2:25 AM
Simon 'Ghost' Riley / Reader
Summary: Simon returns home a little earlier than expected, and all he wants is a good night's sleep and the warm body of a person he loves.
Content: coming-home-from-deployment, curvy! civilian girlfriend, domestic fluff, shared shower, jetlag, unprotected sex, lazy middle-of-the-night sex, fingering, hickeys, missionary, cum eating, oral
Word Count: 2.3k
Notes: Did I type this in one go (frenzied, horny and slightly tipsy), but still need to get up at 5:20 AM for work tomorrow? Yes. Was this stuck in my brain and demanded to be let out? Double yes. NOT FOR MINORS.
The key scraping against the door had her turning around in alarm, spatula clutched in her right hand as the other fumbled for something sharper, pointier.
Simon wasn't supposed to be home for another two weeks, and all she had on her was a fluffy towel and sheet mask - not exactly the proper attire to face a burglar. But Ghost, the Lieutenant not her boyfriend, had taught her how to defend herself. How to make an opponent bleed enough for them to back off or die as the consequence of assaulting her.
Call me, if you ever have to kill someone, he'd said and stroked her cheek. I'll take care of the mess.
She'd laughed then, and teased him about being too far away to fix anything but now that the adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she started receiting his work number by heart over and over again.
Then the logical part of her brain kicked in, and wondered why on Earth a burglar or serial killer would bother with picking a lock in the first place. Wouldn't they just come smashing through the window-
The door swung open silently, a large gloved hand groped for the light switch in the entrance way and then suddenly he was there, bathed in the soft light of the lamp they'd bought together when they first moved into their shared flat.
Simon still wore a dark mask that covered his mouth and nose, and she stared, flabbergasted, as he methodically removed his gloves and black beanie, dumping his heavy backpack next to the umbrella stand.
"Si?" She whispered, and he flinched, chocolate brown eyes swivelling up to hers as he made an aborted motion, like he was reaching for a holster that wasn't there.
"Focken hell, luv," he slurred, words distorted from lack of sleep. The dark purple rings under his eyes spoke of the long journey he'd taken, and she'd lost track of where in the world he was fighting against evil at this point. "Ye look like a damn axe murderer with that."
He gestured vaguely towards her face, and with a laugh that turned into a sob halfway, she dropped everything she'd been holding, ripped off the overpriced skincare and flung herself into his arms. Simon swayed a bit, and he still smelled of desert dust and faraway places but she didn't care. Nothing else mattered in that moment but him, the feel of his strong arms around her as he lifted her up like she weighed nothing, and pressed his warm cheek against hers.
She quickly pulled his face mask down, and Simon sighed as she kissed him, smiling as she peppered kisses all over his face.
"You didn't tell me you'd be back so early!" She complained, pulling him back into a bone-crushing hug. "I haven't been shopping for all your favourite treats yet!"
"'S fine," he mumbled, then buried his face into her shoulder, sagging a little as he put her back down. "Jus' wanted to be home with you."
Tears threatened to constrict her throat, and she swallowed against it, massaging the back of his head and short curly hair the way he liked.
"Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, hm?" Her voice was only a whisper, but Simon nodded and let her guide him down the short corridor and into the darkness of the bathroom. They left the door open, allowing the light to pour in that way and she helped him strip out of the black joggers and long sleeve he'd been wearing, crouching down to untie his shoelaces.
Under normal circumstances, the heated look he was giving her from above would have been enough for her to stay on her knees for him, but she knew that Simon was running on fumes. As flattering as the bulge in his tight briefs was, it was more of a reaction to be reunited after so long, than actual desire.
She pulled the soft cotton down his muscular thighs, grinning at the relieved hiss he let out when he was completely bare. Pushing him into the shower was easy, and when she stripped off her towel, it was only so she could join him and wash his skin thoroughly.
Simon's hands wandered over her hips and breasts, and he pulled her in for a deep kiss but let her do whatever she pleased after that. She massaged his shoulders and back with soapy hands, ran her hands down his solid but thick abdomen, and even gripped his half-hard cock for a moment.
