always makes sure to voice her objections. 

And you open your mouth to protest but you hardly get anything out. "That's not tru-" 

"And as your friend it's my duty to ensure that you do exactly all of the above!" She pulls away with a smirk that is entirely all too satisfied, and it immediately has the alarm bells inside your head blaring. "And maybe even a bit more." 

You don't like that last bit. 

"There's someone who I think you'd love to meet!" And you swear you can feel your stomach drop at those words but exasperation bleeds through the discomfort until you're holding back an irritated sigh as she practically gushes some stranger's name. "Reuben!" 

And at the call of his name, the guy seems to appear from the darkness and shifting bodies like some sort of spirit. It takes you completely off guard how closely and quickly he moves, and you have to physically keep yourself from flinching back. The entire situation is jarring, and you feel like an insect pinned to a corkboard with how both Venetia and this stranger - Reuben are watching you expectantly. And it takes everything to muster up a smile that you know must look strained and unnatural. "Hi," you greet lamely, but he doesn't seem to be the least bit deterred or put off. 

And he is cute, you'll admit. Kind, joyful eyes that you think are hazel but it's honestly impossible to tell in this lighting and there's a dusting of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He seems inviting enough if first impressions are anything to go by, but for whatever reason you don't find yourself gravitating towards him or longing for any sort of conversation with him. 

"It's nice to meet you!" He returns, loudly projecting to be heard over the stereo system. "Venetia's told me a bit about you." 

"Uh-huh, " you nod for him to continue or maybe divulge, but he doesn't. He just stands there silently without removing his gaze and you can't tell if it's because he's just oblivious or if maybe he's just socially awkward, but it has you shuffling on your feet all the same, desperate to move or do anything to make this less weird. And you glance over at Venetia who still has that hopeful expression on her face, doing your best to telegraph your discomfort without tipping Reuben off. And she does seem to notice but she doesn't tell him to leave or direct him somewhere else like you had wanted. 

"Reuben said that he's been to America before," she reveals. Apparently trying to salvage this little interaction and cultivate it into something more. 

"Oh, really?" You perk up a bit, or at least try to. "Where did you visit?" 

"Uh, New York. City, " he clarifies at the end before his demeanor shifts into something a bit sheepish and playful and the gold plastic crown perched atop his head glints in the lights. "It was a bit of a bore, I won't lie. But that was probably because I was there on a business trip and not on holiday, so feel free to put the blame on me." 

His attempt at joking does thaw at some of the unpleasant tension that had burdened the air, but even with the initial ice broken there's still just a simple, straightforward uninterest underneath it all. You aren't stupid. It's obvious why Venetia had pressed to introduce him to you, it's obvious why he had agreed. And you don't fault him for trying to get lucky at what might just be the party of the decade (for you at least) but keeping him here and stringing him along is a complete waste of everyone's time. You aren't going to sleep with him. Not tonight or any other night. And then you go to tell him as much, parting your lips to just get to the point and lay all of your cards out on the table but then Venetia is tapping on your shoulder, making you pause to look over at her. 

She has this strange, delighted smile on her lips that's even worse than the one she was wearing when she had invited Reuben over. She nods her chin over to your right, watching eyes trained on something or someone. "Your shadow's here." 

You nearly break your neck to follow her line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Farleigh standing several feet away from a gap in the crowd and you have to wonder just how long he's been standing there for. And you don't know why you suddenly feel as though you've been caught doing something wrong. Why your body flushes and prickles with shame and you feel like cringing. Maybe it's because of the way that he's looking at you. How his eyes dart from you to Reuben like he's assessing something. Most of the emotions flickering across his face are unreadable. But for second you think that you catch glimpses or what might be anger or irritation and worst of all betrayal before it leans into something neutral and flat. And then just as you had, he's turning on his heels and vanishing. But unlike you, he doesn't smile as he leaves. He doesn't walk away with a silent invitation to follow. 

And then Venetia is turning to Reuben with a sweet smile and tilting her head. "Alright, you can go now." 

He looks just as confused as you do, and he turns to look at you like he's expecting you to jump in to defend him or at the very least offer an explanation, but you don't have one to give.  You're just as lost as he is and when you don't speak and tell him to stay, he backs away, spreading his arms out in a sort of silent 'what the fuck?' gesture and vanishes back into the throng of bodies. 

"What . . . was that?" You ask, tense with a mutated type of bewilderment and anger. 

"I just wanted to see it." She says cryptically and irritatingly, begins to dance in place before finally disclosing on that little comment. "The look on his face." 

"What?" You snap. 

"Please, the way you two dance around each other is getting dreadfully old. It's boring and tired. I just did something to get the ball rolling." 

This in particular isn't new by any means. You had heard it all before from the two Catton siblings. Their vehement insistence that you and Farleigh had some unspoken attraction for the other that you both refused to act or speak on. It had nearly become a joke for the both of them. To prod and poke at you and Farleigh with to their hearts content. It was something that the both of you had learned to accept over time - somewhat - and ignore. But this. This new and entirely strange. 

"So, what? You were trying to make him jealous?" Your forehead crinkles as you watch her; incredulous and perplexed. 

"Trying?" She echoes amusedly." I succeeded. Did you see the way that he was looking at you? He was practically seething." 

You almost scoff. He wouldn't be jealous; he had no reason to be. And you don't know why Venetia's little ruse has pissed you off, or why that strange look on Farleigh's face had made your heart drop, but it did. 

"The two of you are so dense that it's honestly as frustrating as it is entertaining," she says with pure exasperation. "I mean, whenever you're here, you're practically fused at the hip. Bickering like cats and dogs like we can't all see the truth." She laughs but it's more of a scoff really. "He speaks about you. All the time. Always whining and complaining about something you've done. But it's different. He practically has hearts in his eyes while does it. And it's exhausting." And then she's backing away from you, leaving you to settle and drown in the disarray of your own thoughts and come to terms with that. Does he really speak about you like that? Surely, there's no way. 

 "So can the two of you, for all of our sake's, sort whatever mess you've got going on between you and just fuck already? " 

And then she's spinning away her heels, sending you a wink over her shoulder and the silver chains wrapping around her body in a delicate draped halter glint and twinkle underneath the lights; showcasing that elaborate weblike shape that they've been constructed in. And she just leaves you. Abandoning you in the middle of the temporary dancefloor while you fight with an upstream of odd emotions. You just standing there while you tussle with the urge to find Farleigh and apologize (apologize for what?) and tell him that it was just some weird joke from Venetia (why does that matter?). You don't know why you feel the need to go and try to repair whatever damage Venetia may have just done. What that said 'damage' may even be, you don't know. And you also don't know why you're suddenly heading off in the direction that Farleigh had disappeared in, scanning the crowd for him with some ugly sense of desperation that you don't want to unpack and analyze. Not even as you yield to it.  

You aren't even sure how long you search for; your gaze jumping over every face and person that you see in the hopes that you find him. But the room is packed to say the least, and the odds of you actually stumbling across him must be low. He might not even be in this specific room anymore. And if that's case then you might as well as give up now. The estate is sprawling; if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. And you think about giving up. Of turning in for the night and trying to talk to him in the morning when you inevitably see him at the breakfast table. 

But then you see him. Only this time there's no double take or reason to reconfirm that it is him, this time you spot him immediately.

He seemed to have shed his doublet at some point, leaving him in his pale undershirt. His mask is gone as well. And it takes your mind a second to realize that he's not alone. That he's pressed against some girl like he might kiss her. There's a smile on his face; inviting and flirtatious and the tips of their noses brush together as they lean in close. 

You're an unintended observer. You shouldn't be here watching them in a moment that clearly isn't meant for you but it's as though your feet are glued to the floor. It's like watching a car crash. You don't want to look; you don't want to be here but some awful part of you is making you stay. Your muscles have gone still from something prickling and cold and disarming. You can feel it in your chest too. It's making your lungs seize and for one long, paralyzing moment it's almost like you can't breathe. But you don't have a right to be bothered by this. Farleigh's entitled to have one-night stands or flings or to go on dates with people if he wants to. There's no reason why he can't. And there's no reason why you should be feeling shame and betrayal and hurt right now. Absolutely no reason. You wonder if this is what he had felt just a few moments before while you were standing with Reuben and that odd little side of you hopes that he had. 

God, what if Venetia had been right? What if - 

Their lips brush together. 

They're going to kiss, some hideous part of your brain whispers and even worse your body tenses and coils like it's bracing for some sort of dreadfully anticipated impact. This is it. The moment the car crashes and erupts into burning flames. 

But then Farleigh goes still. Pausing as though someone had called his name or he's remembered something. The girl that he's pressed up against leans back with a confused furrow pinched between her eyebrows when he turns his head and his eyes land on you. 

