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emberfrostlovesloki · 5 months

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Ultracrepidarian [Spencer x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@virginmary2008) Center (@reidobsessed) Right (@quillnote)

Prompt: When the BAU-reader nearly faints while giving a lecture to the NAT trainees, Spencer finally can’t hold back how he really feels about her as he drives her home.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: hurt/angst/comfort

Word Count: 15K

Content Warnings: Light drinking, canon typical violence (unsub kills via acid [description of bodies after death] mention of bodies being cut into), the threat of violence [reader and Spencer] and physical assault [reader and a random woman], drugging [reader], ERs, broken bones, language, and prolonged pain. If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: Good evening, loves! It’s the first fic of January and it’s with the cutest, Spencer! I’ve had this idea since I learned the word ultracrepidarian, and I could totally see him saying it to someone. This is a slow burn until the very end. I tried my best to build up the suspense and tension between the reader and Reid, and I hope you enjoy the payout at the end. As always, thank you to my lovely readers who interact with my work. I hope the new year is treating you well. If you do enjoy this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Have a great rest of your week! Love Levi - ❤️

List wil all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_c/t_ = coffee or tea

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_y/c/y_’s = your color eyes

__y/f/f/f_ = your favorite fast food

_y/f/f/g/m_ = your favorite feel good movie

_y/l/p_ = your local pharmacy

“Ultracrepidarian,” Spencer said aloud while looking over the draft of the lecture _y/n_ was due to give tomorrow to the fresh batch of N.A.T. trainees. Agent _y/l/n_ looked up and said, “My lecture is what now?” _y/n_ had never heard the word before in her life. She wasn’t sure she could even say it right if it was written on paper. Spencer looked up from his notes and repeated, “Ultracrepidarian. What I’m trying to say is that you’re trying to sound smart, but I don’t think it’s helping your point.” _y/n_ sighed and said, “I am trying to sound smart. That’s the point. Why would two hundred new agents just coming back from their holiday break want to listen to me talk about how to do their case exercises? Derek was supposed to be the one giving this lecture anyway. Why’d he ask me and not Hotch or you? I’m so new to this I feel like I was just in those trainings myself.” Hotch, who had overheard the conversation as he was passing up to his office offered, “Morgan asked you because he saw you as the best fit for the job. If he’d wanted me or Spencer, he would have asked, but he asked you for a reason, _y/n_. You’ll do a fine job.” Aaron’s words of affirmation sent a moment of comfort _y/n_’s way, but the copious annotations Reid was making on her draft had her stomach tighten again. Three days prior, during one of the long, boring paperwork-filled days in the office, Morgan had gotten a call at his desk. He’d looked at the phone with a serious expression before picking up and walking outside of the bullpen just as he left, _y/n_ had heard him say, “What is it, Sarah?” A half-hour later, he’d come back in the room looking even more serious than before. The strong agent moved to the stairs and took them three at a time before stopping at Hotch’s door. The man knocked once and then entered the glowing office. There had been another half-hour conversation before Morgan appeared again. This time he moved and found Spencer and Emily. They chatted in hushed whispers for a few seconds before getting the important stuff on his desk and then heading out the door and toward the elevator. _y/n_ watched all of this with veiled interest. She knew that there was an unstated rule about profiling each other, and she was so new to the team that she didn’t want to make assumptions about what was going on.

_y/n_ didn’t have to wait long as she caught Emily speaking with Penelope in the breakroom as they were grabbing their lunches from the fridge. _y/n_ overheard a snippet of the conversation, “Yeah, it sounded serious this time. Especially if he has to fly up there. I hope it turns out okay.” _y/n_, who was preparing some _c/t_ was about to ask if she could join the conversation, but was cut off by JJ, who popped her head in the room, and said, “Hotch just called us to the conference room. New case.” Just after JJ finished speaking, the timer on the microwave dinged. Emily let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Why is there always a new case when my food is finished? Can’t these unsubs wait a half hour?” That had everyone in the room chuckle, and as Garcia and Prentiss moved their food back into the fridge, the trio of agents moved up the stairs, the liaison stated, “Given how gross this case is, Emily, I think you’ll thank Aaron for not giving you the time to eat before you see the photos.” That had everyone sober as they moved into the conference room. The team sat while Aaron and JJ set up. Hotch spoke first, and he addressed that someone important was missing. The leader of the BAU cleared his throat and said, “As most of you know, Derek won’t be joining us for this case. He had something personal come up in Chicago, and I’m not sure when he’ll be coming back. However, I have confidence that we can work as efficiently as we always do, even if a member isn’t here.” Everyone nodded. Each of them knew that things happened. They had with Gideon at the end of last year. That had been a difficult transition for all of them. But with Rossi returning to the BAU, things had settled. There was more of a reassurance with Morgan. He was coming back. With Gideon, it had been like waiting for the other show to drop. And when it had, it wasn’t pretty. Aaron began jumping into the specifics of the case, with JJ adding details about the four victims so far. The college-age men and women who had been killed were unrecognizable. The use of hydrochloric acid via syringe into the carotid artery was a terrible, terrible way to die. The tissue and skin had been eaten away by the acid, exposing gaping holes in the bodies of the deceased. There also seemed to be signs of assault on the bodies that proceeded the killings. Lastly, The slogan for Yale, which all of the victims attended, was carved into their backs and read “Lux et Veritas.” If one thing was for sure, this was a crime of passion, and whoever or whatever was getting in the way of the killer ended up looking less human and more like an over-the-top dummy from a James Wan horror film. Unsettled, JJ gave the rest of the brief and told them they could find more in their files. After a few minutes of silent reading, Hotch said, as he always did, “Wheels up in thirty. We don’t know what’s causing the unsub to strike, but they’re organized, so the quicker we get to Connecticut, the sooner we can ensure it doesn’t happen again.

On the plane, Spencer drank his supersaturated sugar-filled coffee next to _y/n_. He kept bouncing his knee up and down in a way that _y/n_ understood to be excitement. Of course, no one on the team would voice that thought, but bizarre cases brought a set of challenges that others didn’t. They forced the team to think on their feet and move on instinct. _y/n_ looked over the Spence, realizing he was bottling up energy that he usually didn't at the start of cases. _y/n_ then understood that it was the absence of Derek that had caused the change. Normally Spence and his best friend would be bantering and tossing ideas between them. Morgan would tease Reid for the size and scope of this knowledge. _y/n_ missed the animated talking, so she initiated it herself, asking, “So, why hydrochloric acid? Is that stuff easy to get your hands on? And why all Yale students? There has got to be a connection between them, right?” This offering had Spencer off to the races, with his first comment being, “Buying that kind of acid isn’t as hard as you think. And, if you're a chemistry student or in the hard sciences, you might work with it weekly. As for the student connection, it’s possible, but there might be lots of other factors that we don’t know yet. Maybe they were in the same cohort during orientation, or maybe the unsub picked them at random. The threads tying this all together seem disparate. I hope once we’re on campus and I’ve seen a crime scene, I’ll have a better idea.” _y/n_ nodded along. Just hearing Spencer hypothesize felt special. Spencer was the closest to _y/n_ in age, and they’d bonded over that early on. _y/n_ respected everyone else on the team a great deal, but with Reid, she felt like she could relax. She wouldn’t be judged for being young or relatively naivete in this job. She always looked to him for advice. They’d slowly gotten to know each other because they spent the most time together on cases and in the bullpen. Derek had even started teasing Reid about when he was going to ask _y/n_ out. Overhearing that conversation had _y/n_ turn back the way she came in an instant. That didn’t stop Morgan from seeing how flustered _y/n_ was or how flushed Spencer's face had become. As _y/n_ reflected on that moment, she noticed with a small smile, that Reid’s leg had stopped moving. Now that he was in the thick of conversation, with his mouth struggling to keep up with his train of thought, he didn’t need to let out his anxious energy in such a physical way. _y/n_ smiled at the fact, and she leaned in a little closer to try and catch all that her teammate was saying.

When the jet landed, Hotch made quick introductions to the campus police and then split the BAU into separate groups. Aaron wanted Reid with him as he was the most familiar with the Ivy League system, and he thought it might be helpful while speaking to the President of the university. Meanwhile, _y/n_ and Rossi would check out the first two dorms where the bodies of Charles Talbot and Shauna Mann had been found by roommates who were now in shock. JJ and Emily were going to speak with the UPD for a while longer to see if they could get some useful information out of them before JJ would work on a response for the students, faculty, and staff, and Prentiss went and surveyed the campus. It was near midterms, and although four students were dead and memorials were being held, most of the students didn’t seem to care. They were so absorbed in their studies and tests that the murders seemed to flow off their backs like water on a duck.

That evening, after an unproductive day, in Spencer’s room, he and _y/n_ looked over the new evidence. _y/n asked him, “Hey, is it that cutthroat in a school like this that the students aren’t worried about what’s happened? Certainly, they must value their lives more than some test?” Reid looked up from his notepad and sighed. He didn’t want to sound annoying, but he knew that _y/n_ listened to him with an understanding that he didn’t get from everyone. His brain and inability to seem to form strong connections often had him feeling left out. Not on the team, or even in his daily life, but he remembered how it had felt to be so isolated and different. In his high school years, he’d cured his brain for its ability, but he also knew it was the only way out of his life. It was half-blessing, half-curse. _y/n_ tipped her head slightly. She could sense him thinking, and it was rare for Spencer to not voice his thoughts. It was so natural for him. However, there was a pause, before Reid said, “I couldn’t tell you _y/n_. College was so easy for me that it just felt like a breeze. But for normal people? I don’t. I don’t know.” _y/n_ felt a tug at this choice of words. “Normal people.” Not that it was condemning them. It was condemning himself as an unnatural person. Agent _y/l/n_ had heard Spencer do this a few times when he was stressed or out of his comfort zone. He’d ostracize himself. Sometimes it took the form of a joke, and other times, it was self-deprecating humor, like when he’d said, “Well, I can recite The Decameron in the original Latin, but I haven’t been on a date in a year, so I guess I’m the lucky one in this situation.” _y/n_ knew that Reid did it to himself as a self-comforting gesture, but some people, even in the office, had almost openly ridiculed his intelligence. It made _y/n_ so angry. Bullying was for high schoolers, not adults. And if the people who had made Reid feel othered only understood what a help he was on cases and to her as a friend, she knew they’d shut the fuck up real quick. _y/n_ looked down at the gory picture in her hand. Softly she said, “We’re all human, Spencer. Even this unsub is human. We just have different abilities, different things we’ve been through.” _y/n_ didn’t want to look up at him. She wasn’t sure it was what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t what Reid had expected, and without even thinking about it, he replied, “At least you’re a human with friends.”

This had _y/n_ look up with surprise. She hadn’t expected what she thought to be words of comfort to end his him saying something like that. _y/n_ took in Spencer’s expression. Even he seemed shocked or ashamed at letting that inside thought out. Gently, _y/n_ placed a hand on his crossed knee and said, with as much sincerity as she could muster, “You have friends, Spencer. You have me, Derek, and Garcia. You have the whole team. And what about your chess club? You don’t have to be adrift out there if you don’t want to be.” It was the best she could think of on the spot. As she said it, Spencer seemed to relax. He knew he got in his head. That he kept things in that he shouldn’t, but hearing _y/n_ validate him had him give her a small smile. She was so reassuring to him. Often, he wasn’t sure why. People didn’t generally choose to be in his life, but _y/n_ had gone beyond being just a colleague, and now and then, he felt the tug of what was adjacent to affection and love when he was around her. Spencer hadn’t felt that in a long time, and he shied away from it whenever it bubbled uncomfortably close to the surface. Spencer felt it now in his chest and stomach. He kept it inside like so much else in his life. Instead of addressing his feelings, he said, “I appreciate you reminding me of that _y/n_. You’re a good friend to me.” _y/n_ beamed at him and said, “You got it, Spence. I’ll remind you anytime you need.” Seeing _y/n_’s smile had Reid flushed, and he pulled a victim’s picture in front of him to distract himself. He couldn’t let his feelings get the best of him. Especially not on a case. Thankfully, his strategy worked, and he regained his composure. _y/n_ and he spent most of the night trying and testing theories and possibilities on the other. Even though nothing massive had happened, there seemed to be a shift in the air, pulling them closer together, in unknowable ways. When _y/n_ got back to her motel room, she got a call from Derek. The one where he asked her to speak from him, and _y/n_ said yes because it was a privilege that she didn’t fully understand. Morgan encouraged her and said that she could call him if she needed help. With that, Morgan hung up the phone, leaving _y/n_ excited about the possibility yet nervous at the prospect of speaking to so many people.

The next day, a new body was found in Harkness Hall. The building was cleared of students, and the team spent the morning looking over the place from top to bottom. None of the students seemed to see anything odd, which could mean that the unsub had to live in the building and come in so late that everyone was asleep on that floor. This time, however, the killer had made an error. They had left traces behind, like hair and some dark flecks of navy paint that looked pretty distinct. It became clear to the team that the unsub was losing control of their anger as this victim, Bobby Ashten, hadn’t been injected with the acid but doused in it instead. There were also traces of formaldehyde in the mix. Why the added substance, no one could say yet. The sight and smell were so bad that the coroner and the police had to step out a few times to stop themselves from vomiting and contaminating the crime scene. It took a long time for the evidence to be bagged and tagged. Halfway through the process, a member of the UPD informed Aaron that the victim’s girlfriend, who was in hysterics, was outside demanding to come in. Hotch sent _y/n_ and JJ to try and calm the girl down and get a statement if it felt appropriate. If not, then get her to a counselor and get her contact information for later. JJ and _y/n_ took a deep breath once they were outside. They stripped their faces of the N-95 masks and latex gloves. They both felt relief from being outside of that room and building. The sun swept over the two agents, as they walked toward the young woman who was still crying. Kitty looked up at the approaching agents. Kitty’s face was streaked with tears. JJ moved forward first and said, “Hey, Ms. Kincade. My name’s Jennifer Jareau. I’m with the FBI. Agent _y/n_ and I are here to see how you’re doing. I’m afraid we can’t let you in to see your boyfriend, but we want to let you know that we’re here for you and that we’re doing everything we can to catch the guy who did this to Bobby.” Kitty sniffled, and her sadness seemed to turn to rage as she said, “It’s not a guy. It’s that crazy ex-girlfriend of Bob’s - Jenni. I told him to stop hanging out with her. She was like five years older than him, and it was gross. I fucking told him, but did he listen to me? No. He never listens to me. I kept inviting her to hangouts and parties and everything, and then, Jen ingratiated herself into his life so much that I couldn’t get her out. I know I shouldn’t have slept with Bobby when he was still dating her, but he was miserable. I thought I was doing him a favor. Look what good it did me. He’s fucking dead now.” Kitty burst into tears again, and JJ moved forward to embrace her.

As the media liaison hugged the grieving girl, JJ could feel _y/n_ thinking a mile a minute behind her. J knew that _y/n_ was as quick-witted as Spencer, just not as talkative. After a moment, _y/n_ asked gently, “Did you talk to Bobby every day? Did Jenni talk or text to him?” Kincade nodded and said, “I was always texting him. He never left me unread. That’s why I knew something was wrong last night. He didn’t text back for two hours, and he knows I hated that.” _y/n_ nodded. As cruel as it sounded in a moment like this, Kitty came across as insecure. Her clothing, demeanor, and intonation told _y/n_ that Kitty needed Mr. Drew for support and validation. _y/n_ got it. She’d felt the same way before herself when she was younger. However, the teary-eyed student hadn’t answered her second question, and _y/n_ gently prodded, “And did Jenni talk to Bob a lot? Did you ever feel like she was trying to get back together with him?” The anger was back in _y/n_’s face as she straightened up and out of JJ’s embrace. Kitty clenched her jaw before saying, “Hell yes she did. She texted him almost as much as I did. She acted like she was still his fucking girlfriend and not me. And they saw each other consistently too. They’re both in the nursing program and it’s brutal work. He relied on her to study with. She’s a TA and all so she could help him out. I know I’m not one to judge, I’m just a journalism major, but Bob procrastinated everything and I think he thought he could go to her and get all the answers. I told him not to, but like I said, he never listened to me.” _y/n_ nodded and said, “I’m sorry to hear that he put you through that, and I’m sorry for your loss.” Kitty nodded, seeming to have calmed down from her hyper-emotional state. _y/n_ just needed to ask two more questions before she could let JJ continue her comfort and tell Kitty everything she needed to know. _y/n_ cleared her throat and said, “Kitty, just a few more things and I’ll let you talk to Ms. Jareau., “First, what’s Jenni’s last name, and do you know where Bobby was before he stopped texting you?” The student seemed to swallow back bile as she said, “Jenni, Jenni Foster. And Bobby was with her. He was supposed to have a big anatomy test today and they both went to the cadaver lab together. I wasn’t cool with it, but Bob promised me he’d be back by midnight.” _y/n_ nodded empathetically and said, “I’m sure he wanted to get back to you, Kitty. I know he would have if he could.” _y/n_ looked over to JJ and the media liaison nodded, knowing that _y/n_ had a lot to relay to the team. With JJ’s gentle nod, _y/n_ walked out past Kitty’s eyesight. Once this was the case, she sprinted back into the building. _y/n_ beeped into the dorm with her temporary ID and rushed to the elevator. As the metal box opened with a ding, _y/n_ pressed for floor fifteen. _y/n_ couldn’t be sure that Jenni Foster was the unsub, but something inside _y/n_ shot a pang of dread through her At least this was another lead if nothing else. Just outside the elevator to the floor of the crime scene. _y/n_ slipped on some latex gloves and a new mask.

As soon as _y/n_ entered the room Aaron’s eyes turned to her. Through his mask, Hotch asked, “Any leads?” Hotch sounded as desperate as she had felt for an excuse to get out of the newest crime scene. _y/n_ nodded, catching his drift. She replied, “I’ve got a possible unsub, Jenni Foster, and a possible location for the last death.” Hearing this, everyone seemed to relax. It meant a chance to get out of the dorm. Hotch thought for a second and said, “Alright, Emily and I will try and find Ms. Foster, _y/n_ and Spencer, go to the last known location of the victim.” Aaron turned to look at Rossi, trying to give him an option for escape. David had already thought of what he could do and replied, “I can go and inform the president and the chief of the UPD, and I’ll call Garcia to see what she can dig up on Foster.” Hotch nodded and said, “Alright. Hopefully, this will give us some much-needed answers.” The team rode the elevator down to the ground floor. Aaron and Em moved toward the parked SUV in one of the reserved faculty spots, and Spencer asked, “Fill me in on what Kitty said.” _y/n_ took his elbow, as Reid tried to move up campus and not toward the School of Medicine. Spencer followed her lead, realizing he had no idea where they were headed. As the duo descended the stairs, _y/n_ replied, “Kitty said that Bobby had an ex-girlfriend who might have taken things to a bit of an extreme. Apparently, they were both in the nursing program and Bobby relied a lot on her for help even after she’d broken up with him.” Hearing this, Spencer cringed. He might not be the best at reading emotions, but he knew that was a no-go. Reid looked over at _y/n_, as they moved toward the south side of campus. He asked, “Are we sure, Kitty’s not the person we’re looking for?” _y/n_ shook her head and said, “It’s always a possibility, but she seemed pretty dependent on Bobby. I don’t know why she’d want to kill him. He cheated on Jenni with her and then left Jenni for Kitty. That’s why I think it’s Ms. Foster. We were saying that this was a crime of passion. What’s more passionate than a cheating boyfriend? Plus, Jenni and Bobby were in the cadaver lab last night, allegedly studying for a test. It feels like a little too much of a coincidence for it to just be nothing.” Spence nodded in agreement. Now that he knew where they were headed, he said, “You know we’re all susceptible to crimes of passion. Fifteen percent more than other crimes. Factor in the young age of college students brains not being fully developed, I’m surprised that we don’t see more issues on college campuses.” _y/n_ stopped Reid as he reached for the door and said, “Should we get UPD to come with us? What if Jenni’s here and does something drastic?” Reid pondered the question and said, “I doubt she’d go back to the scene so soon. We don’t even know if this is the scene. It’s a big plot point in mystery novels that killers go back to the site because no one would expect that, but it rarely happens. Generally, criminals are too concerned that they’ll be found or act strangely and then be suspected. Let’s just be on the lookout.” _y/n_ nodded and they moved into the building that held the cadavers of the Yale School of Medicine.