He groaned and leaned his head against her shoulder, but then she moved her hands up and over into his hair and neck and Simon practically purred.
Blissed out and half asleep, he barely registered her removing the shower head from its mount and running it all over him, washing the suds down the drain and warming his chilled skin.
"Gonna put on your bathrobe for me, babe?" She asked softly, and Simon grunted as she turned off the water. They fumbled out of the shower and struggled a bit until he was wrapped up in black fluffy cotton. Storm trooper, she'd called him many times before whenever he wore this particular monstrosity.
He let her lead him into their shared bedroom, thankfully tidy and clean, and belly-flopped onto the soft mattress. Simon was out within moments, breathing in the scent of fresh linen and her, mind at ease for the first time in forever.
With a smile, she quickly fetched a glass of water for them both, brushed her teeth and then marvelled at the sight of her boyfriend sprawled out on the bed.
Simon was early by almost two weeks, and her heart made a double-flip as she thought of the fact that it was the weekend now and she'd have two uninterrupted days with him before she had to go back to work.
Her eyes wandered over the exposed calves and feet, the long fingers that clutched into her comforter, the translucent brows and lashes.
She changed into her pyjama bottoms and top, snuggling up next to the mountain of black robes and pale skin. Simon's deep breathing never changed as she wrapped one arm and leg around him, burying her face into his damp neck as she fell asleep, completely forgetting about her plan to stay awake all night to prepare for her night shifts.
The next time she awoke, it was still dark outside. Disoriented, she tried to place the warmth on top of her, the mouth that sucked into her skin with enough pressure to leave light pink bruises and made her pussy wet from the suction alone. Broad hands and long fingers were gripping her waist, and Simon's thigh was gently pressed between her legs, rubbing up and down.
She moaned and groped for him in the darkness as he sucked at her skin harder, moving on to her collarbones and breasts, then nipples as he went. He was still wearing the bathrobe, but it was sliding off his shoulders, revealing scarred skin and rippling muscles to her greedy fingers as she roamed over him.
"Si?" She panted and he hummed, fingers pulling her top down until both of her boobs were framed by the fabric, exposed to his hungry mouth.
"I could eat you alive," he mumbled against her skin, then his calloused fingertips ran lower, exposing her stomach as he kneaded the soft skin there and slipped beyond, into her loose shorts.
The breath was knocked out of her as sure fingers rubbed over her embarrassingly slick folds, pushed deeper, and then withdrew only to circle her clit lazily.
"You- you should rest," she stammered but pushed her chest against his mouth and clenched around nothing when he dipped two of his fingers into her and pulled out in the same motion.
"Can't sleep right now," he growled, then plunged his fingers back in, stretching her needy core a bit more. "D'you want me to stop, sweetheart?"
She'd rather die.
"N-no."
"Good," he growled, then captured her mouth in a sloppy kiss that involved a lot of tongues and hitched breaths as his fingers worked away at her. A third soon joined the others, and she whimpered, throwing her head back as he diligently prepared her for his cock. Her hips jerked whenever the ball of his hand brushed against her clit, and her fingers drew painful welts against Simon's shoulders and back, finally disrobing him fully and pulling him on top of her.
"Please Si," she whined, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer until her wet core was pressed against the hardness between his thighs. "Waited so long for you to come home."
He groaned and steadied himself with one arm next to her head, gripping his heavy cock with one hand and brushing the weeping head over her clit and opening several times. The darkness made it hard to see him, but the feel and taste of his skin were enough that night.
She knew that Simon's eyes were a dark pool of molten chocolate right now, that his forehead would be creased in concentration.
At the first breach, she clutched the soft sheets underneath her, pushing her hips into him, impatient. They both hissed, her from the slight discomfort of his girth and him from her tightness, but then she hooked her ankles behind his lower back and pulled him in.
Simon came to rest inside of her with a groan, sleep-warm skin pressed against her cheek as he started to move slowly, savouring it.