Your mouth goes dry, and your tongue seems thick and useless, and you try to swallow around it. Now that you're here you don't even know what to do with yourself. You aren't even sure what you had gone after Farleigh for. You didn't have a plan to begin with; you didn't know what to say. You have to internally curse yourself for following after him and putting yourself in this situation. It's strange and awkward and it takes everything for you to even manage a smile. To try and look casual and pretend that maybe you had just stumbled across them and hadn't intentionally tracked him down. And you lift a hand up in a lax wave while your mind ceaselessly chants for you to leave. To just go. 

You can feel Farleigh's gaze searing into you, drilling holes into your head even as the girl that he's with leans towards him and you can't hear over the distance or the music, but she appears to be saying something if the way that her mouth is moving is any indication. 

You're quick to turn on your heels and all but nearly speed walk away from the both of them, eager to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You don't feel like you're apart from your body. It's like you're disconnected from it, uncomfortably aware of your limbs and movements as you rush away. And it's like your emotions are stuffing your body full and threatening to tear it at the seams. Emotions that you don't recognize; that you don't want to recognize. 

A warmth and pressure suddenly encircles around your wrist, much like a hand would and for a moment you think that you've imaged it. But then you're being pulled back gently by the strength of someone's grip, and it forces you to stop. You know who it is before you turn to look at them. You can smell the burn of tobacco from his cigarette habit on his clothes, and it blended with the delicate musk of his cologne. The woody notes of amber joining along with vanilla and bergamot and cardamom made your mouth water in some horrid Pavlovian response. It was humiliating. 

Then your eyes are meeting his; dark and glimmering underneath the flashing, sweeping lights dancing about the room. And for one agonizing moment neither of you say anything. It's like you're both simultaneously drifting away and stuck in place. The energy looming over the both of you is foreign and strange, and Farleigh can feel it too if the blank, unsure expression on his face gives away as much. 

And then he's releasing your wrist and you let your arm drop down at your side. He shifts on his feet and the weird tension in his shoulders drop as easily as if it were a piece of clothing and a smirk takes shape on his face. This is the Farleigh that you're more familiar with, with the condescending look in his eyes and a prideful tilt to his head. It puts you at ease. Dulling the nervous butterflies in your gut and allowing you to settle underneath his presence. 

"Well, if it isn't Felix's favorite little pet." It's meant to be an insult. Most would read it as such, but for you it brings nothing but relief. It feels like a consolation almost. That whatever these strange little interactions have been they haven't damaged your relationship with Farleigh (what relationship?) and made things odd. He glances around the room and all of the festivities, the swaying crowd and streamers and flowing alcohol. He wrinkles his nose in a way that comes off as falsely apologetic. "Or I guess I should say second favorite now." 

"Then it's a good thing that I didn't come here for him," you respond easily enough. Internally thankful that the last remaining remnants of tension in your throat hasn't prohibited your ability to speak. "I just know how thrilled you always are to see me, and so I couldn't possibly bring myself to skip out on the trip."  

"Thrilled," he echoes with a scoff. "Is that what you think? Because personally I feel like drowning myself in the pond right about now." 

"No one's stopping you, " you quip back easily, finally slipping back into your old dynamic. 

His forehead scrunches as he pins you with an incredulous look, tilting his head as he moves in closer towards you. "And leave you here all alone? What would you do without me?" 

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace." 

"Sounds boring." 

But you don't have time to respond. He's leaning back on his feet and stepping away from you while he digs one of his hands into the pocket of his costume's pants. And when he removes his hand, it comes out clutching a packet of cigarettes, which he's quick to ruffle around in. "Come on, I wanna smoke." 

You don't ask any questions as he moves, leading you out from the dancefloor and throughout the house. Every so often he glances back over his shoulder like he's reconfirming that you haven't wandered off and left. He guides you up a set of staircases, past the couple planted by the first step who are openly making out and grinding on each other and up into the twisting, changing hallways. 

"Where are we going?" You ask, nearly getting shoulder checked by a pair of girls who rush down the corridor in a fit of giggles. 

"I told you, " he replies and hardly looks back. " I want to smoke." 

You want to press him about. About how suddenly he's unable to smoke inside when you've seen him do at least a thousand times. Even at the breakfast table. He probably does it on the toilet too. It wouldn't be a surprise. You aren't sure how long the two of you walk for, higher up into the highest floors of the house until he's finally stopping and opening a door at the end of the hall. He pauses in the threshold, dipping his head in and looking in like he's checking to see if it's occupied. He could have just knocked. It would have been an unpleasant surprise for the people inside if it actually had been unavailable. But the coast must be clear because he's slipping inside and nodding his head for you to follow after. He shuts the door behind you, closing it with a click and gives you a passing smirk when you shoot him a curious glance. 

You follow him into the room, vacant apart from some paintings and a few pieces of furniture - an old office maybe, and he leads you across the floors towards a pair of large glass double doors.

He tugs on one of the handles, swinging it open, revealing what appears to be one of the balconies. He's outside before you. And by the time you slide up beside him he's already leaning against the chiseled stone railing on his elbows and the cigarette perched between his lips is lit and smoldering. 

The air outside is still warm, sweet and earthy with the scent of moister in the air, like some distant, unseeable storm is brewing. And you can see so much of the estate from this high up. The frolicking people down below in their costumes and those massive, glowing lotus lamps drifting in the pond. But even with all of the guests down on the courtyard engaging in various kinds of trouble; drinking and shouting and singing amongst themselves, up here their voices can harldy reach you. It sounds like a faint murmur on the soft summer wind. And for maybe the first time tonight you actually feel a sense of calm. 

"He's a selfish lover, " Farleigh says randomly, flicking the butt of his cigarette to sprinkle the dead ash onto the far grounds beneath. "And a notoriously fast one too. Eliana Merrick said he busted as soon as he put it in." 

He notices the lost look on your face and sighs, twisting around on his feet to lean his back against the railing instead. "Your little boytoy from earlier. Reuben Amory." He spits his name out with something that sounds suspiciously like contempt. Venomous and irritated and he lifts the cigarette up to take another drag. "His father's a friend of the family. To James specifically. That's how he always manages to weasel his way into our parties." 

"I guess I dodged a bullet then." You joke, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the elaborate pearl earrings dangling from your ear. 

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?" 

"No," you shake your head with a light shrug. "He was fine. It's just . . . I don't know, I wasn't interested." 

Farleigh snorts, making you glare at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing." But his tone is a little sarcastic, and unconvincing and the nasty smile on his lips reveals as much. "He just seemed to fit the bill of your type pretty well. Well-meaning, polite and a little pathetic." 

You nearly laugh but it comes out as more of a scoff. "That is not my type." 

"Oh, really?" He challenges, moving closer towards you and you can smell his cologne again. The vanilla sticks out the most this time. Delicate and sweet. "What about that guy you used to flirt with at IHop? " 

"He was a server. It's literally his job to be nice-" 

"And then there was your neighbor back at the apartment. The one across the hall with the abysmal amout of plants. And then who could possibly forget, what was his name? Adrian? Who you dated for all of four weeks." 

It has you falling silent, unable to counter his argument even though you have a remark waiting on the tip of your tongue. You've never realized that Farleigh had ever paid that much attention to you and your affairs. It has that syrupy, fuzzy feeling pooling in the center of your chest despite that fact that you're actively telling yourself that it doesn't actually mean anything. It's normal for people to notice things about people that they're forced into proximity with. 

"Wow, I never knew you were so interested in my love life, " you say, gripping onto the rough texture of the railing. Stroking your fingers over the soft groves and bumps. "Maybe you should get one of your own." 

"But yours is always so entertaining," he snuffs out the cigarette and carelessly drops the butt onto the ground near his feet. "You know, with the way that it always seems to crash and burn." 

It probably would have stung to hear if you weren't able to say that you were the one to end all of the relationships that you had been in. That you were always the one to take the first step in severing ties. Even with Adrian you had been the one to sit him down and explain that you just hadn't been able to see it progressing anywhere. The both of you were too different. Your goals and wants in life were polarizing and the only things that had brought you together were superficial at best. You just weren't built to last. 

"Please, like yours has ever been any better." But he doesn't look the least bit offended. Instead, there's a satisfied quality to his expression. Your lips purse and something akin to defeat weighs down your shoulders. "Besides, they were all too sweet anyway. A little too nice. They could never keep up. I'd always end up saying something to hurt their feelings on accident and they would think that I meant it and then I'd get the silent treatment." 

"Not like us, huh?" Farleigh responds a little softly. And he was right. There was always something about your dynamic with Farleigh that you had never been able to achieve in your relationships. The constant push and pull. The competition of your endless banter and insults. The way that you could be completely bare and unrestrained with your words without putting your standing with him at risk. There was . . . an intimacy in it that couldn't compare with anyone else. You had seen the worst of Farleigh. The sneers and jabs and heated sarcasm. And in turn he had gotten the brunt of your own ire and jokes, but it still didn't change a thing. Neither of you ran from it. Instead, you both seemed to revel in it. To seek it out even. It was a type of security that you had never found with any other friend or lover. 