Inside the cool, sleek building, _y/n_ and Spencer went up to the department office and flashed their badges. The student worker grabbed the head of the department. After a minute of waiting in the office, a sharply dressed woman came out, shook both of their hands and said, “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Peters, Dean of Yale Medical School.” The woman extended a hand to both agents and ushered them into her office. Nobody sat and there was an air of tension in the room. Spencer took the lead on the conversation as the agent with the most experience. Reid stated, “If we can, Agent _y//l/n_ and I would like to see the cadaver lab. We have reason to believe that it might have been the last known location of Bobby Ashten. We understand that he was a student of the program.” When the words registered, Dr. Peter’s face shifted from one of discomfort to anger. She stated, “Well I’m sure that’s not possible. All of our students are highly vetted before entry into the program.” Reid and _y/n_ noticed the shift in tone and Spencer said, “It’s possible that it’s not a student on the school that ended up attacking Mr. Ashten, we just got a tip that his last known location was the cadaver lab last night. Could you tell us who has access to that space?” Peters seemed to calm slightly as Spencer noted that the unsub might not be a part of the department. _y/n_ gave him a little nod at de-escalating the situation. After a brief silence, the dean replied, “Access to that lab is granted to instructors and TAs only. The bodies are taken out for class demonstrations. There’s a sign-in sheet at the door on the third floor. Those who deal with the bodies have special qualifications. If someone did allow a student in there it would be highly unethical.” Now _y/n_ jumped in and said, “Yes, it would be. Dr. Reid and I are just trying to be thorough and precise like the department has to be with its students and protocols. I know you’d rather have this looked at and cleared up now instead of waiting till later in the year.” Peters nodded with some hesitation and said, “Fine, take a look at the lab. I’ll send a TA down to let you in, just follow their instructions to a tee.” Both Spencer and _y/n_ nodded in agreement. Dr. Peters called for a TA to wait by the cadaver lab. After this, she ushered them back into the main office and told the student worker behind the desk, “Please escort our guests to Lab 308. Answer any questions they might have.” Just as the trio was about to leave, Peters said, “And Agents, if you should need any help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask me personally.” The Spencer and _y/n_ thanked her and shook her hand before being led out by the student worker.

Neither agent spoke much as they made their way to the third-floor lab. The student worker seemed to be giving an informal tour like she had been told to show off the department and its most prestigious alumni and features. To not make it awkward for the woman, _y/n_ or Spencer would comment or ask a relevant question to fill in the silence. Finally, they made it to the third floor and lab 308. The student halted and said, “This is Barry Whitehouse, one of our second-year TAs. He’ll let you into the lab and tell you all of the protocols.” With that, the young woman walked with urgency away from the group. _y/n_ looked at Spencer for a second, and they had a silent conversation. They both knew they were being watched and monitored. _y/n_ took the lead on this conversation, as the TA was looking at her with an expression that said he liked what he saw. Even though it made her skin crawl, _y/n_ extended a hand, saying, “Agent _y/n_. It’s nice to meet you.” _y/n_ even went as far as moving her free hand to flip her jacket to the side so Barry could see her badge. The man’s eyes were wide with awe like he’d stumbled across the fountain of youth and not some newbie FBI agent. _y/n_ had to stop herself from laughing. She hid the sound as a cough and quickly pulled her hand back from Mr. Whitehouse’s. _y/n_ pointed to Spencer and said, “And this is my partner, Dr. Reid.” Spence raised a hand in a half gesture of welcome. Barry frowned back at him. Sensing the tension, _y/n_ diverted the attention back to herself. In a voice laced with faux honey, she said, “So, we kinda need to get in the lab. Can you tell us what we need to know before going in there?” Barry’s attention snapped back to her, and he said, “Oh, yeah,” like he’d forgotten why he’d been called down from his office in the first place. The man cleared his throat and said, “Well it’s pretty basic stuff, wear gloves at all times, keep your hair back. You can pull the bodies out unless there’s red tape on the handle of the gurney. Looking is fine, but in no way are you to touch the bodies. No photography of any kind unless you have a warrant and lastly, you both need to sign the log at the door.” _y/n_ sent him another fake smile and led Spencer to the door before Barry could say anything else. She tossed gloves at Spencer while she signed the logbook. _y/n_ pulled her gloves over her hands and stepped into the lab after Reid. Barry seemed too shocked to state that he should go in with them to make sure they followed the department's standard procedure.

Inside the sterile lab where the dead mingled with the living, _y/n_ and Spencer both slumped back against the wall. It felt like hours since they had been alone to just talk and run ideas around like they normally did on a crime scene. They both took a moment to compose themselves while they looked around the space. _y/n_ looked at the dead bodies and said, “Dr. Peters was so passive-aggressive. Good job on talking her down. What was that with he offering to help us at the end?” Spencer who was looking in the cabinets and drawers said, “It's all about funding and reputation at these schools. She was probably offended at the insinuation that something like what happened to Bobby did in her department, but in the end, it would look even worse if she seemed to be interfering in the investigation. Thus the change in tone.” Spencer took a breath and said, “And good on you for distracting Mr. TA out there.” For some reason _y/n_ heard a hint of jealousy in Reid’s words, but she didn’t read into it. Instead, she just said, “That was light work. I have a way of getting people flustered no matter what I do. But I think we won’t be alone for long. Barry will probably be in here in a minute or two.” Spencer bit his lip, as he looked around for a second and stated, “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.” _y/n_ looked at him dumbfounded and asked, “Why? We’ve only been in here for a few minutes and Jenni’s name was on the log outside. She was the last person in here.” Spencer’s sharp eyes caught _y/n_’s and he said, “Well, they might have been in here, but not for long. For one there’s no blue paint on any of these walls, and we found that on the body. And secondly,” Spence paused as if for dramatic effect, “There’s no formaldehyde. There is hydrochloric acid in the cabinets, but why keep the two separate if they were found together on Bobby?” _y/n_ pondered the puzzle and said, “It doesn’t make any sense. Not with the paint and the chemicals. This building is brand spanking new. The student worker told us.” Spencer nodded and said, “Exactly, and a brand new building means an old abandoned one as well.” As _y/n_ looked at Reid, he had the excited look of having a new idea look on his face. When he held the door open for _y/n_, she didn’t question his logic. She didn’t have time to try and read him as he followed after her out the door.

Barry looked startled at their sudden reappearance. Reid approached the man and said, “Do you have a key to the old medical building down the hill and across the street? The one that’s set to be demolished at the end of the term?” The TA mumbled, “Well yes, but no one goes in there but staff now. There’s still some stuff that needs to be transferred over to this building. That place is a dump, really. It should be torn down.” Spencer nodded along and said, “Can I borrow your key? Just for an hour, I swear it could be important to the investigation. Don’t you want to help stop what’s been happening on campus?” Mr. Whitehouse looked uncertain and then moved his half-scared eyes to _y/n_’s _y/c/y/_’s ones. _y/n_ gave him a reassuring smile and the man took off his lanyard from his neck. Barry unclipped an old-looking key from his carabiner and instead of handing it to Spencer, brushed past the genius and placed it in _y/n_’s outstretched palm instead. _y/n_ thanked him, and as she moved to leave the new shiny building, she said, “Thanks, Barry. Hey, say, where’s the cadaver lab in the old building?” The TA replied softly, “The basement I think, G02.” Before the man could get another word in edgewise, _y/n_ and Spencer were darting out of the building and down the hill toward the old side of campus. As they half-jogged toward the new space with anticipation, _y/n_ asked, “How did you know about the old building? It wasn’t on any maps of campus that I saw.” Spencer replied as they moved across a busy street, “I noticed it in the newsletter outside yesterday when I was looking around. Something about an old building on campus being demolished soon. So I asked Garcia about it and she sent me the information. As soon as I heard it was the old school of medicine it piqued my interest.” _y/n_ looked at him bewildered with how smart Dr. Reid was. However, she didn’t have time to comment on it as she reached the door of the dilapidated building that was soon to be torn down. The outside facade read: Yale School of Medicine” in fading letters. From the outside, it looked like there was no working electricity inside. The thought of going in there sent a cold chill up her spine. Spencer seemed ready to go, and _y/n_ handed him the key saying, “I’m just going to shoot The team a text letting him know where we are. I don’t trust that texts will get out once we’re in there.” Reid nodded and replied, “Good idea,” as he slipped the key into the lock. _y/n_ shot off the message as she followed Spence’s hurried steps inside. Once the door was closed behind them, _y/n_ felt like the world had closed off behind her. The air was stale and foul. Even just a few steps from the door the light seemed to fade dimmer and dimmer. Spencer stopped at a directory and emergency map of the building's layout. _y/n_ flashed her phone’s flashlight on the map and Spence traced the path to the old cadaver lab in the basement.

The idea of going into the bowels of the building had _y/n_ on edge, but she wasn’t going to let Spencer go alone. Reid looked at her and swallowed. _y/n_ could see he was nervous too and said, “Keep on the lookout.” With that, as if to still his fear, Spencer moved to the end of the long hallway and down the stairs to the basement level of the building. They both had their phone flashlights out trying to light the gloomy space. The silence and darkness was oppressive. Neither _y/n_ nor Reid wanted to talk as they pierced the dark. Even small sounds of the air conditioning or mice in the air vents had both of the agents spooked. _y/n_ remembered how the pictures of the bodies reminded her of a horror movie, and this was no different. She didn’t want to think of dying in a place like this. It was too awful to imagine. Although the building wasn’t that old, the bottom floor seemed more disused and old than the first floor. It felt like something out of a bad dream. The floors were dusty and the paint was peeling from humidity that had probably sprouted mold. Slowly they made it to the old lab. The door opened with a terrible squeak, letting anyone in the basement know that they were there. Unfortunately for them, the person whom Spencer hadn’t expected to see was waiting for them on the other side of the door. Just as Reid stepped into the tomb-like room, he was hit on the head with a metal tray. The lean agent stumbled back into _y/n_ who dropped her phone. Right as Spence moaned in pain, a set of strong hands pushed _y/n_ back into the far wall. _y/n_ clawed at her assailant, but it did no good, she got the same metal tray to the head that had incapacitated Spencer. The feeling of a cold needle inserted into _y/n_’s arm stilled her movements entirely.

_y/n_ woke up to her head spinning. There was a light bulb somewhere above her, but it seemed to be swimming in the air. Its apparent swinging motion made _y/n_ feel sick to her stomach. Everything seemed so bright and dark at the same time. _y/n_ bit back any painful sound or bile from rising in her mouth. After a few minutes, _y/n_ could see more clearly. _y/n_ assessed the situation and realized that she was strapped to a metal chair. Her arms and legs were strapped to her sides and legs to that of the chairs' metal legs. _y/n_ lolled her head to the side and noticed Spencer similarly strapped to a metal table. His arms and legs were held tight by restraints. His shirt had been removed and _y/n_ wanted to look away to respect his privacy. _y/n_ also wanted to ask if he was okay. If anything had happened to him yet. _y/n_’s desire was cut short as a young woman moved into the stark space. _y/n_ now noticed the chipping navy paint, and she realized that this must be where the murders had taken place. _y/n_ took a breath and the woman standing in front of them said, “You’re finally awake. Good. I took your badges and guns. You won’t need them now. When I’m finished with you both you won’t be recognizable anyway. Did you think you were going to catch me down here? On my turf?” Jenni sounded cocky like she had her system down to a T. Spencer took a labored breath and said, “What, what do you plan on doing with us?” There was just a hint of fear in his voice. _y/n_ understood it. He was the one strapped up and disrobed, not her. Jenni gave a cold laugh and said, “I’m gonna cut you up of course. Put the motto of this fucking school on your back and then show that bitch Kitty just how wrong she is by making you as fucking ugly as that bastard you left me for a good-for-nothing whore in sophomore year. I gave him everything. And how does he repay me? By cheating on a dumb blonde that can’t even pass a biology test.” The weight of Jenni’s delusion and obsessiveness sat with _y/n_ as she watched the woman pull a glinting scalpel from a rotten drawer in the room and approach Spencer. It seemed she transferred her anger at being cheated onto her victims. And they were her latest. For one moment _y/n_ wanted to thrash and scream and close her eyes to everything around her. This didn’t feel fair. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for when she joined the BAU. It felt like being pushed into the lockers in high school for something she hadn’t done. And then it clicked. All of this, was so, so very high school, and if she could lean into that, maybe, just maybe she could buy time. Without even thinking, _y/n_ said, “Are you really so insecure that you had to kill other people too? Why not just Bobby and Kitty? They were the ones that fucked you over, right?” _y/n_’s statement had Jenni turn on her heel. A rage filled her face, turning it red as she retorted, “Well that wouldn’t be any fun now, would it? I could just kill them, but watching them suffer was so much better. I got rid of Bobby’s friends first, and he came crawling to me for support, not his little bitch. He never knew until it was too late, bless him. Then seeing Kitty’s face this morning when she found out he was dead, I could have framed it and put it on my mantle. I might still actually.” There was s tense silence before Jenni said, “But you’re just trying to distract me. I’m going to do your friend's first agent _y/l/n_ and then I’m going to do you, and I’ll make you watch just so you know what’s going to happen to you in a few minutes.” _y/n_ struggled against the zip ties that were holding her down, as she attempted to think of anything to stop Jenni from carving into the skin of Spencer’s back. Jenni started saying, “Lux et Veritas” over and over again as if steeling herself for what she was about to do. “This is about spite and insecurity,” _y/n_’s brain whispered to her. And did _y/n_ know a thing or two about insecurity?

The words came unbidden, and _y/n_ said, “You know for a killer you’re really stupid. Dr. Reid didn’t go to Yale, he went to Stanford. But I guess you didn’t do your research huh Like you didn’t notice those bottles of formaldehyde over on the counter over there. So unless you’re ready to cut Die Luft der Freiheit Weht into Dr. Reid here, I think you’re shit out of luck. Just like you were in getting Bobby back..” Those words had the effect _y/n_ wanted on Jenni, but the outpouring of anger streaming from the woman with the knife left _y/n_ speechless for a moment as Jenni turned to face her. The unsub said, “Look at you fucking smart ass. What if I fixed your face before I end your partner? I could cut out your tongue and you wouldn’t be able to make any more smart quips. I bet you were always the center of attention. Well, no one will look at or hear you when I’m done. Of course, I’m saying that hypothetically. You’ll both be dead when I’m finished with you.” Jenni swiped the knife right in front of _y/n_’s face and the agent felt the blade just gash her brow. The wound could have been much, much worse. And _y/n_ expected it to be as Jenni stepped closer and said, “Now hold still and it won’t be so bad for you. I promise. I’ve done this loads of times. Except those were dead people and you’re not. So just act dead for a few minutes.” _y/n_ flinched and closed her eyes. Trying to picture anything that might comfort her and not what was actually happening. Perhaps her plans of distracting Foster from hurting Spencer had worked too well. But as _y/n_ reflected in a split second, _y/n_ realized it would be all worth it if he didn’t get hurt. Dr. Reid had a similar line of thought and said, “You hate cheaters, right Jenni? You don’t care about some girl who makes you feel othered. Your real issue is with people who betray those they claim to love. Well if you’re looking for someone to punish it’s me. I’m that guy. I can’t keep a girlfriend even though I’ve had plenty. They just grow stale to me. I’m never happy. Don’t blame _y/n_ for that. She’s always stood by me as I threw her feelings in her face time and time again.” Reid’s comments threw Jenni for a loop and she kept rocking back and forth not knowing who to get first. Who had done the worst thing in her mind? Even though _y/n_ had gawked at Spence’s statement, she caught on quickly to his strategy. First, he’d never had a girlfriend that she knew about, and second, he’d never, ever told her that he was interested in her, even though she was interested in him. And that was the game. Lie to Jenni, and keep her off balance enough to not let her get to either of them. Thankfully neither of the agents had to come up with more lies as the door to the room burst open. It was Hotch, Rossi, and Emily, plus a few LEOs from the UPD. Jenni was too stunned to move as Dave rushed in and took her hands, pulling them behind her back. Meanwhile, Aaron moved to Spencer to free him of his binds while Emily helped _y/n_ out of her zip ties. _y/n_ felt overwhelmed but rushed to Spence once he was free. She didn’t want to require comfort from him, but she needed it. They had some close to a bad end, and she didn’t even notice that he still hadn’t put his shirt back on yet. She pressed her face to his warm chest which was bare and heaving with the ordeal he had also been through.

That realization hadn’t hit her until the stark red and blue lights were flashing from an ambulance in the bright light of day. While Hotch explained how he’d had a bad feeling about them going into the building alone. To _y/n_ it didn’t feel right to be outside in the daylight with JJ and Emily standing by her side as the paramedics looked over her and Reid. Nothing seemed to feel right after the cavernous dark that was the old med building. The fact that it was still daylight juxtaposed to the literal and metaphorical dark from before jarred _y/n_ in a way that she hadn’t expected. The medical professionals cleared both Spencer and _y/n_ after giving _y/n_ a bandaid for the cut on her face.

The flight home felt strange as the team tried to decompress. _y/n_ felt a weight of inadequacy like she’d let things happen to her instead of initiating the action herself. And it had all happened so quickly with Jenni. _y/n_ sat with her thoughts at the back of the plane. Now and then she’d peek a glance at Spencer who was spread out across one of the couches sleeping. Sometimes _y/n_ thought that the jet was the only place she saw him sleep. Most of the time he was like a ball of nervous energy just waiting to be let out somehow. _y/n_ would walk with him on Sunday mornings, and he’d talk about how he’d stayed up all night reading a new ancient text online, or how he’d been the last person at the library just as they closed. And during the week if _y/n_ tossed and turned, she’d call Spence up and ask him what he was doing. Or she’d try and think about the most random question, like how many cows there were in Iowa, or what was the shortest river in Europe, and who decided what was a river and what was a stream. He always had an answer for her silly questions. He would talk long enough that she would fall back asleep with her face pressed into the covers and Reid still talking until he was sure she was asleep. Just once, _y/n_ had thought that Spencer had made up some fact or figure just to fill the quiet space in the night. So she could finally rest. She hadn’t asked him about it after. She knew she was just lucky to have him as a friend. Now as Spencer dreamt and she doubted, it felt weird. _y/n_’s train of thought was interrupted as Rossi sat across from her with a small groan. Dave looked at how tired _y/n_ appeared and said, “What’s eating you, kid?” Rossi’s affectionate nickname always brought a smile to _y/n_’s face and this was no exception, except it slipped quickly after. _y/n_ rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said, “I don't know Rossi. I didn’t feel like a profiler back there. I felt like a kid. What’s the point of all the training and stuff if you feel too scared when you really should be doing your job?” Dave nodded in understanding and said, “_y/n_, we all freeze. All of us. Don’t think you’re some rare exception to that. But when it came to it, you did act. One doesn’t have to feel like a profiler to profile. Nobody was calling Howard Teten a profiler when he came up with the method we use, and yet he still did it. Profiling is less about fancy words and techniques and more about trusting your gut when things get hairy. And you did just that. You realized that provoking the unsub would distract her from Spencer. And I’m sure Dr. Reid would be happy to tell you that he’s relieved he didn’t leave that situation with a permanent mark of Yale or Stanford’s mottos carved into his back.” That had _y/n_ chuckle and Rossi was happy to see her lighten up a bit. The older man stood and just before he moved to take his seat across from Aaron again, he said, “Remember kid, in the end, we’re all just base instincts. Just things filled with wants and needs No one can fight them, not even Spencer Reid.” Rossi patted her shoulder and left her wide-eyed and speechless. Was Rossi, Rossi hitting on her on Spencer's behalf? _y/n_ had to move to the bathroom to not let anyone see how flustered she was at the soft comment.