There was no rush, only the underlying currents of sleep and weariness that were soaked deep into both their bones as they moved against each other. Skin against skin, the slight sheen of sweat on his back, the trembling of her core and thighs whenever he hit a little too deeply from this angle.
Simon caged her face with his arms, hands in her hair as they kissed.
"I love you," he murmured, over and over again as her eyes rolled back into her head, mouth open as he buried himself inside her. "Missed you so much."
"Missed you, too," she panted, clutching onto him, chest constricting as his hips rutted harshly and strong hands lifted her hips and ass onto him.
Neither of them reached between their bodies to stimulate her clit any more, because they both knew that it would be the end of it. As soon as Simon felt her contract around him, he usually followed and they both weren't ready, needed more from this. Craved that prolonged connection.
His orgasm wasn't a grand spectacle of growls and lovebites like it sometimes was. Instead, Simon huffed into her neck as his movements stuttered, and she felt his lashes flutter against her sweaty skin.
There was a sticky warmth that filled her, overflowed as he kept moving a little while longer.
She'd been happy like that, content not to come in all honesty, because the fact that her lover was back in her arms was more climactic than anything her body could produce.
But Simon had always been a greedy man, eager to please and obsessed with making her soul sing out to him through pleasure.
He withdrew, and they both hissed. Then a warm, wet mouth left a trail down her body, latching onto her thighs. Teeth and tongue worked into her soft skin, sucking harshly and then massaging the sore spot with thick fingers before moving higher and lapping at her slit that was slowly oozing his own release.
"Oh my fucking god," she moaned, clutching at his soft hair as her hips jerked into his face and suddenly he was on her, gripping her hips roughly and eating her pussy out like it was his last meal.
His tongue lapped at her clit, then her sensitive, still stretched-out entrance. Simon slid one finger into her, curled it just right and pumped it in and out rapidly, tongue fluttering.
He rumbled something between her thighs, but if it had been praise or a command, she didn't know and didn't care. Back arching, she clutched her sensitive breasts and pinched her nipples as he sucked and sucked. Stars exploded behind her closed eyelids, and if their neighbours didn't know that Simon had returned by now, they probably knew now.
Unable to hold in the high-pitched whine, she shuddered against his slick face over and over again, trying to get away from the immediate overstimulation as her orgasm crashed through her and eager for more.
Simon continued to suckle and lap at her clit for a while, the sounds obscene and so damn satisfying that she was glad for the darkness that obscured her crimson blush.
"Missed the sounds you make," he growled softly, voice faraway and sleepy as he slotted his entire weight and body against hers, crushing her into the mattress. "Missed your sweet taste."
"Simon!" She complained, embarrassed as she hid into his neck and he dragged his soft cock between their messy bodies for a few seconds, obviously just enjoying the moment.
"Sleep now, love," he sighed, flopping onto his side and pulling her head onto the thick pillow of his bicep, naked body intertwined with hers. "I'll keep watch over you."
I have no words. Just wanted soft, jetlagged and horny Ghost. That's all.
You can find my other COD works here! 🤍
9K notes
·
View notes
Vanilla? ✭ Oscar Piastri
Summary: It's always the quiet ones that are the freakiest. But that wasn't what every other driver on the grid thought as they teased Oscar and you for being too innocent to know anything beyond vanilla sex. So when you guys didn't put up a fight, they figured they were right... until someone was lucky enough to see you and Oscar on the other end of the spectrum of "plain sex".
Warnings: not vanilla sex! fingering, oral (male receiving), bondage (hands tied together), spreader bar (if that even what it’s called), unprotected sex, rough because how else would you have it? Gagging and deep-throating Oscar’s huge dick 😩
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: Oscar is the man who makes me wanna wake up in the morning and I love it!! I'm so obsessed with him it's making me go insane, but if I'm going insane it's fine because I'm going insane over him. Everything about him is beautiful and I wanna call him pretty and gorgeous and watch as he blushes. Then ride him and take control of him until he wants to teach me lesson and makes me pass out. (I’m just a girl) Based off of this request.
