#you can tell I’m most comfortable with profiles oddly enough

[angstybreadstyx]

@canidaecarnivora sent me this audio and said it was Caitvi and yes it is

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn��t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[watchmegetobsessed]

Update - Harry Styles

i’ve been deep inmy harry feels and this thought just wouldn’t leave me alone so i had to write it. im thinking about starting a taglist for harry, i think i’ll write more about him in the future. let me know if you’d be interested in the taglist!

word count: ~5.9k

masterlist

Sequel: The best present

Harry is not that into YouTube videos, has never really been, which is kind of ironic seeing the number of videos on the internet that is about him. The man himself who makes everyone talk online feels weird seeing someone talking on his screen, looking into his soul as if they were right there with him. But today he felt the sudden urge to be like his peers and get lost in random rambling videos from strangers, who felt the need to put themselves out there.

He has made a mean cup of tea for himself, made himself comfortable on his couch with his laptop balancing on his thighs and now is opening up his browser to unwind in an unusual way. As YouTube opens in front of his tired eyes, he stops when he tries to type in the keywords he is searching for. What is he looking for really? He thinks to himself trying to remember what he heard from his friends when they talked about funny or interesting videos. One thing is for sure, he is trying to avoid watching videos of himself in any content. He has had enough of him for the day, it’s time to focus on someone else, even if he doesn’t know the person.

He scrolls through several pages of many different keywords until he settles for a video where a girl talks about how her latest moving day went. Starting off Harry feels weird listening to her talk about such personal things as where her bed went in her room, how she packed all her stuff to fit them in the boxes, but soon enough this feeling settles and he starts to realize it’s kind of relaxing.

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall down a rabbit hole and by the time his tea empties out from his cup he is intensely watching a guy rant about his boss at Subway while doing a mukbang. The latter is a new discovery for Harry, he has never heard of it before, but he can see why some people find it satisfying.

The video ends, Harry checks the time and sees that it’s already after midnight and he hasn’t even realized how fast time flew by.

“Alright, just one more,” he mumbles to himself scrolling down the column of the recommended videos until his eyes stop at one particular upload at the very bottom.

July update for my Sammy, ready the title and an eye-catchingly beautiful girl is smiling from the thumbnail. He finds her breathtaking, the lack of makeup, the worn out hoodie she is wearing and the many various plants in the background makes it appear she is sitting in the middle of the forest.

Harry finds himself clicking on the video before he could even decide consciously to watch it. The screen loads and the girl appears in front of him, this time in a much larger size.

“Hi Sammy, welcome back to our channel,” she starts with an angelic little laugh as she pulls her shoulders up to her ears as if the camera is making her shy. She has no reason to be shy, Harry thinks to himself. His second thought is about Sammy, he is one lucky guy to know this angel and have her think about him. “It’s Y/N here, your one and only sister,” she adds.

Sister. The word brings Harry relief and he is surprised to feel this way, but he has no time to think anything of it because she starts talking again.

“Here is my July update, I’m sorry I’m a little late, but we got back from Oregon yesterday. Aunt Ella is sending you kisses and hugs, she missed you at the barbeque, or maybe it was just your helping hand at the grill,” she chuckles to herself, probably recalling the memory.

Harry has no idea who Aunt Ella is or where she lives in Oregon, but the way she talks about it makes him feel like he is part of the family a little.

Y/N carries on and starts talking about everything that has happened in July. Painting the shed at her parents’ home, buying a new armchair, one her cat absolutely adores and refuses to sleep anywhere else now, she went to the hairdresser to get a trim, but not too much. She tells about her plans for August, how she is thinking about going to the farmers’ market more often, and she has been playing with the idea of adopting another cat.

“I think Henry has been feeling a little lonely lately. He could use a buddy,” she tells the camera, her eyes moving to the side from where a weak but moody meow can be heard as an answer. “Yeah, I think he agrees,” she chuckles and Harry finds himself smiling at the screen.

At the end of the video she asks a few questions from Sammy, how he has been doing, if his wrist feels any better, even asks about a friend called Matthew. Harry wonders if she has ever gotten the answers to her questions and where Sammy saw this video. What is he doing that made her want to do an update on YouTube?

When the video ends Harry clicks on her profile faster than he would willingly admit to anyone and it’s like he opened the gate to paradise. Tens and maybe hundreds of videos are queuing on her page, monthly updates, birthday wishes, short story times about family gatherings, news and happenings in her life.

Harry gets lost in her tales. He watches video after video, noticing the smallest details about her, almost mentally taking notes about her updates, finding anything and everything she talks about so interesting as if he knew those people and places she mentions. He comes to realization that Sammy is her older brother who is serving somewhere in the military. Y/N is making the videos to update him about her life even if she knows most of them doesn’t get to him until weeks later, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. He also learns that Sammy sends them back lengthy emails once a month and always ends them with a joke they made up with his mates at the army. Y/N loves them even when they're not even funny, she never fails to mention that she smiled reading them.

Hours pass by and the rising Sun peeks inside the window pulling Harry back to his own reality, shocked that he just spent the whole night watching her videos and didn’t even realize how deep he has gotten in her life. Lucky for him he has nothing planned until the afternoon, so shutting his laptop he sets it aside and heads straight to bed, but lying between his silky sheets he catches himself staring out the window, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now. From what he collected she lives somewhere in Spokane and has family in Seattle and Portland, which puts her quite a few time zones behind him. He finds the thought of them going to bed at the same time despite the distance a little funny. He lies in bed for quite some time before he finally drifts off to sleep with a particular girl on his mind, who doesn’t even know he is thinking about her.

 “Do you think you can fall for someone you have never met?”

Harry’s question catches Mitch a little off-guard, but he is kind of used to his random bits of thoughts. Pouring some sugar into his coffee he follows the wondering singer to a free table in the corner.

“Isn’t it what all your fans feel?” he answers with a question, earning a surprised look from Harry. He hasn’t thought about this side, now the situation is kind of ironic, he supposes.

“Y’re right,” he nods stirring his coffee around in the small cup.

“Want to let me in on your thoughts?”

Harry feels a little shy to admit how he has watched all of her videos in the past few days, 207 to be exact and now he feels an oddly deep connection to this girl he has never even seen outside of a screen. Last night he dug up her Instagam profile, and even though she is not posting as frequently as she does on her channel, it was a refreshing change to see her in different settings. Chilling at a lake, having drinks with her friends, playing with her parents’ puppy, it amazed him that she has a whole life outside that small portion she lets him see in her videos.

Hesitantly, but he tells his friend about his latest hobby, if it’s not too weird to call it that, while his friend patiently listens and nods along his words while sipping on his morning coffee.

“D’you think I’m crazy?” Harry sighs leaning back in his seat, looking at his friend and colleague for validation that he hasn’t lost his mind entirely.

“Definitely not,” he chuckles shaking his head. “It’s like falling for that girl in school you know so much about but never really met.”

“Only that I’m stalkin’ this poor girl.”

“This is not stalking. We both know it’s far from that.” Harry nods with slight relief that his situation doesn’t seem as bad as he has been feeling lately. “Have you gotten in touch with her?”

“And what am I supposed to do? Comment on her video that I think her cat’s a cutie and I watched all her videos in three days ‘cuz I think she’s beautiful and I find her voice soothing?”

Mitch lets out a soft chuckle at the oddly specific answer he just gave and finds it amusing how interested his friend has grown about someone in such a short time.

“Maybe phrase it a little different.”

“So you do think I should reach out?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Use your personal YouTube, leave her a nice comment. Maybe she’ll reply.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” he chuckles. “Just go with it and you’ll see. You are obviously interested in her, it’s better than just sit and watch her videos.”

Harry agrees. It wouldn’t hurt to try to reach out to her, possibly in a not too creepy way. Maybe just a sweet comment on one of her videos and if she replies… Well, he doesn’t know what comes after, but he’ll figure it out.

 Y/N updates regularly. Usually once a week and mostly it’s Sunday when a new video gets uploaded. This next Sunday Harry finds himself checking her page occasionally through the day to see if there’s a new update, but it seems like she is missing today. Right until he is driving home and gets a notification from the app.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video! It reads and Harry’s heart beats a tad bit faster. He thinks about pulling over to see it right away, but he tells himself that would be a bit too much, so he is forced to wait until he is in the comfort of his home.

Finally sitting on his couch he opens up his laptop and clicks on the video that has the title: September update.

Y/N sits in her usual spot, Henry in her arms as she is gently stroking his head with a warm smile on her face.

“Hi Sammy! Welcome back to our channel,” she greets him with her usual words and Harry loves how she calls the channel theirs. “This is my September update, even though not much has happened,” she breathes out, eyes wandering to the window besides her and Harry wonders what she sees from her window every day. Does she live in the city? Is it an apartment or a house with a backyard? Are there any trees or does her room have a terrible view, maybe just another house next to hers?

She starts her talk about the month, which she spent mostly with working, a little shopping and meeting her friends. She tells him about her planned trip to the local shelter to see possible new kittens to add to her household and Harry feels himself growing excited about it. He even thinks about what kind of cat he can see get along well with Henry even though he has never even met him.

“Anyway, mom and dad miss you, I miss you too. I loved your joke about ducks in your latest email,” she chuckles sweetly, bringing a smile to Harry’s face as well. “Mom is excited to see you at Christmas, our cousins will come to Portland as well. Maya can’t wait to play Jenga with you, she said she’s been practicing.”

The video soon ends as Y/N tells Sammy how much she loves him and eventually turns the camera off.

He straight away moves the cursor to the beginning of the video and as she starts talking again he scrolls down to the comment section that’s entirely empty. There are only two views on her video, usually a hundred is the max, but she doesn’t seem to care about the views, it’s more about the message.

He clicks to type a comment, but his hands stop above the keyboard as he tries to think of what to write. Mitch was right about taking a chance at reaching out, but what is he supposed to write exactly? Everything that comes to his mind sounds so creepy and scary, and he knows it’s weird that he formed such a deep connection to an unknown girl online. At last he starts typing.

“Hi Y/N! I’ve stumbled across your videos the other day. Love how you keep your brother updated, it’s such a nice gesture. I hope life treats you and Sammy well, you truly deserve it. Good luck with finding a buddy for Henry! Love, an admirer of yours, H.”

He reads it back several times, deleting then retyping it again until he decides to just go with it. A rush of adrenaline washes over his body when he sends the comment and it’s officially out there. Secretly he wishes she would reply right away, but moments pass by, then moments turn into minutes and nothing happens. His comment stands there alone and he has to realize that maybe she will never even reply or even see it.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he shuts the laptop down and goes on to do his things, but he finds his thoughts wander over to her from time to time.

He has a busy day ahead of him the next day, quite a few meetings and a fitting. He checks back for a reply in the morning, but it slips his mind the moment he leaves from home and his phone rings right away. Throughout the day he basically barely has time to check his emails, his other notifications are just sitting patiently on the bar, waiting for him to acknowledge them. It’s way past five in the afternoon when he finally have some time for himself after his fitting. He is sitting in his car, people walk past him without even realizing who is sitting behind the tinted windows. Scrolling down he gets rid of everything that doesn’t seem urgent until his eyes stop at one particular notification.

“Y/N replied to your comment,” he reads it out loud, just to make it real, as if he is seeing it wrong and saying it with his own mouth brings it to life. He quickly taps on it and the familiar video opens up and while Y/N starts talking again the screen jumps down to the comments where, in fact, there is a reply from her.

“Dear H! Thank you for your heartfelt comment! I always forget it’s not just my family who sees these videos, but I’m happy you found them interesting enough to watch a few of them.”

“A few?” Harry huffs to himself feeling a little ridiculous he has watched all of them.

“I hope I didn’t bore you too much. Thank you for the well wishes for me, my brother and Henry too. He is sending his love to you. Y/N xx”

The comment was posted three hours ago. The thought that she has acknowledged his existence with not only reading but also replying to his comment brings him extreme joy. He reads her words over and over again, looking for any clue that would give away that she found his comment weird, but it seems like she was more surprised and happy that someone else saw her video besides her brother. Harry starts to type his reply without hesitation.

“Bore me? You saved me from watching another “what’s in my bag” video the other day. It was a pleasant change. I love your plants, by the way. Your room always gives off the most relaxed vibes. It reminded me I should have more of them in my home. H”

Harry smiles to himself posting his comment, the fear of appearing like a stalker long gone from him, the interaction is making his inside blossom from joy. For his biggest surprise a reply appears just a few minutes away and Harry reads Y/N’s new lines with deep hunger.

“Those videos suck the life out of me every time! I might be having a problem with buying too many plants, but I can’t help myself. They truly bring peace to me just by looking at them. I’m glad you are planning on buying some more, you won’t regret it!”

Harry is dying to reply, but he doesn’t want to look too eager and needy, so he opts for just liking her comment to let her know he read it and agrees. He locks his phone and puts it aside with the widest smile on his face as he starts his car and leaves his parking spot.

Two weeks pass by. In those two weeks Y/N uploads two more videos, one about her time with her grandparents, for a change it was filmed at their home and they even said hello in it. Harry feels wholesome seeing her with her granny and grandpa, it’s clear she cares a lot about them. The other video is just a short one where she has met some of Sammy’s old high school friends and she had a check in from them, sending a sweet message to him through the video. Harry doesn’t doubt how much these little things mean to Sammy, even if he doesn’t get to see them right away. Seeing Y/N alone boosts his mood every time she uploads a new video, he can only imagine how they make Sammy feel.

He leaves comments on her videos without a second thought and she replies to all of them, a lot of the time almost immediately. These are the highlights of his days without exception. Knowing that she has anything to do with him just fascinates him and he is starting to realize what his fans feel towards him on a different level. Whenever he sees the notification that she has replied to what he wrote or that she uploaded a new video he flies right to her page to check it, no matter what he is doing. Some of their comment threads turn out pretty lengthy, almost like a chat conversation and it has Harry wonder how they could maybe move it to somewhere else from the comment section.

He wants to ask for her number, but figures it wouldn’t be the best idea. Regardless of how much he enjoys their short little conversations, the situation is still weird and complicated and he doesn’t want to forget that.

But he is pleasantly surprised when she brings it up herself, to move the conversation to somewhere else.

“Would love to discuss that more with you. Up for exchanging IG names?” her question reads and he blinks a few before he fully comprehends that she wants to talk to him more in private. However there’s no way he can send her his real Instagram profile and making a fake one would be way too suspicious. Opening up the private messages he sends her a short, but informative message.

“I don’t use Instagram, but feel free to text me,” and then his phone number.

He sits at the dinner table anxiously, waiting for his phone to light up from a new text, and just a few minutes later it finally comes.

“Hi! It’s Y/N,” he reads from the notification and he saves the number right away.

“Hello! Save me as Harry. I haven’t even told you my name yet, how rude of me!” he replies chuckling to himself.

“Will let it slip this time. Harry. What a nice name!”

“Is it what you thought about from the H?”

“It was one of my theories. The other one was Hayes, but Harry fits you better.”

“You haven’t even seen me, how do you know what name fits me?”

“I don’t know. You had a vibe. There are many great Harries in the world, you seemed to fit between them!”

Harry wonders if she is thinking about him without even knowing that… it is him. He wants to ask her, but decides not to. Instead, he is enjoying that he can now reach her immediately and not through a comment section. He never thought this would actually happen.

 The texts never stop. They have so much to talk about! Their entire life to share, millions of thoughts and so much to discuss! Harry is not proud of the time he has spent with his eyes glued to his phone, but he wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to her for anything. Their friends are not blind to the change in him, but Mitch is the only one with a guess about why he has gotten so addicted to his phone.

“Is it the girl from the videos?” he asks Harry one time when they are at the studio, having lunch break. Different food boxes are scattered around them, on the table and the couch. Harry’s phone just light up from a text and he immediately dropped his lunch to type a response.

He glances up at his friend with a shy smile nodding his head. He hasn’t talked about his newly funded friendship with Y/N yet, it feels like as if he tells it to anyone it might evaporate into just a dream.

“So you reached out, huh?”

“I did,” he nods returning to his food once his message is sent. “She’s great.”

“Does she know who she is talking to?” Harry’s lack of answer tells enough about the truth to Mitch. “You can’t hide forever, especially if you are planning on meeting her.”

“I know,” he answers shortly. “But I just don’t know how I could even bring it up to her without sounding like a mad man.”

“She’ll need proof.”

“M’not ready to show m’self to her. What if it changes everything?”

“Then it wasn’t worth it,” he simply tells him.

Deep down Harry knows it’s the truth, but he is not ready to be robbed from the joy she is bringing him. He has never felt such a deep connection to anyone before and they haven’t even met. It’s just a version of her he is seeing on the screen, not her real self. But it feels real to him and he wants to keep this reality to himself for just a little longer.

 “I wish I could hear your voice, Harry. You are one big mystery to me, you know that?”

He forgets to breathe for a moment as he reads her message, lying in bed one evening, getting ready to sleep, but he wanted to check in with her before ending the day.

“You know so much about me already,” he types back.

“Not enough, I feel like. Sometimes I’m afraid Nev and Max are about to show up at my door and tell me that I’ve been catfished.”

He chuckles at her words, though he completely understands her fear.

“What do you want from me then?”

“Send me a voice message so I know you are real. That would put my suspicion to sleep. For a while…”

Harry hesitates for a long time until he decides just one voice message couldn’t hurt. Just a short one where his voice is not that recognizable so his cover won’t be over immediately.

“Good night, Y/N,” he tells into his phone and then send the recording to her.

He watches the status change from delivered to read and a couple of minutes go by before she finally responds.

“Thank you. Now I know that you are real. I hope I’ll hear your voice in real life one day.”

“I hope that too.”

 His time spent undercover is coming to an end and he knows it’ll happen soon. It’s been weeks since they started chatting, almost an entire month and she’s been hinting her will to see his face and though he has been putting it off, he knows it has to happen.

Fate is playing under his hands, because he is traveling to Seattle for a few days, exactly when Y/N is traveling there to visit her parents.

“I hope you know you can’t leave without meeting finally,” she wrote when she found out they are going to be in the same city.

“It never even crossed my mind!” he wrote back chuckling to himself, however it brought him extreme anxiety that he is now going to be forced to come clean about who he really is.

He spends his whole flight to Seattle making up possible outcomes for their first official meeting. Not all of them end well and it’s just fueling his fear that he might lose her for not telling her the entire truth.

But she is a smart girl, she’ll see your reasoning, he tells himself, however he can’t entirely convince himself that it will be the case.

In hopes of squeezing in more than just one meeting into the weekend they agreed to meet almost first thing after he lands. So after checking into his hotel he heads into the city to finally meet her in real life in a local café she suggested for the occasion. Arriving to the place he is running a little late and she already texted him she’ll be waiting for him inside. Harry is wearing a beanie with shades to try to keep up his cover and it seems to be working, no one has approached him yet.

Stepping inside the cozy looking place his eyes roam around and immediately finds her sitting in the corner, pouring sugar into her coffee, not even paying attention to the door at the moment, but truth is she’s been intensely staring at it in the past ten minutes she has been there.

Harry takes a deep breath and nods to himself before heading in her way, hands shaking nervously as he stops at her table.

She glances up at him with innocent eyes, a smile spreads across her face as she sees that her mysterious Harry has arrived and she doesn’t recognize her until he finally takes his sunglasses off.

Harry watches her face turn from happiness to surprise then utter shock as she realizes who is standing in front of him.

“You are… my Harry?” she asks, confusion laced through her voice and Harry can’t ignore how she called him her Harry. He likes the ring of it.

“M’orry if it’s a little too much f’you, I really didn’t know how to tell ya.”

Keeping his eyes on her he pulls out the other chair at the table and takes a seat across her while she is still staring at him with a shocked and puzzled expression sitting on her face. Then she looks around in suspicion as he wiggles his coat off his arms, before her eyes settle on him once again.

“It’s not an episode of Catfish, right?” she asks making him chuckle.

“It is not, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird, but this was literally the last thing I was expecting,” she admits leaning back in her seat. “I believed things like this only happen in movies.”

“Not just there,” he smiles, slowly relieving that she is still sitting there and hasn’t ran out. It’s going way better than he expected.

She needs a little time to put the whole picture together and befriend the thought that she indeed just developed a friendship with Harry Styles through her videos for her brother. The absurdity is still shocking to her, but the more time passes by with him still sitting there, the more she finds peace with it.

Once the shock and surprise is gone they slowly realize they are seeing each other in real life finally. Harry feels overwhelmed, she is even more breathtaking than in her videos and through texts. He is mesmerized by her whole being and could listen to her talk in person forever, he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Time stops existing as they sit at the little café, talking for hours even though that’s all they’ve been doing through texts, but they just can’t get enough of hearing each other, seeing each other’s reaction and be able to see each other and not stare at a screen while talking.

Unfortunately, time never stopped just for the two of them and soon she realizes she needs to head back home. Harry doesn’t want to let go of her just yet so he offers to give her a ride, thanking himself for getting a rental for himself upon arriving. Y/N accepts the offer so the two of them head back to her parents’ home, soaking up the last minutes of their precious time spent together.

“Thank you for today, I really loved meeting you finally,” she smiles at him once they are parked on the driveway.

“I hope I didn’t shock you too much,” he chuckles scratching his chin.

“Just a little,” she admits before they both get out of the car and walking around it she stops in front of him, after a moment of hesitation she opts for a hug that he returns more than happily.

It feels as if her frame was perfectly sculpted to fit in his embrace and Harry can’t imagine how he could go this long without even seeing her in person. He knows it’s gonna be utter misery to be away from her after they leave the city.

“Will I see you before you take off?” she asks letting go of him. Harry looks down at her, the urge to kiss her growing bigger with each passing moment, but he is not sure if it would be appropriate to give it a try on their first time meeting.

“I’m free tomorrow for a lunch,” he tells her and she nods smiling.

“Then I’m free too,” she chuckles.

There’s an awkward moment where they are not sure what else should be done or said and the more they wait the weirder it’s getting so Harry clears his throat as he takes a step back, sad that he has to leave without feeling her lips on his, but he is not trying to be too greedy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles walking back to his car. Y/N waves after him and sitting back to behind the wheel he takes a moment to himself to collect himself after everything that has happened today. His hands curl around the wheel and he is about to start the car when someone knocks on the window. Y/N is smiling at him through the glass and he rolls it down curiously.

“I just…” she starts hesitantly, her eyes wander down to his lips and Harry knows what’s about to happen, but it still catches him by surprise.

Y/N leans in through the window and presses her lips to Harry’s, capturing them in a sweet, long awaited first kiss they both have been dreaming of for quite a while. Harry smiles into the kiss, bringing his right hand up to cup her cheeks as they stretch the moment for as long as possible. Whenever one pulls back the other brings them back for just one more kiss that turns into two more, then three… It takes a long time for them to finally let go of each other.

“See you later, H,” she smiles backing out of the car and running up to the front door, smiling wildly as she waves in his way one last time before disappearing in the house.

 Lying in bed that evening Harry is scrolling through his Instagram feed when he finally realizes he can now follow her without a worry. He is quick to find her profile again and hit that follow button. He is happy to see she was already following him.

He is just about to put his phone aside and go to bed after such a busy but exciting day when a notification pops up on the screen.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video!

He taps on it quickly and her smiling face greets him from his phone’s screen.

“Hi Sammy! It’s me again. Welcome back to our channel,” she starts with a shy smile. The setting is new this time, he supposes it’s her parents’ home this time. “This is going to be a short video, but I wanted to tell you about something. Or someone.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat when he thinks about where it’s heading. He listens to her voice holding his breath.

“I met someone today. We’ve been talking for a while, but I could finally hug him today. His name is Harry, and he is a wonderful man. I think you two would get along well,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I love spending time with him and I hope he feels the same way. Actually…” Her eyes move up straight to the camera, something she doesn’t do often. She usually stares out the window or plays with Henry while talking. “I think he is watching it right now. Hi Harry!”

“Hello, Beautiful,” he greets her back with a smile as if she could hear him.

“I wanted to tell you how amazing you are making me feel. I hope I didn’t disappoint. I was so nervous to meet you today, I hope I lived up to what you imagined me to be.”

“You were so much better than that,” he answers again.

“Anyway… I hope you feel the same way. You are the first guy I’m talking about in an update, so appreciate it!” she tells him and he chuckles lightly. “I’ll see you soon, H. But until then… Know that I’m thinking about you.”

“M’thinking about you too, Angel.”

“Sammy, I miss you as always. I hope everything is well, can’t wait for your next email. I love you,” she smiles before the video ends.

Harry heads straight to the comments. This time he doesn’t leave a lengthy one, just a short line, but it has everything he wanted to tell her.

“I feel the same way.” The comment reads. Just a few seconds later comes the notification and he smiles sweetly at his phone.

Y/N liked the comment.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Lessons Learned

Spencer Reid x (female) Reader (but reader doesn’t actually appear in the scene, that’s more of a postscript thing) 

Word Count: 1225

Warnings: Non-explicit discussion of sex, in an oddly sweet and wholesome kinda way. 

A/N: In which Emily gives Spencer some advice! 

Inspired by @softspence​ / @homoose​ and this ask / this fic! Because it’s been a while (or, y’know, a week) since I wrote about the importance of communication during sex, and then I got to thinking about the whole “men being threatened by vibrators” thing, and... fic happened. 