In the small space, _y/n_ splashed cold water on her face. She looked into the mirror at her appearance. She’d hoped that she couldn’t be read that easily. She’d hidden her feelings for Spencer from everyone, especially Reid. If he’d caught on, he hadn’t said anything about it. _y/n_ sent up a prayer that no one else had noticed apart from Rossi. She didn’t have the bandwidth to think about it right now and she couldn’t stay holed up in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. _y/n_ took a deep breath, straightened her _y/f/c_ shirt, and then moved back into the cabin of the plane. When she got back to her seat the wave of exhaustion she had been waiting to hit her for the last hour and a half finally did. As she let sleep take her, she wondered if it was possible that Spencer loved her back. She doubted it. When the jet landed back in Quantico, it was dark and sleeting outside. The winter weather just wasn’t ready to let go yet. It wouldn’t for at least another month. As everyone piled into the bullpen, shaking off the cold, Spencer approached _y/n_ and said, “I’ll drive you home if you're ready.” _y/n_ looked up from her go bag and said, “You don’t have to do that Spence. I can take the tube. My place is in the opposite direction from yours.” Reid rolled his eyes and said, “I know that, _y/n_.” It’s not like he hadn’t driven her home every chance he got without it being too obvious that he had a crush on her. They always had this dance of her saying no but then giving in when he’d just wait around her desk. It wasn’t any different this night. Reid didn’t like the idea of _y/n_ taking a bus, and then a long train ride to her home every night. It wasn’t just the high rate of accidents that happened on public transport and a crumbling infrastructure system, but the people she might see there. Reid wasn’t one for catastrophizing but he just didn’t want _y/n_out there where anything could happen to her. His mind flashed to the case and how Jenni had held the scalpel at _y.n_. ; promising to “fix her.” At that moment in the dark, the last thing he was thinking about was himself. The scene was eating at his insides like acid. It took _y/n_ tapping him on the shoulder and saying, “I’m ready now if the offer’s still valid.” Spencer nodded and they both walked out into the night.

On the twenty-minute drive back to her place there was silence until Reid asked, “What are you doing once you get home?” _y/n_ looked at him with some surprise. He didn’t normally ask her about what she did outside of work. She assumed he just wasn’t interested, thus why she thought he didn’t have feelings for her. _y/n_ replied, “I don’t know. Probably have _y/f/f/f_ delivered and watch _y/f/f/g/m_. I need a good light-hearted distraction after that case.” She then turned the question on him and said, “How about you?” Spencer flipped on the turn signal and smoothly took his car on the wide turn that led to _y/n_’s street. He stole a glance at her and then back at the road before saying, “Probably do some reading. And I need to call my mom. I do it on the second of every month. I have to call her on even days of the month. She gets angry if I don’t.” Hearing the date had something snap in _y/n_. She muttered, “Oh God, it’s the second already?” Spencer looked at her concerned and said, “_y/n_, what’s the matter?” _y/n_ took her hands from her head and said, “I have that lecture to give in two days for Derek. I completely forgot about it with the case.” The lecture was sounding more and more like a pain, especially now that she would have to write it in just two days. Reid said, “I could stay and help you if you like?” _y/n_ nodded her head no and said, “Thanks Spence, but I’ll figure it out. I just gotta have a cup of c/t_ or an energy drink or something.” Even as the word left her, _y/n_’s heart ached. She wanted Reid’s help so much, needed it. But he looked so tired. More than usual. _y/n_ knew the incident in the lab had shaken him up like it had her, but he was just better at hiding it. Also, _y/n_ felt that if they were couped up in her tiny overpriced studio apartment together she’d do something she’d regret. Something that she wouldn’t ever be able to take back. Rossi’s comment on the plane wasn’t helping her think clearly, and she needed a clear head to write this stupid lecture. _y/n_ didn’t notice the little tug of concern on Spence’s lips as he pulled in front of her building. He just said, “Okay, _y/n_. Well, I’ll give you a ring after I call my mom and see how you’re doing. Okay?” _y/n_ nodded and took her bag from Reid’s hand. She very quickly said goodbye and thanked him, as she almost sprinted out of the car. She was beginning to feel a headache come on and if she stayed a moment longer she would invite him and I’d all be over. She couldn’t sacrifice the great friendship she had built with him for a fling that might not pan out. Holed up in her space, _y/n_ let whatever emotions she had flooded over her and she dropped her bag with a thud and crawled into bed for an hour. It was Spencer’s call that got her up and to work with what she assumed was going to be the worst N.A.T. lecturer of all time.

_y/n_ had shown up at the office with a persistent headache and a half-shod draft of what she hoped she could shape into a lecture by the end of the day. Five hours after her arrival, Spencer was making comments that she didn’t understand and weren’t exactly encouraging sounding. _y/n_ stood and said, “Alright Spence. Let me see it, you’re not annotating Chaucer after all.” Reid looked up at her, pen still in hand. _y/n_ didn’t sound pleased and he wasn't sure why. He handed her lecture back to her and watched her face contort slightly at what he thought were very helpful notes. _y/n_ let out a breath and sat on the edge of Spence’s desk. His comments might be copious and slightly annoying, but he was still offering to help her which she was grateful for. She’d have to say she was sorry for being so snippy, but she didn’t feel a hundred percent and it was showing in her actions. However, the apology never had a chance to be voiced as Reid’s comments began to swim in front of _y/n_’s eyes, the bright and happy voices of Em, JJ, and Garcia cut through the haze. _y/n_ looked over at the group. Emily said, “We’re getting drinks at the bar down the street. Y’all should come with us. It’s past five and we deserve a drink after that case.” _y/n_ opened her mouth to say no, but Penelope cut her off saying, “All work and no play makes _y/n_ a dull girl. Now, do you want to be a dull girl in front of the NATs tomorrow?” _y/n_ shook her head and let out a laugh at Garcia’s logic. As cliche as it was, _y/n_ couldn’t argue with it. The _y/h/c_ed agent put her hands up in surrender and said, “Alright, alright. I’m coming.” That got a cheer from the group. _y/n_ looked over at Spencer and said, “You coming?” Reid wanted to say no, to just keep working for a while longer, but _y/n_’s strange behavior and the pleading look she was giving him had him cave and agree too. _y/n_ dropped her lecture notes on her desk as she grabbed her purse and left with the group. The five agents drove in Emily’s and JJ’s cars to the strip of bars near the Quantico Field office. As everyone clamored into a booth at the iconic South of DC Bar, Garcia said, “I can’t wait for the weather to get better and for it to be light out later. Winter gives me the ick big time.” Everyone laughed and agreed. A waiter came and got their first round of drinks. _y/n_ wasn’t planning on drinking a lot due to her engagement in the morning and Spencer only got water. He wanted to make sure there was at least one person sober to drive them back if need be. _y/n_ stuck to her plans and just had one other drink which was a shot, paid for by Penelope. Garcia, JJ, and Em had finally gotten _y/n_ and Spencer out together, but the plan to get the two, young, agents together wasn’t working as they hoped. The fact that _y/n_ wasn’t drunk enough to ask how her dating life was going to steer the conversion in that direction. Spencer also seemed to have something on his mind as he sipped his water and didn’t seem that invested in the conversation the group was having. Of course, Em, JJ, and Pen couldn’t know that he was replaying the scene from his car over and over again in his head. He wondered if he’d said something to piss _y/n_ off. She’d been acting differently since they’d arrived home. Reid knew he could be blunt, and come off as uncaring, but last night he’d tried at tenderness, and _y/n_’s response seemed to confirm that she wasn’t interested in him like that. Not like he wanted them to be.

The evening seemed like a bust, as the group closed out and moved toward their cars. They had to park a few streets over as the bar crowd picked up right after work in the inner city. As the group moved toward their vehicles, the sound of five guys in an alley across the road caught the profilers’ attention. _y/n_ looked through the gloom and noticed the men huddled around a woman who seemed to be very drunk, or even drugged. The sight had a hard pit form in _y/n_’s stomach. Rossi had talked about instinct and desire, and _y/n_ knew the men surrounding the helpless women had a bad desire. Desire was one thing, but when it went bad, it went really bad as evidenced by Jenni. _y/n_ wouldn’t stand it. She wasn’t going to let this just happen to a stranger. Emily had seen the same thing and both agents quickly ran across the road avoiding a car. Prentiss shouted, “Hey. get your hands off her. Back off!” The group of men turned. One smiled with terrible teeth and said, “Look fellows, some girls want to join the fun.” _y/n_ could have spat with anger at being called a girl. She held back her fury and said, “You heard my friend, get the fuck off of her.” The apparent leader of the group said, “Well men. Looks like we have a fighter. Try and make me babe.” The tall man couldn’t have expected to be thrown against the wall and away from the woman he’d been harassing. The leader, snapped up in anger for being manhandled even though that was what he’d just been doing himself. The rage surged in him and he stepped forward. He was significantly taller than _y/n_ and it didn’t take much for him to slam _y/n_ into the wall she had pushed him into. As he gripped _y/n_’s _l/m/s_ hair at the base he growled, “You little whore. I’ll show you what happens when a cunt gets in my way.” The man pressed his body to her’s pinning her to the wall. He then grabbed her head and smashed it into the brick wall. If _y/n_ had thought her head hurt before in the office it didn’t even compare on a scale with what she was feeling now. Everything went black for a second and her body slumped against the wall.

Spencer watched it all happen before he could do anything because the cars now wouldn’t stop coming. He cringed as _y/n_’s face got bashed into the wall. He watched as Emily moved in to help and pulled the guy away before being hit too. Finally, the cars stopped because of the red light up ahead, and Spencer shouted at JJ, “Call the cops,” as he sprinted across the road and past a stalled car. Reid booked it across the road. When he was a foot from the scene, he used the strongest voice he had to say “Federal Agent, break it up right now.” Spencer channeled Derek and Aaron as much as he could, as he pushed one of the men off Emily. The leader looked up and said, “Yeah, yeah beanpole. Show me a badge and I’ll believe you.” Reid let out a heavy breath, pulled out his badge, and flashed it around to the men who were now moving slowly back into the alley. The group noticed as JJ and Garcia ended up on their side of the street, flashing their badges. The last straw was when Emily got up and showed her badge too. The flashing of police lights had the group scatter like flies. JJ stepped forward and helped the woman who had been harassed up and toward the first police car that arrived while Spencer knelt next to _y/n_ and Emily. _y/n_was stirring back to wakefulness and the pain stunned her into groaning. _y/n_ kept her eyes closed as concerned voices floated above her. The sounds of sirens mostly filled her ears. _y/n_ moved a hand to touch her face which was throbbing with a consistent pain down her nose and cartilage beneath it. _y/n_’s hand got stopped and that firm yet gentle grip finally had her open her eyes. Spencer was holding her hand and said in a worried voice, “Don’t touch your face, _y/n_. I think your nose is broken. Can you breathe through it at all?” _y/n_ took a tentative breath through it and replied, “I can. It hurts, but I can.” Her voice sounded weak and far away. As _y/n_ came more to her senses, her pain level heightened, and she noticed Emily beside her. Prentiss looked as bad as _y/n_ felt and _y/n_ said, “Em, how are you? You okay?” Prentiss shrugged and said, “I’ve felt better, but I’ll survive. Nothing gives me as much satisfaction as scaring some tough guys off. I just wished it ended without us looking like we fell down five flights of stairs.” Prentiss’s comment had _y/n_ chuckle which was a mistake as it hurt like hell the instant _y/n_ started laughing. _y/n_ looked up as JJ’s familiar shoes approached the group on the ground. JJ bent down next to Spencer and asked, “Should I call an ambulance?” Em cut in and said, “Not for me. I’m not going to spend hours in a hospital only to be given some Benadryl and an exorbitant co-pay. I’m not that bad. If it keeps hurting in the morning I’ll go the the ER.” JJ acknowledged Emily’s point and then looked over to _y/n_. _y/n_ was in pain, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought that there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with her apart from her nose. _y/n_ looked from Spencer and then to JJ and said, “I think I’m fine. I can breathe and see straight. Just a bit sore.” Again JJ nodded and said, “Okay, well Hotch is on his way. Garcia called him before we crossed the street and some of the cops went to look for those guys while the others were taking care of the lady we found.” Hearing that Hotch was coming had _y/n_ groan and say, “Hotch is gonna be mad. I shouldn’t have jumped into a scene like that.” Emily chuckled and said, “Well it was pretty impressive, but let me handle him. We’ve all done something like this before. It’s just the first time for you. He’ll have some stern words for you in his office tomorrow, but he’ll understand.” _y/n_ gave a little nod and felt comforted by Emily’s reassurance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined.

Spencer helped her to her feet after another minute on the cold ground, _y/n_ grunted with the effort, but put on a brave face which was bleeding again. The wound from Jenni had reopened and was oozing blood, along with her nose and a split lip. _y/n_ could taste the iron of her blood as she wiped at her face with her sleeve. _y/n_ leaned heavily on Reid, as she gave a brief statement to the cops and a bit of a longer one to Aaron who had his arms crossed over his chest in a pseudo-disappointed but mainly concerned face. After a half hour, Spencer approached JJ and they had a quiet conversation between them. It ended with JJ handing over her car keys and giving him a pat on the shoulder. _y/n_ was leaning against one of the cop cars, and Spencer approached her with a soft concern. The genius said, “Alright, _y/n_ I’m taking you to the ER.” _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “Can’t you just take me home?” Spence nodded no and replied, “Nope. You don’t have to go to the hospital, but I am having you looked at. If nothing else I need to make sure your nose isn’t broken.” _y/n_ tried a last defense as she said, “But Emily…” Spencer cut her off and said, “Emily is Emily, and Hotch is taking her to the ER too, she just doesn’t know it yet. Now please stop arguing with me, _y/n_.” Whatever _y/n_ was going to say died in her mouth. Spencer’s tone left no room for negotiation. She’d never heard him be so demanding yet comforting at the same time. They walked silently to JJ’s car. Spencer opened the passenger side door for her, before getting in the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and drove toward the nearest clinic. _y/n_ closed her eyes and tried not not sound like she was struggling to breathe or make pained sounds as they drove over speed bumps or potholes. _y/n_ didn’t know if or what to say. She was contemplating how many new things had happened to her this week. How she’d personally been threatened by an unsub, how she’d gotten into another hairy situation this evening. As _y/n_ reflected on the two incidents, she could at least say she had acted decisively on the second occasion. _y/n_ could feel Spencer thinking beside her and she had to ask, “Are you disappointed in me?” _y/n_ didn’t know why she asked, or if she wanted to know the answer, but Spence was her best friend and she didn’t think she could stand not knowing what he was thinking. The heavy silence had _y/n_ squirm in her seat. After another minute and a lot of rewording in Reid’s head, he replied, “I’m not disappointed in you, _y/n_. Just worried. First, there was the case in the lab, and now this. I wish you didn’t jump into things so strongly. But you did the right thing. The brave thing.” Again Spencer was giving her mixed signals. She didn’t know if he was mad at her or proud. Or maybe a mix of both. It was so hard to tell with him and her head was pounding again. Trying to understand what Reid’s core emotion was, she stated, “You would have jumped in too. Emily did.” Spencer sighed deeply and said, “I would have jumped in now. But probably not when was a first-year agent. I know now that I don’t have to physically jump into every situation, but that comes with time.” Reid’s statement only left _y/n_ more confused, so she shut her eyes and mouth and just tried to breathe normally. For a profiler, she didn’t feel that good at reading him right now.

Spencer was doing his darndest to mask his real emotions, concern, and worry. He’d meant what he said to _y/n_, but he hadn’t meant it to come off as so passive-aggressive. So hot and cold. The issue was he was all hot and soft and wanted to pull _y/n_ into a hug and tell her that she had been so brave, if not cocky for taking on five men at once. It wasn’t the technique he would have used, but she’d moved on instinct, a pure instinct to protect and defend someone in need. He saw her do this over and over and over on the field. She did it with him and it made him love her even more. But _y/n_ was trying to act brave and fight back tears as they got closer to the ER, and he didn’t know how to tell her he cared about her more than anything without telling her he loved her. It wasn’t possible, so he let the silence sit again. Thankfully the small clinic that was nearest to them was only five minutes away, and he pushed the pedal down a bit farther to get _y/n_ the care she claimed she didn’t need.

Inside the small office, Spencer grabbed an intake packet while _y/n_ handed over her insurance card. The receptionist said, “It should be about thirty minutes. The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you.” Reid nodded and led _y/n_ to a chair. She had her eyes closed and her head in her hands. The pain was slowly ebbing back into her body as her energy dipped again. Spencer realized that the lights were bothering her, and he set the forms down on the adjacent chair. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over _y/n_’s hunched head and shoulders. _y/n_ felt an instant reprieve as the lights that she was trying to keep out of her view disappeared under a blanket of black. She let out a sigh of relief. Swallowing down her emotions, _y/n_ peaked out from under the coat. Spencer was filling out the tedious form for her and she whispered, “Thanks, Spence.” Spencer looked over to her and said, “Of course, _y/n_.” He patted his shoulder as if saying, “You can rest your head here.” _y/n_ had never heard him use such kindness with her before. He looked out for her, but not like this. She didn’t have the energy to read into anything anymore. She just accepted what was being offered and dropped the jacket over her face again, not caring if she looked silly. _y/n_ also dipped her head onto his warm shoulder, letting the scratching of the pen and the dimmed sound of the TV fill her ears. A half-hour later, _y/n_ got seen by a doctor who informed her that her nose had a minor fracture. The doctor did put two stitches in on her forehead to close up the scar that was much deeper than _y/n_ had expected. _y/n_ tried to pay attention as the medical man gave her care instructions and prescription for a stronger pain relief. He also gave her a large dose of Advil for her to be able to rest that night. Reid checked her out and got her prescription from the nurse at the exit. The tired woman tried to flirt with him, but he didn’t respond. He just wanted to get _y/n_ home safely.

The ride back was soft as the pain medication started making _y/n_ drowsy. Spencer got her up to her apartment and room. Just as Spencer thought _y/n_ was asleep, _y/n_ said, “Call me tomorrow at eleven so I can get up in time to make that lecture.” Reid wanted to tell her to take a break. He’d give the lecture, but by that time she was already asleep. Reid let out a soft breath. He pulled the covers over _y/n_’s form and turned off the light in her room. Spencer softly slipped out of her room and locked the electronic lock behind him. As he drove JJ’s car back to the liaison’s apartment, he considered his feelings. How he’d watched _y/n_ grow as an agent so far with the BAU. They had just kind of clicked in a way that he hadn’t expected. It had started as early as her first case as she noticed something in his geographic profile that he had missed. As it turned out sometimes Spencer’s attention to tiny details and his expansive knowledge left holes in the bigger picture. Holes that _y/n_ could see and point out. She’d come to him personally to point it out. She didn’t make a big deal of catching something that the infamous Dr. Reid had missed. She didn’t try and show off, she just pointed it out like he was a normal person, like everyone else who made human errors. Since then they had just stuck. They balanced the other out. Spencer sighed as he thought about her battered face, her desire to prove herself again and again like she wasn’t good enough already. That was the problem with liking someone in the department, who had to watch them throw themselves in danger over and over and it killed Reid. That was another reason he had kept his feelings at bay. But tonight something had shifted, and he didn’t know if he could pretend anymore. He’d sleep on it and re-evaluate in the morning. He found this policy worked for almost everything in his life, and he hoped to any God that it would bring clarity the following day.