“Oscar, how would you say relationships outside of F1 have helped you grow in this sport as a driver and as a person. If they had an impact, and if not then why?” Oscar’s PR manager testing questions on him, posing as one of the many journalists trying to break Oscar’s wall that he’s been perfect at keeping up so far. He finds it amusing that they have so much interest in his life, only encouraging him to keep his words to a minimum. Well as long as you don’t come up– his cheeks immediately flush and he starts every sentence with “my girlfriend” before he looks at others and silently begs them to say something to shut him up.
“Well, everyone’s been supportive of my career. Which only makes me want to do my best, and better than that.” Keeping a straight face as he answers until he looks at you beside him then Lando with a proud grin on his face.
“Who’s everyone…? Your girlfriend?” Lando’s voice teases, like every schoolgirl talking about their friend's crush.
“I- yeah. She does a lot for me, helps me let off steam before and after races, she also-”
“Let off steam, huh? Is my Oscar making his girlfriend cum to let off steam?” Lando’s mouth wide open, making an ‘o’ shape. Both you and Oscar have mixed emotions– heat coursing through you remembering just this morning, but also shock from Lando’s unhinged question.
“You’d be surprised?” Oscar’s answer broad, but you knew. Letting Lando believe that Oscar lets you cum, when his favourite thing is edging you until tears roll down your face.
“Oscar, you probably just learnt what a clit is.” Lando having nothing better to do than tease him as his pale cheeks turn pink.
“Believe whatever makes you happy.” Oscar shutting down the conversation before he reveals too much, a little smile on his lips as he chuckles and moves his hand further up your thigh.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
It wasn’t just Lando who would have a say about you and Oscar’s sexual life, but any driver who happened to walk into the conversation at the perfect time.
“Oh yeah, Oscar you’re vanilla.” His fellow Australian, Daniel Ricciardo, says. Joining them on their walk to wherever they all had to be next.
“Well actually I think Oscar is a little more than vanilla. He’s vanilla but not vanilla.” Logan pops in too.
“No. Oscar is sooo vanilla. Like he’s too scared to choke his girlfriend because she’ll die and he’s never marked her so she knows she’s his.” Lando expresses his words with so much passion it makes Oscar roll his eyes but know exactly what Lando’s doing when their hotel rooms are beside each other and he’s invited a girl over.
“Wow. Calm down Lando, I think we learnt a little bit more from you than Oscar. You definitely need a girlfriend.” Daniel spoke the words everyone was thinking. Letting Oscar finally breathe and have all the attention over to Lando and his desires.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
“Fuck, I needed you.” Oscar groans out, thrusting himself ever deeper into your mouth. “Talking ‘bout how vanilla we are. But look at us.” The position you were in was unimaginable. You lay on your back, head on the edge of the sofa as Oscar rammed into your mouth with his fingers opening you wide and making you cum. But still, that wasn’t enough, your hands tied together and a spreading bar made sure your legs couldn’t be shut, always ready for Oscar, but with a blindfold over your eyes how would you know? Each of your moans were muffled by his cock and as one of his hands played with your clit the other toyed with your nipple.
Blood rushed to your head from this position and it filled in for the loss of his hand around your neck. Oscar pounded into you, his dick making you gag as you deepthroated him. An explosion of fireworks inside of you as he continued making you cum, a loud scream trying it’s best to flee your puffy lips, but Oscar couldn’t help but enjoy hearing you struggle to make out any coherent sounds because of his cock.
By now it was impossible to remember the amount of times he had made you release. From his mouth, fingers and dick, all you did know was that that number was only going to increase.
Each of his moves were so intense, Oscar had you spellbound. Unable to notice anything other than him. Well that was until he pounded himself as deep as he could into your mouth and then stopped. Everything went silent.
“Oh fuck! Oscar?!” Those words certainly didn’t come out of your mouth, and when you realised who did say that, oh you couldn’t have been more embarrassed, but somehow aroused. Seconds later the door finally shut, and you could only think about the uncensored view Lando had of the both of you.