“I swear to god, Kevin’s eyes just about bugged out of his head when he saw mine,” Penelope is saying, as Spencer slides back onto his chair. 

“They get so threatened, right?” Emily exclaims. “It’s a tool, not a competitor.” 

Penelope sighs. “God. Men. No offense, Spencer.” 

“None taken?” he says tentatively. “Um… what are you talking about?” 

“Vibrators,” Emily informs him, and Spencer chokes a little bit on absolutely nothing. “And the time a man told me female ejaculation is a myth, and all the other reasons I prefer having sex with women.” 

“Maybe I’ll just — um,” Spencer mutters, looking around desperately for an excuse to be somewhere else. For a second he considers joining JJ and Derek on the dance floor, but that’s its own kind of hell. 

“Which part of that statement made you uncomfortable?” Emily asks, laughing. “C’mon, Doctor Reid, I’m sure you have some statistics on the female orgasm.”

Spencer grimaces, but offers, “Women orgasm during heterosexual intercourse roughly sixty-one percent of the time, compared to eighty-six percent during lesbian sex.” 

“There you go,” Emily says, slapping her hand on the table with a grin. “And I bet it’s only that low because women don’t always expect reciprocation. Sometimes I just want to go down on a chick, you know?” 

Spencer just looks at her, wide-eyed, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink and get my dance on,” Penelope interrupts with a giggle. “Be back in a bit. Spencer, try not to die of embarrassment while I’m gone.” 

“I should probably switch to water,” Emily muses, draining the last sip of her drink. Once Penelope is out of earshot, she adds, “I’m sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

“No, it’s not that, exactly.” Spencer frowns down at the table. “It’s just — never mind.” 

Emily is studying him, uncomfortably sharp even though she’s way past tipsy. “You still haven’t, have you? Gone down on a girl, I mean.” 

Spencer’s entire face is hot. “That’s… you’re correct.”

“You’ve had sex, though,” Emily says. 

Either Spencer’s been saying some embarrassing things in his sleep during jet naps, or she’s… well, a profiler. Right. 

“She wasn’t —we didn’t — once, and it was a… perfunctory experience.” He sighs, dropping his face into his hands, and admits all in one breath, “Idon’tlikebeingbadatstuff.”

When he looks up again, Emily’s smiling at him, not unkindly. “Are you looking for some advice?”

“I know the theory, but —”

“Not something you can learn from a book. Yeah. Believe me, Spencer, I am happy to talk about this stuff,” Emily says. She’s obviously sincere, and Spencer feels some of his embarrassment melt away. “Not enough men want advice, and that’s part of the problem.” 

Spencer shrugs. “Then… yeah, I’m asking you for advice.” 

Emily nods and folds her hands, sitting up a little straighter; she means business. 

“Lesson one: make sure your fingernails are clipped and filed and clean,” she says authoritatively. 

“That makes sense.” 

“Second: take your fucking time. Okay? Don’t just, like, faceplant tongue-first onto the clit.” Spencer almost chokes on his drink at that, and Emily smirks before continuing, “Women are beautiful, right? Seems obvious to you and me, but a lot of the time, they don’t believe that they’re beautiful, and when they’re naked, they tend to worry about whether you think they’re beautiful.” 

“Huh.” 

Yeah, none of the books ever mentioned that. 

“So take your time getting there. Appreciate the rest of her body. Kissing, touching, licking, just — looking, and exploring, and letting her know that you like what you see. That you like all of her, and not just what’s between her legs. If you can make her feel comfortable — not just comfortable with you, but comfortable in her own skin — that’s going to make it a whole lot easier for her to enjoy herself. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Spencer says softly. 

Emily takes a sip of her drink and clears her throat. 

“Okay. Here’s where a lot of dudes get tripped up: fucking communicate. Just ask her what she likes, and then actually listen to what she says. There’s nothing wrong with not being confident. It’s a whole lot better than being over-confident.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think over-confident will be a problem for me,” Spencer says wryly. 

“Good. Because way too many guys go into sex assuming that they already know how to blow her mind, or whatever, and that this is a chance for them to, like, amaze her with their moves, and a lot of the time, they got their moves from porn and they suck.” Emily’s getting a little rant-y. She takes a deep breath and continues. “Anyway, just — just ask her. She might not be comfortable, at first, saying it bluntly like that, so listen to her body, too, right? Touch her in different ways and pay attention to how she responds. Fingers, tongue… suction, penetration… everybody — every body — is different.” 

Spencer nods, and hesitates before saying, “I’ve heard a couple men talk about it, and they always make it sound — intimidating? And not necessarily… enjoyable.” 

“Men are fucking weird,” Emily says bluntly. “It’s awesome. Not like jizz tastes like chocolate and strawberries, anyway. But, like, it’s… human, you know? There’s something hot about it, even if it’s not what you’d usually enjoy. And the wetter she gets, the longer you spend down there, the better she’s going to taste.” 

Spencer’s cheeks are burning again. He rubs his eyes, trying to cover his discomfort. “And how — I mean…” 

“You’ll know,” Emily says wryly. “And also, when it’s over, she’ll be sensitive, and she’ll push you away, because it’ll be too much.” 

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not — it’s not necessarily comfortable, you know? Feels like you’re gonna fucking suffocate, sometimes. You’ll have her thighs around your head, and she’ll be all trembly, trying to move her hips, maybe pulling your hair, but —” Emily’s smiling now, equal parts dreamy and smug. “— feeling someone just fall apart like that, feeling their whole body shaking — making them feel good — it’s amazing.” 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Spencer mumbles.

“Really, though,” Emily says seriously. “The most important thing is that you take your ego out of the equation. Stop worrying about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at it. Whether it’s your fingers or your mouth or your dick or her fucking vibrator, ask her what to do, and then do it. Understood?” 

“Yeah. I understand.” He gives her a grateful smile. 

Emily studies him for a moment and then says, “For what it’s worth? Just knowing you as a friend, knowing how much you care about people, I think your future partners are in good hands.” It’s unusually earnest for her and it catches Spencer off-guard, but before he can think of a response, she flashes him a bright grin and adds, “If they want to thank me, though, my favorite flowers are roses.” 

Spencer laughs. “I’ll remember that, if I ever meet someone special.” 

“You will. Don’t worry.” 

“Thanks, Em.” 

Sure enough, he meets you a few months later. 

Your breathless, “How did you do that?” was meant to be rhetorical, but he tells you the whole story anyway. You have a huge bouquet delivered to Emily’s apartment, along with a bottle of wine and a card that says, “Can’t thank you enough.”

.

.

.

More CM fic here. If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note here! 

[keanureevesisbae]

sugar sugar - october.

Summary: Henry invites her to a rooftop party and that is only the beginnings of a whole lot of changes for Becky.

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Just an idiot who doesn’t take no for an answer, but that’s it.

Wordcount: 8.5k 🙈

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter (and please Tumblr, don’t eat comments anymore, thank you very much)

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

October 1st 8 p.m.

Henry asked me if I wanted to go with him to a rooftop party. I mean, of course I wanted to go with him, because I’ve never been to a party like that. However, as I try to find something to wear, I’m left with barely anything. The money he gave me, went straight to the bank to pay off a tiny bit of my severe debt. I kinda want to ask Henry to just pay it all off, but I’m too scared to ask him.

But now I sorta wished I spend it on clothes. I don’t even know what one wears to a rooftop party.

I slip on my black heels after I put on a simple black shirt with long sleeves, that’s tugged in a grey checkered pants. This looks sort of sophisticated.

I hope.

With my purse in hand, I walk out of my door. I know Henry is already here, so now I only need to sneak passed mister Del Rossi.

Let’s just hope he is watching some series again.

After I peeked around the corner, I see he is too invested in a different movie, so I shoot out of the building without him noticing me. Once I’m outside, I see Henry leaning against his Range Rover.

He looks so expensive. I think his belt is probably worth more than my entire outfit. The black slacks accentuate the firmness of his legs (and probably the firmness of his ass too, but only time will tell) and he paired it with a tight white blouse, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong underarms and probably severely overpriced watch.

Instead of greeting him, like you usually do when you see someone you know, I let the words: ‘I’m severely underdressed,’ slip, whilst stopping in the middle of the curb.

’No, you’re not,’ Henry says. ‘You look perfect.’

Perfect isn’t a word I would associate with me. Ever. Even my parents and siblings would agree that perfect and I don’t go hand in hand.

‘Excuse me, what?’

‘You look perfect,’ he repeats. ‘If you think you’re underdressed though, you and I could go shopping first. We have time.’

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘I mean, you wanted to go to the party tonight. Don’t you wanna be on time?’

‘There is a thing called fashionably late,’ he says. ‘Besides, I don’t want you to feel underdressed.’

Is this honestly my life now? I sort of say I want something and he just puts his life on hold, simply to give it to me?

I could get used to that.

‘How much time do we have left?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is there even a store open now?’

‘We have all the time in the world. Now get in, Becky,’ he says with a smile, ‘I know a place that is still open.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When Henry says he knows a place, he really does know a place. He takes me to the most luxurious boutique in the entirety of Manhattan and the owner (who is a lot smaller than Henry, but wow, is he very handsome. Totally someone I would break my neck for if I saw him passing me) holds up his hand when he spots us. ‘Henry, what a surprise.’ His brown eyes land on me and he smiles even brighter than before. ‘Hi there, I’m Peter.’

He holds out his hand and I carefully take it. ‘I’m Becky, nice to meet you.’

‘What can I do for you today?’

‘We’re going to the rooftop party at Gino’s,’ Henry says, his hand possessively in the dip of my waist, almost as he wants everyone in the store (and that includes the four rich looking guys in the back of the store) to know I’m with him. ‘And we want something for her to wear. Though I think she looks beautiful already, she should feel comfortable.’

Excuse me, my legs should not feel this wobbly.

Peter nods. ‘Well, I have just the thing for you. Walk with me, Becky.’

Henry squeezes my waist, before I walk with Peter to the left of the store.

‘So,’ Peter says, ‘are you enjoying this type of lifestyle?’

How does one respond to this implication, especially when it’s true? ‘Hm, what?’

‘Oh love, I know all about what you two have,’ he says. ‘Henry and I go way back.’ He goes through the clothing racks, as his eyes scan every item on the it. ‘We went to high school together and became best friends. We still are. So, after college, he goes to start Midnight and became filthy rich and I didn’t. I worked in cheap clothing stores after studying fashion and when he saw me struggle, he gave me the head start I needed. And now, look at me. One of the greatest boutiques here in Manhattan.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘Does he give away money like that all the time to anyone?’

He shakes his head as a chuckle leaves his lips. ‘No,’ Peter answers. ‘He barely does it. Only to charities, but he always does it anonymous. You know, it was my idea to sign him up for Sugar Sugar. He is getting pretty lonely.’

‘How?’ I ask. ‘I mean, how does someone who looks like that, doesn’t have someone in his life?’

‘He is…’ Peter starts, ‘wait a minute, how do I say this? Keen on a solitary life.’

‘But why did he sign up then?’

‘Because the solitary life isn’t doing him any good.’ He smiles and says: ‘Becky with the good hair was the first profile to pop up on his feed and it was all he needed to see.’

I’m oddly flattered. ‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Why?’ I try to think about my profile picture, which was a very plain picture of me sitting in the grass during a picnic with Genevieve and Viola.

‘I don’t know. We signed him up and he was sold the second he saw your pictures and read your profile. He didn’t even check other profiles, just clicked on yours to send you a message.’ Peter has obtained a set: a tight black skirt with a white long-sleeved crop top. He ushers me to follow him and like a puppy I trail behind him. He grabs some black shiny boots, with a high thin heel after he asked for my shoe size. He even takes some jewelry with him.

Peter hangs everything up for me in the dressing room, as Henry takes a sit in a chair. ‘Show me when you’re dressed, okay?’ he says to me. I nod and when Peter stepped out of the dressing room, I close the curtain behind me.

While I’m changing, I hear them softly talking. I lean towards the curtain with my ear and try to decipher what they are talking about, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

Is it true though, what Peter told me? Was Henry really sold the second he saw my profile? Meaning, he is not lying when he calls me beautiful?

I look at myself in the mirror and grab the silver collier and the matching ring. This looks amazing, I think to myself, as the skirt and top give my such an hour glass figure. My work attire is a star in hiding the few curves I have and my other clothes don’t quite accentuate it. I put on the heels and open the curtain.

‘My oh my,’ Peter says as I step out. ‘You are stunning.’

‘Thanks to you,’ I chuckle. ‘I absolutely love it.’

Peter walks over to me, pulling the skirt a little straighter. ‘You know, I love every piece of clothing in this boutique, but it’s always the model who makes it work. You sure you don’t want to model for me?’

I should not be blushing. ‘I don’t think I would be good enough for that.’

‘Nonsense,’ Peter says. ‘You don’t have to say yes straight away, but think about it.’ From the looks of it, he is dead serious.

Henry stands up and gets closer to me, causing him to literally tower over me. He grabs his hand in mine, inspecting the ring. ‘Peter,’ he says, ‘do you have a ring that is a little bit more delicate?’

His friend nods and walks into the store to grab a different ring. Henry gently pulls the ring off my finger.

‘What do you think?’ I ask him. ‘I mean, you’re probably gonna pay for it.’

‘I am gonna pay for it,’ he says with a smirk. ‘What Peter said: you’re stunning. I think I’ll be making everyone very jealous with you by my side.’

I highly doubt it, but this sure is a nice compliment.

Peter comes back with a different ring and after they exchanged them, Henry slides on the other ring around my finger.

This sure gives me enough to work with for my next dream, I can tell you that. The ring is a little bit more delicate, but when I look at it, it’s indeed better around my finger. ‘Perfect,’ Henry says. ‘You want a clutch to match with this?’

‘I’d rather have a purse,’ I mumble.

I don’t have to tell Henry twice. ‘Peter, could you grab some purses for her to check out?’

The store owner hurries back to the store once again, this time to fetch us some purses.

‘Should I put my other clothes in a bag?’ I suggest. ‘I can do that, while we wait.’

I already turn around, but Henry pulls me back. ‘No,’ he sternly says, ‘stay here.’

While Peter gives us four purses to show, he is actually the one that puts my other clothes in a bag, neatly folding it in a way I never do that. I pick a black and white purse, though I really like the pink one. It’s just that I’m not confident enough to pull off a bright pink purse with this outfit.

After Peter cut out the tags off my clothes and Henry paid for them (it was a good two thousand dollars, my poor heart), he receives the bag with my clothing from his friend and we say our goodbyes to Peter. ‘Can we go here more often?’ I ask Henry, as he opens the door for me.

‘If you want that, of course.’

Once we’re seated in his car again, I look to the side. ‘Thank you, I absolutely love it.’

‘Good,’ he says, starting the car. ‘You look like an absolute vision, Becky.’

✤ ✤ ✤

I know about how valets work, but I’ve never seen it happen in real life. I actually thought about working as a valet, but then I remembered I don’t have a drivers license, so that possibility went off the table fairly quick.

Henry held up his hand when a valet guy wanted to walk around the car to open my door, only to do it himself. He offered me his hand and once I took it, he helped me out of the car. Now, we’re stepping into the elevator that’s prettier than the entire apartment building I live in.

‘Gino is a good friend of mine,’ he says. ‘His parties are usually pretty okay, but if you want to leave, just let me know.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

‘And I don’t know how your alcohol tolerance is,’ he continues to say, ‘but his drinks are pretty strong, so watch out for that.’

Good to know. I can’t handle alcohol very well, except maybe a nice wine. ‘Is there wine?’ I ask him.

‘I’ll check for you. Also, remember not to take drinks from anyone, but me, okay?’

I scoff. ‘How old do you think I am?’ I ask. ‘I’m a grown woman, Henry.’

He smiles. ‘Well, you know, Becky,’ he continues to say, ‘Gino might be nice, but his friends are not always.’ He looks to the side. ‘If I were you, I’d stay close.’

‘I was thinking the same,’ I mumble, my cockiness dissolving as we speak. ‘I’m not really good at parties,’ I admit. ‘My last party was prom and it was horrendous. And that with people I actually knew.’

He nods. ‘Another reason to stay close.’

We step out of the elevator and oh my gosh, the aesthetic of the rooftop party is beautiful. I see golden lights everywhere and with the terrace heaters, the place has a nice temperature, so I’m not freezing to death in this outfit. I hear some music, watch some people dancing in the middle of the roof, whilst other are standing near the bar or sitting on large lounge sofa’s.

Okay, the people seem okay, just they all look so expensive, while I on the other hand look really poor, even in this two thousand dollar outfit. Is Henry absolutely sure he wants me to interact with these bouche people? I mean, I am part of his reputation now. If they think low of me, I honestly don’t mind, since I’ll probably ever see them again, but if they think low of Henry, because of me… That can’t be good, especially because he pays me to be by his side.

Henry must sense my discomfort, because after he places a heavy hand on my lower back, he leans down to my ear and whispers: ‘If I were afraid you were gonna embarrass me, I wouldn’t have taken you here. Just be yourself.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘Henry, I’m not even content with myself. I can fake something, get an alter ego. Just give me a minute to prepare.’

‘No,’ he says sternly, ‘I want you.’

My knees barely recover from that comment. He wants me…

…to be by his side, without putting up an act. This has no sexual meaning what so ever. We agreed on that, I know that. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Just me. Sure?’

He chuckles. ‘Sure,’ he confirms. We walk towards a table and he hands me a glass of wine, before getting himself some whiskey.

Rich men really drink that?

His hand has risen from my lower back, to the midst of my back, his thumb caressing the bare part between my skirt and crop top. It’s such a casual and simple gesture from his side, but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, with added heart palpitations.

‘If anyone asks,’ Henry says, ‘you’re my date.’

I actually wonder if anyone is even gonna notice me, because has Henry seen himself? Right when I want to say something to him, a man walks up to us. ‘Henry, you made it!’

‘Gino, nice to see you again.’ Henry holds out his hand and the two shake hands.

Oh, Gino is quite handsome as well. Does Henry only know beautiful people? I thought Peter was to die for already, but Gino sure is a sight for the eye as well. ‘Hello there,’ Gino says, a lovely smile appearing on his face.

‘Hi,’ I say, not quite sure if I should introduce myself or wait for him to ask my name.

‘This is Becky,’ Henry says, when he senses my incapability to be polite. ‘Becky, this is Gino.’

‘Nice to meet you, Becky,’ Gino says, shaking my hand with full enthusiasm, that my shoulder nearly gets dislocated. But it’s nice to be welcomed to someones party with this much excitement. Especially because I have never met the man before.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ I finally manage to say. ‘I love the aesthetic of the party. Very warm and beautiful.’

Gino smiles. ‘You know, you’re the first one to actually say something about it.’ He looks at Henry. ‘I like her.’

He ushers us to follow him to a lounge couch in the corner and while we trail behind, I tug Henry’s hand. ‘He likes me?’ I ask him. ‘Did he really say that?’

‘He did,’ Henry says with a smile.

I watch Gino shooing people away from the couch and holds out his hand, gesturing for us to take a sit. Henry and Gino both wait till I’m seated and I place my purse on my lap, since I’m not sure how far up my skirt you can look if I just normally sit. When I crossed my legs as well, Henry places his hand on knee, as he talks business with Gino.

My entire skin burns, even the part where his cold ring is making contact with my leg.

While I’m slightly disappointed that Henry and Gino aren’t involving me in the conversation, I realize it’s not about me. Of course it’s not about me. I’m tagging along with Henry, who is much more important than I am and who has business to do, even at a party.

I let my eyes wander over the people, who all seem to know each other. People kissing each other on the cheeks as they approach someone. Women wrapping their arms around some guy, who pulls them close as they clink their glasses.

‘Where are the restrooms?’ I ask them.

‘Near the elevators,’ Gino answers. ‘On your right hand.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ I look at Henry and softly say: ‘I’ll be right back.’

I place my empty wineglass on a table and walk through the people towards the restrooms. Not to pee or anything, but to regain my thoughts. Everyone here is so pretty and gorgeous and I feel so out of place.

I mean, even the bathroom is decorated in such a pretty and rich manner, and I’m none of that. I look into the mirror and decide to touch up some of my lipstick. I do some breathing exercises, because I feel like I’m totally working myself up.

After a short break from the party, I decide to walk back to the lounge couch. I push myself through the enormous crowd of people, but when I’m really close to Henry and Gino again, I bump into someone.

‘Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,’ I say.

The guy who I bumped into smiles at me and all of the sudden I’m in desperate need of a pair of sunglasses. Why are his teeth so white? Is that even healthy? ‘No, it’s okay,’ he says. ‘Who you here with?’ he then asks me.

‘I’m with him,’ I say, pointing at the lounge couch, only to see Henry already looking at us.

‘Want something to drink?’

Yeah, that’s a no. I’m not accepting a drink from someone who clearly has had one too many. ‘No, but thank you for offering,’ I say, taking Henry’s advice on not taking drinks from anyone, but him to heart. ‘I’ve gotta go.’

I want to walk passed him, but the man grabs my wrist tightly. ‘Come on, one drink.’

I barely learned anything in juvie, but there is one thing I learned pretty damn quickly: if you want to break yourself free from someone’s grasp, rotate your arm towards their thumb. They can’t hold onto you, even if they wanted to and seeing this man’s level of intoxication, I think it’ll be doable.

I twist my arm towards his thumb and like I predicted, he lets go of me. ‘No thanks,’ I say, quickly walking up to the lounge corner. Henry is on the edge of his seat and when I approach him, he stands up. ‘Was he harassing you?’ he asks me, his eyes a few shades darker, as he places his hand on my upper arm.

Why does Henry look like he is ready to skin the guy alive and why is that so hot?

‘No,’ I say.

‘It sure looked like it to me.’

He wants to pass me, but I place my hand on his chest (okay, that was the original plan, but it lands on his stomach). ‘I took care of it, Henry,’ I say, as we both look at the guy who is still rubbing his hand, meaning I took him by surprise. ‘I promise you, I’m fine.’

He clears his throat, almost as if he has to restrain himself not to do anything about it. He simply nods and when the two of us sit down again, he places a heavy hand on my leg, as he talks to Gino about more business stuff. His grip on my leg slightly tightens every time the guy looks our way.

While I might not understand a lot of it, I am completely drawn in by the way Henry speaks. He sounds so confident when talking about something of his own field of expertise. Tine goes by, but there isn’t a second I’m bored.

I wrap my arm around his and place my cheek against his thick upper arm.

That sparks his attention. ‘Look at you,’ he says with an endearing smile on his face. ‘You tired, Becky?’

‘No,’ I say, but that’s a lie. In all honesty: I’m dog tired.

‘We’ve been here for quite some time,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘Two hours nearly.’

‘We’ve been here for two hours?’ I ask him. It sure doesn’t feel like that. No wonder I’m tired, it’s way passed my bedtime. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think we should go.’

‘No, we don’t have to, not if you’re still busy.’

‘We’re going,’ he tells me.

Yeah, I can’t argue with that.

I sit up straight and when he is standing, he holds out his hand for me to take. While I’m perfectly capable to get up myself, I gladly take him up on his offer. We say our goodbyes to Gino (who actually pulls me into a hug, as apparently you do when you’re rich? I don’t know) and once we’re in the elevator again, I can’t hide my smile. ‘Gino’s nice.’

‘He is.’

‘You’re not mad about the other guy, right?’ I ask.

He scoffs, but I feel like that is the answer to my question.

‘It’s not that bad, Henry.’

‘It was to me,’ he says.

The valet pulls up the car and Henry helps me in the car again, a trait I very much appreciate and hope it never stops. Whilst Henry drives me home, I lean back against the seat and turn my head to the side. ‘What’s up?’ he asks me, turning the steering wheel with just one hand.

‘I never heard you talk that much about work,’ I say. ‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about. You know, you talk a lot with your hands, once you get thrilled about something. It’s endearing.’

Henry laughs. ‘Endearing you say?’

‘Oh, right, you’re a tough guy. Endearing doesn’t match with your reputation.’

He stops the car in front of my building. ‘Thanks for going with me.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘If Gino has another rooftop party, please invite me. I love the way he decorates it. Or lets it decorate, I don’t know. I feel like there should be a little bit more orange and yellow added to it. Not those neon colors, but those warm and soft— Henry, why are you laughing?’

‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about,’ he says with a smile. ‘You want me to walk with you?’

’No, if my landlord sees me walking in with a man like you, I have no idea how he is gonna react and I don’t want to find out.’

He opens the door for me after he got out himself and hands me the bag with my old clothes. ‘I’m taking you shopping soon,’ he says.

I like how he tries to formulate it as a question, but fails. Shows me that no matter how much money he has, he is still human. ‘Really? We’re going to Peter again?’

He nods. ‘Among other shops, yes.’

‘Great, sure. Thank you for tonight. I really had fun.’

‘Me too,’ he says.

I don’t know how to say goodbye to him, so I simply smile and walk towards the entrance of the apartment building. I look over my shoulder one more time and shyly wave at him.

I quickly run up the stairs and once I’m in my room, my phone beeps in my purse. Henry transferred a thousand dollars to me? Thank you for your company tonight, Becky it says in the description.

I can’t help but smile, though it doesn’t last very long, because I know that I have to save part of this money to pay off mister Del Rossi and the rest for my debt.

Meaning that I can’t enjoy it yet.

But that’ll come soon, I’m sure.