As it turned out, _y/n_ didn’t need to have Spencer call her in the morning, as she woke up sore and in pain at 7:00 a.m. She got up and drank a glass of water with her pain meds. She reminded herself that she needed to pick up her prescription as she started making some _c/t_. _y/n_ then moved to the mirror and cringed at the sight of her face. _y/n_ did her best to fight the puffiness with makeup, but even as hard as she tried, no makeup was going to cover everything. The stitches for one couldn’t be touched for a few days, so they stood out like a sore thumb. _y/n_ called Emily and asked if she was coming in that morning. Prentiss replied, “Yup. Hotch wants to talk to us. I forgot to tell you last night. I kind of passed out once I got home.” _y/n_ nodded, accepting the inevitable, and said, “Okay. What time did he say?” Pernitss replied, “Noon. He promised to make it quick.” _y/n_ bit the inside of her mouth, but she’d rather get this unpleasant lecture over with before giving her lecture later in the day. _y/n_ asked, “Can you come pick me up? I want your reassurance before seeing Hotch.” Emily lightly laughed on the other end of the line and said, “You got it. _y/n_. Be there in thirty-ish minutes.” _y/n_ got changed and picked up her work bag. She remembered Spencer and shot him a text as Emily arrived saying that she was up and headed to the office. She also said, “Thanks for your help last night. See you in a few.” _y/n_ still wasn’t sure what last night was between them, a fight? A confession? She couldn’t say, but she was too stressed about the meeting with Hotch to think about it now.

Hotch’s lecture about jumping into situations without thinking first was stern enough to remind them to not do that again but hinted at a kind of pride that he only showed for his team and no one else. Two hours after that talk _y/n_ was standing in front of the lectern with a sea of NATs sitting in front of her. There were at least two hundred in this class, and somehow giving this lecture now felt more daunting than anything else that had happened that week. Maybe because it was the last big thing she needed to do before the weekend, or that she was a bit overdressed for the occasion, or that the lights were hurting her eyes. The front of the stage was uncomfortably hot with all the lights pointed at her. _y/n_ took one last breath before looking at her useless notes, which she hadn’t looked at since yesterday afternoon. The man that had introduced her had just said that Derek Morgan couldn’t make it today and then said her name and that was it. _y/n_ felt like they deserved a better explanation than that. So she started by saying, “Well, as you all know, Derek Morgan was supposed to be talking to you today. As you can see, I’m not him.” That got a chuckle from a good part of the audience. _y/n_ placed her hand on either side of the lectern and said, “If it’s not clear by Morgan’s absence, and well, my face, a lot of unexpected things can happen in the FBI. And that’s really what your case studies are about. To learn to adapt and observe. You’ve got a month left at the academy and that month is going to go fast, so allow me to tell you what to expect.” _y/n_ looked out at the young and eager faces in front of her. She looked to the back and noticed Spencer standing there. She’d hardly had time to see him today, and it gave her a profound amount of comfort to have him here. _y/n_ relaxed and jumped into her thoughts and experiences with her case studies. She hardly went off her notes and just went on instinct. She didn’t sound rehearsed or like she was trying to be smart. She was just being herself. The person Spencer admired more than anyone at the moment. _y/n_ managed to make it through most of her remarks and felt grateful that the agents in training were paying attention to her while taking notes or nodding along. She detailed how now was the time to make mistakes. How it was better to ask all your questions, even stupid ones, during these exercises and not when you were out on the field. How to tag evidence, and how to look for small and big details in the fake cases they would be given. Just as _y/n_ was about to make her final point and wrap up, a wave of dizziness hit her out of nowhere. _y/n_ stumbled a bit, and suddenly, the lights were so bright, and her jacket felt like it was suffocating her. Not sure what was happening, _y/n_ closed her eyes tight and gripped the lectern tightly. There was a murmur from the NATs. This wasn’t how she wanted her lecture to end, but not thinking of any other choice but ducking behind the stage to get a seat, she said, “Sorry. I’m not feeling so well. My friend and colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid will close out the lecture. Thank you all for your time, and good luck with the last month. I believe all of you have what it takes to be great agents.” There were a few hesitant claps of applause as _y/n_ moved off stage on shaky feet. She was met by the man who had introduced her, and led her to a chair on the side of the stage. He asked if she wanted to go, but she protested and just sat in the dark trying to regain her composure.

Spencer had watched as _y/n_ swayed unsteadily at the front of the room. His heart leaped in his chest, seeing _y/n_ like this. He hadn’t expected to be called to speak. But _y/n_ had asked, and he moved onto the stage. He quickly introduced himself even though everyone in the audience already knew who he was. Reid looked down at the last page of _y/n_’s notes, which she had sort of been following, and realized most of the page were just his corrections, and suddenly, he understood why she had been so annoyed yesterday morning. His annotations were too much to be helpful. Spence sighed, looked at the students, and then into the wings where _y/n_ was sitting on a chair. Reid started talking, but it wasn’t for the students, at least not wholly. He said, “Being in the FBI isn’t an easy job. I think you all know that now, and if you don’t, well I guess it’t not too late to quit, but what will all have that work been for then? As you head into your case studies, I have one last thing to tell you, and that’s that you need friends now and when you’re on the field. I say this because there’s always something you’ll miss, and if you make friends, they can tell you that and fill in the gaps. You need someone you can call night or day because things will get hard, and you’ll be lost or scared or think you’re not doing enough. You’ll need someone to remind you that you're just as human as everyone else. So as you get sorted into your teams and assigned your cases, get to know your team members. Trust them. I think that’s the best advice I can offer you. Thank you.” With that, Spence exited stage left and replaced the introducer who moved back into the bright light of the stage to dismiss the NATs. Spencer checked in with _y/n_, who said, “Thanks Spence. Sorry to put you on the spot like that.” Reid shook his head and said, “It was nothing. How do you feel, what happened?” _y/n_ swallowed and said, “I don’t know, I just got faint. It’s passed now, I think.” Spencer couldn’t hide his genuine concern for her as he said, “_y/n_, please let me take you to the hospital or something. You shouldn’t be nearly fainting.” _y/n_ looked at him and didn’t think she could bear another two hours in a waiting room. She said, “Spencer, please. If you’ve ever cared about me, can you just take me to _y/l/p_ and then drive me home?” The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Reid stilled at her words and said, “Okay, _y/n_. Whatever you want.” The pair quickly made it to Spencer's car in the lot just outside the NAT training building.

Once they were inside his car, _y/n_ said, “Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it like that. I didn’t mean to assume or throw your concern back in your face. You’ve always been so nice to me, and I guess I just saw what I wanted to.” Reid looked at _y/n_ and said, “I love you, _y/n_.” The words astounded _y/n_, and she didn’t know what to say apart from, “What?” Spencer looked at her with the eyes he had last night on the drive back to her apartment and said, “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I didn’t know what to say. I meant everything up there on that stage. You’re my best friend, and you remind me that I’m human, and why I’m doing what I am. I just didn’t say the part about how I’ve been bottling up my feelings for months now. Because I’m a coward when it comes to my feelings. _y/n_ was almost in tears now, and she said, “You’re not a coward Spencer, and if you are, then I am too because I love you too, and I never said anything either.” Spence couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned across the console to embrace _y/n_. He was mindful of her face, and as _y/n_ pressed into him, he relaxed. Feelings were hard. He still didn’t fully understand them, but with _y/n_, he was just human enough to want to embrace them.

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captainsophiestark · 4 months

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Galentine's Day

Platonic!Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Top Gun

Summary: Natasha and her best friend are about to spend their first ever Galentine's Day apart, since Natasha's in Miramar for training. That is, unless her best friend has something to say about it.

Word Count: 2,683

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: Happy early Galentine's Day to everybody who celebrates!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I'm sorry. I tried so many times to get leave, but I just couldn't make it happen. This training's mandatory, and there's no chance I can get away until it's over."

"That's okay," I said, giving my best friend my most convincing understanding-but-sad face. "We were bound to be in different places for Galentine's Day, eventually."

Natasha huffed. "I guess. It just felt like we'd always find a way to make it work, you know?"

"I know. But at least we can say a little Happy Galentine's Day via FaceTime!"

Nat sighed. "Yeah, I guess it's better than nothing. So do you have any plans today? I'm basically going from this call to lectures with brass to flying with a bunch of guys including the Bagman, so... not an ideal Galentines Day."

I grimaced. "That sounds rough. Try not to let them get you down! And, actually, speaking of plans... I'm so sorry, but I have to go. I promised to help a friend move, since we couldn't go do any of our usual celebration today, and they're expecting me in like ten minutes."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, that's okay. I should actually probably get prepared for the start of our training for the day, but... have an amazing day, alright? You're the best."

"Noyou."

We shared a smile that quickly faded. She clearly didn't want to say goodbye, and I'd ruin the surprise if I looked like I was in a rush to get off the phone.

"Well... I'll talk to you later?" I said, trying to sound hesitant. Nat took a deep breath and smiled.

"Yeah. Text me when you're free and we'll figure it out."

I nodded, gave her a little wave, then hung up the call. I grinned. That had gone perfectly. I was confident she had no idea I was outside the Hard Deck, right now. She was going to be so surprised.

My childhood best friend, Natasha Trace, and I had a long-standing tradition of celebrating Galentine's Day together to celebrate our friendship, get together no matter where in the world we were, and do whatever the hell we wanted as long as it was together. This was the first year where we wouldn't be able to do that—at least, as far as Natasha knew.

In reality, I'd found a way to cancel my schedule conflicts and buy a flight to San Diego to surprise her. I'd managed to get in touch with Rooster, one of her closer aviator friends, to get her schedule, and after keeping the secret for a month and a half I was finally going to tell her. She would be so excited.

I took a deep breath, then crossed the remaining parking lot space to get to the Hard Deck. I pushed open the door and stepped in to find more than a few Navy pilots hanging around, which tracked with just about everything Nat had ever told me about this place. It didn't take me long to find my friend, thankfully, as she was heading for me and the door with Rooster trailing behind her.

"Phoenix, don't you want to play another round of pool? We can't let Hangman win!" he protested, clearly trying to stall her. I smiled to myself and headed in their direction.

"No, I don't, Rooster," she said. "I've got some things to take care of, I'll see you at training, alright?"

Rooster looked ready to keep arguing, but then he looked up and caught sight of me. He stopped in his tracks and smiled at me, and I gave him a little nod before turning my attention to Nat.

"I hope you can ditch those things you've gotta take care of for your best friend," I said, an absolutely shit-eating grin spreading across my own face. Nat's head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and her jaw dropped when she saw me standing just a few feet from her.

"You- You're supposed to be- But- Dude!"

She rushed forward, absolutely beaming, and wrapped me in a bone crushing hug. I laughed and hugged her right back, just as tight.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, incredulous laughter dripping from her words.

"Surprising you! Obviously!" We smiled at each other as we finally pulled apart, Natasha still shaking her head like she couldn't believe I was here. "When you said you couldn't get leave, I started problem solving to find a way to get time off work. It wasn't easy and I didn't want to get your hopes up, so I didn't tell you. Then once I got approved, I thought it would be more fun if I could surprise you! So I got Rooster to tell me your schedule and then I got on a plane!"

Nat whirled around to look at Rooster, who just grinned back at her, then turned back to me.

"That's sneaky as hell, but also incredible. Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," I said, grinning as I closed the distance to wrap her in a one-armed hug. "And I have everything planned for tonight, the minute you're free of Navy stuff. We're gonna do Galentine's Day right. But I didn't plan anything for this morning, so... what do you want to do?"

She shot me a look that I knew meant trouble.

"How about beating all the other Navy pilots at pool?"

"Sounds perfect."

We ended up at the pool table in the back of the bar for the better part of an hour, before the pilots had to leave for training. Nat and I had gotten good at pool in high school, since it was fun to absolutely run the table together at parties, and we wiped the floor with the other pilots in every round we played. By the time they headed off to training, Nat had at least one game each to hold over their heads until the next time they played.

Since Nat couldn't get leave, she still had to spend most of the day doing Navy stuff. Luckily for me, we were in San Diego. It was an absolutely beautiful day, so I killed time waiting for Nat by walking along the beach and relaxing in the sand. I finally left for my hotel room with a little over an hour to spare before she would be free from training.

We met up right outside the base at Miramar, after Nat had changed out of her uniform and flight suit. She grinned as she walked out to meet me at my car, and I grinned right back.

"So where are we going?" she called. I just smiled.

"Get in the car and find out!"

She shook her head, but she didn't protest, and within a few minutes we were on our way. I had our favorite playlist, one we made our senior year of high school, playing over the speakers, and it felt for a second like we'd never left our hometown, driving around in the evening together getting up to mischief.

"So, how was training?" I asked. She hummed.

"It was fine. We're learning a lot, actually, which I really didn't expect. We're all already the best of the best. Bagman's being obnoxious as always, which is the main downside."

"You like Bob though, right? Your new WSO?"

"Yeah, he's great. He's become a pretty good friend, too, which makes some of the other idiots easier to deal with."

"Thank God for that."

"No kidding."

We rode in comfortable silence for a little further, until Nat finally clocked our destination not far ahead of us.

"No. No, no way, we are not going there."

"Yes we are! Come on, it'll be fun!"

"I am not doing karaoke."

"You've done it before! You even have a good voice! What's the problem?"

"Because it's Galentine's Day, and I can pretty much guarantee you that at least half of the guys in my training group are in there or will be soon."

I shot her a look as I pulled into a parking space.

"You think a bunch of Navy pilots with giant egos are going to be at karaoke on a Tuesday night?"

"Yes. In fact, I know they are."

I snorted. "Well then they're ridiculous and have no leg to stand on judging us. We'll just ignore them, have a blast, and then move on to the Galentine's Day finale when we're ready."

Nat sighed and shook her head, but she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door anyway.

"Fine. Just be prepared to get heckled on a level our high school classmates could only dream of."

"Oh, I feel confident we can give back just as good of heckling as we get."

The corner of her mouth quirked up at the idea, and we headed inside. I'd booked us a table, and we could order dinner and drinks here to go with the singing, which made it absolutely perfect. We just had time to place our orders, put our names in the karaoke queue, and settle in before a loud group of aviators came stumbling over each other and through the front door.

I turned to Nat with my mouth open, shaking my head in disbelief.

"I can't believe you were right. Do they seriously have nothing better to do tonight?"

She just raised an eyebrow and gave me a look, and I sighed. This didn't really change anything, luckily for us. So we'd have a little bit of an audience that Nat knew. We'd done karaoke in front of our entire high school before, and this definitely wouldn't be more nerve-wracking than that.

The other aviators didn't notice us right away, giving Nat and I time to chat and catch up and swap stories from our lives in peace. Our drinks arrived, and not too long after, we were up for our first duet of the night. We shared a smile and did the handshake we'd come up with in middle school, then headed up to the stage.

A few of the aviators whooped when they saw us, and I saw Nat trying to hide a smile. Like pool, we were good at this, and if there was one thing I knew about my best friend, it was that she loved showing off, especially when she could flex on the guys.

The music started and Nat and I fell into our familiar, ridiculous routine, dancing and singing our hearts out to a performance we'd had down for the better part of a decade. The audience faded away a little as my best friend and I hammed it up, enjoying the opportunity to be silly with each other again. By the time we finished, the crowd was cheering for us, and I could tell from the looks on the faces of the other Top Gunners that they were well and truly impressed. As they should've been.

We spent the rest of the night laughing, drinking, and occasionally singing. Some of Nat's friends wandered over to talk or try to join us, but we chased them all off after a few minutes. They seemed nice enough, but the whole point of Galentine's Day was to spend it with my best friend, with no distractions (especially from men). The one and only exception for the entire night was Rooster, who convinced us to join him for a three-person song on stage. His energy matched ours enough that we said yes, and we had the whole place rocking and cheering and singing by the time our song was over.

"That was great! Phoenix, I didn't know you were so good at karaoke!" Rooster called over the noise of the bar as we headed off the stage. It was getting late, but the energy of the bar just seemed to be ratcheting up more and more, no one showing signs of tiring.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Rooster," she said, shooting him a grin. He laughed, then turned to me.

"You should be here all the time. Do you know what I'd give to regularly see Hangman lose at pool?"

I laughed. "Nat can take him any day of the week, with or without me!"

"Yeah, but he knows that. Watching you clean his clock was even better than usual."

"Well maybe next time I need your help planning a surprise visit, it'll be to surprise Hangman with absolute destruction in a bunch of competitions."

"All you have to do is say the word, and you can count me in to help."

The three of us shared a smile, and then Rooster gestured back towards the small karaoke stage.

"Should I put us in for another song?"

Natasha and I shook our heads at the same time, which got an eyebrow raise out of Rooster.

"Sorry, but it's Galentine's Day," I said.

"Which means we're not hanging out with any of the male population of my program. You got one exception, Roos, but that's it."

"It was nice to meet you in person, though! And thanks again for the help surprising Nat!"

Rooster just stared at us like he wasn't quite sure whether we were serious. We didn't give him a chance to formulate a question before turning around, arm in arm, and heading back to our table. I heard him bark out a laugh as we went, but neither of us turned around.

"So what's the plan?" asked Nat as she slid back into her seat. "Do we need to come up with our next song, or do you have something else on our itinerary?"

"Something else! So finish your drink, because we're out of here."

She raised an eyebrow at me, but didn't ask any questions as she did as I said. She knew me well enough to know she'd never get the details of a surprise out of me, if I didn't want to give them.

A few moments later, we paid and headed out of the bar. We didn't give the other aviators a backwards glance before stepping out into the cool night air of San Diego. I smiled, taking in a deep breath and linking my arm with Nat's again.

"So where are we going?" she asked after doing the same.

"Don't you worry. Just follow me."

She shook her head, but she was grinning nonetheless as we began our short walk. Less than five minute later, we found ourselves at the edge of the beach, looking out at the night sky reflected against the dark water. I dropped my arm from Nat's to pull off my shoes, then stepped out into the sand.

"The beach feels like a good end to the holiday to me. What do you think?" I asked, turning back to look at Nat with a smile. She grinned, quickly ditching her own shoes to join me.

"I think you're right."

The two of us walked along the surf for a little while, before finding a spot we liked to sit down in the sand, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the water while the waves gently lapped up on shore. I sighed, leaning back on my hands and staring up at the stars.

"I miss living near you," I mused. She sighed, dropping back onto her elbows, almost fully laid out on the sand.

"I miss living near you, too. But just think. When I eventually retire from the Navy, we can get houses next to each other and be ridiculous, chaos-causing women heading into our late middle age and still act like dumb twenty year-olds together."

I snorted. "Alright yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to that."

Natasha sighed, and we sat there in comfortable silence for a while, staring at the beautiful night before us. After a moment, I dropped my head onto her shoulder. We sat like that for a long time, just enjoying being in the same place again, at least for a little while.

I didn't want to leave in a few days; I wanted longer here, more time spent with my best friend in the world. But I knew, no matter how far apart we moved or how long we went without talking sometimes, she would always be there for me, and I would always be there for her. And no boyfriend, governmental agency, or other job or circumstance would ever come in the way of that.

We were forever-Galentines.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ TIMELESS TWILIGHT ❞ + ARMIN ARLERT

CWs —» afab!reader with s!her pronouns,semi-linear plotline, suggestive themes, royal au + supernatural au ( reader is a supernatural being ), strangers (to childhood friends) to lovers, slowburn, light angst, mention of corruption, violence and murder, temporary unrequited feelings, implicit smut descriptions,sappy romance and happy ending.

+. PLAYLIST—» moonlight ╾╼ somebody that I used to know ╾╼ rewrite the starts ╾╼ until i found you ╾╼ miel

PRECIS —» Armin was a chaser of eternity while she was a slave of it. One yearned for it, the other despised it until a thread of tragedy tied them together, forever.

+. NOTES —» this is for @dearbraus via @suyacho ’s gift exchange collab. hope you like this piece. I was confused between noé and armin but settled with the latter because this idea was originally thought for him.

I got this idea around april but finally, i could write this thanks to eden for that <3; also, this fic was partly inspired by the song moonlight by dhruv. I'm very much sleep deprived, so lemme sleep while y'all have a happy read. Merry Christmas (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ

Special thanks to @orchid3a, @sailewhoremoon & @chosovixen for ß’reading this. also, you can read this in AO(III) ; browse more of my works through navigation links.