“Fuck, I’ll deal with him later. But for now…you need to cum.” Pulling out of your swollen mouth and grabbing you off the couch to lay your shamelessly sinful body on the floor. Oscar doesn’t take his time, manhandling your legs so your feet are nearly inline with your head and then making your arms keep them back by going in front of the spreader bar.
Leaving your pussy so exposed and vulnerable that Oscar could do whatever he liked between those drenched folds. It was always a gamble with Oscar, sometimes he’d take his time to tease you, others he wouldn’t even give you time to catch breath. This was just as unpredictable as others, by now you would either be covered in your own tears from his edging or on the verge of passing out because you could feel him in your throat after coming in you repeatedly.
You felt less of an advantage, not even being able to lay eyes on him, so you listened to your own heavy breathing until he touched you again. Fingers going between your folds and spreading them apart with his index and ring finger. Lightly teasing you with his middle one. “Looks like you’ve had enough today huh? Or can you take one more?”
You nod your head as an answer, but it’s never enough as he asks you for words.
“Y-yes. I can take more.” You force out between breaths, in shock of how you even managed to say those words.
“Oh really? Well that’s great.” Oscar holds your pliant body up even further and then makes a swift move of ramming himself deep inside of you. Once again it pulled all of the oxygen from your lungs and the stretch from the position couldn’t be compared to the stretch from his cock. You couldn’t complain as he thrusted in again and hit your g-spot. Bringing more tears to your red eyes.
Grunts and groans slipping past his lips and making his actions such a godly sensation.
Oscar pounds himself into you with no mercy, finding pleasure in your moans and cries. You wish to hold him, dig your fingers into his shoulders and mark his back. Adorn his pale skin in love bites and make his lips swollen. Thinking about the way his body flexes with every thrust and how divine he would look from this position that you’ve been in many times but each new one has a different effect.
“What’d you think Lando’s telling them?” Oscar grips your thighs tighter–fingers certainly making bruises– keeping you in place as he vigorously rams inside of your overstimulated pussy. Never losing pattern or momentum.
“You think he’s telling them about how you took me so well? Your hands tied up? And how fucking good you looked between my legs.” Each of Oscar’s words having such an effect on you it could've been a trick of hypnotism. Your legs shaking and lips parted as you came. Oscar savoured the beautiful sounds leaving your mouth and he worked harder to fuck your high out and bring his in.
You clenched around him, forcing a moan to finally leave his lips and bless your ears. Oscar spasms and releases inside of you. Pushing himself so deep and his cum even deeper. He thrusts a few more times, easing both of you out and spreading his cum inside your walls. Oscar sits in you for a while before pulling out. “Fuck, that was so. Fucking. Good.” He starts untying you and helping you come undone from all of the restraints. Letting you lay flat on the floor as he did all the work.
“I would’ve been in you for hours if he didn’t come in. Can’t imagine what he said to them”
Oscar crawls up your body and plants a kiss on your lips.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
Finally leaving Oscar’s room you both didn’t know what to expect. Well definitely not drivers surrounding a small table as Lando spoke to them all with hand actions and his face even worse.
“Y’know vanilla isn’t even that bad. But wow Piastri, I didn’t think that.” Daniel brings all the attention to you two. Every driver turned their head with a series of reactions on their faces.
“You are freaky Oscar.” Logan couldn’t hold back and somehow Fernando was there to agree with him.
“I have to tell Charles! Now I know what you two do.” Pierre smirks, making you blush and look at the ground.
“Well I guess I was wrong, but Oscar why didn’t you tell me you sneaky boy. Because then I had to see it.”
“It seemed like you wanted to join.”
“No I-”
“The way you’re speaking about Lando, it seemed like you wanted to join.” Daniel once again kind of saving Oscar from these unfortunate topics.
“What? Guys this is about Oscar and how freaky he is with his girlfriend!”
“If you want to join, just ask.” You finally speak, teasing Lando and watching the way his face changes.
“Oh you guys are so not vanilla!”