And you don't know what it is, but some invisible element shifts and rises between the both of you. Something that's always been there. Simmering and quiet, building up underneath your every interaction like water boiling on a hot stove. 

"No. Not like us," you admit in a near whisper like if you spoke to loudly that it might disrupt whatever magnetic thrum has fallen over you both. So low that he might not have heard you. But then you see something flash in his eyes. Something hungry and eager and he's moving closer until you can feel his body heat pouring over your skin, seeping underneath the delicate fabric of your dress and into your bones. 

"I hated all of them," he says it like a confession. Hushed and passionate. And you suppose that it is one. Told in total confidence, with a certain fervor like a sinner tucked away in a confessional booth. "I hated them because they should have been me." 

It makes you gasp lowly. And your fingers squeeze around the banister like it might ground you and keep you from floating away. And suddenly Venetia's previous statements are echoing around in your skull; mocking and satisfied. You feel slightly stupid now. Blind. But never in a million years would you have guessed that Farleigh had actually ever been jealous of the men that you had dated. It seems like such a silly concept. Or else it would have in the past, but now here he is confirming the very thing that the two Catton sibling's have been vehemently trying to drill into your head for years. And you like it. God, you actually like it. Some nasty little side of you is completely satisfied and even elated that he's been seething over all of your old flings and exes. It feels good because you've been doing the same thing you suddenly realize. Every time that stinging burn had caught up in your chest at the sight of him curled up with some other person - it hadn't been irritation for Farleigh. It was jealousy. You had actually been jealous. 

"Can I tell you something?" You ask. 

He just hums, low and soft. You can't even glance away from him. Not even if you wanted to. Not with the way that he's looking at you. His stare is heavy and intense, and it feels like you're being held by the throat, forced to maintain eye contact with your breath steadily being stolen from your lungs. "I wished they were you, too." 

It's like something breaks free from you when you say it. It was heavy, oppressive and suffocating and in its absence, it's replaced by a sense of ease and a freedom that makes you want to laugh and maybe even cry. And maybe if you weren't preoccupied with the entirety of your attention zoned in on Farleigh you might would have.

Now he's stepping even closer than before, and now you can actually feel the press of his body against yours. The pressure of it has your lips parting, and you have to angle your head to maintain your shared gaze without breaking it. Then his hand is tucking underneath your chin; the pad of his thumb lifts to brush over you, tracing the shape of your bottom lip with something that feels close to reverence. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

Something inside of you breaks apart at the question, crumbling and washing away like sand underneath the crashing power of a wave. You nod before you even fully register it, and your body is buzzing with a honeyed heat. And you understand that if you do this then whatever relationship you have with Farleigh is going to fundamentally altered. It will be the point of no return and the consequences, positive or negative, will be unavoidable. Maybe tomorrow things will go sour. Maybe by then you'll be back to hating each other, even worse than before. But you want this. Consequences and all. 

"God, yes. Please." 

His lips are soft and warm, and they taste sugary and faintly floral with what might have been the flavors of some beverage that he had drank earlier. There's the bite of tobacco on his skin too, sharp and smoky. It's usually something that you had never enjoyed when kissing people in the past, but right now it hardly even registers. You're too busy getting lost in the feel of him. The warmth of his hands framing your face, the way that he shifts you on your feet and nudges you back against the railing of the balcony. Your hands are everywhere that they can reach, stroking down his chest and dipping down to grip his hips, pulling them flush against you like any amount of space left between you might kill you. 

He groans into your mouth at the gesture, nipping at you lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. It has heat, liquid and thick building between the cradle of your thighs. And you know that it's just kissing, but you can't help but internally berate yourself, because if the both of you hadn't been so horribly bullheaded you could have been doing this the entire time. 

And he pulls away from you all too soon, making an embarrassing whimper bubble up from your throat, but he's hushing you with a soft coo, snickering lightly under his breath when he ducks his head beneath your chin to suck at the skin there. Taking it between his teeth and lips and you can't help to soft, breathless pants that start to leave your chest in response. It's purely possessive and you're sure that he's trying to leave marks there, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him not to. It's like your muscles are melting, going boneless at the sensation of his tongue tasting your skin, licking up the salt from it. You can feel the shape of his smug smile against your throat, and it makes you want to slap him. But instead, you're reaching a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him close to you. 

You're wet already, soaking through your underwear. It's something that you would have been awfully conscious of in the past with another partner, but here and now you can hardly think around the red fog that's beginning to cloud your brain. And then he's shifting, sweeping a hand underneath the silk skirt of your dress to clasp around your thigh so that he could pull it to the side, allowing him to nudge his leg between the both of yours. 

"Farleigh," you gasp, and he cruelly grinds his thigh against the heat of you, steadily feeding the pressure thrumming there but not letting it build towards anything more. It's frustrating. Mean. And it has you clawing at his shoulders impatiently. 

"Yeah? What is it?" He asks, nipping at the sensitive skin on your ear, making sure to be mindful of your earring. You don't respond at first, unable to with the way that he's still steadily moving his thigh against you. It's simple, but with the way that you're already so pathetically worked up, it feels like agony. "Come on, you can tell me." 

And to make it worse, that hand that had been gripped around your leg is now moving further underneath your dress, slipping between the press of your bodies to settle above where you want him. His fingers play with the elastic band of your panties, teasing, implying more. But then he hooks it in the crook of his fingers and pulls, letting it snap back against your skin. The sting is dull, but it has you gasping regardless. You mindlessly reach for his hand that's still underneath your skirt, taking it into your own. And you briefly fear that he'll pull it from your grip. But he allows you to guide him. He removes his head from your neck to look into your eyes, watching your expression when you finally slip his hand underneath your underwear, and you can feel the shocking chill of his signet ring trailing across your heated skin. He takes over from there and you can't help the way that you arch into him when his fingers finally move down to where you need him the most. His face pinches when he spreads you open, and he nearly groans at the feel of you. "Jesus, baby, you're fucking soaking already." 

Your eyes flutter from the drag of one of his knuckles brushing over your clit and it's like it's directly connected to every individual nerve in your body, making you squirm and moan raggedly. 

"Is this all for me?" He asks, dipping one of his fingers lower, teasingly circling the entrance of your cunt but he doesn't go any further. 

"Yes." Your lungs feel tight and your nipples brush against his chest with each breath that you take, doing little to help ease the tension and desire threatening to tear you apart. "Yes, it's 'cause of you. Please, Farleigh. C'mon." 

"What's the rush?" He taunts, angling his head to take your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. "The night's still young. " 

He rocks his thumb against your clit, smirking at you with pure arrogant satisfaction from the way that you shudder underneath his touch. You know that he's absolutely delighting in the way that you've been practically turned into mush by what is essentially some heavy petting. Especially after all of the years of trying one up each other, you're sure that this is doing wonders for his ego. Like it needs to get any bigger. That little prickle of irritation peeks out from underneath the saccharine haze shrouded over you, and you can't keep it down. "I fucking swear, Farleigh, " you nearly hiss, nudging your hips in the hopes that it'll drag the pressure of his fingers closer. "If you don't do something, I swear I'll-" 

"You'll what?" Comes his immediate reply, the low rasp of his voice sounds completely unbothered. 

"I'll leave, " you say firmly. Or as firmly as you possibly can with the way that the knuckle of his thumb has begun to rotate around your clit in tight, but soft sweeping brushes. But he doesn't appear to be worried in the slightest. He just grins at you. And shakes his head as he lowers it to nudge his nose against yours. 

"No, you won't." He says it so certainly. Like he's omnipresent and has already seen the decided future. Like your fate is already sealed. And he's right as much as it pisses you off to admit it. You won't leave. But you don't want to tell him that and give him the satisfaction. " 'Cause you need me don't you, baby? Need me to make you cum." 

You're nodding in agreement before you even realize it, throwing whatever semblance of control that you had right out of the window. 

"Yeah? Gonna let me taste you?" Just the words alone nearly makes you keen aloud like some desperate slut, and you just barely swallow the sound down. But he must see it in your eyes. The sheer want and desperation that you feel coursing through your body like a drug. The need possessing you might actually be debilitating and you're back to clawing at his shoulders and arms in an attempt to just do something. To pin your focus on something other than the heavy ache between your legs. And you can just distantly hear yourself chanting a string of 'yes' like a broken record. 