Museums, sculptures, libraries, books, songs, stories, poetries, paintings— all these had one thing in common: that is, they were eternal. They carried so many memories with them and yet were so defunct. And then, there are humans that live and die like flies. Ever since Armin was bestowed with the ability to walk he would only use it to go to the library or to sneak out through the back door of his room into the garden, or anywhere that does not remind him of the burden he has to carry till his last breath, the burden of protecting each and every person around him— the burden of this whole kingdom that his father ruled.

He never asked for this life, the luxury, the fame, and the power that came with it. His father had told him that everything that the light touched belonged to him, but only one thought crossed his mind: for how long? Armin did not have to ask anyone to find the answer to that question. He saw it, he lived it. The fragility of his life.

At that moment, when he was on the brink of destroying thousands of lives in one blow, hesitation overpowered his senses; the man kneeling in front of him, waiting for death to embrace him to save him from such shame, gutted him in the stomach. So annoying, Armin thought and slashed the head of the ruler of the kingdom.

He was nineteen when he owned a new kingdom, a hefty crown adorned with the most lustrous jewels in the city, and the queen that was promised along with it. To his father’s disappointment, he denounced it, the kingdom, and the kingless queen. Oh no, that does not mean he did not enjoy the greater pleasures of life. He did, through and through, he is the crown prince, and anyone who denied his demands would be rendered lifeless, a mere memory just like stories, books, and sculptures.

He was desired by many, even males. Some people knelt to him to please him, while others were doomed to become an unpleasant distant memory. There was no in-between, no mercy came from the heart of the crown prince. He was not cruel, just a rageful young boy who desired things that seemed impossible to achieve, at least in this life. He envies lifeless things that do not have a lifespan. How utterly foolish!

Sometimes he would laugh at himself, thinking he had been born cursed, a little sick in the head, but his diary told otherwise. He kept it in the library, the journal with sapphire covers and his family emblem. It rested among those massive books that carried the history of great generations and his ancestors so that none, even Mikasa and Eren would not be aware of him, his truth, his true self. Half of him was amused by how all his writing mocked the rich legends that his father boasts at every royal dinner, while the other half, wept like a wounded creature for not being able to make his dreams come true. He is the crown prince, the prince yet all that power fell short of his dreams to achieve; to hold someone in his arms timelessly and to fall in love limitlessly.

Armin could think of only one name, y/n l/n. The girl who left him without finishing her stories. The girl who met him only during Twilight, smelt like forever, and looked like one of those decaying sculptures of Rome.

The Library, that place has always been a wonder to her, y/n. Books stacked beside one after the other embedded with lores and legends from all over the world. Most are sugar-coated, few are the resultant of figmentation and truth but none told the bitter truth. The poets lied, love is not a prince saving princess, love is a princess waiting for the prince for eternity; love is not sharing kisses under the starry night, love is being burnt by mere words. Love is not divine, rather it is the most wretched curse.

Ever since she discovered the existence of the library, she had been fond of how lies are woven so slyly that even the witness failed to separate the truth from fallacies. She had been the witness to how all the kings confiscated the castle, slaughtered the innocents, and had all the women as baits for bodily pleasure, but those rusted pages of the book told how the ferocious warriors, ‘envoys of justice’, ‘harbingers of peace’, or so they liked to call themselves; those warriors killed so many cruel kings and saved the people of the kingdom from their madness. Same lies, different names, different times.

Eternity was nothing like she imagined it would be. It was never a promise of happiness, but rather a promise of loneliness. Heck, even promises faded with time, yet this followed her like a shadow. Even love failed to fill the hollow space she had in her heart. She stopped believing in good but did no evil. Indeed, she had the power to rewrite history, but that could endanger her life, even if she was at the edge of death. But hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl who has lived through an aeon, and it shone miraculously on a full moon night.

There was a particular book that caught her eye. The spine was slim, with a plain sapphire spread and a logo embedded on one of its ends. She perfectly remembers that a few days ago the book was not there and a certain someone is a fool enough to keep it among the books that have all scarlet bindings. But she should not let that bother her so much. Besides, she is here to read; read about how her lover turned against her, exchanged her to get a few coppers and silvers a century ago yet died at her hands. It was tragic, of course: to watch your beloved betray your love and trust, but ecstasy gushed into her veins when she killed him by burying her fangs into his neck, absorbing the life out of him.

At first, eternity was a boon, and now it is a bane. At first, killing was out of rage and now killing was the only way of survival. She took a few steps back from the family shelf of Tyburs, and stood in front of the Arlerts family shelf. For a minute, she let her fingers run through the books and halted at the sapphire one, which had the royal emblem of the kingdom. She took out the book, thinking it would not hurt to spare an hour or two, after all, she had all eternity.

It was a journal. The handwriting was neat and artsy. The front cover read, “my daily dose of dread.” What a child! She thought, but alas, she could not open the journal. She presumed that it was sealed with magic. And, just like the cascade, the emotions that she locked away when she buried her lover in a grave gushed in her body, through every vein, through each vein. She felt alive again.

The next day, y/n spent the whole day outside observing the humans in the town, gathering some intel. After two weeks, when night befell, she made her way where she wanted to be all this time, the library, the very palace where she loved to sneak in and read those great lies and laugh at the dead. She waited till she heard footsteps, to her surprise it was a boy of fifteen, the son of Duke Arlert. It has been almost a century since she had any human interaction. And now, a boy of fifteen with all the life ahead and innocence intact became alien to her. It thrilled her.

“Who are you?”, the boy asked with aimless, oceanic eyes that had the tragedy of the great Gatsby. She jolted, blinked and took a few steps forward, bowed down in front of the boy and whispered, “I’m the new cataloger, your highness.” And that day, a new friendship was born. Only the moon and the stars were the witness of it.

Unbelievable it seemed to her, for how Armin warmed up to her so quickly. Y/n used to wait for him during nighttime at one corner of the library till he would come to her. Gradually he learnt to use the loopholes in the rules of royal court just so he could hear stories from her, stories that were not written on any of the books, stories that talked about the origin of fairies and monsters. Some days Armin refused to go to his chambers just to hear such stories from her, some days he fell asleep in her lap while she was reading out stories to him. The very stories that he despised so much became engaging to him. He started to take interest in royal duties too.

Sometimes, Armin waited alone in that library but he never asked questions like, ‘Why do your eyes change color? How come I do not see you when I come during the day?’ He was kind to y/n, kinder than most people she had met, killed, or had to betray, but at the same time, those questions weighed heavy on her heart and died at the tip of her tongue whenever she came to visit Armin. As Armin grew up, her visits became less frequent. With all the agony and anger in him, Armin never bothered to ask why. Moreover, he didn't want to cease those pixelated visits from her, however fleeting they became, they belonged to him and only him.

On his twentieth birthday, y/n went to the main court to join the celebration, mostly at his request. Amongst so many souls you felt lifeless as if you were a sculpture. And then, you saw the boy of fifteen who has reached his peak of youth.

Armin still has those eyes of tragedy, that would tell you nothing except stories that never ended, stories that were abandoned by their auth,or or where the author had died before finishing it. But today, those blue eyes were not blue anymore. They were gleaming in hope and yearning as he watched you walking towards him surfing through the crowd.

Armin was sitting on the throne, with his cape flowing down past his ankles with the crown that sealed many fates of varied rulers. There was a line of visitors to meet him, you were one of them, just for today. Your turn came in “Happy birthday, your highness. Congratulations on your coronation. I wish you the very best of life.”, you uttered as you handed him the gift. He smiled. With a bow, you left his sight. That was it; nothing special happened. There were no secret smiles and stolen stares. It ended so soon, happened so fast that all you felt was remorse. But you did not let that linger on your mind since you knew that, late at night, when everyone would be asleep, Armin would come to visit you. He was not a creature of the night. You were. But it turned on you that very day when you waited for him till dawn.

A girl who had eternity started counting the days.

Four weeks and three days have passed yet Armin neither came for a visit to the library nor wrote about his days in his journal. You remembered how he told you that you should not read his journal, it’s personal, he said yet would sometimes read from that very journal, just some musings. A few days later, you could hear his name in waves and in whispers, that he conquered several kingdoms, that he won many wars, and perhaps would conquer the whole world. The entire kingdom rejoiced at his success, however, you could not. You missed him. You mourned a living person since he never wrote about such dreams in his journal. Maybe that person was long-lost, somewhere in the pages of the books that anyone no longer bothered to read.

After almost five years, Armin returned home. He had abandoned all sorts of hope to see her again. The only girl who could feel what he was thinking, the only girl who could see behind his eyes, and live in between his bedsheets. He had desired her day and night, at each passing moment, in every way a man could ever desire a woman. He remembers the feeling, the feeling that has always haunted him since childhood, people called it love while Armin could call it burning, burning with desire, yet remained lifelessly indifferent about it. True love, as they said, but Armin thought it was punishment.

He was on horseback with his sword tucked in his belt which was made of gold and silver. His mantle shrouded the armor, which had witnessed many battles and mishaps, and was embedded with rare gems and pearls carving his family emblem on the mantle spread. His blue eyes wandered everywhere, he looked every bit of regal he was.

His own home city felt foreign to him except her, except you, who stood young and beautiful amongst several bouquets of flowers receiving smiles and coins in exchange for said flowers in broad daylight. Even after five years, you look just the same; just like how he saw you that day on a full moon night for the first time. So many things to tell you, so many things to write in his journal yet all he could do was to watch you from a distance.

Armin dismounted from the horse, and a gust of wind swayed his hood off, revealing his blonde hair that kissed his shoulder blades. There he was, standing on the opposite side of the lane, with his right arm resting on his sword, his azure eyes locked on you while everything around you seemed to evaporate. When you shifted your gaze from the customers onto him, his lips took an upward curve and your heartbeats ceased to exist.

The lane between the two of you was filled with people that lead their life without being aware of the tragedies evoked by two distant souls. The dusk was approaching; the crimson sun rays fell short on them, for it witnessed two polar souls burn with desire for each other. It seemed like an endless twilight where only they could exist and none other. Armin took a step forward to cross the lane while all the flowers in the shop closed their petals as if they were to witness the greatest kiss of timeless love, but alas! Tragedy befell them.

It happened within a blink. When y/n opened her eyes, she watched Armin fall to his knees with a wound near his heart. The crowd became unruly; while everyone was fleeing from the scene your feet moved on their own to save him, to stop his bleeding, to do anything, anything at all that would save his life, but before you could barely cross half of the street, your senses betrayed you. It was such a mighty fall, for both of them.

“Oh! You’re awake?”, a bold voice, ruptured your eardrums that could still hear the screams of the locals. A finger traced your face as you opened your eyes, and you saw the face that you have mourned for so long, so silently, that you failed to realize the budding love at the bottom of your heart.

“Yo-you are okay?”, you gasped, blurted out in a hurry to check his wound. It was not there anymore. What actually happened back then?

“How can I not be?”Armin stated, taking a seat near you at the edge of the bed, “What was the last thing you remember, y/n?”, his fingers found their way irrevocably in between yours.

“... that you were bleeding. Everyone was running…to save …”, Armin placed his index on your lips saying, “I was wounded before I came to see you. I wanted to see you for the last time…”, he leaned against your forehead, continuing, “... but you, you y/n saved me.”

It must have been the power of love. A voice mocked the back of your head, but then Armin showed you a pendant; the very pendant that you gifted him on his coronation day. It was embedded with magic. It carried the untimely dead souls, people who departed before their time came.

“This. This has been saving me every time.”, Armin smiled looking at your astonished face.

“You knew about me? All this time?”, you asked, a little offended by the childish tantrum he pulled.

“Of course, love.”, he reported meekly before kissing your lips that he had been dying to taste. You moaned as he advanced his way, his hands palming your face. His touch was so tender and soft that it felt as if he was afraid to touch you, what if you break again?

You looked at him as your lips whispered, “Even before you touched me, I belonged to you, Armin. All you had to do was to look at me. I was right there, with you, the whole damn time.”

—

@tokyometronetwork

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goalieprotectionsquad · 2 years

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✧･ﾟ: * July 2022 Harringrove Starter Pack *:･ﾟ✧

Thank you to Harringrove fans for coming together and creating this amazing fic starter pack and to our endlessly talented creators for giving us so much to choose from! Forty-one votes were cast and across the 119 nominations, the number of votes received by the fics overall amounted to 397 (!!!!). The chosen fics had a combined total of 126 votes. The doc with the list of nominees will stay active in case you want to check out the rest.

Here are the 14 fics chosen by Harringrove fans as the best place to start for those looking to dabble in the community (you can also see these fics in the ao3 collection) - in alphabetical order:

◢ Billy Hargrove Needs a Nap - lilpeas [74,312; E]

It’s one thing to be a light sleeper in this shitty town that won’t shut up at night, but it’s another thing entirely to fall asleep on Steve Harrington’s shoulder during last period English.

◢ break (like waves) - @witchsickness [93,187; E]

‘We’re good together,’ Harrington says to the darkness above. Not a question. Matter of fact. He turns to Billy, a smile sweet enough to make Billy want to do something reckless. Something stupid. ‘I’m telling you, heartbreaker. We’re gonna be unstoppable.’

Billy wants to ask. If he means tomorrow. If he means just for the game.

Wants to ask if he means forever.

He’s never wanted anyone to mean forever before.

or; falling (in love), the hard way

◢ break up with your girlfriend (’cause i’m bored) - @the-copperkid [15,604; E]

@umissedconnections: Bambi eyes. m4m. i was rippin cigs in the sae p-lot. u made urself puke 2 make room 4 more beer. incredible? ur my hero PLS say ur into guys

* Steve finds he has a secret admirer who's continuously hitting on him via his university's Missed Connections Twitter account. // Tommy and Billy are the worst roommates ever.

◢ Cherry - @lazybakerart [58,061; E]

They’ve got ten minutes before Steve’s break is up and he has to go back to wishing for death with a smile.

◢ cherry pie - @brawlite and @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger [133,828; E]

Billy Hargrove lives for summer. Endless sunshine, heavily chlorinated pools, roaming ice cream trucks, and unencumbered freedom? There’s nothing better.

Even being stuck in Hawkins can’t ruin the summer for him. He eats it up, devouring every day whole.

◢ dried up, half full - @lymricks [60,016; E]

Steve’s been coming out here searching for a monster in the woods. He’s finally found one.

“What do you want, Hargrove?”

◢ falling for you in hawkins, indi-fucking-ana (series) - @lazybakerart [294,822+; E]

Billy gets his shit together. Steve figures some stuff out. They fall in love.

◢ in waves - @lymricks [45,095; M]

It’s March and it’s too cold for Billy to be shirtless and wearing shorts, but he hadn’t noticed until Harrington appeared and made him hold still. Harrington can’t seem to stop looking at the bruises. “What’s it to you if I miss a little school, Harrington?” Billy asks. He feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

“I don’t know,” Harrington snaps back, looking uncomfortable. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Plant your feet, Billy wants to scream at him. I’m going to bowl you over.

◢ Incident at Castle Byers - @flippyspoon [3,639; G]

Will learns something about Billy Hargrove and feels a little less alone.

◢ Under the Covers - @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger [87,788; M]

Steve is (maybe) a little bit still in love with Nancy Wheeler and (maybe) trying to figure himself out-- between the night terrors and the babysitting and the general weirdness that is Hawkins, Indiana-- before he graduates.

Billy Hargrove fits in there somewhere (probably).

◢ when the bones are good - @un-buttoned [28,411; E]

‘So,’ Tommy says around a mouthful of fries, ‘what the fuck is the deal with you and Hargrove?’

And that’s really the goddamn question, isn’t it?

He wants to know Billy. Wants to know why he is the way he is. Wants to be able to figure out what the fuck he’s thinking when he looks at Steve like that, when he touches him like it doesn’t mean shit and like it means everything all at once. Wants to know why he talks so much shit, why he needs to fight, where all that fire comes from. Why he’s so volatile, why he’s such an asshole, how he can be so fucking mean and so fucking sweet in the span of seconds, at the same time, even.

◢ you’ll lose the blues in chicago (series) - @lymricks [101,188; E]

Steve takes a second to feel relieved it's not Dustin getting all sorts of arrested in places he shouldn’t be, then he goes back to staring.

It's Billy, who looks as good now as he did the last time Steve saw him: three years ago. He looks just as complicated, too. He’s got bruises on his face, a split lip.

The officer clears her throat, slowly, awkwardly, and Steve realizes they’ve been staring at each other for a while, now. He imagines, for a moment, saying that he doesn’t know this person, this stranger, pretending that Billy Hargrove was someone he used to know and kind of remembers, but--no, he’s not willing to sign for him, or whatever. To vouch for him. “Mr. Harrington?” the officer prompts.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Steve,” he corrects, a little absently. “Yeah, I’ll--yeah. Do you have a form, or something?”

Three years later, Steve Harrington signs Billy Hargrove out of a police station. This, it turns out, is only the beginning.

◢ you’re cold (and i burn) - @keroujack [55,919; E]

Move on. Let it heal.

Maybe that’s why Steve said yes when Max asked him to help move boxes out of Billy’s room after the dust settled. He could hear her voice. Too many. Too heavy.

Just like his wounds. His grief. Too many. Too heavy.

(Or, Steve steals the glass ashtray from Billy's bedside table and things start to go bump in the night.)

◢ Yourself or Someone Like You (series) - halfempty [792,802; E]

Maxine looked happy as they parted from Steve and walked down Main Street away from the theater. She slid into the passenger seat of Billy’s car. 'That was really fun,' she said. She looked at him like a gremlin and then smiled real cutesy. 'Did you and Steve hold hands in the popcorn?'

'I hope you had a real good time, I’m going to kill you in your sleep tonight,' Billy told her.

#harringrove #long post #lilpeas #witchsickness #the-copperkid #lazybakerart #toast-ranger-to-a-stranger #un-buttoned #lymricks #keroujack #halfempty #flippyspoon #brawlite #sorry if this is a Lorge post

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teruthecreator · 11 months

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TW FOR RACISM, CHILD IMPREGNATION, EUGENICS, & TRANSPHOBIA

okay @silvercistern! thats okay! if you dont wanna be here for this conversation then i'll have a conversation without you! for all those readers out there who might've missed it

FOR EVERYONE'S INFORMATION:

Side Quest is definitely one of the weirdest fics I have ever seen get popular, for several content-related reasons.

Firstly, the racism. She writes her Serizawa to be half-black, half-Japanese, which is a perfectly valid hc if not for how she handles this fact. Ignoring the moments of subtle racism she gives Reigen (having him comment on the apparent "sloppiness" of his afro--which she also refuses to call an afro, by the way--and also having him guess his race via his racial characteristics), she blatantly and openly makes Toichiro racist towards Serizawa in a way that I feel we cannot ignore. For example:

I shouldn't have to say that calling a black man a "slave" in any context is fucked up, but I will for the sake of this post! Since she already think I'm insane :-) Also:

Once again, shouldn't have to say this but I will: Saying a black man has a "brutal masculine appeal" is so obviously and blatantly racist while also being entirely unnecessary for his character! We understand, as both readers and watchers of the base material, that Toichiro is a bad guy. We do not need him to then become racist, borderline-pedophilic, and a supporter of eugenics! And if you need quotes for some of these points, I will include one that has both:

Even if he is saying that he won't facilitate the "impregnation of a child", why the fuck is he laughing about it? Just a reminder: Toichiro in canon is only a terrorist and a child abuser. Yes, he is a bad person. However, I think elevating his evil to this level removes any concept of character depth that you could possibly have, and makes the ending of this fic (where he is seemingly normal and fine, with both his wife and child in his relative good graces) all the weirder. But again, I'm insane, right? Oh yeah, one more point about Toichiro that I found from the comments:

Now this tells me several things. Firstly, it's that she lacks the oversight to recognize when there is blatant racism in her works of fiction. Which is questionable, but I'm willing to let that slide because people should always be given the opportunity to grow. HOWEVER, the second part of this tells me that the first part might be a lie!!! Because hey!! If you are headcanoning a person's parent as being a WHITE SOUTH AFRICAN WITH EUGENICIST BELIEFS, you are basically saying your character was raised by an APARTHEID APOLOGIST. So I really don't know how you can avoid the racism embedded in that statement.