October 3rd 2 p.m.

Henry takes me shopping like he promised, but after the morning I had in Retro House, I continue to yawn and feel absolutely exhausted. Even in the dressing rooms, I sometimes just sit on the little stool, hoping to regain some energy. However, I pull myself together fairly quickly when I realize Henry is here to pay for everything my heart desires. The least I can do is be a nice shopping partner.

We decide to take a bit of a coffee break at a nearby cafe and thankfully that means I can get some caffeine in my body. I sure need it.

‘You’re tired,’ Henry notes.

Okay, I’m not doing a very good job at hiding it apparently. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. Rough morning at the restaurant,’ I say. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes as the soft sun rays shine on my face. ‘I also slept like shit last night.’

‘You want another job?’ he asks.

I open my eyes again, to look at him. ‘Oh absolutely, but I have very little to offer,’ I say. ‘I’m not qualified for anything.’

‘How about you just quit your job?’ he suggests.

I choke on my own spit. Did he honestly just say that I quit my job? As lousy as working at Retro House is, I can’t just stop. ‘Excuse me, what?’ I ask. ‘That I’m pretty dependable on you already is out of my own comfort zone, but quitting my job? Seriously? What do you want me to do with my time? Take your credit card and shop till I drop?’

Come to think of it, that actually sounds like something I would thoroughly enjoy.

Henry chuckles. ‘I was going to offer you a different job,’ he says.

While the fantasy of me walking downtown with Henry’s credit card in my thousand dollar purse, an assistant who carries my bags and a little chihuahua walking next to me in a matching outfit runs through my mind, I realize that another job might be better for my pride.

‘Oh,’ I say, as the idea of a new job sparks my interest. ‘What type of job?’

‘Midnight is looking for someone who can work in the archives. It’s currently a mess there and it’s only getting worse, unless someone is there to organize it.’

I think I can actually do that. ‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I don’t want to work for you because you feel sorry for me.’

‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ Henry tells me. ‘I want to give you an opportunity to make money, before your writing career takes off.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, like that’ll ever happen

He tilts his head. ‘It’ll happen, Becky, I’m sure of that. You know, the money you earn with this job, can go to your bank account and you save up.’

‘Are you serious?’

He nods. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.’

This is an amazing opportunity. I mean, working in the archives, that’s a job I would actually quite love to do. This will give me the opportunity to provide for myself and work on my books, while Henry still does what he does as my… I really don’t want to think about the word…

The things he does as my sugar daddy.

But there is one thing that is holding me back. ‘I can’t take you up on that offer,’ I say. ‘You see, your office is too far from my place. It’s around an hour by car. I don’t have a car, nor can I drive and… Going with public transportation is just something I can’t afford.’

‘You can’t drive?’ he asks me.

I shake my head.

‘You want to be able to drive?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe on abandoned roads somewhere else, but not here in New York. That just gives me stress.’

Henry nods. ‘Well, I’ll arrange a car for you to pick you up whenever you have to go to work. However, on your first day, I’ll pick you up, so I can help you around, get you a bit more familiar with the place.’

My eyes widen. ‘Seriously?’

‘Of course,’ he says.

‘Isn’t that a hassle? I mean—’

‘I don’t mind driving,’ he interrupts me, ‘and I don’t mind picking you up.’

I feel like I can’t argue with that, so I nod. ‘How much money would I make?’

‘Around three thousand a month, but you and I can negotiate about that.’

I think three thousand a month is absolutely fine, especially because I can pay back mister Del Rossi in no time once I have a steady salary. ‘Henry, I don’t know how to thank you. This is absolutely amazing.’

‘You can thank me by accepting the job. We’ll sign something tonight.’ He pulls out his phone and says: ‘I’ll have my assistant working on that. I’ll call him right now.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Becky: LISTEN UP LISTEN UP

Becky: I quit my job!!

Genevieve: You’re a full time sugar baby now?

Genevieve: I mean, I thought the sites told you not to do that?

Becky: No, I have another job.

Viola: Oh really??? Tell us all about it!

Becky: Meet Midnight’s new archivist: Miss Rebecca Kim.

Genevieve: Beck, you serious? You’re gonna work for your daddy?

Becky: Yes I’m serious and whenever you refer to Henry, either use his full name or the term SUGAR daddy.

Genevieve: I’ll think about it 😉

Genevieve: It’s just that daddy has a nice ring to it.

Genevieve: Daddy Henry omfg

Becky: ANYWAYS

Becky: I’m gonna make 3000 a month!

Viola: I love my bf, but at this point I want what you have.

Viola: I want to make $3000 a month, whilst also getting lovely gifts too.

Viola: I’m so happy for you!!

Genevieve: BECKY!!! I HAVE A GOOD IDEA!!

Genevieve: GIVE HIM BLOWJOBS WHILE HE IS WORKING AND YOU’RE UNDERNEATH THE DESK!!

Becky: GEN, NO!!!!

October 7th 7:30 a.m.

We settled on the normal three thousand a month, since I don’t want special treatment simply because I am Henry’s sugar baby. We also decided that Henry offered me the job, after visiting Retro House a few times and we got to talk about something I want to do with my future. I mean, it’s not a total lie, so it’s easy to sell if anyone asks.

After he called his assistant, we went to even more stores, because I need to dress to impress, especially on my first day of work.

And today is the day. I would lie if I said I wasn’t nervous, because last night I couldn’t sleep at all. I was tossing and turning, to a point I fell off my bed.

Twice.

Henry kept his promise and picked me up and we’re already ten minutes on the road. But the traffic is really bad today, however I feel like it wouldn’t matter if I was late on my first day, when you drive along with your boss, a.k.a. the CEO of the entire company.

Henry leans back in his seat, as he watches the road. We’re standing completely still and that makes me even more nervous. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, ‘it’ll go fine today.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘I mean… I don’t know why I’m so nervous. What if no one likes me?’

‘Impossible,’ Henry retorts within a second. ‘You have a very likable personality, Becky. If someone doesn’t like you, maybe I should fire them.’

That should not make me this giggly from the inside, but it still does. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

Henry pulls up, only to stop shortly afterwards. The road is jam packed and he is getting very frustrated now, though he tries his best to hide it.

‘Do I have breaks?’ I ask him.

‘You can have as many breaks as you want,’ he says.

‘Henry, I don’t want special treatment just because I’m your… You know what. I want to be just like one of your other employees.’

He chuckles. ‘Well, since you work from eight—though I think today you start at nine, with this traffic—till two or three, you should have two breaks of thirty minutes.’

‘That’s long,’ I note.

‘I like to give my employees a lot of breaks,’ he says. ‘Helps them to keep concentrated. You can grab your lunch in the cafeteria, it’s all free, so don’t worry about that. You can hang around there, but the view from the archives is lovely, so who knows you want to stay there. That’s up to you.’

I look to the side, at the exact moment Henry runs his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘On normal days,’ I say, ‘do I see you?’

‘You can come up to my office whenever you want.’

‘Henry,’ I mutter, ‘I’m just like your other employees.’

‘I know that,’ he says. ‘But I literally personally hired you. Meaning you’re not like my employees to begin with.’

I let out a chuckle. ‘Mhm, we’ll see.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The exterior of the Midnight building is magnificent, but the inside is even more ravishing. The floors shine, the walls are either painted or covered in wallpaper, I can’t tell the difference and even the ceiling is decorated.

I receive my own pass that gives me access to any room, including the upper floor, which is Henry’s office where only he, his assistant and people who are invited are allowed. He shows me the floors and I try to ignore every glare I receive from people who are obviously surprised and confused by the CEO giving me a tour of this place.

We finally arrive on the seventeenth floor and after we walked through a long hallway, we arrive at the archives.

And to call this a mess, is an understatement. I don’t think I have ever seen this much paper unorganized on the floor in my life. ‘How is your company this successful?’ I ask Henry, who stands behind me, taking in the mess. ‘This is absolutely appalling.’

‘It is,’ he admits. ‘You’re still up for the job?’

‘I think I am,’ I mumble. ‘Just tell me how you want it and I’ll start right away.’

Henry explains he wants everything put in folders, boxes and preferably both alphabetized and sorted out by year. That is something I totally agree with.

After I placed my bag in the only free space of this room (the right corner), I crouch down to collect some paper, making sure the entrance is sort of free from paper. Henry walks around the corner, trying to find a label maker, stapler and other office supplies I might need.

The door creaks and I feel this enormous pack of paper land on my back. I wince as I look over my shoulder, to see this guy with such a smug grin on his face.

‘Excuse me,’ I ask, ‘what’s your problem?’

‘Just bringing some paper,’ he says.

‘Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m trying to organize this place?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, just giving you more to do.’

I clench my jaw. Is this man for real? Firstly, he attacked me with paper. Secondly, he has the audacity to call me sweetheart. What’s next? He asks me to take off my clothes and organize this mess naked, while he grabs some popcorn, to enjoy the show and gives me more to do here?

‘Well,’ I say, ‘since it’s my first day here, I don’t think it would be nice of me to ram this pack of paper up your ass, but let me tell you this: if you ever have the nerve to throw a something in this room, I swear to—’

‘Mister Miller,’ I hear behind me. ‘Causing trouble again?’

The color in Miller’s face disappears, as he gulps, realizing Henry has both seen and heard what he said. ‘No, sir, absolutely not,’ he stammers.

Henry walks over to us, placing a box next to my feet. ‘Let’s have a talk outside,’ he says, placing his hand on the guy’s shoulder, ready to escort him out of the room. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says to me, before walking out.

I open the box Henry placed next to my feet and I see a lot of supplies. I massage the spot on my back, where the thick pack of paper hit me. I bruise like a peach, I know that. A strong wind could break my nose and I’m sure I’ll feel this unfortunate meeting of this pack of paper against my back for awhile.

‘You’re alright?’ I hear Henry ask, when he comes back.

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Just a small downgrade of his job description.’ The nonchalance in his voice cannot be missed. He seems like a tough boss, someone who applies the rule ‘one strike and you’re out’, but at the same time, he seems like the boss that would give you as much time off as you need, when you have a personal matter and actually visits you to check in with you. ‘I have a last minute meeting,’ he tells me, ‘but you’ll manage, right?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘If you need anything, just text me. I’ll arrange something for you right away.’

Of course he will. I nod. ‘Okay, thanks, Henry.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He simply nods and walks out of the room.

✤ ✤ ✤

Working at Retro House, left me with defect: I can’t take a long break, not even one. If I took a fifteen minute break during an eight hour day, that would be a reason to celebrate. Now, I can take breaks whenever I want, how long I want.

That’s too much freedom in the work environment.

It just doesn’t feel good to chill around, while I could also be working. However, at around one in the afternoon, my lack of sleep is slowly catching up with me and I sit in the corner, stapling some papers together. It’s just that the way the sun shines onto the spot, that makes me even more drowsy than I already was.

As I stare out of the window, I realize Henry’s right. The view is beautiful here. My eyelids become heavier and heavier and I slowly drift off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I’m sleeping, but I wake up when I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder. I jolt awake, ready to karate chop the person who touches me, only to see it’s Henry. ‘Oh,’I say, ‘I’m so sorry. Don’t think I’ve slept the entire time. I just felt a bit tired and I guess I drifted off to sleep and—’

He shushes. ‘No, no, none of that. I can see how much work you’ve done in one day.’

He’s not mad? ‘You’re not mad?’

Henry frowns. ‘Why would I be mad?’

‘I don’t know,’ I stammer. ‘Just… Never mind. How was your day?’

‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I think you’re done for today. You’ve done enough.’

‘Henry, my shift isn’t over.’

He smirks. ‘Well, the boss says it is.’ He holds out his hand and helps me up. ‘I’ll take you back home.’

When we’re in the car, Henry doesn’t quite say anything. While I’m figuring out what to say to him, he takes a deep breath and says: ‘I’ll be busy for the next two weeks or so.’

I should not be disappointed, yet I am. ‘Oh, okay.’

‘I won’t be able to meet up or see you at work.’

That’s a bummer. ‘That’s fine,’ I say to him.

‘Tomorrow a driver will pick you up,’ he continues. ‘His name is Laurence, he drives me around from time to time. Very nice man.’

‘Alright,’ I say.

‘And if you need anything from me, you can always text me.’ He looks to the side as he waits for the red traffic light. ‘Promise me, Becky.’

I chuckle as I nod. ‘I promise, Henry.’

October 21st 9 p.m.

Working in the archives is pretty much a solo job. I’ve snapped at people multiple times, before they get a chance to throw papers into the room and now, everyone gently places their papers on a designated table.

Maybe people don’t like me because of I yelled at them, but come to think of it: I only yelled at men.

A group of women asked me to join them on their lunch breaks. While at first glance, they didn’t seem like the type of people I’d personally pick out to eat my lunch with, they are very pleasant to be around with and I’m happy they invited me.

They, of course, all have their own lives, with husbands and children, but it’s nice to not spend my time alone.

I do however have slight issues with stopping today, because the room finally looks a bit more presentable. It’s nowhere near done, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nice to see the entire floor.

With my bag over my shoulder, I wait for the elevator doors to open. These passed two weeks, I indeed barely saw Henry, but he did transfer a thousand dollars to my bank account (with the description ‘just because’). He sometimes texted me, reminding me to take my well deserved breaks and to not only work on organizing the archives, but also work on my book, as it—and I quote—“doesn’t write itself”.

While the elevator takes its sweet time to come up to the right floor, I see that Laurence texted me that unfortunately he has a family matter. I quickly text him back that it’s okay and that I hope everything will be okay for him soon. I step into the elevator. I want to press the button to go to the ground floor, but my eyes land on the button for the upper floor.

I know Henry is in the office today and I could… You know… Talk to him.

I’m not gonna lie, but I missed him. I really wished it wasn’t like that, because I don’t think you should attach to your sugar daddy that much, but I can’t help it. I miss being around him.

When I press the button to go to the upper floor, I have to scan my pass, granting me access. The elevator takes me all the way to the top and when the doors slide open, I can already see Henry sitting behind his desk.

He looks up and smiles when he notices it’s me. ‘I was wondering when I would see you up here.’

‘Well, I don’t have a ride home. Laurence has a family matter.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve heard,’ he says. ‘He texted me a second ago. It’s pretty severe, so he won’t be able to drive you for a while.’ He nods for me to come closer.

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ I say. ‘If you give me his address, I’ll send him a card.’

‘I’ll text you the address.’ He pats on the wooden top of his desk and I carefully take a seat. ‘You know, I’ll drive you back to your place, just have to save something and log out. Tell me: how are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I answer. ‘I really like it at the archives and it’s finally getting a bit more organized, meaning I can properly start very soon.’

‘I’ve seen it this morning, before you arrived,’ he says. ‘It looked good, Becky. Very proud of you.’

When was the last time I heard those words? I don’t think someone—besides Viola and Genevieve—has ever been proud of me. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

He leans back in his chair. Henry looks tired, as if these last two weeks have been pretty hard on him.

‘How are you?’ I ask him.

‘Better now you’re here,’ he quietly says, almost like he doesn’t want me to hear it, but I heard it and I’m so gonna text this to Genevieve and Viola. ‘You know, I have an offer for you.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’

‘I could buy you an apartment.’

My eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. ‘What?’ I want to add a ‘No, that’s not necessary’ to it, but I know Henry long enough to realize that’s not gonna work. ‘Where?’ I ask.

He seems surprised by me not resisting the idea (believe me, I’m quite shocked myself), but he quickly regains his composure. ‘Madison Square Park Tower.’

I gasp out load. ‘What? That shit is expensive,’ I exclaim.

‘I can afford it,’ Henry says with a smile.

‘I’ve checked those apartments out before with Viola and Genevieve. It’s very very expensive, Henry. Isn’t it even a bit out of your price range?’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, your profile said your fortune was ten million.

Henry scoffs, almost like he’s offended. ‘Well, you can multiply that by a few.’

I am in shock. By a few? What’s a few? How much money does this man have? I don’t think I can respond to this. He is honestly that wealthy? Oh my, this is unbelievable.

This man is a catch.

‘I have a penthouse in the same building,’ he says, ‘so you can travel with me to work if you want.’

‘Of course you have a penthouse,’ I mutter. ‘If I were to say yes, just know that I don’t want a penthouse. An apartment is more than enough.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks me. ‘I can buy you a penthouse.’

‘Promise me, only an apartment,’ I say in the same tone I use to everyone who walks into the archives, before they throw their paper in the room.

He smiles. ‘Okay, only an apartment. Want to check it out?’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

I clear my throat. I should be asleep, but going to Madison Square Park Tower weirdly does not happen to me a lot, so I nod. ‘Okay, sure.’

✤ ✤ ✤

My jaw is probably dislocated by the time we finished our tour on the twenty-fifth floor in apartment 25B of Madison Square Park Tower. Henry is that rich, he can literally ask the receptionist for a key, because he wants to check out an apartment and she just gives him it!

What kind of sorcery is this?

The place is totally up my alley, if I were rich and able to afford it. There are so many opportunities and possibilities to redo this place with the walls and the floors. Decorating the interior to my likings.

‘You want it?’ Henry asks me.

Yes! ‘I don’t know,’ I say to him. ‘I really don’t know, Henry.’ I stand near the window, admiring the view.

Becky, you so want this apartment. Just listen to your gut, ignore that voice of reason.

‘It’s a lot of money and I feel like you are losing yourself,’ I say to him. ‘Remember, I am your sugar baby, not your best friend like Peter, or your girlfriend. What if you and I stop for this arrangement? I can’t afford this apartment, even with all the money I’m saving and are gonna save.’

Henry lets out a deep sigh, but doesn’t say anything.

‘I very much appreciate all the things you do for me. Really. The laptop, the phone, the job. You are giving me the opportunities in life I never knew I could have. But… This is not just a studio. This is millions of dollars.’

He sits on the windowsill, crossing his arms.

I have probably fucked up big time, but that doesn’t stop me from adding: ‘You only know me for a month, Henry. I can’t accept it.’

‘I’m paying for the place,’ he says, ‘and how you want to furnish it, allowing you to save the money you make and I give you. When you and I stop our arrangement, I’m selling the place again, probably with profit and you have the kick start you need on your bank account.’

Okay, I think I can live with that. Emphasis on think. ‘You really want to do that?’ I ask him one more time. ‘Absolutely positive?’

‘Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have offered it, Becky. I want to buy you this place, so you can move out of… the place you’re currently living in.’

‘For someone with my former salary, it was a great apartment. It even came with a hallway rat.’

He looks to the side, slightly mortified. ‘Please accept my offer.’

I take a deep breath. I know if I say no, I’m going to regret it and Genevieve will kill me. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I accept your offer.’

‘Good,’ he says, ‘it’s yours next week.’

✤ ✤ ✤

‘Mister Del Rossi,’ I say, as I run into the his condo. He lets out a loud scream from his bed and then I realize, it’s almost midnight. Of course he was sleeping. I should’ve knocked or he should’ve locked his door, because it’s not safe that I can just barge in.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me. ‘Unless you have the money—’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ I say. ‘I’m moving out soon.’

While he first looked slightly pissed because I woke him up, he now seems furious and ready to strangle me.

Which is very understandable.

‘But,’ I quickly say, ‘if you have around one more month of patience, I’ll pay you five months worth of rent and you can keep my deposit.’

Now I have piqued his interest. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I have an amazing job now, an opportunity to move to a different place and I promise you, I’ll pay you. Like, at the end of November probably.’

He thinks about it, but knowing he can keep the deposit, must make this decision quite easy to make. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘but I need you to sign something, miss Kim. I’ve had it with you and your promises.’

I totally don’t blame him for that. ‘Of course, mister Del Rossi. Thank you so so much!’

‘And now get outta here.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ I walk towards the door and before I close it I say: ‘Sweet dreams, mister Del Rossi.’

October 22nd 7 a.m.

Becky: Girls, I’m moving

Genevieve: What? Seriously? Daddy Henry bought you a place?

Becky: 🖕🏼🖕🏼

Genevieve: I’ll take that as a yes 😉

Viola: Finally you’re moving out of that dump.

Viola: Where are you moving to?

Becky: Madison Square Park Tower

Genevieve: You need a roommate? I’ll dump Greg right away to move in with you.

[spacedikut]

starstruck ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary:  “Can I request some age gap Spencer x reader. Maybe he’s nervous about approaching her for a relationship bc she’s younger, but he’s so goofy for her it’s he’s in love obvious. Pretty pls 🥺💕” 5222 words

a/n: i didn’t specify ages cause i wasn’t sure what people would be comfortable with so i just mentioned an age gap and leave the rest up to you!! i would happily date someone twice my age but i also have daddy issues so :)

masterlist

The day has finally arrived.

Mollie can call you a nerd all she wants, but you know the second she lays eyes on Derek Morgan or Emily Prentiss she’ll change her tune.

This event has been in the university’s calendar since the beginning of the semester. At least two members of the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit were promised to give a talk about their department, even taking you through a solved case like an interactive documentary, to encourage students to consider joining the academy post-graduation. There was whispers they’d even stick around after to answer some questions.

Your other friend, Jen, the one that understands your excitement, wrote your names down for tickets immediately. You’ve had a countdown on your phone ever since.

“They’ve announced a last-minute guest,” She beams, just as giddy as you. You’re wasting time at the coffee house near the auditorium, waiting for Mollie to arrive.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

You almost drop your cookie in shock and stare at her, pupils blown.

“You’re a big fan?” She smirks.

As nonchalantly as you can, you lean back in your chair, “I’m a fan of his work, yes.”

“Oh, his work?”

“Don’t start.”

“I bet you love his work.”

“He’s well-versed and his papers are super interesting-“

“His papers are super interesting-“

“You are a child.”

Just then, Mollie appears, checking her watch. You wish you could kiss her in thanks for saving you from the teasing that would likely never end. “We’re gonna be late for your morbid seminar if you two don’t stop bickering.”

Jen downs the rest of her drink, you shove the last of the cookie in your mouth. Mollie watches your excitement in amusement – your heart starts pumping, whole body buzzing, the same nervousness you felt when you were a preteen right before your first ever One Direction concert. It’s the kind of nervousness that makes your palms sweaty.

Is it evolution or devolution to go from sweating over One Direction to sweating over FBI profilers?

+++

The seminar goes on for an hour, including the questions people ask throughout. It’s everything you could’ve asked for, entertaining and so, so informative and although you weren’t considering joining the FBI before, suddenly it’s all you can think about. Guest speakers have that affect, don’t they? They make you wonder if you should drastically change everything you’ve been planning.

Even Mollie, who you had to threaten to tag along, ended up enjoying herself. “Maybe I learnt a thing or two,” She’d said, rolling her eyes playfully.

You and your friends are some of the last to leave. There’s quite the bustling outside, which you assume is just post-seminar chatter, but you and Jen falter in your steps when you see the exact profilers that had been onstage several minutes ago in front of you, happily interacting and talking to fellow students.

“Oh, man,” Jen whispers, her and Mollie making eye contact across you. “I have to see if I can talk to Emily.”

Mollie encourages her with a frantic, “Go! Go!” while you’re rooted in place. Mollie jabs you with a pointed nail, “You in there, Y/N? I’m sure you have loads of questions for them-“

You stutter and shake your head, “N-no. I’m good. You can try and hit on Derek, if you want.”

You give a half-attempt at a smile, barely lifting the corners of your lips. Mollie recognises that look. She wants to stay with you, check you’re not too overwhelmed, but you shoo her away and send her towards Derek. You breathe a sigh of relief – you’ve been friends with her long enough that she knows when you need space.

There’s something about seeing people you admire so abruptly that totally throws you for a loop. All you had prepared for was seeing them from afar and subsequently talking about it forever, but nothing beyond that. In some circumstances, it’d be a pleasant surprise, but for someone that struggles around strangers and especially around people as admirable as profilers, you are not mentally prepared for this and have therefore shut down.

But then you see him.

He’s shuffling in place in the corner of the room, close to a large potted plant like it’s his only friend. He’s nibbling his lip as his eyes flutter around, never staying somewhere for longer than a second, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Why is no one talking to him? He’s Spencer Reid.

There’s a couple of people surrounding Emily, fully entranced by whatever story she’s relaying, another few people around Derek, chortling at a joke he just made. Spencer glances between them and their audiences, and you can’t help but wonder why he isn’t right next to them, chatting away, too.

Does he not want to talk to anyone?

You should talk to him.

No. He probably wants to be alone.

Or what if he doesn’t and no one else is talking to him which means you can have a one-on-one conversation? What about that?

Are you insane?

…

You have to talk to him.

Before you can change your mind, you’re approaching him with a tight grip on the handle of your bag, pushing it higher up your shoulder. He spots you and makes eye contact just as you stop in front of him, and you notice he momentarily tightens his grip on his satchel.

Was this a bad idea?

“Hi,” You breathe, “I’m Y/N. A big fan.”

His eyes widen a fraction, which you don’t understand because why else would you be here, but he smiles nonetheless, “Hi, I’m, uh, Spencer Reid.”

“I know.”

“Yes, you know. That makes sense, because you were in the seminar. I saw you.”

Now you’re shocked. For as long as you can remember you never sit in the centre of a room, where most attention seems to go, so how did he-

“I-I always scan the room I’m in its.. it’s not a creepy thing, I swear. I’m not creepy.”

A laugh escapes you at that, making him visibly relax. “I don’t think you’re creepy. There was just.. a lot of people in there, so I’m surprised you remember my face.” You shrug.