3K notes
·
View notes
pretty girl | spencer reid
spencer x fem!bau!reader
summary: you realize you’re not that special to spencer. after all, he’s sharing his coke and kisses with someone you aren’t. and you could never be. still, you’re his friend. you’re gonna be always on his corner even if it means shattering your heart.
genre: hurt/comfort i guess. and slow(est) burn with best friends to (maybe) lovers!
warnings (?): lila archer's ep spoilers. 18x01.
a/n: okay, at first i thought about making Spencer suffer a little more, but i'm not going to lie to you, my heart hurt. because i just finished the prison arc and- i just want someone to comfort HIM. please. he deserves some peace. so- yeah, that's why reader is so soft to him. hehe. i really hope you like this one! thank you so much for reading.
word count: 6.7k
previous | next
Los Ángeles, California
Late night
Art galleries remind him of you, especially those of contemporary works. He has to admit that he has a bit of trouble interpreting them. Spencer knows color theory inside out and is aware of the influences of psychology on art. In that sense, reading them is easy for him. But when it comes to enjoying them or feeling them? Well, that’s where he has troubles. So, from time to time, you swap movie nights for gallery ones. And he is more than happy to oblige.
“Does it make you feel anything?” Lila suddenly asks.
Oh. Spencer is surprised to not hear your voice. He frowns in bewilderment.
“Like what?” he answers, returning his gaze to the exhibit. It is an urban landscape of saturated colors. The gas station is dyed phosphorescent green and the sky in the background is an electric blue. Overwhelmed, maybe that’s how he feels.
“I can’t tell you how to feel,” Lila smiles, looking up at him through her long eyelashes.
He knows she can’t, but somehow he’s still waiting for you to guide him in the answer. You know that he has no problem deciphering the meaning of the work, and what the author meant. That’s easy for him. It’s almost like profiling the piece of art. So, you’d ask him what it means to him. And sometimes it just doesn’t mean anything to him beyond what the artist meant. In those cases, you would just shrug your shoulders and tell him it’s okay. “Not all art pieces have an impact on us,” you’d say. At those moments his breathing usually catches and he gently brushes his fingers against yours, just to make sure you’re real. To make sure that he can afford not to know something- at least when he’s with you. That he can finally stop being a genius and still be able to be looked at by you. He smiles just thinking about it.
“Right now I feel pretty good,” Spencer admits. And he wants her to feel good as well, so he talks about you. “Uh, my best friend usually takes me to gallery arts. And one night we went to one of John Baldessari’s. I think it’s one of my favourites.” He doesn’t say that maybe it’s because you are a huge enthusiast about his work. And when he sees you talking about it? Well. He definitely feels warm. “And, so, my friend was explaining to me the importance not only of what we can see in the exhibitions but also those elements that aren’t there. She then told me that Baldessari once said that one of the best compliments he ever got was ‘John, what I like about your work is what you leave out.’”
“He sounds like a smart person,” Lila says. “Your friend, I mean.”
“Oh, she is,” Spencer nods, correcting Lila. “She’s very smart.” There’s a hint of proudness in his voice that he doesn’t try to hide.
Quantico, Virginia
Next morning
You have the back of the chair reclined as far as it will go, with your feet resting on a space on Penelope’s overflowing desk. Your eyes are fixed on the wall, watching how the light changes inside the pink ball each time you bounce it against the same spot over and over.
“Could you stop that, please?” Garcia repeats. “You can break something and my babies are pretty expensive.”
“Sorry,” you say, stopping. “But are you doubting my aim?” you joke.
“I am doubting my patience, sugar.”
“Ouch, you know.”
“Where’s Reid when needed?” she mutters under her breath.
You straighten up, swinging your feet off her desk. The spring of the chair squeaks at your sudden movement.
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, trying to measure your surprise. Or your indignance. You are confused.
“You know what I mean,” Garcia says, though her tone is more gentle. Almost like apologizing.
“I really don’t,” you frown. You start to feel like you had been cut by a thin paper sheet.