Now, let's move away from Toichiro because he's not the only character she completely butchers with weird concepts. Shimazaki is a trans chaser in this fic.

That's right. I'm not kidding. He is a chaser.

Once again reminding you that I'm the insane one.

There is literally no reason I can see as to why she would write this, other than that it is supposed to be a joke. Now, as an afab trans butch, there is only so much I can say to this point, but I will still ask: Who is laughing here? Who is this joke funny to? Is it to the trans women, who have to deal with similar kinds of harassment each time they try to go on a date? Or is it the Shimazaki fans, who I guess aren't weirded out by their fav being a chaser? Or is it just you, silvercistern? Is it just funny to you?

That point brings me to one of my last points with context. She seems to enjoy throwing in random "edgy" topics for either shock value or a laugh, neither of which I think her wording lands on. I did collegiate improv comedy for all four years of college (yes that may seem pathetic to you, but it was fun)--if anyone knows how a joke should sound, I think I'm one of the few. And, frankly, none of these land. For instance, the repeated "joke" of calling Reigen a creep or alluding to him being a pedo:

But, again, me? I'm insane, apparently. If you take issue with any of this, like I did, then to her you are insane.

This is not surprising to me, given that she already had a kind of breakdown to my friend regarding when they asked if silvercistern could tag one of her fics with sa.

Here is the link to their post. I ask that you respect their wishes and do not send harassment to silvercistern (as that is my wish as well) and do not be weird to them in their inbox.

But this is why it does not surprise me that she 1. would private her twitter account when faced with even the slightest backlash, 2. would then talk about the situation to her mutuals to garner sympathy, and 3. not even bother to read a single thing I said, given that she replied to my post in less than a minute after I had posted it.

By the way, one of those mutuals? Yeah, they are literally a toichiro/shou shipper. Here's the proof:

Anyway, this is not an excuse to go harass her. I DO NOT CONDONE HARASSMENT OF ANY KIND. ANY OF MY POSTS ABOUT THIS SITUATION WERE MADE TO DIRECTLY ADDRESS HER AND THE ISSUES I HAVE. IF YOU FEEL THE NEED TO CHIME IN, DO IT ON YOUR OWN TIME WITH YOUR OWN POST. DO NOT HARASS HER.

So yeah. Guess this would be something an insane person does, right? lol

#mp100 #this is the last thing im saying on this. honestly bc im blocked and theres no reason for me to keep going #if she aint even gonna have the balls to read what i said #then theres no reason for me to prattle on other than this #AND IF UR ONE OF HER FRIENDS OR DICKRIDERS: LMAO #YALL GOOFY AS HELL #so tempted to add 'fucking insane' to my bio rn HJRBJHGRBJGRBJRBJHGRBHJGR #HEY. IM THE INSANE ONE. RACISM IS BAD AND SO IS SEXUALIZING KIDS #THATS CRAZY RIGHT? CRAZY

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chubsonthemoon · 1 year

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Binderary 2023 Wrap-Up!

Binderary 2023 is over, and I come bearing some stats, thoughts, and a compiled list of my QOTD answers! :3

Stats:

Books planned: 7

Books completed: 7/7 (woohoo!)

Fandoms: 3 (Yuri on Ice, Harry Potter, and The Sandman)

Total word count: 340,654

List of books (from left to right):

Maybe sprout wings by @moorishflower

Flower King by @landwriter

The Politeness of Princes by @aboxthecolourofheartache

Uncertain Results (also by Box!)

I'm caught inside every open eye (also also by Box :3)

Not pictured (on account of them being given away as gifts!):

My Immortal by Tara Gilesbie (aka xxxbloodyrists666xxx) (community typeset by @renegadepublishing)

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by @kazliin (typesetting by @ziezie13 <3)

QOTD answers under the cut (and these are copied directly from our DW post, just with added tumblr @'s!)

1. What does Renegade mean to you?

Renegade has, in all honesty, probably changed the course of my life! That's not hyperbole--it's had such a huge influence on my hobbies, my friendships, my academic trajectory, even my career. I was still in undergrad when I found ASH's post on fanbinding, and I was very lost as to what the next steps would be. And like so many others experienced, the pandemic only made things even murkier and more isolating. Then I found ASH's manifesto in June 2020, worked up the courage to join the Discord in July 2020, and found a community of like-minded weirdos who were just as passionate (if not even more so!) about their favorite stories, and a craft that I fall a little bit more in love with every day (well, most days. fuckin printers man XD). I wrote my honors thesis thanks to Renegade; I've made lifelong friends thanks to Renegade; I have my current job, in a field I love, thanks to Renegade. (My first Rocky Horror Picture show at Havencon 2022? All thanks to Renegade :D) This really feels like my forever fandom home-- even when I jump around from fandom to fandom, there's always a wonderful and supportive community to fall back on. In short, I really love it here, I'm so pleased with what we've done so far, and I can't wait to see where we go! ❤️

2. Favorite Fic

As everyone else who answered this, this question is IMPOSSIBLE. However, if you put a gun to my head and told me to answer right now, I'd have to say Tell Me About the Big Bang (my binding of it here!) It's one of the fics that has touched me most deeply and which has probably had the greatest influence on my writing. It was one of the first fics I'd ever bound, and I really wanted to rebind it to see how far I've come!

3. One thing you'd like to learn more about

GOD SO MANY THINGS. Backing! Headband techniques. Chisel trimming. Edge gilding. Tiny books. More advanced Cricut techniques. More cohesive and professional-looking graphic design. This hobby is really a dozen hobbies in a trench coat, and there's so much to explore.

4. Paper!

For my textblocks, I use 20 lb. cream Hammermill paper! I order it in 11"x 17" and get it cut in half for short grain, like a lot of other folks at Renegade. Recently I've started experimenting with quarto-sized Legal (8.5"x 14")and fell in love. I also want to try a bunch of the other paper that folks have suggested (looking at @robins-egg-bindery Mohawk Via o.o). For my endpapers, I usually use scrapbook paper from those scrapbook paper packs you can get at Michaels and Joann's (and when they're on sale...WOOF)

5. Cloth!

DUO BOOKCLOTH MY BELOVED. God I wish I'd gotten in on the Renegade group order - but ah well. Big fan of making my own though! There are just so many options to choose from, so it really expands what you can do (again: a dozen hobbies and crafts in a trench coat)

6. The Glue War

LOVE me some PVA! I know that it gives you less time to do things, but I get impatient XD. Plus it's cheap and easy to find and ready to use right out of the bottle, which is great. I've tried my hand at making starch paste + PVA with very mixed (ha!) results, although I had a wonderful time with some methyl cell that @simply-sithel gifted me at Havencon last year <3 So mayhaps will have to buy more of that for a future project!

I also love my Cricut Explore 2, Charlotte! She holds up very well, although I think she's due for a blade refill soon. I've just been setting my pressure higher and higher LOL

7. Machines

Love my Epson ecotank! I recently bought it--for the first two years I was going to my local print shop because the quality was great and I had a discount card. Unfortunately the discount card eventually expired, so I decided to bite the bullet and get my own printer. I really love it! I didn't want to have to deal with laser and printing in color can get pricey--the cartridges are just so goddamn expensive, although I do think laser prints in higher quality. Mayhaps a future purchase, because I'd really like to experiment with foiling!

8. Favorite binding technique

Ooh this one is interesting! I know which part of the process I enjoy the most, which is sewing! Kettle stitch my beloved. ALTHOUGH I am a sucker for the French link too--it's just so pretty! And we just had a wonderful workshop put on last week by @queercore-curriculum on their...embroidered binding/long-stitch binding (??? I don't know if there's an official name for it yet), which I LOVE. Glueless bindings are SO cool and I would love to experiment more with them.

9. Your best tip/trick

Ooh! Hmmm...I'd say: never bind while you're super tired/hungry LOL. I've made many a preventable mistake very late at night because I wanted to get something cased in or glued before bed when I probably should've waited till morning XD That being said, on the flip side I think you should never be afraid to experiment! Go hog wild!!! Use those glitter pens!! Try out that fancy silk for your endbands!! Try that new binding style! And if you fuck up, remember that's okay too! These are handmade objects and those mistakes are proud proof of that, and of your journey as a fanbinder. Stick 'em in the channel on the Discord, laugh and (maybe cry a little XD) about it, and then keep going. tldr; ya live and learn!

10. Favorite Detail

Ooh, this one's hard! I love leaving little Easter eggs in my designs. I'd say my favorite is putting my maker's mark on things! My imprint is Moonham Press (a fun mix of my usernames, chubsthehamster and chubsonthemoon), and the logo includes a little crescent moon. I'd actually been binding for about two years when I finally made the imprint--I used to think that it was...idk, kind of weird to put myself in the book? Like I was taking away from the story inside it. But then I got to thinking--well, hey, I'm the one who made this book, right? If nothing else, putting my mark on it tells someone who may pick it up one day that I was connected to this story. Some conversations with some folks at Renegade during Havencon 2022 also helped me embrace this. So these days I put my imprint logo in the typesetting, and I also put it on the cover somewhere! My favorite spots are either on the spine, between the title and author name, or on the back cover, in the bottom left corner :D

11. Spines

Spines are the bane of my existence. Haha, jk. They're mostly just tedious, since they're one of the only parts of the process that still require precise measurement (I've cut templates for everything else by now, and I use my guillotine to cut boards, so that goes super fast). For my thicker books I use Bristol board; I actually still use the same sheets I bought in 2020 when I first started binding--I didn't know how much I would really need so I think I ordered four massive sheets which will probably last me for ten years LOL. For my thinner books, I use Davy board, which is a pain to cut but gives the book a really nice board feel. And for my paperbacks, the spine is just the cover, which I make out of kraft paper for the backing + the decorative paper (usually scrapbook paper or something I've designed and printed)

12. Mistakes/Fails

Ooh BOY are there many. My most recent was my experiment with making a hardback quarto letter. I made the hinge waaaaay too small so when I tested the case the textblock was sticking out of it LOL. But I've been pretty lucky--this is only the second case I've had to remake in my time as fanbinder *KNOCKS ON WOOD*, but my printer fuck-ups when I was trying to figure out how to print on legal sized paper (since my printer doesn't duplex) probably make up for the luck I've had in the case department XD. Casing in, though--I think I've had maaaaaybe...two or three case-ins where I was completely happy with the results. A large part of this is because my guillotine doesn't cut completely straight, so my squares are never even LOL. But hey, I'm not getting paid for this, and I'm having fun, so eh.

13. Process

Ooh, interesting! My process has remained largely unchanged--I think the only thing that has really changed is now the frequency at which I print. I used to print at a print shop, so I'd make typesets in large batches--usually two to four books, sometimes more (I think the most I've done at a time is five?), and I'd make a day out of it. Now that I have my printer at home though, I can do things in smaller batches! I can also test print things, so I've been able to get a lot more experimental with my books sizes and my covers. Everything else has remained largely the same--the first book I did I typeset in MS Word, but everything after that I've all done in Affinity Publisher. I typeset > print > bind > take pictures! I really like how different each step is (like I said, twelve different hobbies in a trench coat), so there's always something different to do if I get bored. My favorite parts are probably designing covers and sewing the signatures!

14. Storage solutions

OUGH. I have one of those rollaway drawer thingies for all my tools, a dozen scrapbook paper containers, several large baskets for my vinyl and cloth, a hanging stand for my larger sheets of decorative paper, a standing desk which holds my Cricut and printer (a few of the aforementioned vinyl baskets are under this desk too), another rollaway basket thingy that holds my printing paper and my press (also under the standing desk), another desk which holds both my two guillotines and cutting mats (and under that desk are all my scrapbook paper containers and Cricut mats), and a final third desk where I keep all my sewing stuff and where I do my typesetting and other sitting-down parts of the process. And of course my shelves for all my books! This doesn't really give a sense of where everything is, but it's actually fairly organized, and for the most part I know where everything is (except for my FUCKING bone folder god that thing is always ending up in places I do not remember putting it XD)

15. Your Workspace

Ah, see my answer to 14! I'll probably upload a photo here later XD

16. Dust jackets and covers

Oooh, I've never made a dust jacket before--I don't think my printer could handle the wonky paper size that it requires, but they look really cool and I'd maybe be up for making one someday! And covers! Both my greatest love and my greatest enemy. They're super fun to design, but this is one part of the process that always feels like an uphill battle for me! There are so many skilled and talented folks in Renegade with GORGEOUS covers, and it's always a mix of being incredibly inspired and getting some design envy--but either way it's very motivating to keep me out of my comfort zone and to always keep trying new things. I use decorative paper and scrapbook paper mostly for the base material (although I've begun experimenting with designing things digitally and printing them out on Epson matte presentation paper), and then the rest is fuck it, we ball. I usually design the cover last, so I have an entire typeset and title page already when I begin, which makes things a little easier since I have an already established aesthetic to work with. My font selection is kind of determined by how small the text for the title/author name is, since my Cricut isn't great at cutting super small sizes (Times New Roman, funnily enough, is one of the only fonts that it can do at smaller sizes LOL so a lot of the text on my covers/spines are in TNR). I'm excited to keep improving and experimenting in this area!

17. Published inspiration

Ooh!! This one's fun--when I first began making my Master pages in Affinity publisher, I literally grabbed the first few books I saw on my shelf and said 'alright, this looks good' and haven't looked back since LOL. Those books were Vintage's editions of Toni Morrison's novels, Picador's Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, Vintage's edition of Willa Cather's The Song of the Lark, Fall River's omnibus editions of Shakespeare and Sherlock Holmes's works, Penguin Classic's Deluxe edition of Jane Austen's novels, and a few others that I can't remember. I looked at all these books, found what they had in common (for example, a simple title page before the decorative title page, the use of a single graphic or design at the beginning of each chapter, etc.) and went with that! I don't usually take inspiration from specific books, EXCEPT for a project I'm currently working on which I'm super excited about :3 More TK here eheh (ADDITION 3/7: I was talking about Maybe sprout wings here LOL)

18. Illustrations

FANART MY BELOVED. I LOVE including fanart in my books, because it's such a lovely demonstration of the communal nature of these stories and it's so fun getting to collect all the pieces. For free use graphics my favorite sites are Adobe Stock images and Heritage Library. Heritage in particular has a beautiful selection of free vintage graphics packs that I've used for years now. And very occasionally, wingdings fonts will have something I really like XD

19. Favorite tool

Despite my gripes earlier about always misplacing it, I ADORE my bone folder. It's a funky lil dude and it makes all my edges nice and crisp! I can't wait for the retreat bone folder fufu :3 Also a very big fan of my guillotine, which despite its flaws makes my life a hell of a lot easier in the long run, as well as my presses, which were handmade by my dad and do their jobs very well (squiiiiiiish)

20. Favorite part of the binding process

Oooh, this one's fun! I really like the actual construction of the book--sewing sigs is always relaxing and has been one of my fave parts since the very beginning. Recently I've started to really enjoy designing covers, especially if there are a lot of physical elements (like layering scrapbook paper or playing around with Mod Podge).

I had the absolute privilege to hold @clovenhoofbindery's copy of Away Childish Things at Havencon last year. Literally every book Space makes I fall in love with, and her designs are a HUGE inspiration for me. Everything from the typesetting to cover design to physical construction--I lose my marbles every time.

21. Inspo: The binder that inspired you!

Ohhh this one's so hard! Literally every time I check the #show-off channel in the Discord I'm struck by so many beautiful books. I'm going to cheat and name a few people here, but this list is by no means comprehensive and doesn't even begin to cover everyone I could name.

Everything @pleasantboatpress binds is just so beautiful. Their color choices are always inspired and their headbands make me want to cry! Their bind of Unconditional in particular had me foaming at the mouth.

The quality of everything @zhalfirin-binds makes, likewise, always blows me away. Her books are so polished and professional, and her photos make me feel like I'm in a museum when I'm trawling her blog for inspo!

@simply-sithel's tiny books are literally the coolest things ever! I'm still working my way through the Binderary vids and I can't wait to get to hers. Six plays with form in mind-bending and truly innovative ways, and her blog is wonderland of tiny and fantastical book creatures.

@teleportbooks's binds are the definition of classy and refined. They're so good at designing their books according to the contents of the fic--their binding of Thirty-Three Lashes in particular is just the best design centered around fic content and title I've seen. Their designs always make me melt a little when I see them!

@no-name-publishing's endbands are to DIE for. Like fr I am in awe every time!!! And Kam's cover + title page designs are a huge source of inspo for me--forever in love with this bind of theirs, with the beautiful painted cover + matching endpapers T_T

And of course!!! I (and everyone else) wouldn't be here without our beloved leader, @armoredsuperheavy. He's the first binder that ever inspired me, and he continues to do so today!

22. Inspo: The fic that inspired you!

My original answer was also my answer for 27 ("First bind"), but I'm gonna say something a little different here! I usually know pretty quickly whether I'm interested in binding something, but very rarely has a fic gotten me hook, line, and sinker the way @that-banhus's King of Infinite Space did. Like, from the first line I was like "oh god I need to hold this one." And eventually I did! :3

23. Author spotlight: Someone you've bound

AHHHHHH this one is so hard too! I've bound a good number of authors over the years, many of whom are my dear friends, and to spotlight only a single one would be impossible. So I'm just going to poke @dodici12, whose killugon fic See You Upside Down is one of the best killugon reunion fics ever in my very humble hamster opinion. Hiiiii Tessa ilysm <333

24. Author spotlight: Someone you'd like to bind

OOOOOH. Many, many fics are in my queue. I'll keep them to myself for now, since I prefer to ask for author permission via DM, but atm I have my eye on a few Good Omens authors whose work I adore!

25. Favorite bind by you!

THIS ONE IS SO HARD AJLSKDJF. I love all my babies so much and I'm proud of what I was able to accomplish and what I learned from each of them. However, if you put a gun to my head and asked me to choose right now, I'd have to go with my most recent bind of Maybe sprout wings by @moorishflower. I'm really pleased with both its construction and particularly the curation of its contents, which includes the work of nearly a dozen people. It was my attempt at capturing the communal nature of fanfiction's creation and dispersal, and it was also my Big Project this Binderary. I'm ridiculously fond and proud of it!

26. Favorite bind by someone else!

THIS ONE IS SO HARD TOO HELP. Okay this is only one of my many many favorites, but dragging Space back out here again to say that her bind of Away Childish Things permanently altered my brain chemistry. Like, the cutout!!! The patronuses!!!! The title page cutout???? THE KEY??? Again, I held this book in my hands IN PERSON last year and I'm still not over it. The quality of the work is absolutely bonkers crazy incredible and I think about it Often.

27. First bind

The very first fic I ever bound was On Stranger Tides by @theroyalsavage. It's still one of my favorite fics ever today--it has the perfect blend of action/adventure, romance, humor, and fantasy. It gives me the good ol' "roaming the high seas with found family and magic and pirates" ache. It holds a very special place in my heart!

FINAL THOUGHTS

28. Latest bind

See 22! But for funsises, I'm also ridiculously fond of the binding before that, of @aboxthecolourofheartache's fic The Politeness of Princes, because I got to do lots of fun arts and crafty things with the cover!

This was my first year doing Binderary, and I had such a blast! It's so crazy seeing how far Renegade has come, from a little Discord for book shop chatting (ASH mentioned in one of the talks how it was just called, like, "Bookbinding Discord" at the beginning LOL) to now. We're well on our way to a proper organizational structure, with several yearly events, in-person meetups, and thousands of members all over the world. And we have so much more planned! It feels truly special, and I'm so grateful to everyone who makes this possible.