I couldn’t forget such a beautiful face.

You don’t know what happens, but Spencer suddenly tenses up. His back straightens and he looks alarm, stiff.

Did he just think that? What.. why did he think that?

You wonder if you’ve said something wrong, so you try to change the topic.

“I-I have a question, if you don’t mind answering.”

Spencer nods with an of course, and when the question rolls off your tongue, his mind is still reeling from subconsciously calling you beautiful in his head. It’s not untrue, but it feels.. inappropriate. He doesn’t know why. But you are beautiful.

As he scans your face, now much closer than in the auditorium, he realises yeah, you are incredibly beautiful.

You wave a hand in front of his face, “Doctor Reid?”

“Sorry, yes, sorry. What are you studying?”

There’s a light in your eyes that Spencer recognises when you say, “Psychology.”

“Thought so.”

“You probably talk to a lot of psychology students. I-um. I almost went to Caltech,” Spencer raises an eyebrow, "After I read your dissertation, it really inspired me to look into it – your dissertation is incredible, by the way.”

Spencer smiles bashfully, a futile attempt to not allow the grin to overtake his face, and thanks you, “I appreciate it. Actually, I was sixteen when I wrote it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Your eyes widen, “You’re insane! You’re amazing!”

The praise bursts from you, and his blushing face makes you oddly proud. On the other hand, Spencer feels like you’ve set him alight, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, as he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your smile.

He desperately needs to change the topic.

“To answer your question…”

Derek notices you two interacting across the room. Mollie sees him looking and hums, “Oh, that’s Y/N, my best friend. She really likes Spencer.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Looks like he really likes her.”

“Don’t tell her that. She’ll collapse.”

They both watch you for a second, Spencer flailing his arms as he explains, you eagerly adding to his rambling, asking a question here and exclaiming some kind of encouragement there. It’s sweet, Derek thinks.

“Hey..” Mollie begins, a scheming look in her eye, “We’re planning to hang out in the campus bar later. It’s open to all and the drinks are cheap. If you and Emily happen to find yourselves looking for something to do and you drag Spencer along.. I’m sure Y/N would like it.”

“I like the way you think,” Derek says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

+++

“She’s getting hit on. Again.” You giggle, gesturing for Jen to turn around and witness Mollie get your drinks paid for by a random guy.

She’s always been a people person – it’s saved you hundreds on nights out.

All Jen does is glance over her shoulder, scoff, then turn her sceptical eyes to you.

“I saw you and Spencer Reid.” She says, twinkling eyes. She’s trying not to look smug.

“I almost proposed to him.” You joke, taking your drink from Mollie with a mumbled thanks.

“Oh, I bet you did,” She laughs, “You two looked sooo good together.”

“Alright,” You slide a shot to each girl, “I know you’re making fun of me, but I’m taking that compliment and cherishing it. Spencer Reid is cute, what of it?!”

You clink the shot glasses with your friends and down them, all wincing at the taste and giggling at Jen when she takes a gulp of her cocktail to wash away the taste of straight vodka.

“How did talking to Derek and Emily go?”

And then Jen starts chattering away.

You miss the bar door opening behind you, But Mollie notices. She’s been watching the door since they got here, conveniently choosing the table with the best view, just in case some profilers decided to stop by.

Derek catches Mollie’s eye and winks.

“Well I never,” Mollie fakes shock, “Look who just walked through the doors.”

You turn and choke on your drink. Emily and Derek look relax, like they’re home, but Spencer?

He looks just like he did earlier: like there’s a million places he’d rather be.

He’s lost the blazer he was wearing earlier, leaving him in a fitted purple shirt with a matching tie. With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you can see his firm hands and the silver watch that rests on his wrist – is it possible for a watch to be sexy? Or maybe it’s just cause he’s sexy?

That shot must be getting to you.

“What the hell are they doing here?” You hiss, a sharp whisper piercing the air as you turn and (terribly) try to hide your face.

But Spencer’s seen you. He spotted you the moment they came in – he recognised your clothes and your hair – and the second he did he turned right back around to exit the bar. Derek’s arm stopped him at his chest, like he does to unsubs, forcefully turning him around and laughing when Spencer tensed up.

“What, Reid? Scared of a pretty girl?” Derek teases, much like he’d been doing since he spoke to you earlier.

“I am scared of college girls, yes. Last time I was in a college bar I was twelve and downed shots of apple juice.”

“What?!” Both Emily and Derek stop short, looks of disbelief at the revelation. “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“We,” Derek places his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, directing him to your table, “Are just gonna have a few drinks and talk to a few people, and then you’re gonna explain that apple juice story in explicit detail- hey ladies!”

Jen and Mollie look overjoyed at the new company, while you stare rigidly with distinctive what the fuck eyes.

“Would you mind if we joined you?” Emily asks, with a sparkling grin that no one could say no to.

“Of course not,” Jen grins, like it’s the most obvious answer.

The empty seat next to you is taken by Spencer (Derek discreetly shoves him) but right before he’s firmly placed on the stool, Emily calls out, “Spence, why don’t you get us some drinks? You still owe us after you lost that game of gin..”

“I didn’t lose.” Spencer huffs indignantly, “You cheated.”

Despite his grunts, he stands to make his way to the bar, but not before-

“Y/N!” Mollie beams, “It’s your turn to get the round, if you’d be so kind.”

You know that look on her face. You hate her, you realise, but you also love her because being alone with Spencer sends a thrill through you.

Alone with Spencer. What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

You follow him to the bar. He leans against it with an awkward smile.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“It’s uh.. it’s been a long time since we’ve seen eachother.” It’s a half attempt at a joke, followed by instant regret. But then you giggle and everything feels right in the world, even Spencer’s sucky joke.

“It has been a while, Doctor Reid.” You say. The bartender approaches, takes your orders, then you turn to Spencer, “What brings you to a college bar, of all places?”

“Well,” Spencer glances over your shoulder to your table. He makes eye contact with every single person there, all watching you two interact, and they all sharply turn and try to play it off like they’ve been talking casually. Spencer’s brows furrow a little. “Derek said the drinks are cheap and our hotel is only a couple blocks away. I don’t know, maybe Derek likes college girls.”

You laugh again, and Spencer has to take a second to realise you’re not laughing at him but at what he said about Derek. “Yeah, Derek seems like a real ladies man.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Spencer grins, “We once timed him to see how long it would take to get a girls number and he did it in five minutes. And he said he was having a bad day.”

The drinks are placed in front of you. Neither of you notice.

You unconsciously lean closer, saying, “Have you timed it to see how long it takes for a girl to approach him? That’s gotta be, like, maybe ten minutes?”

“Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds.”

“Well damn. Has he always been so…” A hand gestures in the air, looking for the word.

“Promiscuous?”

“I was gonna say free.”

“Free?” Spencer giggles, “That’s very nice of you.”

You shrug, “I don’t judge.” Spencer agrees, and it slips out, “What about you?”

You wish you could shove the words back in your mouth. Even more so when his expression changes. You can’t entirely make out what it is, but even in the dimly lit bar you can see the flush of heat that spreads through his cheeks to his ears.

“Are you asking me if I’m free with the ladies?” He murmurs, suppressing a grin.

You give an awkward laugh, wondering if you’ve overstepped a boundary, “Yeah. But that’s kinda weird to ask, so-“

“I’m so popular with the ladies it puts Derek to shame.”

You can’t hide your surprise. “What? Really?”

Spencer caves. “No. Is it that hard to believe I’m a ladies man?”

“Compared to Derek? Yes.”

Spencer scoffs.

+++

“As adorable as they are, it’s been thirty minutes.” Emily sighs. “I want my drink.”

“They’re bonding,” Jen sends a wistful look, “I’m so proud.”

“I’m guessing Y/N isn’t the most social either?” Derek asks, proudly watching you interact.

“She’s the best, just a little shy sometimes.” She smiles at you, even though you can’t see, “She’s an idiot, but our idiot, you know?”

Both Emily and Derek laugh airily, nodding with a, “Yeah, we know.”

At once, three phones vibrate throughout the bar – Emily, Derek and Spencer. They’re instantly filled with disappointment; Derek can’t watch Spencer attempt to flirt with a girl he’s obviously interested in, Emily still hasn’t got a drink, and Spencer has to leave you and he can’t think of anything worse.

He’s clearly hesitant when he looks at his phone. How does he say goodbye? Does he ask for your number? Would that be weird? That would be weird.

“Uhh…”

You channel every ounce of liquid courage you have in your body and offer, “Would it be weird if I gave you my number? Just.. for anything. Anything at all.”

Spencer nods, a gentle look in his eyes and a smile on his face, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You mumble an alright, accepting Spencer’s phone and creating a new contact for yourself.

Please text me. You think. Please text me.

+++

He doesn’t text.

It’s been a week. A week. You know how cases are, some take longer than others and some are solved in literal hours, but it’s been a week, Spencer goddamn Reid, so why haven’t you texted me.

That’s when the doubt creeps in. Your friends keep telling you he’ll text, that he’s just busy (“He’s an FBI agent, Y/N. If you start dating you’re gonna have to get used to lapses in contact.” To which you’re too distracted choking at the mention of you two dating), but you can’t help but wonder if he took your number simply so he could leave quicker. He had a case to get to, after all. He had people to save.

Now you feel guilty. You forced your number on him, didn’t you? Oh God, he hates you. He hates you and you forced your number on him and he hasn’t texted you because he’s filing a restraining order against you because he hates you.

Mollie tells you you need a nap.

+++

Spencer spends the time on the jet back from the case staring at your number. He has it memorised, of course, and has had it memorised from the first time he read it, of course, but he can’t bring himself to do anything with it.

All he’s done is change your contact picture from the standard first letter of your name to a cute picture of a frog Garcia sent him. It reminds him of you.

Derek lowers his headphones, “You texted her yet, Pretty Boy?”

“Huh? Uh, no. I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer shrugs, locking his phone and placing it face down. “I don’t think anything would come from it.”

“Kid,” Derek leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, “You two talked for well over thirty minutes in the middle of a college bar about God knows what. Maybe I’m easy to impress, but that seemed pretty special to me.”

“How is talking in a college bar worth anything?”

“Because you’re Reid, who, most of the time, has to be physically dragged into a bar. You hate talking to strangers about anything other than work. Y/N? A stranger. What did you two talk about?”

“We talked about you a little.”

“Uhuh. About how good I am at my job?”

“God, no,” Spencer scrunches his nose, “We talked about your charm with the ladies.”

Derek falls back in his chair and scoffs, “I’m flattered, but that doesn’t sound like work-talk to me. So you’re comfortable with her. I saw you laughing, so she makes you laugh, too. Sounds pretty great to me.”

Spencer stares. Derek’s right, but..

“So what is it, Reid?”

Spencer licks his lips. “Do you think she’s too young for me?”

Derek rarely looks taken aback, but he does now, “Too young?”

“She’s in college. I’m-I’m-“

“A legal adult. As is she.”

Spencer slumps. “A 2014 Current Population Survey found the average difference for a heterosexual couple is two-point-three years, with the man older than the woman. Even if you double that, that’s still less than me and Y/N-“

“Four years isn’t a lot, Spence,”

“You just.. you don’t think it’s weird?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Derek’s conviction gives Spencer some reassurance, but he can’t help himself when he thinks that.. maybe.. you’ll find him boring. Most people seem to, with all his statistics and figures and facts, but with the added element of you living it up at college.. how could he compete?

“I think you’re worrying over nothing, Reid. You haven’t even texted her, and you’re already worrying about stuff like age gaps?” Derek crosses his hands and looks at Spencer with determination, “She gave you her number. She initiated it. She knows who you are, so she knows how old you are and it doesn’t seem to make her uncomfortable. So, why should it make you?”

Spencer just grunts.

“Are you worried people will say things?”

“I guess.”

“People always say things. You know that better than anyone. So screw ‘em.”

Spencer feels a smile creep onto his face.

And Derek relaxes. He’s planted the seeds, that Spencer is fretting over nothing, now all he’s got to do is wait for Spencer to let it sink in and allow the flowers to bloom and, next thing you know, Spencer’s gonna have himself the perfect girlfriend.

And Derek will take too much credit for it.

+++

“Heeeeeeeeey my precious Doctor…”

Garcia looks like her hand was caught in the cookie jar.

Spencer’s back straightens. “What did you do?”

She looks embarrassed, fiddling with the fluffy pen in her hand. She smiles awkwardly. “Derek may have told me about a pretty little college student that captured your heart, and then he told me you also haven’t texted her yet, so I did a little digging and…”

“You cyber-stalked Y/N?” Emily asks, casually. JJ seems unphased at the discussion. Does everyone in the office know about you?

“I did. I’m guilty. I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She’s speaking a mile a minute.

Emily spares Spencer a glance, “Did you find anything?”

“Well…”

Concern fills Spencer. “Did something happen?”

“I just found some stuff she’d probably only tell a close friend and I feel really bad about it.” Her shoulders are by her ears as she tries to fold in on herself out of guilt, “But other than that she’s a genuinely sweet girl who volunteers at pet shelters and the college library in her free time and we have really similar music tastes so I think we’d make great friends.”

They all look to Spencer, waiting for his reaction. What? Is he supposed to be surprised that you’re the epitome of perfect? He’s not. He studied you the entire time you spoke.

“She’s also written several incredible papers on child development that I think are revolutionary and I totally emailed them to you because I think you should read them. She’s also a genius.”

Spencer’s hand twitches. He ignores the sudden need to check his email.

It’s silent as they just stare at him. He doesn’t say anything and tries not to react, but he does. They notice how his eyes flicker to his phone, how his leg fidgets, the longing in his eyes.

Emily brushes her hair back calmly and asks, “Hey, Pen, when does Y/N work at the college library?”

Penelope doesn’t catch on at first, casually replying, “Oh, basically every day from five pm onwards. They’re a twenty-four hour library and she combines working and studying.” When she sees Emily pointedly look at Spencer, she goes ohhh.

“Good to know,” Emily nods, “Good to know.”

+++

Spencer finds himself at the college library that night.

He wants to say it was an accident, or that he just happens to know there’s a special edition of a specific book here, but he’d be lying. He read your papers between reports, and found himself having a deep appreciation for the way you write – he wants to ready everything you’ve ever written. Every essay, every note, every formal and informal piece of work you’ve ever done.

He’s already fallen in love with the way you write. He doesn’t think he’s far from falling in love with you.

He wanders around the lower floor of the library. It’s impressive, he must admit, and he’s disappointed in himself for not visiting earlier. There’s students everywhere, but he notices some other people mixed in too – professors, businesspeople, as well as parents with their children.

He feels a little less weird for creeping around now.

Not that’s he’s creeping. He’s just.. there. To see a certain someone under the guise of looking for a book.

He moseys for a while, from the fiction section to the non-fiction to comics to autobiographies. You’re nowhere to be found – not between the rows of books, not working on any of the desks, not at the centre reception desk.

Until you’re suddenly behind him.

“Spencer?”

He jumps, looking up from the book he’s reading. Your voice is as calming and smooth as always.

“Y/N. Hi.”

“Hi,” Your brows are furrowed, but you’re not disappointed by the unexpected visitor. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts the book he’s holding, an Arthur Conan Doyle, giving a light lipped smile. “I’m just looking. I didn’t realise the college library was so plentiful – did you know the oldest library in the world dates from the seventh century BC?”

“I do, actually.” You point to a poster behind him, which displays that exact fact, “I thought dotting facts around the library would be interesting for the kids. They seem to like them.”

“Learning in young children is socially mediated, so good quality learning environments outside of their schools is crucial for children’s development. So, in a way, you’re enriching their lives beyond understanding.”

You’re flattered at his somewhat far-fetched attempt at complimenting you. It makes your heart flutter.

Why didn’t you contact me, you dimwit?

You open your mouth to ask another question, ask if there’s something he needs help finding, when he beats you to it.

With a firm grip, he slams the book he’s reading shut and says, “I’m lying.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t come here to.. look around. I came here to see you.”

“Oh.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to make of that. You haven’t awkwardly looked away, or stepped back to increase the distance between you. That means something good, right?

“You didn’t text me, so I assumed you weren’t interested.” Your brows twitch, and you back-pedal, “Unless you purposely didn’t text me because you actually weren’t interested and you might be here to see me but for something book-related rather than me-related and I’ve totally humiliated myself.”

“No, no. You’re right. You’re right.” He fiddles with the book in shame, “I should’ve texted you. I just didn’t know what to say and.. Well, it’s stupid.”

Your head jerks a little to the side, something he’s noticed you do a lot, looking patient and too pretty for him to handle. “I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

Spencer thinks back to his conversation with Derek, specifically the reminder that you gave him your number which means you initiated this so yes, you are interested in him.

It’s just.. when he looks at you, he struggles to believe it a little. You’re breath-taking.  

“I’m worried I’ll bore you.” He starts light, easing you into what’s been troubling him. He’s emboldened by the fact you’re clearly frustrated he didn’t text you.

You give him a look of horror, “The first time we met I told you I loved your dissertation on geographic regression. I definitely do not think you’re anything anywhere near boring.”

“Okay,” He nods, “What about our ages?”

You’re confused. “What about it?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “It doesn’t.. bother you?”

“Does it.. bother you?”

Usually, answering a question with a question is a sign of deflection, a sign of hiding something. However he doesn’t know why, but Spencer trusts you with his life. Maybe not his life. Maybe his heart.

“Does that silence mean yes?”

He shakes his head, “No. It doesn’t bother me. I just worry that, you know, college years are the so-called best years of your life and I don’t want you to regret being with me, someone older than you, and resent me for it, or something-“

“I think you’re getting way in your head, Spence.” You laugh a little, “We haven’t gone on a single date and you’ve convinced yourself of so much already. For the record, no, your age doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It never has and I doubt it ever will. I think you’re the most fascinating and interesting person on this planet, and if anyone is getting bored with anyone I’m pretty confident it’ll be you getting sick of me. And,” You take a breath, “I think I’m old enough to know what I want, who I want, and what I want is you. If you want me, too.”

Spencer shoves the book back into the bookshelf with a satisfying sound, then turns and quickly places a kiss onto your cheek. It’s completely unexpected and, quite frankly, not something you’d expect from Doctor Reid, but you blush and there’s a definite red colour to Spencer’s cheeks, too.

“I will never, ever, get sick of you.” He says, voice small but firm. “But I don’t want you to regret being with me. Promise me you won’t.”

You give him a look that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. “I promise that I won’t regret being with you. I’d like us to last as long as possible, if I can be picky.”

“I’d like that, too.” He murmurs. The thought of you wanting him for as long as possible almost sends him into a frenzy. He wants to kiss you all over.

You stand close and talk quietly for a while, a little more discussion on a possible date that weekend and a constant stream of compliments from you to Spencer and vice versa, before you realise the time.

“I should probably go. I have a paper to finish.” You smile sadly, a tiny pout forming.

“I understand. Do you think I could read it? When you’re done?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Do you know how terrifying the idea of the Spencer Reid reading my work is? But yes, anything for you.”

Anything for you. Are you trying to kill him?

You turn to leave, refusing to admit how sad leaving Spencer makes you feel, when you stop, “One more thing.”

Spencer hums. He’s not fully paying attention, praying to whatever Gods exist that killers take a break on the weekend so he can take you out on the sweetest date.

“If age is a sore area for you,” There’s mirth in your eyes and Spencer prepares himself, “Does that mean the nickname old man is off the table?”

His lips purse and move towards his nose as he narrows his eyes, giving you a look of faux annoyance, “I am not an old man.”

“Sounds like you’re sensitive, old man.”

As you walk away, you jokingly blow him a kiss to add insult to injury. His pretend glare lasts until your back is turned and he feels his gaze softening to something akin to love.

Spencer thins if the rest of his life is this, you teasing him with that twinkle in your eye and smile on your face, then life is truly the most beautiful thing.

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 5

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: winter, food/drink, fluff

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Thing are happeninggggggg 👀 Enjoy!

“This place is beautiful, Marcus,” Erin mused, eyes wandering around the restaurant. Like most upscale places, hardwood and chandeliers were the stars of the interior. Perhaps she was a little old-fashioned for liking it, but the atmosphere of dim lights and dark wood was comforting.

“Do you like it?” he asked, a shy smile adorning his face. He didn’t have time to change after work, opting to stay in his button-down shirt and dark pants. Ideally, he would’ve gone home and changed into something a little nicer, just for her, but work had ended later than he anticipated. Thankfully, he wasn’t too underdressed–Erin wore a simple outfit of a dark shirt and skirt, some boots, and a long coat.

Marcus found himself glancing down at her glossy lips as she praised him for picking such a cozy place for their date. There was still a decent amount of snow on the ground, so they didn’t want to travel far. The local steakhouse had seemed like a good option.

Something about the way she spoke, the way she seemed to glow in the soft light of the restaurant, made his heart flutter in his chest. He loved the way her voice soaked into his being, how soothing her tone was. He’d missed that. He’d missed her.

After that day with her and Missy, he couldn’t stop thinking of what a future would be like with her in it. Being in her apartment felt like stepping back in time. It felt like he was being given another chance, another chance to do right by her and show her his l-

“Marcus?”

He blinked, his thoughts slipping to the background. Rubbing his hand along her back soothingly, he asked, “Yes, honey?”

Erin let out a breathy laugh and tilted her head towards the host. “Aren’t you going to let them know we’re here? You said you made a reservation.”

If they were in broad daylight, she would’ve seen his cheeks redden just slightly, Thankfully, she couldn’t. Kissing her forehead, he answered. “Yes, let’s go.”

They were brought to a table situated towards the back of the dining area, menus and glasses of water already waiting. Once again, Marcus slipped past her and pulled out her chair first, making sure she was comfortable before sitting down.

Erin shivered as his hand brushed her shoulder, reminding her of that night in the kitchen.

They quickly fell into conversation, their voices just above an intimate hum. It was nice to have that time with him. She loved having Missy over at her apartment, but she also wanted moments for just herself and Marcus. Maybe it was a tinge of jealousy that remained, or a remnant of fear that he only liked her because she was good with Missy. The thought hadn’t occurred to her until the day after, when one of her parent’s sayings crept back into her mind. But since it had, she couldn’t shake it off.

What if he didn’t really want her? What if he just wanted friendship, or a role model for his daughter? She had no problem with being the latter–every girl deserves to have a role model–but it was the former that she worried about. What if he didn’t want her, and she was going to watch him slip away just like last time?

As she and Marcus sat there, eating and talking about everything and nothing, she felt the coil of insecurity tighten. He told her about his life both before and after becoming a single dad, and how his late wife had encouraged him to pursue his current job.

“And what’s that?” she asked, a small smile on her lips. “You never told me, Mr. Moreno.”

He was about to answer when his phone rang, cutting him off. Frowning, he apologized and told her it was from the headquarters. They rarely called him after hours; normally they reached out to the others. He knew it wasn’t polite to answer during a date, that it was often a sign of disinterest, but Erin insisted that he took the call. Between her time in the FBI and her knowledge of the Heroics, she knew some things couldn’t be ignored.

Hopefully it was just an update.

Then, Marcus’s eyes widened. “I’ll be right there.”

Erin’s brows furrowed at that. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Do we need to get Missy?”

Letting out a sigh, he shook his head and fished out his credit card. “The boss called; there’s an emergency and I need to be there as soon as possible.” He stood up and came around to her. Placing his card in her hand, he said, “I’m sorry, honey. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. Stay here. I’ll come back for you, alright? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“W-wait, why do you have to go?” she asked, heart sinking. “Isn’t there someone else?”

Marcus’s heart broke as he realized what this looked like. He sighed softly and kissed her forehead gently. “I’m the leader of the Heroics, honeydew. I have to.”

Their eyes met, and he hadn’t seen her as sad since the night he left for DC.

“Okay,” she said quietly, letting go of his arm. “Be safe.”

“I’ll come back for you,” he promised. Then he turned on his heel and jogged out of the restaurant.

---

“Erin?”

At the sound of her name, she looked up from her phone. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw Marcus walking towards her, still in his clothes from earlier, though he looked a bit frazzled. Did he not have a suit to change into?

“Marcus,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug. Tucking her face against his neck, she murmured, “I was so worried.”

His arms immediately wrapped around her, enveloping her with warmth. She felt his lips pressing against her temple as he replied, “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m here now. We got everyone out, and the responders are handling the rest.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright. Though I must say, I never pegged you for a superhero,” she said, smiling as he rocked her back and forth. “Though I wish you’d told me earlier during our date. Were you ever going to tell me?”

He cringed. “About that…. I’m sorry our date was interrupted. I know we’ve been looking forward to this for a while, and I shouldn’t have run out on you like that-” “It’s alright,” she interrupted, her voice smooth. Ice-cold air nipped her skin as she pulled away from him. “It wasn’t your fault. I would’ve probably ditched you if there was an emergency at the office.” A soft laugh. “I guess that means we aren’t so different, huh?”

A soft chuckle left his lips. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Those words echoed in his being. Something about holding her in his arms felt right. He never realized how much he missed her touch until she was right there, in his arms, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes. It had been a long time since he felt that warmth in his chest. For a while, since the passing of his wife, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel it again.

He leaned forward just enough that their foreheads touched. “Erin?”

“Yeah?”