He tugs his hand from your underwear, and you can't help but mourn the loss, even when he's lowering himself down on his knees and planting kisses down across the expanse of your body as he goes. But then he's rucking the skirt of your dress up over your hips and tucking his fingers back into your underwear like he's getting ready to pull them down. Instead, he's just staring, and his eyebrows are pinched together almost like he's pained. 

"You really are soaked," he says with a sort of awe. A thrum of embarrassment rings through you when you realize that he's probably admiring the noticeable wet spot that has dampened the crotch of your underwear from your arousal. You try to close your legs, mostly out of reflex but the sharp, reprimanding smack on the outside of your thigh that you get in response makes you freeze in place. He glares up at you and you have to reach behind you to grip the railing to keep from collapsing from underneath the intensity smoldering in his gaze. 

"Keep them open," is his only warning before he all but rips your panties down your hips. Guiding one of your legs up with a hand for you to step out of them, but he leaves your lace underwear to hang from the high heel on your opposite foot; apparently too impatient to fully remove them. And he barely gives you time to think or breathe before he's taking ahold of you by your waist and swinging both of your thighs over his shoulders. 

The feel of his tongue laving over the heat of your pussy in a long, greedy swipe makes you scream, completely uncaring for all of the guests down below. And all some distant, buried part of you can do is hope that you're up too high for anyone to hear you. That no one happens to glance up and see you clutching onto the railing for dear life. There's no build up to it. He's completely unrestrained, apparently having the goal to make you cum as quickly as possible with the way that he's working his mouth on you. Swirling his tongue over the swollen, sensitive nerves of your clit and lapping at the dripping entrance of your cunt like a man possessed. 

You mouth drops open with heavy pants, and your hands scramble across the cool chiseled stone for something to ground you and keep you pinned to reality. You can see the glint of your arousal smearing across his lips and cheeks and the look in his eyes is a blend of determination and a dazed kind of contentment, and you can feel him groaning against your pussy, amplifying your pleasure. And if it wasn't for the way that you could barely stop whimpering and crying out, you'd nearly think that he was enjoying this more than you with his pleased hums thrumming throughout your body. 

He takes your clit into the cradle of his mouth and sucks, and you think that you actually sob but you feel miles away from your body and also helplessly, deliciously trapped inside of it. "Farleigh, " you keen, humping against his face in a debauched display of hedonism. One of your hands reaches down, gripping onto his hair when your eyes roll back from the hot suction of his mouth. 

"You taste so good, baby, " he huffs, lapping at the entrance of your cunt with firm, maddening strokes. "So fucking good." 

It's too much. You feel like you're on fire. Like he's pulling you apart with each swipe of his tongue and putting you back together again one agonizing piece at a time. It feels cruel but it's also utter bliss. Your thighs are shaking from how tightly they're seized, clamped around his head in a tight squeeze. But he doesn't seem to be bothered about it, because when you try to be mindful and spread them open, he just takes them into his hold and presses them back up against his ears again like he wants to be suffocated. And the thought of that alone has something sharp and electric zipping through you. You file that little theory away for later. 

And that familiar ache is rising up like a high, simmering tide. Building and rushing towards you with a quickness that takes you by surprise and you can feel your entire body winding up and coiling tight in anticipation. He drags you closer to his mouth, scooting you down lower against the railing. You're pretty sure that your back is going to be covered in scratches from the rough texture digging across your skin, but as of right now you couldn't give less of a shit. You let your head loll back on the stone, unable to find the concentration or strength to keep it up yourself. You stare up at the sky sightlessly, just barely taking in the winking glow of the scattered stars above while pure, liquid heaven seeps across your limbs. 

That overwhelming looming pleasure is right over you now, just a few good strokes off. And with the way that he's licking and sucking at you with his mouth it won't be long before you're breaking apart for him. 

"Farleigh," you whimper, choking around a wanton moan, trying to warn him. 

He doesn't give you any verbal indication that he hears you. But the grip on your thigh's tense in response, and he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before dipping it down inside of you; fucking you with it. You can't help the way you're grinding against him, crying out breathlessly when the point of his nose nudges against that swollen bundle of nerves, urging your orgasm to rush towards you at a breakneck speed that you can't brace for. 

"Farleigh!" You nearly shriek this time while that wild, rush of pleasure crashes down on you with the intensity of torrential downpour. It tears through your body in a way that's almost violent, making you twist under the heat of his mouth and the iron grip that he still has secured around your legs like you've been jabbed with an electrical current. You sob through the brunt of it, probably alarming the entirety of the Saltburn Estate of your current position. And even after the most of it has made its way across your body, he doesn't stop lapping at you, determined to make sure that he wrings every ounce of your pleasure out of you. It isn't until you're weakly nudging his head away from your sensitive cunt that he pulls his mouth away, but he occupies it by kissing at the inner stretch of your thighs. He massages your hips gently and the sensation works to help guide you back into your own body and return a sense of coherence to you. 

All you can do is just sit there and catch your breath, panting raggedly into the night air. You stare up at the stars with complete disbelief while your brain tries to catch up with the fact that Farleigh had just casually sucked your soul out of your body. Sure, you had heard stories of his sexual prowess from some of his past flings before. Heard all of the people gushing and praising his technique in the bedroom, and you had never not believed them per se, you had just never imagined that he was actually this good. 

"You doing alright up there?" He asks and his voice is ragged and a little raspy like he was the one screaming and not you. 

"Yeah," you confirm after a brief pause. "Just give me a minute and I'm gonna suck your dick." 

You can feel him chuckle against you, playful and more than a little cocky but he's more than earned the right to be. "Take your time." 

Thankfully, the strength has begun to come back to your body. And even though your limbs are still a little bit shaky you're more than determined and able to ignore it and push through. You raise your head up look at him, using your arms to shift and lift yourself up. He looks up at you expectedly, eyebrows raising with amusement while he aids you in removing your wobbling legs from his shoulders. 

He must notice something in your gaze; desperation, want, determination, because he just moves to lean back on his elbows with a relaxed smirk. 

"Right here?" He asks. You just nod wordlessly as you lower yourself down on your knees. You could go inside. You probably should. There wasn't a bed in the room that you had entered the balcony from, but there was a couch. Hell, even the floor in there would probably be more comfortable for the both of you than the harsh rock underneath you right now, but you don't want to wait. Not even with the room being so close. Your knees are going to absolutely hate you tomorrow but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care.  

He parts his legs for you to settle between them and you're fast to crawl over him while he lifts himself up to kiss you. Your lips connect with teeth and tongue, and you moan into each other's mouths when you reach down to cup the length of him from over his pants. He's hot and heavy, even with the layer of fabric covering him. You're still sensitive from your recent orgasm but when you feel the weight of him against your palm, your pussy flutters and tinge of heat settles in the base of your abdomen. 

"Baby please, just take it out, " he whines. His voice is petulant and quivering. On any other night you would have used it as an excuse to tease him, but as of right now, you don't have the heart (or patience) to. The urgency in his tone has you thumbing at the buttons closing his pants, but it doesn't help that they're so small and that its dark. You have to squint underneath the dim moonlight to find them and your fingers slip more than once. But luckily you manage to pop all of them through their opening in the fabric; even with the way that Farleigh impatiently grinds into the air, trying to use your hand and forearm as something to grind his cock against. 

It's so desperate and dirty but it's also so fucking hot. Seeing him all laid out and begging has a heavy anticipation fizzling underneath your skin, prompting you to grip at the edge of his pants. He's eagerly lifting his hips up, aiding you as you tug the fabric down, working it around the swell of his ass and his hips. And he audibly groans in relief when his cock springs free from the restraint of his clothes. It's so hard that it looks like must be uncomfortable, and there's a steady stream of precum pouring from the tip and trailing down along a thick, throbbing vein in a pearlescent sheen.  

Your mouth waters at the sight, and you have to swallow it in the fear that you might actually drool if you don't. He catches the way you're admiring him, and something smug bleeds into his dazed expression. A reversal from the way that he had outright begged for you earlier. You really want to wipe that look off of his face. 

Then you're giving into your basest desires and leaning forward to lick at the head of his cock with long, steady sweeps, scooping up the salt of him into your mouth. He's rewarding you as soon as you touch him, breathing out a strained, "fuck," while his fingers come up to grip your hair, already knocking a few of the fake flowers clipped along your updo free; honeysuckles and pink camellias. He doesn't force your head down, but he doesn't remove his hold either, gently urging you to keep going and you can't help but concede. Stretching your jaw open further to slip him inside your mouth before slowly pulling off of him with a firm suck, lapping at the slit of his cock when you do. 

He isn't the biggest you've taken, but he's still thick enough for you to feel a slight strain at the hinges of your jaw, but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. You nod your head down to take him in your throat, making sure to be mindful of your teeth as you go and luckily, you're aided by the lubrication of your saliva. You don't stop until you feel the faintest hint of your gag reflex and even then, you have to push off the thought to just keep going, to let yourself gag on him. You'll save that for some other time. As of right now, you want to be able to savor every little movement and twitch and whimper. 