Okay!! That's all from me for today, folks. If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! <3

#binderary2023 #fanbinding #bookbinding #ficbinding

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raccoonfallsharder · 9 months

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Chapter 12/20+ Window Across the Galaxy (new 9/13)

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

“So, uh,” he starts quietly. “What’s up between you and Rocket?” She pauses. “Excuse me?” He clears his throat. “Well. You know. It’s clear you both care about each other a lot.” “Yeah,” she says blankly, and if she’s playing dumb, oh well. A girl’s allowed to have her secrets. “He’s my copilot. So what?” “Well,” Pete hedges, “there’s all the little affectionate touches, which he’ll only tolerate from you.” He coughs again, politely. “He calls you sweetheart and doll and princess - and it only sounds like he’s being a dick about it maybe, like, half the time.” She waits, sculpting the hair on the left side of his head. He pauses meaningfully. “And…okay, obviously, you guys share a bunk, even though it’s not - strictly necessary at this point. And…I know Rocket’s room here has the hammock, but Drax said the two of you shared a room on Xandar, even though you both had your own. And those rooms only had one bed apiece. So…” “Pete,” she says slowly. “Peter. Quill. Star-Lord. Brother-of-Mine. Are you asking me if I’m fucking my copilot?”

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

this is a beach episode without a beach (we're just getting from point A to point B here with some blah narrative) sorrryyy

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut. let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic/headcanon/doodle taglist ♡

General Summary~

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best raccoon

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship. Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron. Chapter III. A Kindness.in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food. Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave. Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course. Chapter VII. I'm Here.in which we visit Knowhere. Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.” Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking. Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way. Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost. Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes. Coming Soon: Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slooowww burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. rating will go up and tags will be added to as needed.

@evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick

#window across the galaxy #rocket raccoon #rfh fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon x oc #guardians of the galaxy #oc x rocket raccoon

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saibug1022 · 1 month

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Two Birds On A Wire

Word Count: 1.7k

Lincoln McQuoid/Aquino & Valen Ebony (ILITW MC), background mentions of Lincoln x ILW MC and Lucas x ILITW MC

A/N: Fun fact for those who don't know, for the second half or so of ILW I was actually on the dev team, first as a senior tester and then as a junior writer. As a result I got to program some scenes into my person copy of the game, one of which is this one! I finally turned it into a proper fic and I plan to do the same with a Dan x MC scene later so stay tuned

“Which reminds me,” Lincoln said with a small smile and a sidelong glance at Val. “I actually legally changed my name just a few days ago.”

“You did?” Abel replied.

“Yeah. I took my mom’s maiden name,” Lincoln nodded. “So I’m Lincoln Aquino now. I didn’t think I could handle that name following me around after all my father did, so…”

Val’s eyes fell to the ground at the reminder. ‘My’ father. Just a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have blinked an eye. But now it came with a bit of sting. Not that it wasn’t honest. Matthias had him only to be used. He’d never considered Val a son. Never kept an eye on him, probably didn’t even know his name. Only led Val’s friends to resurrect him to further his own plan. He wasn’t even the man on Val’s birth certificate. But that was why it stung. Technically it should be ‘our’ dad. But it never really was.

But if he was honest with himself, the lack of the word ‘our’ hurt less in relation to their father and more in relation to Lincoln. Val was no stranger to absent parents, so that wasn’t anything new. Siblings? Val was still wrapping his head around that. Lincoln was his brother. And neither of them had said a single thing about it, at least not to each other. They just kept dancing around each other and honestly? Val was perfectly happy with that.

If they never had a conversation Lincoln wouldn’t say the things Val was sure he was thinking. Val wasn’t just his half-brother, Matthias had him via an affair with Val’s mother (which they had a very spirited conversation about that involved some screaming, some crying, and threats of divorce). Val was a reminder of what a horrible person his, their, father was, and especially the horrible things he’d done to the mother Lincoln adored. Lincoln was a great guy. Val didn’t think Lincoln would blame him, even if Val would get it if he did. But he imagined it must be hard to look at him.

No matter Val’s own feelings, Lincoln seemed to be shedding his past, and Val couldn’t help the pride that overtook that little sting. It honestly sounded like a great idea. Not that Val really had anything to change his last name to. For just a moment he caught the eye of a certain ex-class president across the yard and couldn’t help a small smile. Maybe he would one day.

But for now, Val looked over at Lincoln with that same smile.

“I think Lincoln Aquino is a great name,” He said.

“I agree,” Abel said. “You don’t need to carry something around that reminds you of him, especially not after what he did."

Lincoln’s smile turned sheepish as he looked at the ground. “Thanks.”

Abel paused abruptly, craning his neck and looking around. He must have found whatever he was looking for because a smirk appeared on his face for a split second before he hid it, clearing his throat and standing.

“I think Amalia is calling me over,” Abel told them.

“What?” Lincoln glanced over at Amalia who was mid-conversation with Castor and Jocelyn. “No she’s not.”

“You two have fun!” Abel grinned. Oh that little shit. Val and Lincoln must have figured out what Abel was doing at the same time as they both spoke up.

“Wait-” Val objected as Lincoln simultaneously protested “Abel-!”

But Abel completely ignored their pleas and wandered off to Amalia, Jocelyn, and Castor, leaving Val and Lincoln alone at the fire.

They sit there in an awkward silence, Val just messing with his necklace praying Abel would come back and give him an excuse to leave. He couldn’t just get up when it was just Lincoln, it would make it so obvious he was avoiding him. He switched to lightly biting the ring pendant on the necklace as he thought. He had to say something, right? Unless Lincoln was avoiding him too in which case maybe he should stay quiet for both of their sakes? Well unfortunately this silence was eating him alive

“So uh,” Val cleared his throat. “How’re you and Julian?”

Val knew the answer. He’d talked to Julian not even ten minutes ago.

“Good,” Lincoln replied. “We’re good.”

“Great.”

More silence.

Eventually Val sighed. Obviously avoiding each other was getting nowhere and he had a sneaking feeling Abel not returning was on purpose.

“He’s probably right,” Val pointed out. “We should talk about this at some point.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lincoln admitted. “But what do you even say about this kind of thing?”

Val snickered. “What, you’ve got a secret bastard brother three days before your father dies trying to kill you both?”

“Don’t call yourself a bastard,” Lincoln snapped. Val’s eyebrows raised in a mix of shock and confusion.

“Why not?” Val wondered. “I mean, I am. Matthias obviously had me while he was still married to your mom. It was an affair, plain and simple. I, I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for it.”

“Why would I hate you?” Lincoln questioned, genuine confusion on his face.

“Because I’m living proof of your dad being a cheating asshole?”

“No.”

Lincoln turned in his chair to fully face Val and Val turned to meet him, the awkward tension of his shoulders turning to anxiety as he waited for whatever Lincoln wanted to say. Lincoln met his eyes and Val found he actually wanted to meet them. Whatever Lincoln said he wanted to truly absorb it.

“Look, I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” Lincoln confessed. “I have no idea how to be a brother. I screwed up the closest thing I had to it, bad. But I don’t think you’re a bastard.”

Lincoln’s face shifted from solemnity to rage. “If anyone’s a bastard it’s him. He had you just to use and then throw away when it suited him. It;s messed up and wrong and…and you deserve better.”

For a moment, Val didn’t know what he wanted to say. Even if he did he had a feeling the words would get caught on the emotions clogging his throat. This hadn’t been how he’d expected this conversation to go. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting exactly but he’d considered anything from indifference to disgust to full on hate. But what Lincoln was looking at him with felt more so like affection. Protectiveness.

Lincoln leaned over and after a moment of consideration put his hand on Val’s knee and Val froze. Something felt fragile about this. Rather than two adults navigating a complicated a difficult family secret they felt like two hurt boys who more than anything were scared. Scared of their dad, scared of the monsters in the woods, and scared of the big feelings too complicated to understand. One wrong move could send one or both of them running but there was a gravity pulling them together and blocking out the rest of the world.

“This whole thing is messed up and weird,” Lincoln said.

“Us being messed up and weird too doesn’t really help,” Val commented.

“Not really,” Lincoln agreed. “I want to be part of your life, and I want you to be part of mine. We may not have grown up together but he took everything else from us, I don’t want him to take our chance to be brothers too. But only if you want that too.”

Val was grinning so wide his face hurt, his vision blurred from slight tears. Val had never had a sibling, hell he’d never had family that wanted him. Connor was the closest thing he’d had. But here was Lincoln telling him that even with everything that had happened and their origins he still wanted to try to be Val’s brother.

“I’d like that,” Val said. “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Lincoln grinned too.

“You being in Vegas might make it a pain though,” Val remembered. “Give me your phone.”

Lincoln unlocked his phone before handing it over. Val opened the contacts and entered in his name and his new phone number. Connor had helped him get a new phone finally, one that didn’t die fucking constantly. You handed Lincoln his phone back.

“There,” Val said. “And you better actually text me. I know technology isn’t your strong suit.”

“You talk to the twins too much,” Lincoln sighed.

“I’m gonna be talking to them way more now.”

“We’ve been brothers for five minutes and you’re teasing me.”

“I have twenty-two years of it to catch up on!”

“You have a point,” Lincoln hummed in consideration and glanced toward the cabin with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve known your friends since you were little, right?”

“Oh no, no no no no,” Val shook his head. “This is backfiring fast.”

Lincoln barked out a laugh and Val joined him. The sound broke the fragility around them and Lincoln sat up, his hand falling off Val’s knee. But neither of them ran. Now the silence was comfortable and easy.

“You know,” Lincoln spoke up. “I don’t go back to Vegas until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you asking to hang out with me?” Val grinned.

“Maybe I am,” Lincoln smiled too.

“We’re definitely hanging out now,” Val declared. “I know where we’re going too. If you really want to learn about me as a kid we’re going to Pizza Mega.”

“That sounds like a place middle-schoolers hang out.”

“That’s because it is.”

The two of them conversed a bit about their schedules and picked a time, including some logistics before Val spotted Abel on his way back over so he stood up but Lincoln stopped him before he could walk away.

“I’ll see you around, buddy, okay?” Lincoln said and Val’s heart soared at the casual nickname.

“You’re damn right,” Val agreed.

With one more wave to both Lincoln and Abel. Val returned to the rest of the memorial.

#val ebony #playchoices #choices #it lives in the woods #ilitw #it lives within #ilw #it lives anthology #lincoln mcquoid #lincoln aquino

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

I'll Bet You Think About Me

Summary: Feyre Archerons neighbor stands out on their shared deck each morning.

Totally naked.

Read what the critics are saying: "ITS LIKE YOU DONT CARE THAT YOURE KILLING ME" and "IM CHOKING OH MY GOD RHYS 😂😂😂"

moodboard by @velidewrites, beta'd and written for @the-lonelybarricade who gave me explicit permission to rip off her own neighbor fic, You Look Like Bad News (which you should all go read so she will UPDATE IT FOR ME)

Read on AO3

Feyre worked strange hours.

She didn’t have to, of course. She rented out studio space downtown that offered twenty-four hour access via a keycard and Feyre found she much preferred to paint at two in the morning…and again at two in the afternoon. In between, she taught a painting class to rambunctious hospital children all the way across the city, and three painting classes at night for adults who liked to drink wine. She had enough money, thanks to some wealthy business man purchasing one of her paintings, to afford one of the nicer townhouses in a quieter part of the city. Did she need that much space? No. But she liked it.

She liked the dark wood floors and the bay window that overlooked the street. She liked the crown molding and having two bathrooms upstairs and half of one downstairs.

And most of all, Feyre liked her neighbor. Rhysand. She knew because she’d once gotten a piece of mail for him, numbered for next door but slid into her box. She’d returned it, turning that name over in her mind.

He didn’t realize she lived there. At least, that’s what she assumed, given every morning he bade his strolled onto the back deck they shared totally and utterly naked. She’d been standing outside the sliding glass door, about to introduce herself to him.

He’d introduced himself, instead.

Rhysand.

Rhysand with his golden brown skin and his muscular body. Rhysand, with his raven’s black hair and eyes so blue that they seemed violet in the early morning sun. Rhysand, with those dark, black inked tattoos over his broad shoulders and chest.

And Rhysand, with his absurdly large cock. She’d heard the phrase shower versus grower, but never had Feyre understood what that meant until she saw the thick, heavy appendage hanging casually between Rhysand's muscular thighs.

Feyre made sure she was home every morning to see him strut out on the deck. Sometimes he went alone, nothing in hand, to lean against the railing and stare out at the river in the distance. Other times he had coffee or a book. A few times a very naked woman would join him—always different, which made her feel a little better.

It wasn’t as if she had a shot in hell with him. Rhysand looked like he had an expensive job. Like he’d been born into money and his life was merely a natural extension of that. He certainly wasn’t covered in paint at any given time, and the women he brought home weren’t, either.

Still, he was a nice little fantasy. Most morning’s Ferye lied to herself about why she watched him. It wasn’t, she swore, because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He was merely a good body study. Examining him so closely, watching the way his muscles shifted and pulled, made her a better artist. And Feyre was consumed with being a better artist. She’d never been able to get past the awkwardness that came from studying nude figures, but since Rhysand didn’t know he was being watched, Feyre didn’t have to feel uncomfortable.

It took her three months of living in the townhouse to work up the nerve to sketch him. He’d been leaned over the railing, one leg popped out, the other stretched behind him. No penis—only his rather nice ass and the bunching muscles in his back. He stayed that way just long enough for her to get a rough outline of him.

She hadn’t slept that morning—Feyre had to finish her charcoal drawing. It had made her class that night hell and still, was well worth it. She’d managed to capture his contemplation rather well, which always made her giddy.

A week later, she’d pulled it out again to draw him spread in a chair. That sketch was more self-indulgent and yet the way his cock hung between his thighs, the head pressed to his leg, was more good work. New work. She’d transferred it onto an easel, using oil to draw out his mood and the world around him.

If he hadn’t been a real person, Feyre was sure she could have sold it. He was absurdly beautiful, even drawn from her own hand. The world deserved to know someone like him existed.

It was a violation in and of itself to even draw him, let alone put one of those pictures up for auction. It wasn’t as if he knew and Feyre was positive if he learned he had a neighbor, he would have put on pants.

She managed to stay out of his line of sight for a full six months. She might have managed it forever had they not met on the sidewalk just outside their shared walkway. He had his arm around a giggling brunette. Her dress was riding up over her ass and his tie was pulled off his neck.

Feyre was covered in paint.

The three of them paused, looking at each other. His dark brows furrowed, keys in his hand.

“Hey, neighbor,” she said awkwardly. He blinked those violet eyes, his expression illuminated under the porchlight.

“How long…” his words were slurred. “Neighbor?”

“Six months,” she informed him sheepishly. Fuck this was so awkward. Her stomach sloshed with jealousy, unable to take her eyes off the woman running her hand up his broad chest. She wished that was her.

“Have a nice night,” she told him, jogging towards the stairs before he could ask her anything else. Feyre’s heart pounded just on the other side of the door. He was drunk, she reasoned. He wouldn’t remember this in the morning. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to, though despite their shared walls, she didn’t hear a peep out of him.

Whiskey dick was a real bitch, she told herself with more than a little glee.

Feyre was certain she was in the clear the next morning. She had her sketch pad at the table, coffee steaming from a paint covered mug, when a knock on the front door sent fear skittering up her spine. Feyre turned towards the long hall, well aware of who would be waiting.

It was Rhysand, in a dark suit, and box of donuts in hand.

“I didn’t know I had a neighbor,” he said by way of greeting. “Six months?”

“I’m surprised you remember,” she said breathlessly. Watching him from her window was one thing. Standing just on the other side of the door frame, close enough to breathe in the salt and citrusy scent of his masculine cologne was wholly another. Rhysand was tall, looking down at her with open amusement.

“Can I come in?” he asked when it was clear she wasn’t going to invite him.

Get it together.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, stepping aside. He practically ducked in, eyes sliding over her walls. They snagged on one of her paintings, squinting as though he recognized it. She wouldn’t be surprised. For a whole year, Ferye had advertised her pieces in various restaurants as a way to drum up interest.

“Do you know what happened to the last woman who lived here?” he asked conversationally. Feyre led him to the kitchen, not bothering to think about what he might see when he stepped in.

“She passed away, I think,” Feyre replied. He nodded, gaze pinned to her closed sketchbook.

“She was nice. Used to bake.”

Did she watch him naked from the window, too? Feyre didn’t blame her if she had. Rhysand set the donut box on her little table, positioned perfectly to watch him on the deck.

“This was really nice,” she tried, unable to take her eyes off him. Rhysand went straight to the closed balcony doors, peering out into the morning light. Was he missing his usual routine?

“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her, turning so suddenly she stumbled back a step. Hands braced on the counter, Feyre had to blink in order to really look at him. “Six months, huh?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“Never wanted to say hi? That’s not very neighborly.”

“I work late hours,” she told him breathlessly. His eyes flicked back out to the deck. “Out late? Up early?”

“Something like that.”

He nodded slowly. “And when do you sleep?”

The question was innocuous. Polite, even. Or, it would have been were it not for the predatory look in his eyes or the way he managed to make that question sound like a suggestion.

“I…” Feyre walked around the kitchen island, putting a healthy distance between them. “When I can.”

He nodded, glancing back at her sketchbook. Nodding towards it, he asked. “You draw? Can I see?”

She lunged, snatching it out of his hands before he could flip it open. He was so close to finding multiple drawings of his own cock. All but panting, Feyre said, “That’s private.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” he agreed. She wanted to die. Did he know? Had he guessed? Or was her guilt making her project?

“Thank you for breakfast,” she told him, holding her sketchbook protectively to her chest. He smiled.

“Maybe you’ll return the favor once you get to know me. I’m Rhys.”

Rhys.

“Feyre,” she breathed.

“Feyre,” he repeated. He spoke it like a prayer—like a lover's caress. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Feyre.”

And that was it. He left her with twelve really nice donuts and his lingering scent in her apartment.

She convinced herself it was all in her head. Locked up in her studio, Feyre reassured herself that was just how he was. Flirty. He didn’t know shit. He was just nosy and too nice and she felt guilty that she watched him every morning.

Not so guilty she didn’t return that next morning. If he knew, she reasoned, he would stop. Any sane, rational person would. She was relieved to see him out there, sitting in one of the deck chairs with his legs wide open. It was a familiar pose…though the erect cock wasn’t. Neither was his gaze, pinned to her form.

“Good morning,” he called, lifting his mug of coffee in the air. “Care to join?”

She couldn’t stop staring at his penis. She’d just assumed the flacid version was as big as he got, but filled with blood and pointed towards the sky, Rhys’s jutting dick pressed against his belly button easily.

She didn’t move.

“I thought you might prefer drawing me if you were outside, too. Naked, even?”

She turned away to a cajoling, “Oh come on, Ferye, darling—”

Feyre spent the rest of the day hiding in bed, utterly mortified.

He was more brazen the next morning. Still naked though not erect, Rhys knocked on her backdoor as she was thundering down the stairs for coffee and her sketchbook. She’d never closed the curtains, so Feyre was greeted with his gloriously muscular form and that wicked smile.

“I had a bad day yesterday,” he told her when she froze on the tile of the kitchen, eyes immediately fixated on his cock. “Ask me why.”

“Why?” she breathed, wondering if he could even hear through the glass.

“My pretty neighbor didn’t want to draw me,” he replied. Feyre exhaled a huff of breath. “Am I going to have another bad day today, Feyre?”

“You’re unhinged. Do you know that?”

He smiled. “C’mon. Sit outside and talk to me, at least.”

“Are you going to put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Absolutely not. This is my time, and in my time, I don’t wear pants. Why don’t you take off yours. Turnabout’s fair play, is it not?”

Feyre rubbed her eyes. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“I want you to show me your sketchbook. Ideally while you sit in my lap,” came his quick reply.

Jesus Christ.

“You’ll really let me sketch you?” she asked, stepping a little closer. Rhys grinned, running a hand down his naked chest.