It took everything in him to not close the gap between their lips. “I’d like to see you again sometime. Another date, with no interruptions. How does that sound?”

She paused, her breath caught in her throat. Of course she wanted to see him again. Her sweet Marcus, who treated her better in the few weeks they’d known each other than all her past boyfriends and girlfriends combined. Her sweetheart, who came back for her.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her Marcus. How could she forget? Even after nearly a decade, she missed him. And maybe she always would. But, maybe, it was time to let go and leave it all in the past.

Marcus’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Honey?”

She smiled. “It sounds perfect. I just....It’s been a long since I’ve felt anything like this. I told you I don’t have very good luck with love, and…the last time I loved someone, I never told him, and he disappeared before I could.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheeks. “We can take things as slow as you want, or not even try at all. But I want to try this with you, Erin. Do you?”

Erin nodded, smiling. “I do.”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Only if it’s with you.”

The drive back to her apartment was short, the inside of the car nice and toasty in comparison to the brisk winter air. Erin could barely keep a smile off her face when Marcus reached over to hold her hand as he drove.

When she looked over to his side, she noticed the absence of a ring on his left ring finger.

He walked her to her door, a warm hand settled snugly against her back. Their voices echoed through the hallway, soft and oddly familiar.

“Do you want to come inside?”

The door was propped open by her foot, her keys still dangling from her fingers. He nodded, and smiled at the way her face lit up.

“Sorry about the mess,” she began sheepishly, gathering the papers strewn on the dining table into a pile. “I have an undercover op that I need to take care of in a couple weeks, so I was familiarizing myself with the case.”

His brows furrowed as he came up next to her, a hand coming around to rest on her waist. Indeed, the files were maps and profiles. “I thought you didn’t go out in the field anymore.”

She sighed. “I don’t, this was a special request from my boss. I have the most experience, and a leader leads by example, right?” Placing the papers into a folder, she continued, “I still need a partner, though.” “What’s the case?” he asked. Even back in his FBI days,  he didn’t like seeing Erin dressed for an operation. It wasn’t that she didn’t look good–she always looked beautiful–it was that he worried about her. She was capable, strong, and quick on her feet, but accidents could happen. There was no way he was going to risk losing her again; not now, after they finally could be together.

“It’s pretty low-key,” she began, pulling out an overview of the operation. Snuggling closer to him, she explained, “It’s for evidence against an art collector that’s suspected of dealing in the black market. He’s throwing a party on his private island to celebrate the upcoming marriage of his friends. My job is to get in, download some data from his computer, and get out. My plus-one to the wedding festivities is supposed to make things more convincing.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad. I can go with you,” he suggested, his arm tightening around her waist protectively. “If you want. The Heroics don’t need to get involved, it can just be the two of us.”

She turned to face him, eyes wide. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” he answered, holding her close. “Even leaders need some help sometimes.”

“Cheesy,” she teased, leaning in just slightly. Her gaze flickered down to his lips as she turned to face him, the papers forgotten. They looked soft, plush and pink.

His hand came up to cup her cheek.

“Just for you,” he responded, finally bridging the gap between their lips.

His lips were just as soft as they looked.

They melted into each other’s arms, Erin’s arms coming up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. Her body pressed up against his as their lips molded against each other. Golden calligraphy spelled out their unspoken words as they kissed, gleaming and sparkling.

Erin smiled against his lips when he let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. His large hands roamed across her back, leaving fire in their wake.

He gently coaxed her onto the dining table, settling between her legs. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

“Me too,” she answered breathlessly. “But now we’re together.”

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing her deeply. A shiver ran down his spine as she whimpered into his mouth, so quiet he nearly missed it. He wanted to hear her again. He wanted to hear how his name would sound on her tongue, how she’d sound at her peak, but it was too soon for that. No, he wanted more time with her; he wanted to show her just how much he loved her before taking things to the next level.

His tongue was tracing the seam of her lips when his phone started ringing again. This time, it was an alarm; the babysitter‘s shift was ending soon, which meant he needed to head home–his other home.

Erin let out a small sound of protest as he pulled away, chasing his lips with her own.

Unable to resist, he returned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning in for another kiss; one that she gladly granted him. His hands came up to cup her face gently, a thumb caressing her bottom lip. Heat surged through him as her lips parted just slightly, allowing the tip of his thumb to catch in the small opening. “I have to go back to Missy, the babysitter needs to leave soon and I don’t want her in the house all alone.”

The mention of Missy brought her back to reality. She didn’t want him to go–not so soon. But his priority was Missy; they could always continue later. Erin nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, Marcus. We’ll find more time soon.”

“Yes,” he agreed, pecking her on the lips. “Soon, I promise.”

---

A long, hot shower was just what she needed after being out in the cold. Erin exited the bathroom, her phone and watch in hand. She was dressed in a black camisole and sweatpants, hair cascading down her back.

As she set her clothes into the hamper, a  glint from her nightstand caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was the ring. She’d left it at home for the date, slipping it off her finger as she got ready.

The ring was a memory, a promise. A promise to herself that she would never forget her best friend, her former love. She’d spent countless hours defending it, justifying the purchase and the clear message it sent to people. She’d wanted to tell the world that she’d given her heart away, and that nothing could replace him.

But maybe she didn’t need the ring to remember her Marcus. She knew he’d want her to find someone that made her happy, even if it wasn’t him. He was always sweet like that, supportive and confident. A part of her wondered if he would’ve liked Marcus Moreno. They were both kind, loyal, caring….they were everything she ever wanted. They were patient, understanding. She always longed to have someone–anyone–who would understand her fully. Or even just someone who cared about Erin He, rather than the supervisor He.

Maybe it was time to let Marcus Pike rest in the past. He wasn’t coming back. Even if he was still alive, he never came back for her. He was gone, and no matter how much she missed him, he wasn’t going to come back. No, not in the way she wished for. Only in memories, memories of late-night pancakes and sunny beach trips.

He’d want her to live her life to the fullest, and give and receive love freely.

A small smile on her face, Erin placed the ring back inside it’s velvet box and closed it.

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[bitch-butter]

Little bit of a rivers prequel exploration. I've mentioned this scene a few times in the series, but it's not really my intention to do anything that takes place before part one, so this was just going to like slowly asphyxiate in my drafts unless I released it lol

She's going to live on Tumblr unless I somehow decide I want to do more of Whatever This Is in the future, but since it takes place before the series you don't need to have read the other parts which is sexy.

Read More for like 3k of Gay Shit~

* * *

Hay wasn’t the smell that Joe would have gravitated to normally. The mulchy wetness in combination with the dry and yeasty texture always made him think of bugs, and this feeling was not a welcome one when forced to be bedded down on a big pile of the stuff. Each breath full of the smell was nearly enough to make him gag.

Still, beat sleeping outside. And the smell was strong enough to cancel out his own smell, which, he knows from experience, isn’t a walk in the park right now either. 

He had settled into a comfortable enough doze by the time his mind caught onto the frankly annoying fucking snoring emanating from the corner of the barn. Cracking his eyes open, he glared into the corner where a Hoobler shape slump is curled up against the wall, snoring away into the dark with an unfamiliar body sprawled on the ground a few feet away, seeming unperturbed.

One fucking night is all he’s asking for. Fuck.

Pulling in an aggravated breath, Joe sat up from his hay-bed, contemplating whether or not to try and ignore the sound or move out completely to a quieter spot. He glanced towards the door of the barn, where clear moonlight cut across the ground to illuminate the dry, if a hint cold, night beyond. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to sleep out tonight if he had to, he supposed. 

He’s taking in the details of the scene outside when he spots what looks to be the toe of a boot popping out from beside the doorway. For a moment his heart picks up, hand moving to grasp onto his rifle, but the boot doesn’t move, just remains planted solidly in the dirt. The longer he looks, though, the more he makes out a calf, leading to a body sitting against the wall outside.

It’s curiosity more than anything that brings him to his feet. What kind of guy doesn’t fucking drop the second he gets an opportunity? 

Of course it’s Webster.

He doesn’t know why the realization brings a smile to his face. Why the sight of the other man leaning up against the barn, legs bent and beaten up notebook in his lap, makes him feel oddly alive. He doesn’t even know Webster that well, only spoken to him one-on-one maybe a handful of times at most, and definitely doesn’t know him as well as he knows some of the other guys. 

But still, he feels light. Light enough to step outside and look down in amusement at Webster, who in turn looks up at Joe in bewilderment. “Trouble sleeping in the dirt, Web?”

Bewilderment turns critical as Web frowns, eyes falling back down to his book as he continues writing. “Not tired.”

Snickering, Joe stepped around Web to let his own back hit the barn, sliding down to slouch beside the other man. “Always knew there was something wrong with you.”

He’s digging for his smokes in his pocket when he realizes that Web’s hand has stilled, and that the other man is looking aside at him with an inscrutable expression, eyes glancing over Joe’s face in the near-dark. “What?” he asked, an edge of anxiety in his voice. 

Web’s face clears in an instant. “Nothing,” he sighed, turning back to his book. Even in the shadows Joe can see the tips of his ears are red. 

“Right,” Joe nods disbelievingly, holding out his pack in an attempt to dispel the strange air surrounding them. Web takes one gratefully, mumbling a thanks as Joe placed one between his lips, holding his lighter up between them. They bend in towards each other, close enough that Joe can smell Web; a dirty, grass-like smell with an undercurrent of that same sweat all the guys have now. 

Better than hay, he thinks as Web draws back with his cigarette lit, before snapping the lighter closed and smoking in silence for a few moments. He finds his eyes drawn ceaselessly to Web’s pale hand as it moves across the page, turns to the next, and continues on. Web has good hands, he thinks to himself, before blinking the thought away. 

Doesn’t mean he stops looking, though.

“What are you writing about?” he asks softly, voice creaking a bit.

Web looks at him, face more open as he sighs out a stream of smoke. “Eindhoven.”

“Got a dame you want to remember, huh?”

Web huffs a small laugh. “No,” he takes another pull on his smoke, breathing deep and exhaling steadily. “I just don’t want to forget what it was like. How it felt.” 

Joe smiled quizzically. “Writing a book or something?”

“I don’t know,” Web replies, and it’s such an obvious lie Joe can’t help but laugh. This earns him a withering glare. “Even if I was, why do you care, Liebgott?”

“I don’t,” Joe bites, and it’s such an obvious lie of his own that Web laughs at him. “Guess I’m having trouble imagining anybody wanting to read about you.”

Web scowled at him. “Well, it wouldn’t be just about me, that’s not the point.”

“So you are writing a book?” Joe grinned, bringing his dying cigarette back to his lips. 

Mouth opening and then closing just to open again, Web looks at Joe in bare-faced annoyance. “You...” he trailed, seemingly having trouble finding the exact right word to express how irritated he was.

“You’re going to catch flies, buddy,” Joe smirked, grinding the butt of his smoke in the dirt and almost snickering as Web’s lips clamped shut. “Anyway, don’t count your chickens, Webster. War ain’t over yet and I doubt anything you replacements have to say would be worth a damn.”

This snaps Web out of whatever annoyance induced fugue state he was entering. “I’m not a fucking replacement, Liebgott,” he snapped, eyes glinting at Joe’s in the moonlight. “I was in Normandy, same as you. And even if I hadn’t been, what gives you the right to treat me or any of the other guys like that?”

Scoffing, Joe found himself toeing the line between being amused at Web’s reaction and finding himself somehow actually getting hot. “Way I see it I get to talk to you or any of the other guys however I want,” he said, meeting Web’s eyes with no small degree of challenge. “Seeing as I was here from the beginning and all of you are just showing up to chew on the bones.”

Web stares at him for a moment, his pale face unguarded and awash with surprised pain. “So, what then? Babe isn’t Easy to you? I’m not Easy to you?”

“Babe proved himself.”

A sharp “Ha!” stung in Joe’s face as Web’s head tilted back momentarily, before the other man levelled him with a skeptical look. “You’re so full of shit that you don’t even realize you are, Liebgott.”

Joe shook his head, unsure of why the back of his neck was heating so rapidly. “Keep telling yourself that, Webster. Fact is, what you do out there’s going to matter more than whatever bullshit you’re scribbling in your diary.”

Web nodded mockingly. “Alright, Joe, so I just need to earn the approval of who? You?”

It’s said so sneeringly that Joe can’t help but be nasty back. “Eh, we’ll see if you make it back.”

The hum Web emits might be mistaken for a tease, but Joe can see the lines drawn on the other man’s face as he shoots his eyes down to the ground. “Right,” he nods, swiftly standing and grabbing his pack from the ground beside him, crushing his smoke under his boot. “I’ll take it into consideration,” he says, shooting Joe a dark look over his shoulder. “‘Night.”

Joe blinks and Web is striding away, almost in the space of a breath. “Sleeping outside is for suckers!” he calls.

“Fuck you!” Web called back, casual and unaffected as anything, blue eyes glancing over his shoulder and back at Joe. They shot fire at him, and Joe all of a sudden feels as though he’s been struck by lightning, heat zig-zagging from his head all the way down through his bones. 

Inexplicably, he wants more of it.

As fast as Web was disappearing into the dark and the trees of the orchard beyond Joe is scrambling up, nearly running just to catch up with him. He settles at Web’s side as though they had not just devolved into verbal fisticuffs a few moments prior, and gleans some pleasure from the clearly agitated face the other man gives him as they continue moving along side by side.

“Yes?” Web prompts impatiently.

“What?” 

He holds back a smile at the roll of Web’s eyes. “What do you want, Joe?”

Joe has to scoff, shaking his head in the splintering shadows the darkened trees cast over them. “Like I’d want a goddamn thing from you, Web.”

The chuckle that greets him catches him slightly off guard, and he finds himself glancing back at the other man’s dark profile, the smile turning up the edges of Web’s full lips -

He shakes his head. 

“I don’t think you actually know what you want,” Web said teasingly, voice low in the quiet of the night, eyes darting over to catch onto Joe’s like hooks. “If you did you wouldn’t be following me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe challenged, eyes still caught up in the knowing gleam of Web’s even as he tried in vain to gather the strength to break the connection. 

“You don’t know?” Web asked obliquely, an air of casual imperiousness settling over his words like a heavy fog.

All of a sudden they’re stopped in the dark, trees sprouted up all around them in a pattern that, were it light out, might have been effortlessly beautiful, but in the dark gave the distinct impression of a cage surrounding them, stars glimmering beyond the branches above like shattered glass. But he can see Web in uncomfortable clarity, stood before him with his eyes looking down on Joe like he knows something, like he has a secret that he stole away in the fucking dark of the night, and damn it Joe wants it back. 

“I know a hell of a lot more than you think I do,” he utters in what he intended to resemble a growl, but comes out sounding much more like a rasp. 

“Oh, really?” 

He steps into Web’s space, expecting Web to do what any other guy would have done and take a step back, and is met instead with Web’s unflinching conceit. With this added proximity he finds himself swallowing down some unnamable wave that rushes up through his body and threatens to spill out of him and straight onto Web, and in the dark he can feel his neck flushing.

If he can see Web in the dark then no doubt Web can see him right back.

He does, because his eyes move effortlessly from amusement, to annoyance, to resignation. “You don’t know,” he says definitively, and Joe can almost feel the words moving through the air between them.

Web says this as though it’s supposed to end the matter, break the connection, and yet if anything Joe can feel him moving in even closer, and it’s pure stubbornness that keeps him rooted to his spot. “What are you doing?” he murmurs, eyes moving down along the planes of Web’s pale face, drawn like a magnet to the sight of the other man’s lips, which are pink, and parted, and -

“What am I doing?” Web whispered back, sounding almost as though he was talking to himself, but their faces hovered close to each other in the dark for too long for him to not know what he’s doing, and the way his eyes aren’t on Joe’s eyes but lower, lower -

“I…” Web trails away in the second before suddenly their lips are meeting. And Joe knows he didn’t move, and he didn’t feel Web move, but they’re together, they’re connected, their mouths are moving against each other as soft as fucking clouds and their noses nudge and Joe’s neck is hot and it feels perfect, it feels like heaven to kiss Web, he’s kissing Webster - 

Reality shoots back into him like the sear of a bullet to the head, and as fast as their lips meet he’s shoving Web away. His hands meet Web’s shoulders roughly, pushing him with strength that he almost didn’t know he had in him, and where the fuck was this side of him back in Toccoa?

But he only gets to relish the gasp of air back into his body for a moment, as his forceful push sends Web careening back, feet tripping backwards over the knobby roots of the trees surrounding them, and he hits the ground hard. 

“Oh, shit,” he spits, immediately moving to narrow the space between them yet again, dropping to his knees beside Web’s downed form. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, are you alright?”

For his part, Web looks a little dazed by the quick pivots of Joe’s mood in just the last few seconds, and blinks rapidly in the shadows before coughing. “You’re like a fucking child, Christ.”

“Hey,” Joe mutters, flush deepening with embarrassment, with confusion. 

Web’s eyes are on him again, and he only just keeps himself from shrinking back because where he had anticipated the usual swell of annoyance or of, please, anger, Web appears almost hesitant and...what? Fearful? His gaze moves over Joe’s face quickly, as though measuring every line, every angle, searching for something.

“What?” Joe croaks. “You scared?”

Swallowing heavily, the other man quirks a disbelieving eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“No, I -” he starts, before abruptly halting. It’s a lie, he is afraid. But not of Web, who’s still looking at Joe like he half believes Joe’s going to clobber him, but of himself. He’s never done anything like that before, never even allowed himself to linger on the thought of it for longer than the space of one thought between another. Certainly he hadn’t ever drawn Web into those fleeting moments. Well, not in a traditional way at least.

If he palmed his cock and saw Web’s hands, or the curve of his jaw, then that’s nobody’s business. He thinks about a lot of things.

“No,” he settles.

Web doesn’t look like he quite believes him, if the distressed curve of his lips is anything to go by, and Joe reaches out to settle a hand on his neck just to see the way his eyes widen. He swallows, feeling a shiver pass through him at this simple, voluntary touch, and before he knows it he’s smiling, and at the sight of his smile Web is smiling back. And if he’s been paying special attention to parts of Web lately his smile hasn’t been one.

It is now.

“Alright,” Joe whispers through half of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Can I kiss you again?”

Smile melting from relief to happiness, Web looks as though he’d do just about anything Joe asked him to, but he manages to huff a tiny laugh first. “Are you going to push me again?”

Rolling his eyes, Joe tugged at his light hold on Web’s neck, blood heating at the way the other man’s eyes fluttered. “No.”

Shifting up from where he’d been braced back on his arms, Web reached out to take gentle hold of either side of Joe’s face, one hand combing back through his dirty hair. “Then yes,” he nodded. “Yes, please.”

This time they pull each other into the kiss, their lips meeting again just as softly as before, slotting together with an ease that felt almost unnatural with disuse. His hand rubbed clumsily at the skin of Web’s neck, easing himself back into the rhythm of kissing. It wasn’t enough that he hadn’t kissed anyone since Georgia, but now he’s kissing a man on top of that, and the combination of sensations has him shuddering and hardening in his pants even before he feels Web’s tongue gently asking permission into his mouth. 

His mouth falls open with the slightest pull to his hair, and he welcomes the other man’s tongue with a grace he honestly feels he should be lauded for. He’s been with some forthcoming dames, to be sure, but none of them have felt this strong or as sure in his arms, letting Joe take and taking Joe right back. It’s something he could easily get addicted to, he thinks, as his tongue presses in to play over Web’s and he firmly wraps his other arm around the other man’s waist.

Web’s arms wrapping around his neck are overwhelming at first, before he feels their bodies, pressed together, easing back to rest on the dark, mossy, ground. They settle side by side, facing each other, legs fumbling and maneuvering around until Web has one leg thrown easily over Joe’s hip and Joe has one knee pressed steadily between the spread of Web’s thighs.

They split apart at the first accidental nudge of their crotches against one another, Web gasping and Joe hissing, before Web begins gently kissing down along his jaw.

“You taste like olives, a bit,” Joe said hoarsely, catching his breath as though he just ran up Currahee.

“Oh, sorry,” Web apologized, glancing back up at Joe’s face with a furrowed brow.

Joe shook his head, pressing a kiss just off Web’s lips. “I like olives,” he rebuffed, pulling their mouths back together in a smacking kiss. “Fuck,” he gasped softly, pressing in to kiss along Web’s neck beside his ear. “You done this before?”

Web breathed out a little tremble, smoothing his hand up Joe’s back. “Kissed a man?”

“Yeah,” Joe rasped, swallowing heavily as his hips rolled against Web’s own, lazy but with intention.

The nod of the other man’s head draws him out of his fascination with Web’s neck, and he finds himself pressing an exhilarated kiss against Web’s cheek as he speaks. “Yes,” he admits in a whisper. “Not- ah, not many, but yes, I -”

He’s laying another, harder kiss against Web’s lips at the self-conscious wobble of the words, his tongue sweeping through Web’s mouth as though to gather them and take them back into himself. Groaning as the leg Web had thrown over him tightened, bringing them almost fully flush, he brought one hand down to grasp tightly at the meaty flesh of the other man’s thigh, pulling it gently upwards and had to smile at the pleased hum that rattled around Web’s body.

“Have you?” Web asked gently.

Joe shook his head. “No.”

“Oh,” Web murmured, pulling in a deep breath at the steady roll of Joe’s hips against his own, head falling back against the darkened soil and baring his neck for Joe, who immediately resumed kissing along its length. “Lieb...Lieb…” he breathed, almost absentmindedly as Joe realized exactly how much he enjoyed when Web said his name. “Joe...we should- we should pump the breaks a bit.”

Pulling his face from the hot expanse of Web’s neck, Joe frowned down at him. “What?”

“No, I -” Web swallowed, giving his head a clearing shake and blinking back towards Joe with a little more clarity. “I like it, I like it a lot, I’d just rather do this on the other side of tomorrow, if you know what I mean.”

The heat still pulsing through his veins screamed its discontent, but Joe reluctantly acknowledged that wherever this interaction was heading was now paused for the time being.

Figures, Web looks the part of a fucking tease, after all.

“Alright,” he muttered, releasing Web’s thigh with no small degree of bitterness, letting Web ease himself back just enough for Joe to feel distinctly burned. He sat up with a gently heating face, mindful to keep himself angled away enough that Web wouldn’t be able to see it, and looked around the orchard surrounding them, searching out anything to anchor his eyes to so that he didn’t have to think about Web’s lip, his legs, his eyes in the dark -

Eyes that meet his own once more, his chin caught gently in the other man’s warm palm as Web turned his face back. Web, at the very least, seems just as put out at stopping as he does, and for a moment he wants to be an asshole, wants to fight, but can’t bring his mouth to do anything but fall open, breathe.

“Can I?” Web asked quietly.

Joe could only nod.

The kiss is as light as a feather, whispering across his lips like dust settling, and he hums into the feeling and, suddenly, feels at peace. He runs one hand through Web’s hair, smoothing it, and gathers up the heat from the other man’s neck in the palm of his hand, bringing it back to himself like he had stolen his secret back from where Web had hidden it.

He pulls back softly, face still angled into Web’s sphere. “See you on the other side, huh?”

Web sighed, nose brushing Joe’s own, and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them to look teasingly back at him. 

“Arschloch,” he drawled, pushing Joe back with a soft touch to the base of his neck before standing, brushing dirt from his pants, and taking off into the darkness of the orchard without a glance back at Joe.

Joe watches him go, seeing for the first time the length of his limbs, the curve of his ass, and allows himself to want. He, as fast as lightning, very badly wants to find a patch of darkness to crowd him into tomorrow night.

If Web makes it back. If they both do.

Without a second thought, he’s up and following Web into the dark, ignorant and uncaring of their destination. 

[seijorhi]

No Strings Attached

A commission for the lovely @hearteyes-candyskies, hope you like it bby! 💕

Bokuto Koutarou x female reader

TW Age gap, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic behaviour, nsfw(ish)

Three months ago, you would have laughed at the very idea of having a sugar daddy. 

Then again, three months ago you were still living with your boyfriend and had a steady paycheck coming in every week. You can blame losing the latter on bad luck and an asshole boss, but the former-

You knew your relationship with your ex was far from perfect, but coming home from losing said job to find him buried balls deep in your next door neighbour was a bit of a slap in the face. 

Needless to say, in the space of a few days you were out a job, a boyfriend and an apartment. Which, somewhat inevitably, led to you being six wines deep, slumped over your best friend’s bed, sobbing over the wreckage of the life you’d built, suddenly ripped out from beneath you.

You can’t really remember whose idea it was, only giggling drunkenly between yourselves as Misuzu set up your ‘sugar baby’ profile. “Shh, no this is gonna be great,” she’d said, hitting at the hands that tried to grab back your phone. “Meet some hot rich old dude, ride a little dick, let him shower you in cash; all your problems? Poof, sorted!”

And even with the heady, rose tinted haze of your wine fuelled inebriation, you knew that it was just a joke, a bit of stupid fun born more out of an attempt to cheer you up than a viable plan to get the tattered remains of your life back on track. Calling some old creepy dude ‘daddy’ and pretending to love him (not to mention the whole letting him fuck you thing) just for a little money wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

Plus, you were fairly sure that you weren’t what most people had in mind when they thought ‘sugar baby’. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, just dumb, drunken fun with your friend.

So when you woke the next day a little after mid morning with a head full of regrets and a pounding headache, the last thing you expected was to find a message from BigDaddyKou82 waiting for you, better sense told you to ignore it.