You've just started and it's already so sloppy, wet with the way that your drool smears around your lips and chin, and Farleigh seems to be struggling to keep his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck your mouth. His thighs are tense underneath the palms of your hands, muscles flexing and twitching with frayed restraint and each jerky hitch of his hips is punctuated by airy sighs and moans. 

A glance up from your place between his legs has you appreciating the way that his back is already arching. He looks gorgeous like this, all splayed out with the thick of his eyelashes fluttering against the jut of his cheek bones. You've always had the sneaking suspicion that Farleigh would lean a bit on the submissive side in bed. Always overcompensating with his arrogant attitude and sarcasm, but you didn't think that he'd be this sensitive. You aren't sure if it's just because he might have already been so worked up from eating you out, or if he's naturally just responsive, but either way the way that he's acting is doing wonders for your ego. The power that you're getting from seeing him already so pleased and dazed is filling your head full of a syrupy sort of satisfaction. 

You pull off of his cock with a pop, delighting in the way that he whimpers in protest. You just hum in response, smirking at him while you nuzzle your nose down the line of his shaft and all of his complaints die out once you take one of his balls into the warm cradle of your tongue, reaching up to grip him in your hand while your mouth is occupied. 

He moans raggedly, a string of whispered, "so good, don't stop - please, don't stop." Like you'd ever do that now that you've got him underneath you. And not to sound dramatic, but the sky could split open with brimstone and hellfire and the apocalypse could reign down on Saltburn and you still wouldn't pull away from him. Not when he sounds so sweet. Not while he tastes so good. Salty and earthy across your pallet. And the way that he pants into the balmy night air, already breathless has the heat between the apex of your thighs back with a vengence; burning and wet, and you have to rub them together in an attempt to ease the tension there. 

You can't help the way that you moan around him, lightly sucking at the sensitive point between his balls and the base of his cock while you smear your thumb over his slit. You the use the fluid to aid in few more pumps from your hand before you're licking back up his shaft again, swallowing him back down while your hand switches places to fondle his sack and the cry that he lets out in response is heavenly. Urging you to bob you head down on him in a steady rhythm. You try to remember to breathe through your nose but in your fervor, you often find yourself neglecting to take in lungfulls of air and as a result an oxygen deprived haze has begun to fizzle over your head. But you can't bring yourself to be worried over it. It feels good. The fuzzy, drunken buzz stuffing your skull full while you work his cock is stupidly addictive. 

He must notice the glazed over look in your eyes because he's smiling at you from around the way that his lips have dropped open to release a bout of heavy pants. He drops the hand that had been clutching your hair to sweep his fingers across your face in a gesture that's way too sweet for a guy who's getting head. And it has something soft and sweet blossoming in your chest when he strokes your cheek with his thumb; it makes you feel delicate and adored even while your chin is smeared with spit and cum and your jaw is starting to ache. 

"You're already a little fucked out aren't you?" It's rhetorical, you know, but you find yourself moaning in response regardless. "You look so georgous like this." 

Liar. There's absolutely you look even remotely attractive right now. You can feel the prickle of tears threatening to slip past your water line and down your face, and you're sure that your lashes have begun to clamp together from the damp. Your lips are swollen and there's a sheen of sweat glittering on your forehead. You probably look like a wreck but it still has you melting, and you begin to lick and suck at him with even more passion than before. 

And it must have felt good for him because his head is rolling back on his shoulders and his elbows nearly collapse, leaving him to drop onto his back with a gutted groan. His eyes roll back, and his thighs seize. His white undershirt has ridden up around his ribs, showing off the stretch of his abdomen and you can see the way that his muscles flex and tense with the same pulse of his hips. He's close and it only has you doubling your efforts with even more vigor, desperate to taste him on your tongue, to feel the heat of him in your mouth and throat. The sound of his gasping has changed in pitch, rising into something that sounds close to a sob. 

But then you're being torn off of him without warning and you can't contain your mournful whimper when the weight of him leaves your mouth. Irritation and betrayal flares and you can't keep yourself from glaring at him even while he looks close to wrecked, rambling underneath his breath something that sounds like, "I'm sorry baby, I need to feel you, " as he hauls you onto his lap. 

And your scattered brain is still able to grab onto what he wants. You gather up your skirt to settle your knees on either side of his hips and you're quick to grab ahold of his cock to line it up with your entrance. Neither of you have the mental capacity to tease or draw the process out longer than it needs to be, and you're thankful that he had already ate you out earlier, giving you some semblance of prep. And without any fanfare you're sinking down onto his cock, and your pussy flutters around his girth, stretching until he's buried in at the hilt. 

The shared groans that you let out are ones of relief and pure bliss. Your body shudders at the fullness nestled within the apex of your thighs and Farleigh impatiently grinds his hips up into yours, rocking his pelvis into your clit with a petulant huff. "Come on baby, ride me, " he urges. "Fucking take it." 

You can't find it in yourself to deny him. Or yourself. And he lets you plant your hands onto his chest for support when you lift yourself up with your thighs to begin wildly bouncing on his cock, grinding and swiveling your hips with each downstroke. That thick, heated pleasure is already building up near the base of your spine, and you already know that you aren't going to last long. Not with how worked up you are. And you don't think that he's going to be able to hold off either. 

He's watching you with something akin to wonder in his eyes and his lips are snagged between his teeth like he might be trying to quiet himself. Like he's trying to selfishly hide those punched out little moans. And you don't know why he tried to be hushed now after he's been groaning and whimpering this entire time but that petulant expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He's doing it on purpose, the brat. It has you leaning over him to pepper soft kisses over his cheeks, nipping at his chin and jaw sweetly, before you squeeze your pussy around his cock like a vice and you place your hand around the base of his throat. You don't tighten your fingers around it, but let him feel the pressure of your grip, testing the waters to see if your earlier theory had been right. 

And his body goes taut underneath you while his hips thrust into you with a harsh twitch. A gutted moan follows closely behind, and he grips onto your thighs like he needs it to ground himself and keep himself present. 

"Feel good?" It's admittedly a little condescending but even then, you can't help the softness that bleeds through your tone. He nods his head drunkenly, tilting his head back to bare his throat to you. The way that he's melting underneath the ceaseless roll of your hips and mindlessly fucking into you with deep, heavy thrusts is already driving you towards that tide of heat and ecstasy, and they way that you openly keen reveals as much. 

Your knees are already stinging from the harsh stone floor digging into them and your thighs are already burning with exertion from the ruthless pace that you had set. But you have no desire to stop yet. To switch positions or ask him to take over, not with how beautiful and fucked out he looks beneath you.  

You're both already messy and incoherent, chasing after your pleasure desperately. The noises coming from the place where your bodies are joined is filthy with the repetitive smack of skin on skin and the crude squelching of your cum echoing off of the rock walls around you. And maybe if your brain wasn't practically mush you might would have had the capacity to care, but you just can't find it within yourself while you watch every minute, rapturous expression flit across Farleigh's face. Not while his plush lips are parted for him to gasp, and his eyes have nearly gone cross. 

"Baby, " he whines brokenly. A warning for the way that he's quickly hurdling towards his release from the constant rock of your hips. Yours isn't far off either, simmering and curling within the pit of your abdomen and you can already tell that your orgasm is going to destroy you. It's so close. So, so, so close and you find yourself nodding shakily in response to him. 

"I know, I know, " your jaw goes lax at a partially hard thrust from his hips, muscles spasming around the drag of his cock. 

"Where - where can I- " 

"Inside," you answer, choking on your breath." I'm on the pill - it's safe, you can- " 

He cuts you off with a gutted, shredded groan of your name and his entire body seizes up from the power of his orgasm. The warmth of his release spreads throughout your lower stomach and another choppy, wild thrust from Farleigh grinds his pelvis into the tender nerves of your clit. It just sneaks up on you. Sweeping you up and dragging you down before you can even register that it's ravaging your body and making you scream. For a second you completely forget what it means to have a physical body. You don't have hands, or feet, or a mind. You don't have a favorite song and there aren't any bills to pay, or an apartment back home in America, and the chaotic party downstairs doesn't exist. The cold stone floor beneath your knees isn't there. You're just floating. Suspended in a state of bliss and pleasure. 

For a moment you just are. 

And then your lungs are gasping, filling up with oxygen. Clarity comes back to you in pulses and the feeling in your limbs follows behind. Sensation returns to your toes and fingertips and then your eyes are fluttering open. The first thing you hear is the rapid pulse of a heartbeat and when you breathe the scent of something like vanilla and cigarette smoke nestles within your lungs. It has you rubbing your cheek against the heat of their chest - Farleigh's chest, your brain supplies sluggishly. You don't remember collapsing on top of him but apparently you had. 