Gracia sighs, spinning her chair so now she’s facing you. “We both know you are only this early in my beautiful cave because Reid’s in L.A, and since he can’t entertain you from there…” She explains.
You can feel how your cheeks are getting hotter- when, suddenly, you realize.
“Wait.” You say, narrowing your gaze at her. “So… when Spencer casually swings by your office and takes me back there to the bullpen…?” Garcia looks guilty and refuses to return your gaze. “He only does it because you call him! You tell him what, to pick me up?” You can’t believe her. You laugh genuinely surprised.
“No!” She says. “Well, yeah, sometimes. But only sometimes, I swear. And I only started doing it because he already came looking for you often enough.”
“I thought you liked having me here,” you say, the joke dying in your remorseful. Have you been making Garcia uncomfortable? (And in the back of your mind there’s playing a song you are trying to stop- does Spencer seeking out for you in her office mean that he misses you the same way you are missing him right now?)
“I do!” she quickly clarifies you. “But-“
“No, yeah, I get it.” You smile at her. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be!” Garcia’s expression is somewhat pleading. “I’m so sorry.”
Your laugh is amused again. “It’s nothing.”
There’s a knock. “Kid, we’ve got a case,” Morgan says as opening the door.
You nod, standing up in a second, and before leaving Garcia’s office you croon “I know you called him.”
“I didn’t!” Garcia grins back at you.
Morgan just huffs, shaking his head. “Later, babygirl.”
“So, where are we heading?” you ask, making your way to the roundtable room. Morgan stops you in your tracks.
“L. A, we’re leaving now. Grab your go-bag, we’ll debrief on the plane. Reid and Gideon are already visiting the crime scenes.”
“Oh.” You nod, suppressing the smile that threats to slips. “Okay.”
Los Angeles, California.
Later that day
You owe me. You repeat the words in your head. But not exactly how they sound, but rather how they were written on the newspaper. With pink sharpie. Dark enough so someone could mistakenly believe it was red. It’s odd. How many UnSubs had pink sharpies lingering in their houses? It’s very specific. You chew your bottom lip, waving the options.
“Kids, let’s go,” Morgan stands up, bumping Spencer’s knee.
Spencer waits for you to clear the doorframe before adjusting himself to your side.
“Do I look twelve years old to you?” Spencer asks out of nowhere.
“No,” you answer in a beat. “Why? Did someone say you do?”
“Yeah, yesterday we visited an art gallery with Gideon, and uh, an old high school classmate said I looked exactly the same.” He frowns, looking lost. Social cues are hard.
“Well, you don’t,” you assure him, flashing a smile. “I promis-“
You are cut by the sight of her. Gorgeous, gorgeous blonde hair. Beautiful side profile. Bright blue eyes. Oh, she must be a star-
“Lila?” Spencer is pleasantly surprised, his eyes lighten up with recognition. “Hi.”
She looks at him wearing the same expression as his.
Oh, she is a star. A star that Spencer likes.
* * *
“How well did you know Natalie Ryan?” Hotch asks, crossing his arms.
“We spoke when we saw each other in public, but we were never friends,” Lila replies, her gaze flickering through all of our faces. Poor girl, she must be scared, you think.
“How about Wally Melman?” Hotch tries again.
“What?” Lila looks confused.
“Wally Melman,” Elle repeats. “He was a producer who was killed a couple months ago.”
“The paper said that was a robbery,” Lila insists.
“Well, the paper was wrong,” Gideon intervenes, not even glancing up.
“Did you know him?” Hotch redirects the conversation back to the course.
“Well, we met a few times about a project, but I didn’t get the part. They went a different way.”
“Which way?” Elle asks.
“He cast another act-“ Lila’s voice dies. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” Spencer asks, concerned.
“He cast Natalie Ryan.” Lila’s manager explains.
Spencer glances up at you, standing by his side. You lift the newspaper. “You owe me,” you repeat the words written by the UnSub.
“I guess that’s one way to ice out the competition?” Elle’s eyes are sharp and her tone is sharper. She’s looking directly at Lila’s manager.