Honestly, you didn’t really want a sugar daddy, your love life was enough of a mess without throwing in a power imbalance like that.

You should have ignored the message, deleted it or shot him a quick reply politely explaining that you weren’t interested so you could put it out of your mind, and you would have-

If Misuzu hadn’t caught sight of the message first, snatching the phone out of your hand with a gleeful shriek. 

—

If you’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t do anything by half measures. So when he tells you he’s booked dinner for the two of you at an upscale restaurant in the city, you should have expected the package that’s hand delivered right to the door of your shitty little apartment. The dress is beautiful, expensive - though you could tell that just from the elegant matte black box wrapped in golden ribbon it arrives in. It’s exactly his style; short, revealing and just dancing along the edge of impropriety, not that that’ll bother him in the slightest. 

But it is gorgeous, and loathe as you are to admit it, it flatters you well.

It’s not the first time that he’s bought you clothes, your tiny closet’s almost overflowing with pieces he’s gifted you. He likes seeing you in the things he’s bought, sometimes a little too much, you think. But you’ve learned it’s better just to go along with it - he gets this wide eyed, beaming grin whenever he sees you dressed in the pretty things he’s bought you, and the sight of it never fails to make your cheeks heat, warmth curling in your stomach. 

The dress was not unexpected. The soft, lacy lingerie that comes in the accompanying box, on the other hand - that was new.

And of course, you barely have time to unwrap your gift when your phone flashes to life, an incoming call from the man himself.

“D’ya like it?”

The giddy excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and if you close your eyes you can picture the look on his face - golden eyes all hooded and hungry, that glittering, eager grin he wears when the two of you are out in public but his mind’s occupied with all the filthy, wonderful things he wants to do to you the moment you’re alone. 

Not that he’s ever that patient. 

“Um, it’s…” Fingers tentatively reach into the tissue paper, pulling the sheer, lacy bra out, warmth blossoming in your cheeks. The matching panties - a tiny scrap of lace held together with bows and thin black straps - really aren’t much better. Like the dress, the lingerie is clearly well made, probably cost more than your weekly rent, and the delicate set is arguably gorgeous (you can’t even argue his taste), but–

“You’re gonna wear it for me tonight, right, baby?” 

It’s not really a question; of course you will, because you always do. You would have thought by now that you’d be used to the gifts he showers you in. 

“Yeah, but Kou, you really didn’t have to spend all this money on me. Dinner’s enough,” you tell him, setting the lingerie back down. 

Dinner, and everything else for that matter. 

A chuckle echoes down the line. “But I like spoiling my girl. Like buying you pretty things,” his voice dips, “like tearing ‘em off you afterwards, too.” 

And despite all the apprehension curled up inside of you, a shiver of excitement runs down your spine. 

—

“So…” Misuzu pushes, leaning across the countertop with her chin resting on her palm and looking entirely too pleased at your discomfort.

“He… asked me to meet him.”

Her eyes widen, sparkling in delight as she gasps, “For dinner?”

“For a drink - one drink,” you clarify. You elect not to tell her that he’d initially tried to sway you into dinner, and it was you who’d talked him down to a drink. Truthfully, you’d probably feel more comfortable getting coffee, but meeting at a bar was fine.

One drink, and if things got awkward or he turned out to be a creep you’d be out of there in a heartbeat. 

“Oh my god!! My baby Y/N, all grown up and manipulating old, lonely men for money. I’m so proud,” she wipes a fake tear from her eye and bursts into a fit of giggles.

A crinkle appears between your brow as you frown at her, “He’s not even that old,” you grumble, “and it’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

“No?” she asks, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You know, for somebody who was so against me messaging your soon to be sugar daddy, you sure move quickly.”

She laughs at the glare you shoot her way. “You were the one who started this.”

“Mhm, and you were the one who didn’t stop it. Funny that, don’t you think?”

She looks like the cat that ate the canary; smug, glittering amusement written all across her face. And you hate, more than anything, that she’s right.

Because you’d meant to put a stop to it the moment you managed to wrestle your phone back from her. Afterwards, you’d blame the lingering hurt of having your heart broken, the insecurities and bitter humiliation that plagued you, the feeling that you weren’t good enough to stop your boyfriend from straying for making you so pathetically vulnerable and desperate for approval - but when you opened the chat instead of the sleazy come on’s you expected, his first message makes something inside of you flutter, warm and pleasant.

Holy crap, you’re beautiful.

Not exactly a sonnet from Shakespeare, but you can’t remember the last time any guy, much less your ex, called you beautiful. 

It didn’t exactly hurt that instead of the aging, creepy looking letch you were half expecting, the profile picture showed a rather fit, attractive man in a crisp, black suit with silvery grey streaked hair and an easy grin. Of course, it was a fifty-fifty chance that the pic wasn’t even him, or if it was then it was outdated or heavily edited, but it was enough to make you pause.

Enough to make you… curious, if nothing else.

But ridiculously attractive or not, you weren’t going to lead him on. If he wanted some pretty, simpering thing to fuck and throw money at, to call him daddy and be his sweet, obedient little girl - that wasn’t you. You’d explained that you weren’t really sure if this was your thing, that you probably weren’t what he had in mind, but surprisingly he hadn’t been put off by that.

Well what’s the harm in finding out for yourself? Maybe you’ll like it more than you think ;)

—

There were rules, when you started - lines you both agreed wouldn’t be crossed.

First and foremost, while it wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship - at least, not the kind you were used to - it was still a relationship of sorts, and there was an expectation of honesty in lieu of absolute exclusivity. You’d tell him if you were seeing anybody else, and Bokuto would tell you the same. Considering sex was on the table, it made sense.

You swore right from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to become financially dependent on him - you knew all too well that relationships were fickle things to begin with. That kind of dependency was half the reason you were in this position in the first place, and you wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that happen again. That didn’t mean that the arrangement wasn’t transactional. After a few initial meetings that went better than you expected, the two of you came to an agreement; a nice little sum of money he’d deposit weekly in your account in exchange for you being there when he wanted you. Dinner dates, skype calls when he’s travelling, spur of the moment weekends away in expensive hotels - whatever he wanted... within reason.

The thing is, despite his flaws - the little funks he gets into, his immaturity despite the age gap between you, the way he clings to you, mopes if you don’t pay him the attention he wants - you genuinely like Bo, he’s oddly endearing. Loveable, even. He reminds you a little of a puppy; eager for affection, bright and boisterous with boundless energy (and enviable stamina). He’s sweet and adoring and funny and he has this uncanny ability to make everything else fade away when you’re with him, to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room, beautiful and perfect and entirely his-

But that didn’t make him your boyfriend. 

You weren’t lovers, and whether it was in two weeks or two years, you both knew this arrangement had an expiration date. And because of that, there were no strings attached. At any point, either one of you could end it without an explanation - no questions asked, no feelings hurt. 

—

Truthfully, you don’t know an awful lot about Bokuto’s line of work, only that his position within the company is senior enough that he can move around his schedule pretty much as he wants, leaving him free to see you whenever he likes. 

Which wasn’t a problem when that was once or twice a week. 

“Sorry, Koutarou, you know I can’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

The petulant whine that echoes down the phone fills you with an odd sort of  guilt. “Why not? You said no on Friday, too,” he pouts. “I miss you, baby. Wanna see you again.”

You shove down the faint, flickering unease that nudges at your gut. You’re not his girlfriend, and you find yourself wondering whether or not he sometimes deliberately lets himself forget that.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you frown, “I told you I have work today. It’s too late for me to try and find someone to cover my shift, and if I call in again-”

You can kiss your job goodbye. You’re already on thin ice with your boss, and it’s not like new waitresses are hard to find these days. 

“Well… what time do you finish?” he asks, his voice thick with dejection, as if he already knows what your answer’s going to be.

You bite back a sigh, “Late. I’m on close again.”

The short silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “… I’ll come pick you up afterwards.”

This time you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes, “Kou, I’m gonna be exhausted, I won’t be any fun to be around.”

“Still wanna see you. You’re always working,” he grumbles. “Feels like you don’t have time for me anymore, baby.”

Slowly your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. It always comes back to this. “I need this job, baby. We’ve talked about this… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have the whole day off, I’m entirely yours.”

“All mine, hm?”

You smile, “All yours, promise.”

He hums in acknowledgement, not entirely happy, but temporarily placated. “Fiiiine. But I’m holding you to it.”

As if you expected any less. “I have to go get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you later,” he promises, and you hang up a moment later. 

When he said that, you assumed that both of you were on the same page as to what ‘later’ meant.

Three hours into your shift, you hadn’t expected to return from the kitchen to find a grinning Bokuto lounging in one of your booths.

“He asked for you specifically when he came in,” one of your coworkers tells you, shooting you a playful wink. “Didn’t know you were into silver foxes, Y/N. But I can’t say I blame you, he’s hot!”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter distractedly, glancing over your shoulder to check your manager wasn’t watching before making your way over.

The smile on your face is tight as golden eyes flicker towards you. “Bokuto,” you begin quietly, “what- what are you doing here?”

An odd look passes across his face at the use of his family name, but the smug grin remains. “You said you had to work tonight,” he says with a cavalier shrug, as if that explained everything. 

“Yes, because I’m working! Kou, I need this job, I can’t-” you break off with a huff, darting another glance over your shoulder. Thankfully, your manager’s busy berating your co-worker for a screwed up order and hasn’t noticed your absence yet.  

Taking advantage of your distracted state, Bokuto reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking back and forth along the back of your palm. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here to work, I get it, baby. I’m just here for some food, cross my heart,” he swears, drawing an imaginary X over his chest with his finger.

Gently tugging your hand back, you ignore the hurt little pout he gives you. “So you decided to drive twenty minutes across town just to eat here?” you ask, trying to keep the exasperation from colouring your tone. 

He shifts a little in his seat, cheeks flushing a dusty pink under your narrowed stare. “… Well, maybe I wanted to see my pretty girl, too,” he admits, “But I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Somehow, his words don’t fill you with confidence, but what are you supposed to do? Kick him out? Snap at him for coming despite the fact you told him not to? Taking a deep, steadying breath through your nose, you force yourself to relax. Bokuto’s not hurting anybody by being there, and so long as he keeps his hands to himself, so long as he behaves, it won’t be an issue.

He’s a paying customer, and you’ll treat him just like you would anyone else who walked through the restaurant’s doors.

Yet despite trying to reassure yourself of that, you can’t escape the niggling sense of unease sitting in the pit of your stomach. Even if he’s the perfect gentleman tonight, the perfect stranger, you’ve worked hard to keep your boring day to day life and the one you’ve created with him in nice, neat, separate boxes. Bokuto hasn’t met your friends or your family and outside of Misuzu they don’t have a clue about your arrangement with your attractive if somewhat clingy benefactor.

You don’t want them to know.

Him being here threatens that - it makes you nervous.

But you’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know that you can’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, and you definitely don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. It’s a conversation for another day.

Instead, you allow a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips, “You know the food’s pretty average here, you might be disappointed.”

Bokuto grins again, mischief sparkling in those golden eyes, and your traitorous heart skips a beat. “Yeah, don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he leans in closer, “I’m far more interested in what’s for dessert.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as he snickers. 

—

For the most part he keeps his hands to himself, but you can’t quite bring yourself to relax when you can feel those golden, hungry eyes burning a hole into your back as you move around the restaurant serving other customers.

You pretend you don’t see the scowling glower he sends to the harmless office-worker who spends a good forty five minutes flirting with you every time you go over to check on his table.

Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small army and stays until close, leaving a more than generous tip on his way out. 

It goes without saying that he waits for you to finish up. The moment you slip out the door, calling out one last goodnight to your coworker, he’s on you, pushing you up against the brick alleyway wall, hiking your legs up over his hips as his mouth attacks yours, greedy and eager, swallowing up any and all protests you might’ve had.

He doesn’t take you home like you ask, but back to his penthouse suite, and neither of you get much sleep that night.

—

You’re halfway through washing your hair a few days later when your shower head splutters once… twice… and stops completely. 

A blockage in the plumbing, your landlord informs you rather apathetically. It’s affecting the whole floor and it’ll take at least a day or two to get somebody out to fix it properly, leaving you without running water for the entirety of that time.

In hindsight, there were at least three other people you could have (and probably should have) called first, but he’s already answering the phone before the thought even occurs to you. 

And then it’s too late to backpedal. You find yourself grateful that he can’t physically see the way you flush and fidget, pacing around your living room as you awkwardly try to explain the reason you’re calling at ten in the morning. 

“Would, I mean, i-is it okay if I come over to use your shower? Just for this one time, mine kind of got interrupted this morning.” 

God, from the way you stutter, stumbling over your own tongue, you’d think you were asking him to marry you. You’ve spent the night at his countless times before, but asking for a favour, even a small one like this - maybe you’re toeing an unwritten line in the sand? Bokuto isn’t with you because he loves you, he’s with you because it’s mutually beneficial for both of you, because of an agreement. 

He wants fun, easy, not you saddling him with minor inconveniences. Calling to ask him to come save you, albeit from something as mundane as a lack of access to a functioning shower, feels like something you’d ask your boyfriend to do. 

Not your sugar daddy.

But just as you’re about to backtrack and apologise for interrupting his morning, he speaks. “What d’you mean? Just come stay with me till it’s fixed.”

He says it with such certainty, as if it’s the most obvious solution and for a moment you’re stunned into silence. “A-are you sure? I don’t want-'' Don't want what? To be an inconvenience? A problem? “I don’t want to be in the way,” you finish lamely.

Bokuto just laughs, “Don’t be stupid, baby, of course you won’t be in the way. Just swing by the office and I can give you the keys. Or I can just get you another set made? I don’t know, we can figure it out later. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?” 

And you have to admit, as apprehensive as you were stepping into his penthouse alone for the first time, showering in Bokuto’s fancy ensuite bathroom (which you’re fairly sure is bigger than your actual bedroom) is a hell of a lot nicer than doing it at home. The lotions he has are all expensive brands with french names you’ve never even heard of before, but they smell amazing and they leave your skin feeling all soft and silky. Even the shampoo he’s bought for you to use is far nicer than the one you have at home, though you’re secretly pleased that its scent’s similar - your favourite, actually. 

Did he buy them knowing that or was it just a coincidence, you wonder. You never thought to ask. 

Without work, or Bo for that matter, to occupy your time, you decide to take advantage of his gigantic TV, opening up Netflix and settling into his ridiculously comfortable couch… 

… And wake, a few hours later to the feeling of fingers carding through your hair and a pair of lips pressing against your cheek. 

Bokuto’s home, you realise with a start, and there’s drool on your chin. Face burning with embarrassment, you hastily wipe it away with the back of your palm and try to sit up, only for Bokuto’s hand to wrap around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“No, don’t get up, baby,” he says, easing down onto the couch beside you and shifting your head onto his lap so he can continue threading his fingers through your hair. “I like coming home to this.”

Still half asleep, curling up and nuzzling further into those warm, thick thighs of his, you miss the intensity of the adoration burning in golden depths as he coaxes you back to sleep.

—

The two of you are in bed, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm slung over your waist and knuckles brushing idly along your side, when Bokuto breaks the comfortable silence. 

“Move in with me.”

You tense in his arms, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, you’re almost positive that you misheard him. “I-I’m sorry?” You push yourself up onto your elbow, turning your head so that you can look at him properly.

But Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “Move in with me,” he repeats, golden eyes bearing down on you.

The expression on your face is frozen halfway between disbelief and hysteria, and you’re staring at him, waiting for that stupid grin to break across his face, for him to laugh and tell you how ridiculous you look, because of course he’s joking.

He’s joking, right?

“Koutarou,” you begin slowly, “Wha- I don’t… Why would you want me to move in with you? We barely- I mean, we’re not…” 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I? It makes sense. My place is bigger and nicer, and I like having you here with me. Feels right.”

It feels right??

“I-I can’t just move out of my apartment, Kou.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he huffs, “Why not? It’s a shitty apartment.”

“That’s not the point!” Knocking away the hand that reaches for you, you push yourself all the way up until you’re sitting properly. “I don’t want to move.” 

Owlish eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking. “Why not? It makes perfect sense for you to move in here with me. You wouldn’t have to work at that stupid job anymore for one,” he huffs. 

“Bokuto, I’m not going to quit my job,” you mutter. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Why, though?!” he explodes. “You don’t need the money, I’ve told you I can take care of you, whatever you want, baby, name it and it’s fucking yours. You don’t need to work and you don’t need that shitty little apartment!”

Like a crystal glass slipping from numb fingers, the fantasy you’ve convinced yourself you’ve been living shatters into a thousand jagged shards in the space of a single breath.

Oh, how naive you’ve been. How fucking stupid.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale deeply, “Kou, that’s not-”

Strong fingers grip your jaw, and your eyes shoot open as he tugs your face back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out, but it’s the intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, the blank expression-

“I love you.”

—

39 missed calls. 72 unread messages. 

Flowers, bouquets of roses, peonies and chrysanthemums piled up by your door between boxes of chocolates and other gifts you won’t bring yourself to open. 

Wide eyed, Misuzu gingerly steps over them, holding two steaming mugs in hand. “Holy fuck,” she murmurs, and for the first time since this stupid, awful mistake began, there’s not a trace of mirth to be found. “Y/N, I…”

But she doesn’t have the words, and you can’t blame her. 

“He told me he loves me,” you sigh. “He asked me to move in with him and told me he loved me, and I grabbed my clothes and all but ran.” You still can’t get the image of Bokuto’s face out of your head, the raw, aching hurt swimming in his eyes as you all but stumbled over excuses in your haste to get out of there. But he didn’t lift a finger to stop you, didn’t say another word.

He just watched numbly, hunched over against the headboard as you fled.

There’s a short beat of silence between the two of you as she sets down the drinks and collapses into the chair beside you. “And… do you love him back?” 

Exhaling loudly, you drop your face into your palms. “I-”

You like how he makes you feel beautiful, the filthy, wonderful praise he lavishes you in when the two of you sleep together, the way he touches you, fingers and mouth so eager to please as his cock fills you, inch by delicious inch.

You like being adored, treasured, and you liked Bo, but… you don’t love him.

That was never on the cards, that wasn’t what your relationship was.

Every line he ever crossed, every boundary he toed, you keep replaying them again and again over and over in your head like a never ending loop. You hadn’t even wanted this whole stupid sugar baby relationship to begin with, and every step of the way he was the one to coax you forward.

And you let him, swallowing down your doubts and your insecurities each and every time. You let him think that this was something else entirely… 

How had you not seen this coming?

“No,” you admit.

The hand that takes yours is soft, and when you glance over with eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, Misuzu squeezes it gently. “Then end it. Walk away.”

And with your head on her shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around you, you type out a short message to Bokuto. No strings attached and no questions asked, you’d promised each other that much when you’d started this mess. You wonder if it still holds true. 

I’m sorry. Clearly we were on different pages and want different things. I didn’t mean to lead you on or for things to go as far as they did, but I can’t do this with you anymore. 

You send it and block his contact, and when the tears come and painful sobs rip their way free, Misuzu holds you tight and murmurs soft reassurances. It’ll pass, all breakups hurt.

—

A week after your ‘breakup’ you get a notification on your phone that money’s been transferred into your bank account. 

For a moment, you think that maybe it’s an accident, a recurring transaction he’d simply forgotten to cancel (you doubt he’d even notice) until you click into the transaction itself.

It isn’t the sum itself that startles you - twice the usual amount - but the short note attached in the description.

I need to see you. Please.

You transfer the money right back into his account.

—

Without your weekly supplement from Bo, it doesn’t take long for you to come to the realisation that your current salary just barely covers rent and your bills, and if you want to eat anything other than two minute noodles in the foreseeable future, you’re going to need either more hours, or a second job. 

Thankfully, the timing works out well. When you go to your boss with your most winning smile to try and convince her of your plight, she simply shrugs and agrees, having had to let one of the junior staff go only a few days before. The one catch being that instead of working a mix of morning and afternoon shifts with the occasional closing thrown in, you’re now exclusively on close, five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday.

Mostly, it doesn’t bother you. The shifts are long and you always leave feeling aching, drained and barely human, but usually it’s quiet enough, and so long as you can get the last few lingering customers out early enough, the actual close runs pretty smoothly between you and the other staff. 

It’s not what you really want to be doing, but you’ve learned to make the best of it. This is adult life, and for the first time since high school, you’re supporting yourself entirely. It might not be the greatest job in the world, and there are absolutely days when you just want to throw in the towel completely, but there is a slight pride to that fact. You don’t need anybody in your life to coddle or support you, you’re figuring this shit out as you go along.

You just wish, sometimes, that you could do that without having to work until the early hours of the morning.

On paper, the kitchen closes at midnight and the last customers are supposed to be out within half an hour of that. Then, between yourself and another server, you can usually get the restaurant tidied up and closed a little after one. 

You knew right from the moment you clocked on that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. The girl who’s supposed to be on close with you called in sick and your boss hasn’t bothered to replace her.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to close by yourself, but it’s still a pain, especially when the last few customers take forever to finish up and leave. 

One of the kitchen staff offers to stay back, his bag slung over his shoulder, hand already on the door handle but you just shake your head with a tired smile. 

“Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though,”

To his credit, he doesn’t immediately take the offered out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Without any help, it takes almost twice as long for you to finish up, and it’s a little after two when you finally flick off the lights and lock the doors.

Your feet are killing you, and all you can think about is sinking into your bed at home, burrowing into your blankets and sleeping for a week straight-

“Hey, baby.” 

Leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his broad chest and eyeing you with an unreadable expression, is Bokuto. 

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

There's nothing inherently threatening about him being here, but it’s the middle of the night, you haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and you don’t need to glance around to know that the car park’s empty. There’s nobody in sight.

Just you and him, and the few feet of distance separating you. 

“K-kou, what are you… what are you doing here?” 

He smiles at that, the way his name slips from your lips, but only for a fleeting second. It fades, and a cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“I missed you, y’know?” He pushes off the hood and takes a step towards you, “You didn’t call me.”

He’s always been bigger than you, towering over you looking like some Adonis with those rippling, powerful muscles of his. You used to like that strength, squealing in wicked delight when he’d hoist you up with a grin, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, your back shoved up against the wall so he could drive his cock deeper into ‘his pretty fuckin’ pussy’. 

But that was then. 

You’ve never been scared of his strength. Even that morning in the apartment, he didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or yell, he just… shut down. He wouldn’t hurt you, you know that.

That doesn’t stop you from skittering backwards like a frightened little bunny, your back hitting the wall.

The very moment you do, you watch as his eyes widen in surprise, hurt flashing for a split second-

-before they darken, his face twisting into a scowl, and you can’t escape the feeling you’ve made an awful mistake. 

Dread creeps its way up your spine, tightening like a vice around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your brain is screaming at you to run, adrenaline surging through your veins, but even as your heart races and your breathing spikes, you can’t seem to move your legs.

It wouldn’t make a difference even if you could - with your back up against the literal wall, Bokuto and his car blocking your only escape route, you’re trapped; a fact that hasn’t escaped either of you.

Paralysed in fear, you can’t so much as twitch as he takes another slow, calculated step forward.

Desperately, you open your mouth - to try and placate him? To apologise? Scream for help? - but all that escapes is his name in a choked, breathless whisper. 

“Bokuto…”

As he stares at you, he almost looks regretful.

Almost, if not for the grim determination resolving like steel in those golden eyes of his. “I love you, and I know you love me, too,” he says, closing the gap between you. “I’m doing this for us, baby.”

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Two Points Higher | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 5380

A/N: I started binging Criminal Minds last week and I’m already on season 5... Spencer Reid is precious and my asexual heart needed some platonic fluff so I wrote it myself. 

Warnings: fluff, interrogation, mentions of murder

Having Spencer Reid show up at your office was not an unusual occurrence. Having Spencer Reid show up at your office in the middle of the night with another FBI agent on his heels was.

“See I told you they’d be here,” Spencer almost tripped over a box of records by the door with the speed of which he burst in.

“I get it, I’m married to my job,” you rolled your eyes, not looking up from your computer, “what’s up?”

“(y/n), this is Agent Derek Morgan,” he gestured to the man behind him as he spoke. Spencer pulled up his usual chair in front of your desk and started rummaging in his bag.

“If you can find a seat you’re welcome to take it,” you smiled at Morgan, who was watching Spencer intently.

“We need your help,” Spencer pulled out a stack of photos.

“Spence, I have work to do,” you chided, though you pushed aside what you were working on to take the photos from him.

“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Please?”

“You’re not really asking,” Agent Morgan finally cracked a smile at your comment, “I don’t see how I can help you though, these are neat crime scene photos but I’m not in the FBI.” As you observed the images Spencer stood up again, haphazardly pulling books off of your shelves and piling them on his now vacant seat.

“You missed it. Look again,” you scanned the images again, scrutinizing every detail. This time you noticed it, pulling each image closer to your face to really take in what you were seeing.

“Those are my labels. Why are my labels on human bodies?” Spencer pulled one last book off the shelf and started thumbing through it.

His voice was soft this time, as his eyes met yours, “we don’t know.”

You didn’t normally see Spencer when he was working a case like this, something about him seemed different.

“How can I help?”

“The rest of the team is on the way. Have you talked to anyone about your collections recently? Told them how you label and research?”