"God damn," he slurs, prompting an amused, tired laugh from you. For a moment the two of you just lay there, taking the time to return to yourselves and grasp your senses. And with it, reality rises up too. That you're laying here with Farleigh on an open balcony with his cum dripping from between your thighs. And apart from his confession earlier there's some small insecure part of you that's worried that he hadn't fully meant it. That this was just a simple fling. Something to ease the tension that's been brewing between the both of you for the past few years. But you don't get to wallow in your fears for long before he's tapping on your thigh and shuffling up onto his elbows. 

You just hum at him questioningly, not yet trusting your voice. 

"Need a cigarette," he answers. 

That has you moving, lifting yourself from his hips and you both hiss, sensitive and raw when he slips from you. Your knees are tender too, aching and you inelegantly plop yourself on your rump beside Farleigh to give them some relief. And you briefly occupy yourself with your underwear, slipping it back underneath your dress and smoothing out your skirt as best as you can. 

He works on slipping his pants and tights back over his hips, digging into his pocket as soon they've been righted for a cigarette and his lighter. You watch him with something nervous in your gut. And you tell yourself that you're being stupid and overdramatic. So, what if this was just a one-time thing? It was an amazing time. And if this turned out to be some random fling then that would just make it even more special, right? And he said that he was jealous of your past exes but that didn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for you. You had been the one to jump to conclusions and assume. 

And even if by tomorrow he pretends that this never happened then that would be fine. You'd make do. You'd survive. It won't be the end of the world. 

"Do you want to spend the night with me?" 

The question tears you from your thoughts. Saves you from them really and pulls your attention onto Farleigh. His eyes are glimmering from the burning embers at the end of his cigarette, laying some strange quality in his gaze bare. But whatever it is looks uncertain and hesitant. And it serves as reminder that this is new territory for him as well. That he's just as unsure as you are. It gives you a little boost of confidence that you aren't alone in your self-induced doubts. It makes you smile; soft and relaxed and you hope that it helps whatever thoughts he may have running around in his own head. 

"Sure," you say. "But I want to rewatch House of Wax. " 

His face scrunches up in response, but he's already rising up to his feet and holding a hand out for you to take, helping to pull you up on your wobbling feet. "That movie is shit." 

"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell with the way that you wouldn't stop talking the last time that we all watched it." You grip onto his forearms while you find your balance, lowly cursing your heels and unsteady ankles. The energy has shifted into place, as easily as breathing; thawing all of the worries and insecurities that had initially clattered around in your brain as though they hadn't been there at all. 

"That's because the characters were nothing but cliches and one note, " he scoffs and promptly drops his cigarette on the balcony, snuffing it out by grinding it with his shoe. 

"I also need a bath." 

A smile curls on his lips, a little teasing. " Want to share?" 

You stare at him, a little disbelieving. There's absolutely no way that you could do that again tonight. At least not so soon. You're exhausted, barley holding yourself up as it is and you're still clinging to one of Farleigh's arms for support. 

"Really? After that?" You question, eyebrows raising, but you can't keep yourself from trying to joke despite your surprise. "You're terrible." 

Farleigh chuckles, guiding you towards the double doors gently, "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, purely amused. "I wasn't suggesting another round, you're the one with your head in the gutter." 

You don't reply. Too caught up in the fuzzy way that it makes you feel; his request to share a bath with you. A small gesture maybe, but it also feels wonderfully domestic and intimate. It has you leaning into his side as you step into the adjacent room, breathing in the scent of his cologne, soaking up the body heat that radiates from his skin. Whatever new chapter between the both of you has opened has still left you two with a lot of unsaid questions and answers. You still don't know what you two are. If there's a label to apply to you both of it was just a one-night stand, but you don't have to get those answers right this second. For now, you can just bask in his company and come morning, once you've both had time to think and adjust you can sit him down and have a conversation. And maybe (hopefully) your relationship will finally become something more. 

But as for now, you don't mind spending the night in his room. Of cuddling up underneath the covers of his bed after a nice bath and watching a movie together, even though you know that the duration of it is going to be spent with him criticizing every line of bad dialogue and griping over plot holes, no matter how insignificant they may be. 

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly. 

But still there is still one burning question that's searing at your brain like a hot coal, and you can't keep yourself from voicing it. 

"Do you think anybody heard us?" 

And his answer is blunt and honest. 

"Oh, yeah, there's no way they didn't." 

[waitineedaname]

i was thinking my little thoughts while falling asleep last night, and a concept occurred to me: what if binghe learned about the system not from shen qingqiu, but from shang qinghua

look, he likes shang qinghua alright. he's pretty disinterested in p much anyone who isn't shen qingqiu, but on the list of People Luo Binghe Tolerates, shang qinghua is relatively high. he gave him advice on wooing sqq, after all, and sqq likes his company, so binghe tolerates his shang-shishu

but the thing is, shang qinghua is a spy. has been for decades. binghe knows this. really, everyone knows this at this point, which isn't a great look for a spy, but still. and since shang qinghua is a spy for mobei-jun, who is a subordinate for luo binghe, then technically shang qinghua is also working for him, but you don't get to the position of demon emperor without a healthy amount of suspicion for everyone in your court

so he decides to test shang qinghua a little bit. nothing major, just a little poking around in his dreams. he starts out with a subtle touch, just sifting through his memories. most of it is what he expected. he sees his time on an ding as a disciple and then later as peak lord, he sees him working for mobei-jun. he sees mobei-jun in some compromising situations, which he files away for later, and then sees him in an entirely different flavor of compromising situations, and binghe immediately decides to act like he never saw that

then he decides to take a more direct approach and starts nudging the dreams in other directions, to see how he might react to certain scenarios, test his loyalty. he expects shang qinghua to act cowardly, or bluff his way through a situaton, maybe even draw his sword if pushed far enough

what he doesn't expect is for shang qinghua to frown at the changes luo binghe made and go "I didn't write it like this"

what

binghe is so bewildered by that response that he loses his grip on the dream for a second, and before he knows it, shang qinghua has spun the dream scenario back into the way the scene originally played out. he steps back and looks satisfied. "there we go," he says. "that's how it went. you know, if I'd known I'd be dealing with this scene myself, I would've written it differently"

what the hell does that mean?

fascinated, luo binghe continues to test him. most of the time, when he toys with someone's dream, they're completely unaware of the changes. shang qinghua, despite not seeming aware that he's lucid dreaming, seems very aware of how each scene should go. except for, strangely, many of the scenes that binghe himself was in. binghe pulls up one from his disciple days, one of the times he remembered shang qinghua coming to qing jing on some errand. he hadn't even changed anything yet, had just let the dream version of his younger self launch himself at shizun in a tacklehug, but shang qinghua tsks and takes the reins from him before he can make any edits. "sorry bing-ge, but that was just way too out of character," shang qinghua says. the dream copy of luo binghe's younger self is sent further away, watching the peak lords with a sullen gaze. he's skinnier than binghe remembers being at this age, and one of his eyes is swollen with a purple bruise. that doesn't make any sense, luo binghe thinks. he hadn't been beaten on qing jing peak for years at this point.

the shen qingqiu beside shang qinghua in the dream stands with his back straight as a ruler, and when his gaze lands on luo binghe, he sneers behind his fan. shang qinghua sighs. "cucumber-bro really wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was. he's way too soft to ever seem like the original goods."

alarmed, luo binghe dispels the dream and steps out of it entirely. sure, he knows shen qingqiu's personality changed almost overnight when he had that qi deviation. everyone knew that. he avoided questioning it much, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth when it meant having a shizun that cared for him

but shang qinghua. shang qinghua seems to know something more about shen qingqiu's personality change. something he's not sharing. luo binghe didn't like the idea that one of his subordinates could be hiding something as vital as this from him

well, this had been a test of his spy's loyalties, hadn't it? perhaps he should make a visit to an ding. he had some questions.

[miley1442111]

i wanna kiss you on the mouth -s.reid

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

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

a/n: i am back from the dead! hello, i was gone for the past few days because school and work is hectic but rest assured i am back :)

summary: both of you are completely unaware of your feelings, but you speak too loudly and your feelings are confessed.

pairing: spencer reid x bau! fem! reader

warnings: none

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

Spencer had only been thinking of you every day for the past 4 months. From the moment he woke up, to the second his head hit the pillow. You were on his mind. 

It’s weird he tried to convince himself. You were his childhood best friend, who’d just moved to Washington. You were a year older but just as intelligent, if not more, and you were conversational and interesting. You had people skills that he could only dream of, and a smile he could only dream of. Which he did. Dreamt of you a lot. Usually you were his girlfriend, or occasionally his wife. Sometimes you were clothed... others he wasn't exactly proud of. But it wasn't him technically, it was his subconscious. Right?