“I’ll let you do anything you like to me.”

She held his gaze. “Give me a second.”

Feyre scrambled back up the stairs for her set of charcoals and her sketchpad. She didn’t dare let herself think about what she was doing, instead running a brush through her tangled mass of golden blonde hair. She braided it quickly, tossing the tail over her shoulder before yanking on a slouchy sweatshirt and a pair of clingy leggings. The more layers, the better she reasoned.

Especially if she was going to sit across from her neighbor, who was so absurdly hot it made her knees shake.

Rhys was waiting in his chair, ankle crossed over his knee. He frowned when he saw her. “You’re wearing more clothes.” “I need them,” she informed him frankly. He uncrossed his legs just in time for her to press her thighs together.

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

“Is this how you treated the last neighbor?” Feyre demanded, as if she had any leg to stand on given how many pages of his naked form she had to flip through in order to get to a blank page.

“Mrs. Robinson would have loved an offer into my bed,” Rhys said with a suggestive wink. “Honor her memory, Feyre.”

“Have we graduated from nude drawings to…” God she couldn’t even say it.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he agreed, his words practically a purr.

“You were bringing a woman home two nights ago,” she snapped, hating how jealous she sounded. Ferye couldn’t look at him as she began thumbing through her set of charcoal. “I’ll bet your sheets still smell like her.”

“You think I wouldn’t wash my sheets for you?”

Fuck him.

“I like drawing you,” she managed, heart pounding in her throat. “I’m sorry if I made it weird.”

“Draw me again,” he insisted, some of his teasing. “It’s not weird at all.”

Feyre wasn’t sure that was true, but for an hour that morning, Rhys sat utterly still and Feyre sketched without having to move so quickly, fearing he’d move or shift or leave. It was odd to show him in the aftermath and worse still when he yanked the sketchpad from her hands and flipped through it, wide-eyed.

“Are these all of me?” he asked her, turning one to the side so he could view it better.

“There are others that aren’t,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “You’ve been my muse since I moved in.”

He caught her wrist before she could escape back inside. “I’m happy to be your muse.”

Their eyes locked. “Sorry for watching you naked.”

He smiled. “Don’t be.”

Feyre spent the rest of her day all but floating.

I’m happy to be your muse.

She wanted to show him the oil painting she’d done—which, despite him not realizing he was even the subject, was still some of her finest work. She thought he might appreciate it, if only to make some lurid comment about having sex with her.

Ferye was still in a good mood as she set up her classroom for painting with adults. People—usually couples—paid for a two hour art class during which they could also drink while they did it. Very rarely did Feyre get a painting that looked good when a bunch of novices added alcohol to the mix, but it was her bread and butter in terms of getting her rent paid. Feyre was looking forward to that night because she had an interesting prop—a large, gleaming sword. Set atop a faded purple pillow, and when the light overhead hit the metal, different colors shone over silver, depending on where that person sat. There was depth, there was the chance for nuance. She, herself, spent her prep time painting an example from where she sat, setting it on an easel behind her.

People started pouring in around seven fifty…including her fucking neighbor and the most beautiful blonde she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“Don’t be annoying,” the blonde said the moment she stepped inside. She was immaculate, dressed in a tight red dress that hugged her body and tall heels that made both her and Rhys nearly the same height. His cheeks were inflamed the moment those violet eyes landed on her.

Oh fuck him.

“Sit down,” the blonde ordered, practically shoving him into the chair at the far end of the room. It wasn’t uncommon for women to drag unwilling partners…but usually it wasn’t because the teacher had drawn their cock just that morning.

Any decent person would have left. Rhys, apparently, had no decency in him. He shrugged off his crisp black jacket and began rolling the salmon colored sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He looked stunning in gray slacks and a belt she might have been fantasizing about had he not brought a date to her class.

Feyre was forced to wait for the rest of the pairs to arrive. A giggly bachelorette group occupied the front row, clearly already drunk, which gave Feyre something to fixate on.

“Hi!” she said, too brightly despite how firmly she was gripping a paint brush. “I’m Feyre–”

“Tell us about your credentials, Feyre,” the blonde interrupted. Her painted red lips curled with amusement. Rhys elbowed her hard in the ribs. “And your hobbies. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I’d like to know that, too, actually,” a man—who’d come in a larger group of couples, and was clearly their seventh wheel—added with hopeful eyes. “Are you single?”

Rhys started to stand, only to be yanked back in his chair by his date.

“I can’t imagine how that’s appropriate,” Feyre replied smoothly. “Why don’t we pour a drink and then I’ll describe what we’re painting—”

“Looks like a sword,” that guy called again. “I can show you–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rhys called darkly. “And let her talk.”

“Right.” Feyre swallowed hard. “The bar is at the far end of the room. Pour yourself a drink and grab a case of paint on your way back.”

Feyre leaned against the wall behind her, heart hammering in her chest. The rest of the room moved towards wine and other spirits—except for the blonde. She sashayed towards Feyre, tossing a long lock of her golden hair over her bare shoulders.

“I still want to know the answers to my questions,” she said, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, utterly white teeth. Fuck, she was so pretty. Not a drop of paint on her. Feyre’s chest tightened.

“I got a BA in fine art from Velaris U—”

“Good school,” the blonde murmured appraisingly. Brown eyes swept over her, framed by mascara coated lashes. She looked so well done, and Feyre couldn’t blame her. This was obviously Rhys’s type.

“And your hobbies?”

Feyre blinked. “I paint.”

Her laugh was pretty. She chuckled, nodding. “I guess I walked right into that. Anything else?”

“Can I ask why you want to know?”

The woman stepped closer, clearly about to offer Feyre some secret but Rhys’s voice interrupted.

“Mor!” he barked. “Come get some fucking wine.”

Mor rolled her eyes, as if to say men, amirite? The whole thing was so utterly strange that Feyre had to walk back with the group to pour herself some wine, too. Mor was there, and when Feyre reached her, she murmured, “Red or white?”

“White.”

“Hm. I like red,” she said, though she handed Feyre a little plastic cup of white wine all the same. Mor turned again, to ask some other question, but the man who’d interrupted her was also waiting.

“Sorry about that guy's outburst,” he told her earnestly. “I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“Sure,” Mor said on Feyre’s behalf smoothly. “What were you gonna say, anyway?”

His cheeks darkened. “I just think a sword is a cool prop. Can’t wait to show you what I do with it.”

“Oh, gross,” Mor whispered while Feyre smiled.

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Feyre said. This was still her job, and the last thing she needed was some man complaining because she couldn’t be friendly. It wasn’t the first time someone had hit on her.

It wouldn’t be the last.

“Morrigan!” Rhys hissed, earning another eye-roll.

“You could do better,” Mor whispered, “Than my terrible cousin.”

Feyre choked on her breath of air. “Cousin?”

Mor merely laughed, walking back to Rhys who, to his credit, looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Cousin. He’d brought his cousin to her painting class? Why? Feyre couldn’t tease it out…but she could punish him for all the jealousy she felt when he’d first walked in. Mor was having a lovely time, despite being a terrible painter. She spent most of her time drinking and telling loud stories about Rhys as a child, which the group of bachelorettes loved.

Rhys didn’t. He kept elbowing Mor, his eyes darting to Feyre as if to say I’m so sorry.

And maybe he ought to be sorry. If only a little. Feyre walked around the room, surveying people’s work and offering help when they muddied their colors and drew something absurdly phallic—like the guy who asked if she was single. Feyre frowned when she saw it, leaning closer.

“What is this?”

“A sword,” he replied, holding his wine close to his lips. “Do you like it?”

“Seems misshapen,” she murmured. “Something you should see a physician about.”

His friends beside him choked with laughter, drawing a scowl from Rhys across the room.

“One of your talents?” he crooned, smoother than she’d prefer.

“Not likely.”

She sent everyone home with their terrible drawings, grateful to shut the door in their faces—including Rhys and his very lovely, very nice cousin. He’d tried to speak to her on the way out, his eyes all but pleading but Feyre lacked the emotional capacity to hear him out.

As if it mattered. As she began cleaning up the stations, Feyre found Mor had left her a little note on the clean piece of paper beneath her own painting.

Rhys has a crush on you. You should ask him out.

Feyre stared at it for a long time. Long enough the shop next door went dark and she had to walk to the parking lot herself. She took that piece of paper with her, folded up in her pocket as she drove home.

Rhys has a crush on you.

Rhys should think she was a pervert, she thought wryly. Had he told his cousin about her? And—oh God, what had he said?

He was waiting on the front steps when she pulled up, parking in their shared driveway just beside his own nicer, shinier car. He pulled open her door before she could cut the ignition.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. Even under the harsh porch lights, Rhys was too handsome to stay mad at. And she wasn’t even mad.

Just embarrassed.

“I told Mor I liked you,” he rushed out, his cheeks flaming red. “And she suggested we catch up and talk. I didn’t…I didn’t think she was insane enough to look you up.”

“She seemed nice,” Feyre offered mildly, walking towards her front door. It was so odd to see Rhys stumbling over his words. Where had his smoothness gone?

“She’s a menace,” he retorted. “I ah…”

Ferye turned to look at him.

“Can I show you something?” he asked, hand on his own door. “Pants on, I swear.”

“Is this the part where you chain me up in your basement?” she teased, following just behind. She was curious about his place, if nothing else.

“The only chains I keep are on my bed—no don’t go, that was a joke—”

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t make this weird.”

Rhys only sighed, gesturing for her to come in.

Their set-up was exactly the same. Dark wood floors and crown molding. The same layout, the same ivory colored walls. He’d done a much nicer job decorating than her, which included several really lovely pieces of art on his wall.

“Up here,” he said, hand gliding over a mahogany wood rail as he led her up. Feyre’s heart pounded, well aware Rhys was taking her to his bedroom. To see the chains? A big part of her almost hoped so. She was so busy thinking about what he could do to her and how much she’d like it, that Feyre didn’t register what he was showing her when he pushed open his bedroom door.

She only saw the bed, draped in black with a pretty white throw tossed over the bottom edge. Rhys cleared his throat, as if he realized what she was looking at—his headboard, free of any restraint at all.

On the unbroken wall the two of them shared, was a painting that was all-too familiar to Feyre. Framed in silver lovingly, it was her work.

Feyre whirled to look at him. “You?”

He swallowed hard. “I keep it there so it’s the first thing I see in the morning,” he admitted. “It makes me feel…” he paused, hand pressed to his chest.

“You paid too much for it,” she whispered. “It’s how I bought my place next door.”

His eyes lit up. “It's my fault you’re my neighbor.”

“In a way,” she agreed with a laugh she didn’t quite mean.

“Lucky me,” he murmured, taking a step towards her. Ferye needed to get out before she did something stupid. Something wholly foolish, like fucking her neighbor as a thank you for buying my artwork.

“I uh…” she cleared her throat. “It's been a long day.”

“Have breakfast on the deck with me tomorrow,” he told her, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

“Pants on?”

He shook his head. “No pants, Feyre.”

She took a breath. “We’ll see.”

Feyre fled on trembling legs, not daring to take a breath until she was in her own bedroom, back pressed to the wall her painting hung on. She could hear him moving faintly on the other side, though whatever he did wasn’t clear to her. Not immediately, anyway.

Not until Feyre slipped into her own bed naked, hand snaking between her legs. In the dark, every little noise her neighbor made was magnified.

He grunted. It was such an obscenely sexual noise that Feyre whimpered in response. Silence settled between them, and then Rhys’s voice called through the wall. “Can you hear me, darling?”

Don’t respond, don’t respond, don’t respond— “Yes.”

He exhaled a loud, almost needy sounding breath. “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and see what you do to me?”

“I’m not wearing any clothes,” she told him, speaking louder than she wanted to so he would hear her.

“Fucking kill me,” he groaned softly. “Go downstairs, Feyre.”

Maybe it was her lust that drew her upwards. Or maybe it was knowing that Rhys had liked her before he’d ever even met her. Maybe he was just hot and it had been a year since she’d been the object of anyones sexual desires. Whatever it was, Feyre wrapped a blanket around her body and padded down the steps, calling, “I’m going,” before slamming her door loudly, just in case he hadn’t heard.

He must have run. Rhys was outside, chest heaving, by the time Feyre pulled back the blinds on the sliding door. He was utterly naked, illuminated by the light he’d flipped on and his massive cock was all but twitching in his hand. He was watching her with an intensity that made her whole body ache.

“Take off the blanket,” he ordered, walking to her door to open it. Feyre was grateful she’d locked it. Rhys could tug all he liked. She wasn’t letting him in.

Not tonight.

She did drop the blanket though, scooting forward in the chair so her toes were pressed to the glass. Legs spread open so he could really look at her. Rhys pressed his broad hand against the glass, resting his forehead against the door.

“Feyre,” he practically begged. “Open the door.”

“I don’t think I will,” she whispered, running her hands up and down her thighs. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Feyre—”

“Show me what I do to you, Rhys.”

His free hand was still wrapped around his cock. When he stroked, Feyre couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped her lips. He was exquisite and watching him pleasure himself while staring at her spread open pussy was so erotic Feyre could scarcely breathe.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Thinking about touching me?” she tried to tease, though her fingers brushed her swollen clit all the same.

Rhy’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Open the door, Ferye. Let me show you.”

She was tempted. So tempted her arm jerked without her consent, her body desperate to know what it would feel like to have his big, broad hands on her.

Feyre dipped two fingers into her body, her stomach flipping when Rhys practically whined at the sight. Coating herself in her slick arousal, she trailed upwards, leaving a glistening path over her stomach as she toyed with her breasts.

Rhys looked like he was seconds from falling to his knees, to begging and pleading to be let in.

“Tell me what you would do,” Feyre ordered, bolder than she’d ever been in her life.

Rhys’s lips parted as her hand left her nipple, sliding back to rub indolent circles over her clit.

“Feyre.” His voice was the softest plea, his breath fogging the glass. “Let me taste you.”

She arched her neck. “You talk a big game.”

“Let me show you,” he ordered roughly, pulling the door handle again. Stupid, she was so stupid.

She leaned forward, fingers still sticky, and flipped the latch. Rhys pounced, pulling the door open so hard it bounced on the hinges. He didn’t care, not when cool air poured into her kitchen and certainly not if he broke the thing.

He took four steps, hitting his knees so hard she could hear his bones groan in protest. Hands gripped her hips, yanking her forward until she had to drape her legs over his shoulders. He didn’t ask, didn’t say a gloating word. Feyre wasn’t certain he had any speech available to him at that moment.

Feyre squealed when his tongue slid up the length of her. He hadn’t been lying on the deck. Rhys only adjusted his hold, pulling her to the edge of the chair until she was practically sitting on his face.

“Fucking hell, Feyre,” he moaned, the sound muffled as he sucked her clit between his lips.

Oh God, she thought. He was so obscenely good with his tongue it ought to be a crime. Feyre gripped the edge of her chair, the only thing keeping herself from sliding into a puddle of wet nothing.

Feyre had to press the balls of her feet against his naked back to keep from flying upwards. Rhys didn’t offer tentative licks or act like her last boyfriend every time he’d been between her legs. No hesitance—Rhys kissed, practically swallowing her with an urgency that made her whole body ignite with pleasure.

Rhys ate pussy like he was hungry. It wasn’t pretty or elegant—he was messy. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, watching how his jaw worked, how his eyes held her gaze. Gauging, she realized, to see if she was enjoying herself. It took Feyre a moment to let go, to realize he wasn’t doing this just long enough to get her wet before he pushed himself into her.

He was eating pussy because he liked it.

Feyre carded her fingers through his dark, silken hair. “Rhys,” she panted, digging her heels into his back until there was no way Rhys was breathing. If he cared, he didn’t say. Hands kneaded at her thighs, her ass, anything he could put them on to heighten her already hot pleasure. It was a crime that a man as hot as him was as good with his mouth as he was. How did anyone stand losing him?

“Rhys,” she breathed again, wondering if their neighbors could hear how loud he moaned into her. He’d figured her out too quickly—fucking her with his tongue until she was all but riding against his face, before dragging upwards to circle and suck at her clit. She felt wild, utterly out of control. Feyre pulled at his hair, all but ripping it from his scalp. It only made him moan louder.

“Rhys!” she pleaded a mere moment before she detonated around him. Her legs shook, clamping against his ears. Rhys pulled her closer still, tasting her release with hungry abandon. She had to push him off her to get him to stop.

Rhys yanked her to the floor, pulling her into his lap for a wet, messy kiss that tasted like her arousal. She was practically dripping wet, could feel the sticky slickness coating her thighs. Feyre clung to his powerful shoulders, sliding her tongue over his until they were both grinding on the floor, overcome with near feral desire.

Rhys was the one who lifted her in the air like she was feather light, breaking the kiss long enough to keep them both from toppling back to the unforgiving tile. He walked her out into the late evening chill and set her atop the smooth rail of the deck.

“Tell me,” he began, nipping kisses over her collarbone. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me?”

She didn’t answer at first—he sucked her nipple into his mouth, reigniting her arousal all over again. She could practically feel his tongue back on her clit. She wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d gotten back on his knees. Feyre slid her hands down his chest, halting when she felt the wet tip of his cock brush the back of her hand.

Rhys moaned against her skin as she gripped him, pumping the thickness of him in a hand that hardly felt big enough to hold him.

“Is it?”

Oh God, she’d forgotten he’d been speaking.

“No,” she whispered. “I just thought you were beautiful.”

The hungry look on his face softened for a moment. “You’re so lovely,” he whispered, teeth against her neck. “I’m going to fuck you, Feyre, and afterwards I’m going to take you to my bed and show you just how lovely you are.” She was still pumping his cock, her thumb slicking through the precum practically weeping from the tip. How did he seem so controlled? Feyre was losing herself entirely.

Rhys replaced her hand with his, pressing closer until he was notched against her. Feyre waited for him to thrust in and when he didn’t, too busy teasing her with his wicked mouth, she wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels and his ass, and pushed him into her body.

“Fuck,” he cried, loud enough to disturb nearby crickets singing sweetly in the grass. Speech eluded Ferye entirely as she adjusted to the fullness of holding him. It was almost like her first time—the stretch was a pleasant sort of pain.

One hand on her hip, the other around her neck, Rhys began driving into her. The slap of their skin meeting was louder than the singing crickets and the street traffic just outside. Feyre didn’t care. She hoped someone looked out their window and saw what he was doing to her.

Rhys’s hand was big enough to span the entirety of her neck, his fingertips pressing just enough to leave her breathless.

Rhys dipped his head, licking just behind her ear. “You should have told me you were watching,” he whispered, teeth sinking against her lobe. He tugged and Feyre moaned, tightening around him. “I would have fucked you months ago.”

She dug her nails into his shoulders, pushing her feet until he was practically pounding with bruising force into her body. She’d never been more turned on in her life. The air kissed against her overheated skin, stimulating her just as surely as his hands and cock was. He was dragging her up back up in a way no one had ever managed before. The precise roll of his hips, the way he paid such careful attention to each little whine and whimper all added to the exquisite drag of his cock. He knew what he was doing.

“Rhys—” he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her scream greedily as her pussy clamped tightly around him, drawing him deeper and practically holding him still. Feyre was wrecked, could barely breathe as a second orgasm ripped its way through her.

Rhys was all but rutting into her, whimpering with need. He was going to come—Feyre could practically feel the way his heart throbbed. His careful rhythm faltered, hips pushing and pushing until he dropped his hand around her throat to bite against her shoulder. His own release was dizzyingly erotic, only adding to her pleasure.

“Up,” he whispered, kissing her neck as he lifted her back up against him. He was forced to withdraw so he could walk. She whined in protest.

“I’m not done with you,” he informed her, walking her back through his place. Rhys dropped her on his bed where she could see that painting hanging on his wall. Proof, perhaps, that they’d been meant to find each other.

Rhys crawled up her body. “I’ll never be done with you.”

Feyre thought she wouldn’t be either.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #a little smut on a tuesday afternoon #sometimes thats just self-care

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