“The only one I’ve talked to about it is you, but it’s not exactly an industry secret. Anyone who has looked at the exhibits has seen my labels, people just don’t usually care about them.”

Spencer and Morgan exchanged a look, then Morgan stepped out to make a phone call while Spencer filled you in on the next course of action. The rest of the team would be using your office as a field station while they tried to figure out why the unsub would make exact copies of  your labels.

“Have you known Reid long?”  A blonde woman who Spencer introduced as JJ asked.

“Since preschool,” you recalled.

“(y/n) was the only other kid in class who could read,” Spencer commented from the adjoining collections room where he was poking around for signs of entry.

“Spencer was the only other kid in class who could remember dinosaur names, we made quite the pair until he graduated.”

“You only graduated two years after me.”

“Enough to get you ahead by two doctorates and a bachelors,” you shot back.

“What’s in the water over in Vegas?” Morgan commented, shooting Spencer a look when he started rattling off the exact contents of the water and how it definitely did not affect the development of your brains.

It was already the early hours of the morning, so it was decided that any investigating would wait until a more reasonable hour. The team mostly acquainted themselves with your space, finding places to work, sleep, or follow up on leads. Even Spencer was moving around, restlessly conversing with his colleagues. You kept to yourself at your desk, busying yourself with the bone you were looking at. The research was comfortable, though the background noise wasn’t.

“You should get some sleep,” Spencer said quietly to you after a few hours, leaning over your shoulder to observe the notes you were making. It felt oddly normal, considering the circumstances.

“I’m on to something here, I want to finish this first,” you turned to the next page in your notebook.

“I’m going to go nap in the other room then, wake me up if you need anything, ok?” you looked up at him with a soft smile and nodded. He went into the break room across the hall, laying down on the old couch. You watched after him for a minute then turned back to your work. A few minutes later, JJ sat down in front of your desk.

“Do you spend a lot of time together?”

“If he’s not working with you, he’s with me. I’m almost always here which is why he knows where all of the good sleeping spots are,” you smirked.

“What are you working on?”

“We don’t have any records on this bone, so I do the research and get as much information as I can about it. My official title is ‘Collections Curator’ but Spencer says I’m just as much a profiler as he is.”

“Have you ever thought about joining the Bureau?”

“Spence tried to convince me… once,” you chuckled lightly at the memory, “I like my job, it’s a lot lower stakes than what you do. I don’t need a gun, just some research material and my brain.”

“It does seem… still down here,” JJ observed.

“Our collections are stored down here so it’s all climate controlled. These rooms were free so I asked if I could trade my upstairs office for a collections research suite. Did you know that 80% of a museum’s collection isn’t displayed? The exhibits you see upstairs are only 20% of the entire collection,” you stopped talking when you noticed a change in her expression, “sorry, I’m rambling.”

JJ smiled kindly, “I can see why you’re friends with Reid.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without him growing up. It’s easier to be a kid genius when there’s another kid to be a genius with, makes you feel less alone. He’s always been more competitive though, tougher, too.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re also a genius?”

“I try not to flaunt it, unlike Spencer. If it wasn’t for his eidetic memory we’d have the same number of degrees,” you smirked.

“He’s different with you,” Morgan had stepped into the room and was poking through your stuffed shelves.

“Like I said, it’s easier to be a genius when you have someone else who gets it. Spencer and I don’t talk about what you do in the field, but I see what he looks like when he comes back from traveling. I do my best to make this a space where he can be a genius without all the crime and someone that he can just be himself with.”

“Having a support system is good. He needs one.”

“You said he’s different with me, but he’s also different with you. His behavior is consistent with when he was trying to plan a surprise for my birthday last year, except its a stressful secret not an exciting one.”

“I need to hear the birthday story later, when this is all over. You’re good at noticing details,” Morgan commented. You noticed the way both Morgan and JJ shifted nervously.

“I have to be, that’s how I do my research. One detail can open up a whole string of possibilities, but you all know that. At first I thought it just had to do with him being in the middle of a case, I’ve only seen him a handful of times when he’s working.”

“But?” Morgan’s question was leading, they knew you knew they were hiding something.

“This is the first time he’s ever come into my office wearing his gun.”

There was a pause during which you noticed both agents’ eyes soften.

“I’m no FBI agent, but if dead bodies were showing up with museum labels specific to one curator I would start by questioning the curator. None of you have acted like I’m guilty at all. Why?”

“Reid gave us your alibi and confirmed it all in one breath. The local police still want to bring you in, but they’re having trouble finding you. Reid knew where you were and wanted to get ahead of them, solve this before you were falsely accused.”

“They probably ended up at my apartment. I spend most of my time here, but I keep that lease for storage and other things. Not many people know I practically live here. Do either of you want coffee?” you took off the latex gloves you were wearing as you stood up. They shook their heads with a murmured ‘thanks’.

They started whispering behind you as you walked across the hall to the room where your best friend was spread out on the couch. You paused as you passed him, gently brushing a piece of hair from his face before continuing on to the kitchenette. Leaning against the counter, your gaze fell once again on Spencer as you waited for the coffee to brew. He slowly stirred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before standing up and joining you by the counter.

“You’re still working?”

“Have to make progress on my own projects while we’re waiting, before your case consumes my workday,” you bumped your elbow into him.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Hey, someone is using my specimen labels for murder victims. That’s not ok, my labels should be for museum collections only. I appreciate you telling me. I don’t appreciate whatever secret you and your team are keeping from me.”

“It’s characteristic for unsubs like this to have a fantasy… an unhealthy idolization that’s expressed in the victimology,” he stuck his hands in his pockets nervously. You thought for a minute as you poured a cup of coffee for yourself and your best friend.

“You think the unsub fantasizes about me.”

“We don’t know for certain. Two of the victims seem random, but three of them have an uncanny resemblance… and the labels…”

“Is that why you came to my office instead of just calling me for more information?” you leaned into his side, gripping your coffee.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he pressed a kiss into your hair and wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s not your fault this is happening. You live your life and I live mine,” you took a sip of your drink.

“You only leave this basement to buy groceries and do laundry. Statistically you’re only seen by a small fraction of people in this city and somehow you’ve been targeted by someone who’s now going around killing people.”

“Statistically, the unsub could have seen anyone who lives in this city, including me. It’s not your fault,” you repeated, “you could have told me though, genius.”

Spencer cracked a tired smile, “didn’t want to scare you more than necessary.”

“You’re a better person than me.”

“You’re smarter than me,” he retorted.

“That’s why you’re a better person. That’s how you can do the job that you do. If I had to interact with strangers every day I’d implode.”

“Spontaneous implosion isn’t possible,” you rolled your eyes at his comment. Before you could respond he spoke again, “I love you.”

His words caught you off guard, not because you didn’t return the feeling but because they never needed to be said. You knew from the way his eyes lit up when he read your notes and how he always made you another coffee when he got one for himself. You had spent practically your whole lives together and you genuinely cared about him in a way you knew was reciprocated. You considered this boy family more than most of your blood relatives. Still, with everything going on it had to be said.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

You stood with his arms around you until the coffee in your hands went cold.

“I need to make sure your friend Derek isn’t messing up my office. Sorry I woke you up,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping away. When you made it to the hallway you started walking down towards the largest collection room instead of your office.

“Agent Hotchner? Do you have a minute?” You knocked on the doorframe of the large room that the agent had set up in.

“Of course, is everything ok?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Spencer. I know he’s supposed to be protecting me, but he’s also my best friend. He would put himself in danger- he’s expecting to put himself in danger for me. With all due respect, sir, I know you’re trying to do a job but please promise me that you’ll keep Spencer safe too.”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” he said as you sat down in front of him.

“I don’t usually get myself into situations this stressful. My brain is rationalizing by flagging you as an authority figure. I know you’re not my boss but it’s easing my anxiety to think of you as one.”

Hotch looked at you calmly, a small smile on his lips, “I should have known Reid’s best friend would also be a genius.”

“My IQ is two points higher than his…sir,” it felt odd, joking with this man during such a stressful time.

“Reid is family to us too. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

“Spencer said that the unsub had a fantasy about me, and that’s why he was using my labels,” since your conversation with Spencer, your brain had been reeling for information.

“He asked that we didn’t tell you,” you sighed at his words.

“Of course he did. Now that I know, what information do you need? How can I be more helpful?”

“Reid asked you some questions when he got here,” you nodded, “if you’re up for it, I’d like to get the team together and ask you for more details.”

“Anything that helps,” your answer was definite, so Hotch rounded up the team with the exception of Spencer.

“Shouldn’t Reid be here?” Emily asked when you were all crammed into your office.

“I don’t want him… interfering. I don’t like biased research,” you told her.

“Then I guess we’ll get started. How exactly do you create the labels for your specimens?” Derek started the questioning.

“They’re printed on a specific cardstock that I get on special order. They’re all made down here, by me. I’m also the only one who handles the specimens, I don’t even let Spencer touch them.”

“Are there any other employees that work down here? Custodians, other curators?”

“What are you doing?” Your answer was interrupted by Spencer standing in the doorway holding two cups of coffee, in your respective favorite mugs.

“We’re doing research,” you spoke before any of your friend’s colleagues could.

“This looks like an interrogation,” Spencer came to stand behind you protectively, setting both cups down in front of you.

“I asked for this meeting, Spence. I want to help.”

“You should have told me,” he leaned closer to your ear, talking quietly so the rest of the team couldn’t hear. You didn’t usually see your friend this upset.

“Nobody comes down here regularly except for Spencer and I. It’s not open to the public, so anyone else needs a personal invite. Usually that’s when we’re changing exhibits, but everyone who helped me most recently has done it before. If it was one of them they would have killed before the first victim, right?” Derek nodded.

“Nobody else has been here in the last two months?” he repeated. You laughed half heartedly,

“I don’t have much of a social life. The only people I talk to are Spencer, the cashier at the grocery store, and Tim if I see him,” you added the last one as an afterthought.

“Tim?” Spencer stopped fuming by your side when your words piqued his interest.

“He teaches a museum history class at the community college in the city. They come by once a semester and tour the museum. You met him, remember?” Spencer averted his eyes from his team.

“I wouldn’t count that as a meeting,” you fought back a smile, recounting the way Spencer ran past the group of college kids as he tried not to let his severe hangover make him late for work.

“Tell me more about Tim, are you close?” Rossi refocused the meeting.

“No, just friendly. We email to schedule the tour, but it’s always professional. I see him at the grocery store most weeks, but it’s usually just an exchange of pleasantries.”

“How do you run into someone at the grocery store most weeks in a city like this?” Emily asked.

“I always go grocery shopping on Friday afternoons, from three to four. Spencer tells me I shouldn’t be so predictable but I work so much I have to schedule it in otherwise I forget. Tim must have the same schedule.”

“Have you seen Tim recently?”

“Now that I think about it, no. The last time I saw him was two weeks after the tour. He asked if I had dinner plans. That was the night we had tacos,” you bumped elbows with Spencer.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I was making dinner for Spencer. You were all coming back from a trip, Spencer always comes over for dinner when you come home. I know I’m predictable but he’s never missed a dinner.”

“What was his reaction like when he heard you were making dinner for Reid?”

“He looked a little upset. I remember noticing it and thinking it was weird, but at the time I rationalized it. I’m not great at interacting with people. You don’t think Tim did this, do you? He’s really nice, always good with the kids. He asks a lot of questions because the kids don’t- oh God,” your eyes widened when you realized what you were saying. The office exploded in activity, with every agent moving to take action. Even Spencer moved, grabbing your arm and pulling you back across the hall into the break room. You noticed the way his hand was nervously on his gun.

“What happens next?”

“We don’t know for sure that it’s him yet. Garcia will cross check him against the profile. If it’s him, we’ll find him and lock him up. If it’s not… then we’re back to square one.”

“You seem more on edge than for it to be that simple,” you observed.

“Up until the most recent tour, Tim was able to admire you from afar. He saw you every week at the grocery store, and twice a year got to come down here to your personal paradise and see what you were doing. That was good enough for him until he saw me leaving here. That was the stressor. He suspected that we were… uh…”

“Dating?”

“Yeah. He tried to confirm it by asking about dinner two weeks later. It was coincidence that I was coming over that night. That was all he needed to kill out of rage.”

“You aren’t still blaming yourself for this, are you? Tim never asked if we were together. He never asked if I was with anyone at all. If he had this could have gone a lot differently. It’s his fault for assuming, not ours.”

Spencer put a hand on your back gently, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be reassuring you.”

As you rolled your eyes and told him it didn’t matter, Morgan stepped into the room.

“We’re heading out to catch this guy. Prentiss and JJ are staying, Garcia is watching the security cameras at all the entrances. Are you staying or going?” Morgan’s question was directed at Spencer. He thought for a minute, you knew he was considering the possibilities. If he stayed he could protect you personally, and he would also be protecting himself. If he went, he could personally take down the person who wanted to harm you and could be a good lure, but there was also a chance he would be targeted.

“I’ll stay. Keep me posted,” Morgan nodded, casting you a glance before running out.

“Now we wait,” Spencer rocked back on his heels, “will you show me that bone you were working on?” You were surprised he wanted to go back to business as usual, but maybe that was just it. You both needed a distraction from all of the chaos happening above ground without you. You went back to your office where Emily and JJ were. Their conversation paused when you stepped in.

“(y/n) and I are going to work on identifying this bone, there’s coffee across the hall if you want it,” Spencer said to the women.

“Thanks for staying,” you added, earning kind sympathetic looks from them as they stepped out.

“So, a long bone?” Spencer took one look at the fragment on your desk.

“Wow, he’s a genius,” you teased, sitting down, “here’s what I’ve got so far-”

You and Spencer spent hours researching. JJ and Emily popped in occasionally, but you were too engrossed in your work to see the amused glances exchanged between them as you bantered with your best friend. Spencer was trying really hard to keep things normal for you and this side of his genius, the way you fed off of each other’s stream of consciousness, was not something his coworkers usually got to witness.  

Two hours into your work Spencer’s phone rang, causing you both to startle.

“Hotch,” he was quiet as he listened to the agent on the other end of the line, “yeah, uh, yeah we’ll be right there,” he hung up and turned to you.

“They got him, but there was no real proof. They’re interrogating him now, they want us there to help.”

“Us?” you followed him out of the office as he went to find Emily and JJ.

“He’s not talking, Hotch thinks he might break for me…”

“Or me…” you finished the thought for him. The car ride was tense, and even with Spencer by your side you felt very out of place. Spencer made sure you were next to him even through the whirlwind that happened when you got to the interrogation room. Through the glass you saw Morgan talking to Tim, though Tim wasn’t doing much talking.

“(y/n), would you feel comfortable going in and talking to him? Morgan will be there too, he’ll keep you safe,” Rossi asked.

Before Spencer could protest you nodded and squared your shoulders.

“Of course. What do I need to do?”

“Morgan will do most of the questioning. You just need to get him talking.”

You took a breath and stepped into the room, watching the relief on Tim’s face when you did.

“(y/n), I’m so glad you’re here. This is all just a misunderstanding. I’m not the guy they’re looking for.”

“It’s not up to me to decide that, Tim.”

“You’re here to tell them it wasn’t me, right?”

“They’ve already told us everything we need to know. You’re still talking to me,” Morgan said, pulling Tim’s attention away from you.

“Then why are they here? I see the way you all carry those guns around, it’s too dangerous,” Tim said.

“Too dangerous for who?” Morgan pressed.

“For (y/n).”

“So you care about them, are you close?” you watched Tim’s reaction.

“Very, you can ask me anything about them, I know it all,” he was confident in his answer. Morgan glanced at you and you gave him a small nod.

“What does (y/n) do for work?”

“They’re the Collections Curator at the museum. They spend all of their time there, except on Fridays when they go grocery shopping,” Tim was enthusiastic in his answer, and looked to you for validation. You nodded gently, encouraging him.

“How do you know that?” Morgan leaned forward a bit.

“My class has been touring the collections suite for years. That’s how we met, then I ran into them at the grocery store and we got to talking,” Morgan nodded, pausing for a moment.

“I guess you are close. Since you know so much, this will probably be an easy one. What is (y/n)’s boyfriend’s name?” you tensed, waiting for the answer.

“Spencer. He’s tall, I’ve only seen him once,” he grumbled.

“(y/n), you can tell him,” Morgan said, keeping his eyes on the handcuffed man in front of you.

“Tim, I don’t have a boyfriend,” your words were soft. Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“You do! I saw him, that’s why we can’t be together!” he started to sweat under the harsh light.

“He’s just my friend, Tim. You never asked,” you were trying your hardest to stay composed.

“I did ask! You said you were having dinner together! He was good enough for you to have dinner with, I KILLED FOR YOU. DIDN’T YOU SEE, I LABELED THEM JUST LIKE YOU DO. I DID THAT FOR YOU. HE WOULD NEVER,” Tim’s outburst caused him to stand up and lunge across the table at you. Derek simultaneously pushed you back and pushed him down, you weren’t really sure how. Tim was still thrashing around and yelling all sorts of things you were sure were going to incarcerate him, but above the noise Morgan was able to speak.

“That’s all we need. Thank you, (y/n).”

When you stepped out of the interrogation room you moved immediately into Spencer’s arms, like gravity was pulling you into the one person you felt safest with.

“You’re ok. It’s ok. We’re ok,” he kept repeating.

“Spencer,” you mumbled into the material of his sweater. His words stopped so he could listen, “he seemed so normal.”

“I know, I know.”

“Do they always seem normal?” Spencer sighed, you felt his chest move with the breath.

“No, not always.” You felt his muscles tense as he held you tighter. He went back to repeating his mantra of reassurance as you caught sight of two police officers escorting Tim out of the interrogation room.

“Reid, Hotch wants to see you,” Emily approached the two of you once the room had cleared.

“Go, I’m alright,” you told him, stepping out of his embrace. He kissed the top of your head before leaving you alone with Emily.

“You did a great job in there,” she said as you walked back to the bullpen.

“It didn’t feel like it,” you told her honestly, “I’ve known Tim for years, he was always so nice to me. He never seemed…capable… but the way he yelled…”

“I know. It’s over now, though. Is there anything we can get for you? Coffee?” you sat down at Spencer’s desk, feeling exhaustion wash over you.

“No, thanks. I think I’m just going to go back to the museum. I have some work there that needs some attention. Do you think Spencer could drive me? I’m not awake enough to take public transportation.”

“I’m driving, but we’re not going to the museum,” Spencer loped over from Hotch’s office, grabbing his jacket and bag from the back of his chair.

“What? Why not?”

“You’re coming back to my apartment. Hotch’s orders, you’re not allowed to argue.”

As much as you wanted to, you decided not to put up a fight and instead got into the Bureau vehicle with your best friend. It was quiet as he drove, you wanted to say something but you didn’t know what the right words would be to describe how thankful you were to have him in your life. The silence continued until you were inside, when Spencer offered you something to eat.

“Are you sure?” he asked from the kitchen when you declined. You were by his bookshelves, running your finger down the spines of the many books he owned. Even though most of the time you spent with Spencer was in the museum, you had been to his apartment before on multiple occasions. You had never been there long enough to read his large collection of books, though you wished you had the time because you always trusted Spencer’s book recommendations.

“I’m sure. Thanks, though,” you paused to pull a Chaucer book off the shelf, “why did Hotch want me to come home with you?”

“He wanted you somewhere safe and comfortable, where you can process what happened without being completely alone. I know you wanted to go back to the museum but I also know what you’re like when you’re working and going back to work isn’t going to help you process what just happened. I thought coming here would give you a chance to eat and sleep,” he took the book out of your hands and put it back in its place.

“Is it that obvious?” you were having a hard time keeping your eyelids open. Spencer laughed lightly.

“It is, you should get some rest. I’ll be right out here, I have to finish this report,” he gestured to the folder he had brought home. You nodded, padding over to the bedroom. As soon as you crossed the threshold you could feel your distance from Spencer, who was leaning against the counter scratching away at the file with a pen.

“Spencer?” he turned to you quickly, his eyebrows mashing together in concern.

“Is that report kitchen specific, or could you do it in here?” his face softened. He left the file abandoned where it was on the counter as he rushed over to you. He helped you into bed, before sitting at the opposite end and settling by your feet.

“I’m not going anywhere, you’re safe now,” he put a hand on your leg. The pressure was reassuring, to say the least, and you found yourself easily slipping into sleep underneath Spencer’s quilt.

When you woke, Spencer was still at the end of the bed with a book in his hands. His feet, clad in mismatched socks, were crossed by your shoulder. You gently prodded at his foot, causing him to twitch and look up from what he was reading.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, putting the book down beside him. You sat up and stretched out your arms.

“You’re still here,” you smirked.

“It’s my apartment,” his quip was light and gentle.

“You’re right, I should get back to the museum,” you started to get up, but Spencer put a hand on your foot.

“Stay here for a while. You work too much, some time off would be good for you.”

“You work just as much as I do, genius. I’m not going to loiter in your apartment while you’re off fighting crime.”

“Hotch is letting me stay home for a few days. If an urgent case comes up I’ll help remotely, but I’m not leaving you.”

“Spence, you don’t have to-“

“I want to, (y/n). You’re my best friend who just went through a traumatic experience. Your family is 2,431 miles away, but even if they were closer you wouldn’t spend time with them. You said it yourself, I’m the only one you talk to regularly. I’m not going to abandon you now.”

“Haven’t we talked about you profiling me?” Spencer blushed.

“That wasn’t a profile, just information.”

“Sure,” you yawned.

“Go back to sleep, you still have some catching up to do.”

“You’re keeping track?” you asked, though you laid back down to get more comfortable.

“It’s simple subtraction, (y/n). I don’t need a PhD in mathematics to know you have slept far less than is healthy for the last three days,” he picked up the book again, finding the place where he left off.

“What are you reading?” his eyes flickered up to meet yours again.

“Dickens, Great Expectations.”

“You’ve read that one before,” you commented, surprised he didn’t have more to say on the subject.

“I have. I thought you might like it, I was just passing the time while you were sleeping. I can read it to you, if you want. It always made me feel better when my mom read to me.”

“I’d really like that,” you settled deeper into the pillow, listening to your friend’s voice as you drifted off to sleep. For the first time since Spencer had burst into your office, you finally felt content.

[cloudykaii]

Care

pairing: bts x eighth member!reader [platonic]

summary:  omg i just real some of your eight member scenarios and eveerything was so good!! i wasnt into eight member things before but now.. im super in! 😭 can you do a scenario about compilation of the members little caring act on stage, backstage, when theres camera or not, something like that to the eight members?? if you make it then i would be so delighted. than you !!

warnings: none, it’s just really fluff :( some of it might not make sense, but i really love this

A lot of things could be said about your brothers. Each and every one of them had their moments and mistakes, just like you did. Some people would call them rude, or selfish amongst other things, but the one thing they could never say, is that they didn’t care about you. ARMY pointed it out all the time; they even had compilations of moments the eight of you cared for each other, but your favorite were the ones titled things like: “six minutes of proof that bts’ world revolves around y/n.”

Jin jumped as your head fell against his bicep. You were at an afterparty for an awards show the eight of you had been asked to present at. The music wasn’t too loud- you used to joke that it was because everyone knew rich people liked to brag. You had no idea where the rest of your brothers were but you and Jin had been perched on the oddly comfortable sofa as he socialized. He could feel your hairpins digging into his shoulder. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” You didn’t answer and he moved slightly so that he could reach across and tap your arm, but you moved with him. He felt your even breathing and sighed. You still had around two hours left before they could leave. 

One of the girls he had been talking to chuckled as you gave a tiny shiver in your sleep. “She must be tired.”

He smiled at her before slipping off his blazer to cover you with it. “She works hard, sometimes I think she works harder than the rest of us,” he chuckled, pulling you closer so that he could make sure she was comfortable. 

No one knows how a fan account had that video trending on twitter under the hashtag #BabyY/N three days later. 

✦✧✦✧

One bad thing about being the only girl in an idol group, is that sometimes you get the least amount of consideration. Not because they didn’t respect you or anything like that, it’s just that after styling for seven boys, you think sometimes the staff tends to forget you are not a guy, or maybe they had never seen a girl in real life.

Or at least that’s what the short dress you were wearing had you feeling like. It’s not like it wasn’t pretty, a black skirt and connected by a thin, white lacy strip that wrapped around your abdomen. It was gorgeous, and the silky ribbon of a choker around your neck made it look even better, but it was just.. so short. 

You powered through like a trooper, despite the fear in the back of your mind that you were flashing the entire audience while you danced. The minute the song stopped and everyone moved to get a drink of water, Yoongi was taking his jacket off and tying it around your waist. 

Not speaking into the mic, you let him do as he wanted but asked, “Are you even allowed to do that? Won’t the stylist say something about how you ruined her outfit?”

Tightening the knot of material, he rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what the stylist has to say right now. Not only is your outfit not okay, but it’s obviously making you uncomfortable. You can wear this until the next outfit change.”

“Thank you,” you hugged him briefly, glad he had your back. 

✦✧✦✧

There was a time where you guys were recording a live during a long break while at practice. Fans talked about it for ages afterwards. Taehyung sat against one of the mirrors, holding his phone, while Jimin was in the picture beside him. 

“Basically, that’s it. We haven’t really-”

“Y/N, stop running around, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Jimin’s voice cut in, making the other man look over. 

“What is she doing?”