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

“We have a new case,” Penelope grimaced as you rolled your eyes, clearly hungover from the night prior. 

“Bad date?” Derek mused and Spencer’s muscles tensed. 

“I don’t even remember Derek, all I know is that I woke up in someone else’s bed,” you chuckled. 

“Cheating on me?” He mocked. 

“Always,” you smirked, lowering the sunglasses on your eyes to give him a wink, one which made him laugh. 

Spencer’s chest tightened. You were going out. You had casual sex. That was fine, you’re an adult. He shouldn’t be bothered. You two hadn’t spoken in years before you joined the BAU 4 months ago. 

“Pretty boy?” Derek repeated. “Are you alright? You’re not listening.”

“S-sorry! Just… thinking…” he trailed off as the conversation flowed again, ideas and questions filled the room as they continued the briefing. 

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

The jet was not much easier. You were smirking at your phone as the others napped or looked over the case file. 

“Who’s that?” Emily smirked, looking over your shoulder. 

“My maybe-boyfriend,” you smiled back as her face lit up. Spencer’s heart dropped. You barely look in his direction most days. You don’t talk to him. You clearly don’t care about him. Yet here he is, upset over the fact that you might have a boyfriend. “Kidding, my apartment complex’s group chat is going off right now because someone is playing music really loudly. My neighbour is threatening to kill the old woman in 35 with a kitchen knife,” you chuckled as Emily deflated, but read the messages aloud, which made the entire jet laugh. Spencer smiled along, an ease in the weight on his chest. 

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

You were exhausted. You hated this. You hated being so close to Spencer and not feeling able to talk to him. You hated how much you wanted him, needed him. You hated how little attention he paid to you. You didn't like going on first dates, much less sleeping with the asshole that was 'Josh' but he had a similar vibe to Spencer and you'd needed a release.

“Fuck,” you yawned, allowing your eyes to drop for a few seconds before Derek hit the back of your head to wake up. You groaned in response as he laughed. “Fuck you.”

“Come do it yourself,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes. “Anyways, how is it going?”

“I’ve narrowed down the geological profile from Spencer’s initial one-”

“I mean ‘Project Reid’!” He gossiped. “Have you even talked to him yet?”

“Derek,” you grumbled, resting your head against your hands. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, he doesn’t even fucking like me!” 

Derek internally rolled his eyes, irritation bubbling at the both of you. How could two of the most gifted profilers he knew not realise the goo-goo eyes they were sending each other while the other wasn’t looking?

“He likes you plenty,” he sighed. “Ask him out! Talk to him.”

“He does not like me!” You squealed. “Spencer Walter Reid does not like me, in a friendly way or a I-want-to-kiss-you-on-the-mouth way! Stop pushing something that will not happen, despite how much I want it to!”

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

As Spencer approached the conference room, his weary eyes tired as they focused on your figure. You looked beautiful. Spencer always thought you looked beautiful.

“He does not like me!” You squealed. “Spencer Walter Reid does not like me, in a friendly way or a I-want-to-kiss-you-on-the-mouth way! Stop pushing something that will not happen, despite how much I want it to!”

What.

You liked Spencer? You wanted to kiss Spencer. You just amditted to liking him.

“What?” Spencer’s voice from behind you startled you as Derek laughed. “Y-you want that?”

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

“What?” Spencer’s voice from behind you startled you as Derek laughed. “Y-you want that?”

You stared in Derek’s direction, willing for him to leave. Thankfully, he got the message immediately and left swiftly. Leaving you and Spencer alone together. Maybe he should’ve stayed. 

“Umm… yeah. I’ve like you since we were kids, but y’know… life got in the way-”

You were shocked. Spencer Reid, shy Spencer Walter Reid had just cut off your sentence with a kiss. 

What was going on? 

His lips were soft (he used lip balm often, clearly), his hands rested tentatively on you waist. But the kiss. If you could describe kissing Spencer Reid in one word, it would be hungry. He kissed you with as much passion as you would assume someone to give to their partner on their wedding day. He was blanking your mind with this insanely mind-blowing kiss.

“I really like you too,” he smiled. “I an I-wanna-kiss-you-on-the-mouth kinda way. Like I really want to do that again,” he smiled again and you couldn’t help but kiss him. His hands landed on your waist, more comfortable than before as your arms circled his neck. 

Maybe all his overthinking about you was too much. Maybe it was just that simple. 

You liked each other.

In an I-wanna-kiss-you-on-the-mouth kinda way. 

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (CRIMINAL MINDS, marvel, top gun, the bear, the hunger games, challengers, obx+)

[neochan]

≡ 𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐕 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒! (𝟏𝟖+)

「 MEMBERS 」 ⋮ mark lee, huang renjun, lee jeno, na jaemin, lee haechan, zhong chenle, park jisung

≣ content warning ⋮ perverted, depraved, & taboo thoughts, nerd!mark, cnc / dubcon, innocence stealer!chenle, somnophilia, mentions of weed usage as a form of coercion, too strong!jeno, manhandling, rough!jeno, degradation, religious sacrilege, corrupt church boy!jaemin, slight humiliation, corruption, ra!renjun, manipulative!renjun, cocaine usage.

≣ a.note ⋮ i'm smoking weed and listening to old hiphop, what else was i supposed to do other than write these cute little perv drabbles :) give me a like, a follow, or a reblog.

⩩ mark lee ⋮ so what if he's a 'nerd'. he doesn't care if you make fun of him in class with all your friends. he shrugs it off like no big deal. it really wasn't a big deal, until you brought up his dick size. see, mark isn't one of those guys whose ego gets shot from small dick jokes. but when the joke leaves your pretty little mouth, well something shifts in the pit of his stomach. he still shrugs it off though, until you're walking home from class, skirt swishing back and forth just barely covering the swell of your ass. good little girls should know better... it was easy, really. clamping a hand over your lips puckered in a silent scream. and then to drag you back to his car. oh, it was so, so easy. in fact, you really wanted it. the way you spread your legs, revealing a patch of arousal on the seat of your lacy panties. how you willingly helped him slip them to the side. the way you moaned his name when he slid into your puffy cunt, tits pressing against his chest and eyes locked on his. you begged for him to keep going. for him to go harder. so he did. again, and again, and again. until you could barely walk when he dumped you outside the front of your dorm. but sure enough, you stayed quiet in class the next day...

⩩ huang renjun ⋮ renjun has an addiction. it's not porn - not technically. it's not cocaine, or nicotine. he's not an alcoholic, yet still, he felt the withdrawal all too much. he was addicted to you. or, your body, rather. he dreamed of it, hands reaching up to cup your tits, cock sunk deep in your pussy, spit dribbling down the side of your mouth as you lost yourself on him. and when he woke up, aching and hard, he had no choice but to pathetically jerk off to the remnants of the memory. he thought about putting cameras in your room, maybe the womens showers, to capture you. something he can have as a keepsake of this obsession. see, he had access. he was your resident advisor. he could do that. but then he found out from a little birdie that his star resident in room two oh twelve used her daddies money to buy coke off her dealer boyfriend. see that...that was the key. all he had to do was used that as bait to convince you. and he did. one night, at a stupid party he was supposed to shut down, he saw you snort a line off the living room table. next thing he knew, you were upstairs, tears welling in your eyes, pleading with him not to tell. you would do anything. anything.

⩩ lee jeno ⋮ really, his strength was his best asset. but he's never had someone put up this much of a fight. seriously, after one good hair pull and a hand around the throat, girls usually let up. but you... you were fun. you were a challenge. you push back, hands slapping against his chest to combat him. all he does is snarl and shove harder, pressing your back against the kitchen counter. his biceps flex with the exertion of grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the marble. you thrash around still, until he twists your body so sharply, you cry out. he chuckles, "god i love you." he presses his stiffening cock against you, circling his hips to gain some sort of friction, "feel that? you're driving me crazy." a few half-hearted attempts at getting free does nothing for you, instead, it spins you around so now your chest was pressed flat against the cold surface. he transfers your wrists into one giant hand, and uses his other to yank down your bottoms. "...and you're soaked. fuck, y/n. gonna give you what you need. gonna fuck this stupid attitude outta you, yeah?" your walls flutter around his uninvited fingers, "ahhh, you like that, you sick fuck. want me to fuck you into submission. make you a real good girl for me. gonna train you to take me, and only me." he doesn't even feel you resist anymore, because you give up. you let him use your body until he's spent, and even then, you let him use your mouth. anything for him. anything for jeno.

⩩ na jaemin ⋮ he wasn't a god. but at this moment, with his entire world peering up through wet lashes, on bruised knees...well, he surely felt like one. it didn't help that he stood overtop your broken figure on the edge of the alter. he caresses your jaw and gives you a smile full of pearly white teeth that gleam in the stained glass shadows, "speak." with tears welling in your eyes at the command, it takes a second, but eventually your hoarse voice echoes out, "forgive me father for i have sinned." you see, jaemin wasn't a priest, but he took your confessions as if he was one. he wanted you to bare your soul to him. your perverted, depraved, sick thoughts. he doesn't speak though, just cocks an eyebrow and crouches down so that he was eye level. you continue, "i-, this is so...embarrassing, gosh, i don't..." he gives your jaw a squeeze, making the words tumble out, "i did it again. i... i touched myself again..it's wrong, i- i know, but he, you...plague my mind." your voice quiets the longer his gaze burns into you. but nothing compares to the image that burns brighter in his mind. your innocent fingers slipping between plush thighs, jaemin being the temptation you couldn't withstand. it made him feel fucking good. "it's okay darling, god forgives you, i forgive you..." he stands up again and reaches a hand down to toy with the buckle of his belt, "but with sin comes punishment." he undoes the latch and slowly slips it from the belt loops of his dress pants. the sound makes you flinch, a whisper escaping your pouted lips, "oh god." heat surges through his veins, almost bringing him to his knees, "no angel, i'm not god. i'll be more forgiving than any god. i'll be gentle, i'll liberate you from all sin. i'll make you good. my darling, i'll make you pure again."

⩩ lee haechan ⋮ yeah, he did it on purpose, so what. technically, he didn't force you to inhale, he simply stuck the blunt between your fingers and called it a day. admittedly, you did exactly what he wanted, but he chalked that up to good luck, and the devil on his side. watching you slowly revert to a rambling, squirmy mess made his cock stir in his jeans. and when you got all cuddly, snuggling up to his chest and dragging him closer, well, what else was he supposed to do other than stick his tongue in your mouth and push you back against the arm of the couch. you came on to him, really. either way, the night led with his tongue down your throat, and his hand up your skirt. and still, when he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger into your cunt, his suspicions are confirmed. your arousal dripped down his wrists, a testament to how much you truly wanted him. really, he was doing you a service. an act of kindness. "be still baby" he growled, forcing your legs wider apart. you whimpered and whined, body holding still but head rolling on your shoulders. "hyuckie.." you kept mewling, and with each sound of his name, he grew harder and harder. it felt like he might burst if he didn't bury his cock in you right this minute. so he does. sloppily, because he was high too, but he does. and it's slow, and messy, and sick. and he loved every fucking second. god, he can't wait to do this to you, no, with you, again.

⩩ zhong chenle ⋮ stealing innocence, robbing naivety, corrupting purity... whatever people call that, chenle calls a normal everyday thought. he hasn't really fucked you yet, only teased you. he's coerced you into letting him touch your cunt, but only the soft skin on the outside. you've let him touch your breasts, but never the sensitive bud in the center. you also let him toy with your ass one time, but the second he tried to slip a finger inside, you pushed him off and told him to wait. nothing could happen before marriage. but chenle was tired of waiting. he was bored of watching you through the camera in the shower. sick of touching himself beside your sleeping figure - the only time he could shift your legs in your sleep to poke at your clothed cunt. just rubbing you through the satin material of your pajama bottoms got him off, but he needed more. this time, he was able to wriggle your shorts down around your ankles, and what a sight it was. oh he was gonna have so much fun. one finger, two fingers, his tongue, eventually working his way up to the tip of his cock. pushing in, not too much to make you stir... just enough to tease himself. you were so tight, so untouched. it was obvious he was your first, and it took everything in him to hold back. tomorrow night...tomorrow night will be the night he fucks you full, until you're leaking his cum. until you're his. ruined for him only.

⩩ park jisung ⋮ jisung hates how you think of him. not just you, but everyone really. see, he's not just the maknae. he doesn't want the baby voice, or the coddling, or the fucking head pats. if you really knew what he was capable of, maybe you'd think twice before treating him like a kid all the time. if you could see the way he fucks his fist, fingers twisted in the sheets of his bed, or knuckles jammed between his teeth... the things he thought about; you sitting on his cock, forced to take every inch of him, even when the tears well over the brim of your eyelashes. cunt full of his fingers while he sucked and nipped at your breasts. the bruises he'd leave on every inch of your skin. how he fantasizes about pushing you to the floor and stuffing his cock down your throat until you were thrashing for just a small breath of air. he doesn't get off on hurting you, no, he could never do that. but making you see just how much stronger he was.. how he could force you onto your knees, and rough you up a bit until your swollen lips screamed his name. well, maybe then you'd stop treating him like some dumb kid.

≣ taglist ⋮ @hykwrld-main @peachjaem00 @rainyjeno @be-my-sunrise @revehae

[blarshwritezz]

This one was inspired by this post by @suiana <3

Yandere Beauty x Beast Reader

M yan x GN reader

TW - obsessive behavior, mass murder, maybe mild stalking(?), people are meanies

You've grown so tired of this life, but it was all you knew. You've been trapped like this for years with nothing but your own rage to accompany you. Many of the once priceless paintings in your palace were now destroyed. It didn't matter. No one remembered this place. No one remembered you.

And it would stay that way until you die.

Every now and then some adventurers or travellers would find your palace, hoping for a place to stay the night, only to run away in fear. They'd rather take their chances with the wolves than with such a terrifying beast.

You expected another one of those interactions when you heard a knock at the doors. Some didn't even have that much decency. You weren't expecting such a beautiful man to he the one at your door. Nor were you expecting him to get down on one knee and ask to be your husband.

"You are the most stunning creature I've ever seen...please, allow me the honor of marrying you!" Of all things, did he have to call you a creature? You were technically a person! At least, you were a long time ago.

Not wanting to go through with whatever he could possibly be planning, you slammed the door in his face with a firm "No." He was probably trying to make a fool of you, or perhaps even kill you. Even though you hated this life, you didn't want to die. Not quite yet

How you wished that was the end of it.

He started sleeping outside the door of your palace, insisting on marriage if he ever saw you. Whether you we stepping out on the balcony, looking out a window, or tending to the garden he'd beg for your hand in marriage.

Even though his appearance became disheveled after the many days he spent outside your palace, he was still more beautiful than any woman you met as a human. Such a beautiful man surely had plenty of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes lined up at his own door, so why did he insist on a life with you? A life of solitude and silence. A life without a single friend. Even your servants were long gone. Broken mirrors, dusty furniture, spiders and bugs infesting the least visited corners, was that really a l8fe to beg for?

You finally got agitated at all his begging and pleading, of all the surely empty promises. As he followed you through your garden on day, you lost it. You turned back and gripped him firmly by the jaw, smooshing his rosy cheeks together as you demanded an explanation.

"You're amazing, your majesty! You're my greatest dream." He admit, a deep blush growing on his cheeks as your grip tightened. "I'll admit, I wasn't planning to propose, so I failed to bring you a proper ring. But I came out here, curious if the rumors were true...and the second I laid eyes on you, I was in love!"

It sounded more ignorant than you expected.

"I fell to my knees once I beheld you. You were too perfect for me to handle, and I knew it was a sign that I had to marry you!"

You really didn't know what to say. Was this guy all beauty and no brains? You didn't realize those kinds of people really existed.

You dropped him, firmly telling him to get lost and marry someone else. Someone better. But he instantly feel to his knees, gripping your legs and begging with tears in his eyes.

"Please! At least give me a chance, my love!" You never realized someone could be so pathetic.

You dragged him away. First you tried tossing him off the palace grounds, but he came crawling back. Then you dropped him half way through the forest. Again, he refused to leave your side. So you left him the last place you wanted to go.

You dragged him all the way back to the village, and instantly received the backlash you expected. You tossed him to the crowd, and they instantly took him. And as for you? They threw rocks, rotten food, and whatever else they could easily throw. The assault lasted until you were out of their sight.

At least now you could continue your days in peace.

Oh, you thought. You wished, you prayed. Your peace didn't even last a day.

That night, when you went out to you balcony to stare into the night, an unfamiliar sight caught your eye. The bright light of a fire. A large fire, consuming everything in its path. A horrible fire, turning the village to dust.

You gripped your balcony, crushing the metal of the railing. What were you to do? The villagers hated you. They loathed your very existence. They didn't remember you as you once were, only the beast you were today.

You were still supposed to be their ruler.

They were still your people.

You had to protect your people.

Without another second of hesitation you rushed out of your palace and through the forest. Only to find one person on the path there. The beautiful man you gave back to them earlier.

"I got rid of them for you, darling. Those barbarians didn't see how absolutely beautiful you are, and they can't keep us apart any more." He knealt down on one knee, pulling out a black box and revealing a stunning ring.

"Now let me do this properly...will you marry me?"

I WAS INSPIRED, OKAY? I know I have requests to get to 😭