Jimin huffed, “I have no idea, but she’s going to- Y/N, at least t- no actually come here, I’ll do it for you.”

And when you bounced into the view of the camera, only for all the fans to see Jimin pulling your foot to him so he could tie your shoe. “Be careful this time, even if you’re playing tag.”

✦✧✦✧ 

Jeongguk laughed at the camera, the comments being ridiculous. He was doing a live, answering questions about the embarrassing moments he chose to talk about. “No, it was funny! He fell, but then he tried to play it off by doing pushups, but he feel while trying to do that, so-”

He heard the door open in the background, and the camera saw him turn to the side just before he let out an “oomf.” The side profile of your face was visible to the viewers as you moved to curl against him on the bed. You rubbed your eyes sleepily, and he frowned. “It’s really late, you’re supposed to be asleep.”

You mumbled, “I was, but then I got scared and woke up. I didn’t want to be alone.” He pouted at that. You tended to have nightmares whenever you were stressed, and since he was the one who found out about them first, he was usually the person you ran to. 

“Do you wanna sleep in here?” He asked softly. Everyone tuned in could hear everything, but your brother barely remembered that he was even recording as he fussed over you. You nodded, already drifting off on his shoulder. He smiled down at you before turning back to the camera. He read the many comments of everyone cooing over you. “Yeah, she’s alright. I’ll tell her to tell you guys herself tomorrow. Anyways..” 

✦✧✦✧

Of course, there were incidents that were more serious. 

The sun was setting, which made the perfect picture for the shoot you guys were about to do. The rooftop everyone was on was beautiful and stone, the kind of background you saw in movies. The sun seemed to glitter, and the wind made everything sway until the lake’s seemingly glittering waves caught your eye. “Whoa,” you gasped, moving closer to get a look.

“Y/N-”

You waved off Taehyung’s warning. “I’ll be careful! I just want to get a closer look!” You walked back over to the edge, admiring the way the sun sparkled on the water. You subconsciously leaned closer, moving your body a little too far against the thin railing, but before you could topple over, a hand grabbed the back of your jacket with a tight grip, yanking you back until you were a good distance away from the railing. 

Your back hit someone else’s and you recognized Taehyung as you turned to see him. He stared down at you. “I said be careful!” 

“I’m sorry,” you said a little shakily. Taehyung sighed before pulling you back into a hug. “Having a little sister is so hard, you’re not leaving my sight for the rest of the day.”

✦✧✦✧

Another moment fans loved to talk about actually happened at a fansign. You smiled brightly as the next fan came up to you, following the line. “Hello!” you greeted happily. 

Something about this girl threw you off though, and the look in her eyes had you unintentionally leaning away from her. You couldn’t decipher it, but when nothing happened, you told yourself you were just overthinking it. She was probably just excited to meet what could have been her favorite artist group, right? 

You stood by Hoseok as the fansign ended, moving to follow him out of then venue. He chuckled as he looked at you. “You have that look.”

You wrinkled your nose. “What look?” 

“The one that says you’re hungry,” he teased, poking you in the stomach, making you whine. “Well, maybe-”

“Y/N!” You turned around, cutting yourself off mid sentence, to see the fan from earlier. “I found you.” Her smile was a little too bright as she reached for you, only for Hoseok to push you behind him as you stuttered out, “I’m sorry, we really have to go.” 

You moved to attempt to leave after that, but her demeanor quickly changed. Her face changed from too happy and delighted, to dark and angry. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached for you more aggressively this time. “Don’t be son ungrateful,” she squeezed your wrist painfully and you cried out as security finally made their way over. 

Hoseok immediately pulled you to him, looking at the rapidly forming bruise on your wrist. Even though at the moment, it was just a large red mark, his face still tightened. “This never should have happened,” he cursed when he noticed tears in your eyes. 

He pulled you into a hug as he waited for the rest of your brothers to show up. “It won’t happen again,” he promised you. 

✦✧✦✧

The moment that was probably the most talked about, was when a talk show host felt the need to ask you how it felt. Namjoon shared a glance with you. 

“Excuse me?” you asked timidly, straightening up. 

The interviewer turned to you. “Oh, you speak English! I was just asking how it felt to be so similar to a child all the time.” The man’s tone of voice didn’t even change, but the idea that he had expected Namjoon to translate this to you, and now casually asked you as if there was nothing wrong with the question. “You know, they’re always taking care of you, it makes it seem like you can’t do anything by yourself. Does it ever irritate you?”

You tried laughing it off, the chuckle leaving your lips as you ticked a strand of hair behind your ear awkwardly. “Not really. They’re not doing anything to be condescending, and I know that.”

“Do you feel like that is because you need their help?”

“That’s enough,” Namjoon cut in, his jaw clenched as he slid forward a little in his seat as if to help get his point across. “Y/N is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. We pitch in to check on her because we love and care about her, and she does the same for us. She is not a child but a grown woman who we love and care about enough to make sure she’s okay and gets the nice treatment she deserves. With all due respect, if you insult our sister again, we will be forced to cut this short.”

You looked over to him, offering a silent thank you as the interviewer coughed, trying to recover. The bad news was that this interview was live, so he really couldn’t do anything but sit there and realized he had just embarrassed himself. 

Honestly, what else is there to say? You loved and cared about your brothers, and they loved and cherished you. 

[thomcantsleep]

Being Proud of Myself

I was overwhelmed over the weekend by the response to my post about my experience with autism. It’s the most notes that I’ve ever gotten on Tumblr before and it was only in a couple of days and I even got a couple of messages from people saying that they related to the experience which was especially very cool. It’s exactly what you want to see and hear when you write something like that because enabling other people to start a conversation about things like this is massively important to our society.

It all gave me precious happiness and serotonin that made me feel warm and fuzzy so thank you if you read it.

After talking about it a lot and letting everyone in my life know that I reached a milestone, I got a funny feeling. It felt like I was relishing in the numbers game instead of just being happy with what I had wrote and what I had said. Essentially, my ego was stroked which I don’t react well to. I don’t like feeling proud of something that I’ve done. I thought about the alternate universe where that post got no attention whatsoever and if I would feel the same way and the answer is definitely not. Whilst it was definitely great to hear other people’s stories and talk about the world of being diagnosed with ASD which is something that I’m very passionate about, I was happier with how much attention it was getting on comparison.

It made me feel like not a great person because I don’t really do this for attention. Part of the reason that I left Twitter was realizing that I was uncomfortable with the proverbial points system where you are rewarded with dopamine shots every time someone “likes” your post. I didn’t like that because it was fake happiness and you are effectively encouraged to achieve that fake happiness at any cost. That’s why people often pin their most “successful” tweet to the top of their profile like a trophy.

But this sensation that it was giving me was similar and I got those pleasure chemicals every time I checked Tumblr and I had a bunch of notification bubbles. I shouldn’t feel pleasure with the big number but rather, with the people reading it and relating to it.

The problem with me is that I’m not used to feeling proud of myself. I remember only really beginning to recieve compliments and atta-boys when I was in my mid-teens and I got a taste for it. Really, I should be happy with myself because I’m enough without needing props from exterior sources. Instead, I get lost in the feeling. With the assistance of the internet, I get carried away with myself. I’m far better now that I used to be because I learned to teach myself that I can have self-worth outside of all this.

It also isn’t helped by being autistic because I often don’t know what or how to feel about things. I have a detachment from happiness because whenever I do feel happy, I find it oddly embarrassing and I feel vulnerable when I smile. An off-shoot of this is that I wouldn’t know happiness if it slapped me in the face. I feel like I should have a voice lingering over me to tell me that this is supposed to be a happy point in my life and that I should feel happy. I feel weird about being proud as well.

I remember everyone around me being excited and interested in me publishing a book. I got heavily embarrassed and I feel embarrassed writing this now because it feels like a petulant humble brag for me to just randomly bring this up now. I just need some kind of example. People told me it was good and I felt happy with myself but it didn’t feel real because I didn’t achieve happiness myself through my own ends.

Which is of course, a ridiculous thing to say because I did achieve it myself. I spent a long time writing and working on something, making it good and then I published it. My work paid off because it got largely a good response. The funny thing is that if it got largely negative response, I would’ve thought that I deserved to feel like shit and I think that’s because it’s more comfortable and easy for my brain to assume that I am without worth and prosper. Happiness is unfamiliar. It feels risky and dangerous.

Perhaps, if we all embrace the happiness, we’ll then take the smooth with the rough and adjust to the serotonin levels in our body. If we don’t, then we won’t treasure happiness when we have it.

How we do that? I dunno.

Sorry.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Memento (1.1k, Dean/Cas, 15x15 ‘Gimme Shelter’ coda)

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Why did Castiel have a photo of himself in a cowboy hat? Where did he get it? Who took it, and more importantly who gave it to him?

           Cas finds it, oddly enough, on Dean’s nightstand. Wedged between the pages of an old tome left abandoned, hidden. With only its edge poking out. He pinched the visible end, pulling carefully. Slowly. As if taking it won’t interfere with Dean’s research. Cas doubts, though. A layer of dust blankets most of the cover, and treatises on variations of hex bags doesn’t seem like a book Dean reads during his spare time. Besides these obvious clues, there’s also the powerful tug of curiosity calling him forward. Siren song too tempting for such a simple bookmark.

           He frees it.

           It’s not a bookmark. It’s him.

           Tracing the edges of his profile, Cas studies the candid shot taken one, maybe two years ago. Hastily bought cowboy hat looking ridiculous paired with his everyday outfit of a suit and trench coat. Still, he kept it on. Brought this accessory home, baited into doing so, and hung it over a hook in his room. Worn only when requested.

           Not tonight. They’re watching a different movie. A murder mystery Dean found from the seventies, rented through Amazon. He promised Cas would like it. Swore there were no cowboys in this picture.

           But he hadn’t meant what Cas held in his hand, did he?

           Dean returns, Cas hearing the slight hiccup of breath he makes. Cas glances from his face, seeing how pale Dean’s become. Towel slung around his shoulders; wet hair plastered to his forehead. Sleepwear damp from him dressing while not fully dry. His lips flatten, dimples popping as lines around his eyes crinkle. “Hey.”

           “Hey,” Cas says, flicking the photo, “where’d you get this?”

           He shrugs, “Took it on my phone.”

           “When?”

           More shrugging. Dean shuffles forward, dumping his towel on a nearby pile. Waits until he’s on the other side of his bed, sitting across from Cas. Bodies turned towards each other. “Back in Tombstone,” Dean explains, “when we were filling Baby’s tank after chatting with the sheriff. You were watching that busker by the bus stop.”

           “He was really good,” Cas adds, remembering. A guitar melody echoing in his mind, haunting but beautiful. It reminded him of someone, and that’s why he stared in the busker’s direction. At least then there’d be less questions.

           Dean nods. “Anyway, I’d just paid the attendant and we could’ve left but… the sun was going down at the right time, and you looked…” His hand waves, parsing through the air for help. He gets none. “Figured I should take a picture,” he says, lamely, “I never seem to have enough of you, Cas.”

           Cas thinks about his reasoning. About how many pictures of Dean he has. On his phone, sure. In person, like what he holds? There’s barely any. Dean’s fondness for visible copies of memories warms his heart, and his thumb brushes his own cheek. “You took a great photo of me.”

           “Helps when I’ve got a good model.”

           “You had this printed, correct?” he asks, switching course. Driving off the highway before they could continue on dangerous terrain. “How?”

           “Took it to a pharmacy in town,” Dean tells him, “They got the tech, even though a lot of people don’t need it anymore. Probably the only guy who uses it, actually. The kid behind the counter knows me by name.” He chuckles, rubbing at his knee. “Were you thinking of getting some photos of your own printed?”

           “I think so, yes…” Cas smiles, “Hanging some pictures in my room might be nice, or I can always keep them in books.” An arched, pointed brow that draws further awkward laughter from Dean.

           “Yeah, I – you caught me,” he says. Dean swipes at his nose, head bowed, “I… I was going through my photos but – uh… time got away from me. Knew you’d be swinging by soon for our – our movie, hang… thing. I slid them in there to put away later, after my shower or after the – the movie.”

           “So, if I were to open this book… there’d be more pictures?” Dean won’t answer. That’s all Cas needs. He places the photo on top of its former resting place. “I think it’s about time we start that movie, don’t you?”

           “I’ll boot my laptop,” Dean says, standing. Obvious relief entwined with his tone. “You get cozy, Cas.”

           “As you wish.” The other man stills by his desk, shoulders tensing. Cas softly huffs under breath, discarding his outer layers. Princess Bride was months ago. He liked quoting it, still, whenever the occasion arose. By the time Cas slips his shoes off, Dean lay in bed. Propped by pillows, laptop on his lap. Cas climbs in next to him, legs pressed together. Socked foot against bare. “Dean?”

           “Yeah, Cas?” He worries his lip, distracted while setting up the movie. “What is it?”

           “Do you have a second copy of that picture of me?”

           Dean’s finger stills over the spacebar. His gaze darts over, peeking at Cas out the corner of his eye. “Didn’t know you were that self-absorbed Cas.”

           He elbows Dean, feigning a scowl that blossoms into a tiny grin when Dean fully faces him. Their noses inches apart, where he can feel each breath that leaves him. “It’s not that,” Cas says, “I… it’s a great picture that you took. To me, it wouldn’t be a reminder of the subject… but of the artist.”

           His skin radiates heat, temperature rising each second after Cas spoke. Dean glances at his lips, then meets Cas’s eyes again. “I don’t have to print another one out,” he says, voice a hoarse whisper, “you can keep that one.”

           “Really?”

           “Yeah,” Dean coughs, breaking their contest. Turning back towards the screen, “As you wish or… whatever.”

           Cas feels his body tip over the edge, bursting with an enormous light. Going full supernova. In the next blink, all that fire collapses in on itself and rests nicely in his stomach. A flickering candle that won’t ever fade.

           He scoots closer, throwing his leg across Dean’s. Their ankles crossed. “So,” Cas purrs, “this movie we’re watching? What’s it about?”

           “Like I told you Cas, it’s a murder mystery,” he grouses, “I’m not gonna spoil anything?”

           “Not even the setting? The characters? The name?”

           Dean relents, hissing out a few curses before revealing bits of the story. “It’s called the Last Sheila, and it…” His mind wanders, Dean’s voice lulling him safely into a comfortable state. A half-awareness. Being both in the moment and outside it. Cas looks at the scene as if he were a voyeur. Considers their positions, history, and everything else. Wonders how it would look captured through the lens of a camera.

           It’d make for an amazing photo. However, Cas is perfectly content letting the opportunity pass. Being present with Dean more important than that. They don’t have to pin every butterfly to the corkboard or trap every firefly in a glass jar. Life moves forward. Cas will have plenty of chances, enough he can fill a scrapbook.

           Right now, he and Dean are watching a movie.

           That’s all.

[the-iron-orchid]

BOOK II: THE HIGH PRIESTESS

Chapter 1: The Seer  (~2330 words)

Warnings: None

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The landscape is desolate, a place of tawny sands and little else. The sky overhead is oppressive, thick with dark, lowering clouds. Where the two meet, the slim line of the horizon pulses with a viridian glow.

My arms hold fast to Asra’s waist, the scent of his hair in my nostrils. Beneath us, I feel the loping stride of a great beast, shaggy and immense. I realize that I must be dreaming... and in dreams, I have made contact.

“Mast -” I stop and swiftly correct myself. “Asra, where are we?” I ask him. It is only then that I notice the path of shining obsidian before us, snaking ahead to the horizon - clear, and yet ever-changing, its reflection of the sky above further confusing the perception.

Asra says that we are far enough away... but for what?

For answers, he says. For clarity. He senses a terrible storm on the horizon; something is changing, and not for the better.

I am instantly reminded of what the Countess said, her dream-visions of a terrible future, which must not come to pass.

Asra tells me that soon we will reach a crossroads, a nexus, a liminal place. He says that I will make a choice, one that changes everything for me... and for others. I feel his hands over mine, squeezing very briefly. But they are trembling, just a little, and he lets go hurriedly - as if the touch might burn him, or me, if held too long.

A chill wind rises around us, bearing the sands up with it in a vortex. It blots out first the landscape, then the horizon… then everything.

The last thing I hear is Asra’s voice: “Rest now, ya albi. I'll be back soon.”

---

I awaken to late morning sunlight slanting through the small windows - rather later than I wanted to sleep, but it seems that the previous night left me exhausted. I stumble into the kitchen, yawning, and rouse the stove salamander so that I might brew a pot of strong tea. He, too, needs to use his abilities regularly, lest they cause him trouble. If I am to be out, he should have a good round of exercise first.

Over my tea and a scone that has seen better days, I consider what I should bring with me to the Palace - a change of clothing, spell components, my current journal… I’m certain that they will be able to provide me with writing instruments...

It keeps my mind off of my strange dream, and its portents. For now.

Fortified with multiple cups of tea (the scone, not especially improved by toasting, was left out on the doorstep for the pigeons), I pack my things. The bag that Heron made for me is very special - it holds much, much more than it appears to. Then I set about readying the shop for my absence. I dust down the counters, and ensure that the stove salamander has a supply of coke to consume.

I go up to the rooftop to water my plants, such as they are. Heron has a lush rooftop garden that provides us both with herbs and vegetables year-round; I have a planter box full of pretty flowering weeds. But the basil is doing very well in its bucket, and the aloe in its large bowl. There is also a forgotten bean that started to sprout, now residing comfortably in an old mug with no handle. Hopefully I won’t be gone so long that they all wither in the midsummer sun… well, the aloe will survive, I am sure.

When I come back downstairs, I must turn away a few customers, hopeful for a reading. Everyone wants to know what the future holds. 

If only I could ask the Arcana about the past, everything that came before the last three years. Three years of struggle and pain, of learning to be an adult human all over again, after whatever accident or illness took that part of me forever… for the most part. Once in a while, a dim memory will float by, like a distant iceberg on the sea of my mind. To try and grasp such memories is to invite pain and terror, and so I let them go. 

But sometimes, there are things that I know or can do which I did not learn in the last three years with Asra and Heron. I must assume that these come from Before, written so far below the surface of my mind as to escape erasure. I dance fairly well, and I sing better than that. And while Asra and Heron are always cautious in how they teach me, I very often feel that the small, shallow pool of my magic bubbles up from something much deeper, an underground ocean in the caverns of my soul.

It is a place I cannot explore, not even with the seemingly unending patience and help of my teachers. When I have tried, it leaves me bedridden for days, my body unresponsive, my mind a maelstrom of vivid hallucinations. Giants, ghosts, talking animals… a deeper dimension to my relationship with Asra, which is almost certainly wishful thinking on my part.

They tell me that my power springs from something very fundamental and dangerous, the primordial Chaos that underlies creation. By the same token, Heron’s magic springs from the primordial force of Order, and Asra’s from a direct connection to the Magical Realms that lie beyond our own. Each of us is something different, and yet the same.

They both tell me that I’m making wonderful progress, that my power and ability will continue to grow; it simply is not a linear progression. Magic grows in fits and starts and flashes of understanding. 

I hope they are right.

As the day wears on, I must be on my way to the Palace. I thoroughly lock up the shop, tracing the wards on the doors (not that this seemed to help against last night’s intruder). As I am doing this, a sudden prickle down the back of my neck causes me to start in alarm - a huge shape has materialized at my side, seemingly from nowhere.

Eldritch energy immediately crackles around my left hand, but I rein it in - they are doing nothing in particular besides looming, so large that they block my access to the side alleyway entirely. Two glinting eyes watch me from within the depths of a rough hood of furs, draped over a massive body that is crossed again and again with ropy scars. 

I clear my throat. “Er, excuse me… I need to pass through there.”

For a moment, they simply continue to look at me. Then, they shift their weight, and start moving out of the way. There is a strange muffled clanking, as of chains.

“Thank you.” I nod curtly, settle my bag on my hip, and start walking past the large figure.

“He will return. Though uninvited.” The voice is deep, so deep it’s like the thunder of a waterfall. “He will offer you an escape when you need it most. Turn him down, or you will fall into his hand… just like the rest of us.”

I pause at this apparent prognostication. A teller of fortunes, I know a seer when I hear one.

“Take this, or my warning is for nothing.”

I turn back to the person, curious. The light just barely strikes two glimmers of green from within the hood. Pinched between the huge thumb and forefinger is a little leather pouch on a thin cord. Grudgingly, it seems, the figure holds it out to me. I reach a hand out, palm up, and they drop the item into it, as if unwilling to touch.

And without a further word, they turn and shuffle away. Oddly, no-one seems to take notice of the hooded figure, despite their immense size - normally, people would be gawking, pointing even.

How odd. I scrutinize the tiny bag in my palm with my magical sight. It radiates a faint aura of protective magics. I glance up again - but the figure is gone.

The pouch is well-sealed with complex warding knots, and the leather is inscribed with a sigil. Bringing it to my nose, I smell the warm, woody scent of myrrh resin.

Philosophically, I hang the little pouch around my neck. My magical sight shows nothing malicious in it… and I can use all the protection I can muster, I’m sure.

I step into the flow of traffic and noise as I cut my way through the bustling Market, but I hear little of it; I am lost in my own thoughts. Who is the he spoken of by the seer? Julian tried to give me some warning or other about Asra… but I’m not sure I credit that. He seems to have some personal vendetta. Julian himself, perhaps? What more warning could one need about a wanted criminal?

As I climb the steps that lead into the market plaza, a black shape catches my eye - it’s a large raven, perched on one of the lines of colorful lanterns that crisscross overhead. The bird looks back at me with one beady eye, blacker than my own, then croaks and turns its head. I, too, turn my head, following its gaze.

...and my heart stumbles and skips a beat as I spot Julian Devorak, walking through the crowd as if nothing at all is amiss, his face bare to the world... and unblemished. His temple shows no bruising, no hint of a wound where last night he bled.

He hasn’t seen me yet. Half of me wants to flee, but the other half is intensely curious as to how he can walk about so freely, a fugitive from the law. And how has he healed so quickly? 

It is this second half that sends me after him. 

Unfortunately, this means I must move against traffic, and I am not large. I also don’t want to form an obvious eddy in the crowd with my movements. Devorak is making his leisurely way along the market stalls, seemingly without a care in the world. Is he looking to get caught? Wanted posters litter the city, and between his height and that profile, it’s not like he is anonymous in any way. An eyepatch only distracts so much.

The raven gives a sudden shriek, and Devorak turns, our eyes locking for a frozen moment through the crowd.

And then a cart passes between us, causing me to step back involuntarily. When it is gone… so is he, vanished as if he had never been there at all.

I pause, traffic flowing around me, and wonder at my own actions. The man is a wanted criminal, maybe even a killer. Why on earth would I put myself in danger by following him around, no matter how curious I am? Shaking my head at myself, I rejoin the foot traffic, resuming my interrupted journey.

Maybe it was Julian that the giant of earlier was warning me about.

A voice cuts through my reverie, a voice I know. It’s Selasi, the baker, whose stall Asra and I often frequent - one of the small handful of merchants who seem unfazed by us. He asks if I’ve eaten, saying that there are spiced pumpkin loaves fresh out of the oven, almost cool enough to eat. He cajoles me to sit and talk with him in the meantime.

A pot of tea isn’t enough to fuel my day. My stomach rumbles to resentful life as the scent of the spiced bread reaches my nose.

“Well… I can’t stay long,” I tell him. “But I am starving!”

Selasi laughs and waves me to the back of the booth, where I seat myself up against the sun-warmed wall of the building behind.  An enormous orange fluff of a cat appears from under a table, and rubs itself against my side. Absently, I scratch it between the ears.

The baker offers me a steaming cup of tea, asking after Asra. 

“Oh, out on a journey again.”

“Of course! Where to this time?”

“I… don’t know, actually. He didn’t say.”

Selasi frowns slightly. “Really?”

“It seemed really important. Maybe it’s a secret.” I shrug, sipping my mint tea.

The baker folds his arms and shakes his head with a sigh. “Nothing new, I guess. Your Asra on a mysterious journey, that is. But what about you?”

I lift my brows. My Asra, indeed. “What about me?”

He grins widely. “They say that the Countess’s own carriage was spotted here in Center City, late in the night. You can’t miss it, not with all the escorts on horseback. Circling around not far from your shop, even.”

I do my best to cover over my surprise. Selasi loves gossip as much as he loves to bake, and maybe even more. It’s harmless, but I don’t know that the Countess wants her business all over the market.

“Really? I wonder what she was after?” My stomach chooses that moment to let out a long growl, and I laugh. “Me, I’m just after pumpkin bread. I’m a simple creature.”

Selasi laughs, throwing his head back. “Keep your secrets, then, just like your master.” He shakes his head and pulls a fresh loaf from the cooling racks. “One hot for now, and one cool for the road?” he asks, and I nod, giving the cat one last pat before rising and placing my empty cup aside.

Selasi wraps the loaves for me, and I hand over my coin. I place the cooled one into my endless bag before taking a big bite out of the warm loaf. The outer crust has a pleasing bite to it, the inside soft and fluffy, the spices fragrant. “Mmph! Delicioush azh alwayzh! ’ll zhee you lader!” I say around the mouthful of pumpkin bread, waving as I exit the booth.

“Don’t keep the Countess waiting!” he says, almost making me choke on my bite of bread.

I suppose it’s true what they say… the only thing that travels faster than magic is gossip.