“Don’t look at me,” he’s quick to answer, holding his palms up. “I brought her into the police station.”
“Had you ever sense that someone is watching you, following you?” Gideon inquiries, absentmindedly.
“From the moment I get to work,” Lila starts, “I have hair and makeup, and warddrobe people, producers, writers, my agent, my manager, publicist. Not to mention photographers. I-“
“It’s part of the life”, her manager simplifies.
Phew. What a life. Must be exhausting. You think about it and shudder. You look down at Spencer and he’s- worried. His big puppy eyes are full of pure concern. For her.
“Anything that seems odd, out of the ordinary, happens on a regular basis or a semi-regular basis?” Gideon continues, now looking at Lila.
“What do you mean?”
“Repetitive phone calls with hang ups?” Spencer suggests.
“Gifts left anonymously?” You complement.
“I receive flowers.” She shrugs. “On the seventh of each month, they just appear in my trailer. Never a note. Just a plain glass bowl.” You and Morgan share a glance. “Red anemones. My favourite.”
“And you don’t want to know who they’re from?” Elle doesn’t blink.
“Celebrities get anonymous gifts all the time.” Her manager intervenes once more. Then he clears his throath. “She has fans, you know.”
“You remember meeting anyone on the seventh day of the month?” Gideons suggests. “Or in July, the seventh month of the year?”
Lila’s eyes are fixed on the floor, her hand holding her forehead. She shakes her head before glancing up at Gideon. “No.”
“Wally Melman was a producer who considered hiring you, but didn’t… and Natalie was a rival.” Hotch summarizes.
“And Chloe Harris, she looks a lot like you. Don’t you think?”, Elle adds, holding a photo of her.
“Who?” Lila asks, shooting her eyebrows up.
“A potential rival,” you say.
“She was murdered too,” Hotch clarifies.
“So, all these people are…” Lila stops, testing the word in her tongue. She looks like she has licked a lemon. “... being killed because of me?”
“It’s possible.” Hotch’s gaze soften a bit.
Lila brings both hands to her face and breathes out her frustration through them. “Ugh. Sorry. I can’t. I have to go.” She grabs her purse and hurries to the exit. Not even a heartbeat later, Spencer’s following her.
“Ooooh,” Morgan nudges you. “Looks like pretty boy got a celebrity crush.”
“Yeah.” You force yourself to laugh. “Looks like it.”
Elle places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Have any ideas about the case?”
You blink and then you are nodding. “Actually, yeah. Uhm, here, one sec-“
Morgan laughs.
“What?” you say.
“Actually,” he mimics you.
“Oh, shut up.” “Grow up, Morgan.” You and Elle say almost at the same time.
“L/N?” Hotch says, stepping closer to the three of you. “The ideas?”
“Oh! Right,” you pull out your notebook. You don’t have an eidetic memory, so you manage yourself. “Uhm, there were a couple of things that stood out to me from what Lila told. Especially the flowers and the plain glass bowl. If you are choosing a vase and not just leaving the flowers on their own- why choose one without decorations? If I’m trying to win the heart of my object of delusion, wouldn’t I make more effort? Unless I don’t want her to know who I am. Unless my preferences are very obvious. Or I don’t know. Because there’s also the fact that the UnSub knows which flowers are her favorites. How many people know that? I’m going to call Garcia and ask her if there is any interview where Lila said that. Otherwise, maybe we should explore the possibility that the UnSub is someone close.”
Hotch nods. “Alright. Call Garcia. See what you can get.”
“Yes, sir,” you reply, already dialing Garcia’s number.
“Ask and you shall receive, my lovely” Garcia’s voice answers.
You bite a laugh back. “Hey, Garcia, could you check some of Lila’s interviews for me? I want to know if she said something about red anemones.”
Spencer is back in the precinct and taps your shoulder to let you know, but you hold your finger up at him, motioning at your phone. You walk away to the other side of the room. And he stays dumbfounded.
* * *
Hot weather doesn’t excite you. Even less when you’ve forgotten your sunglasses. You sigh, cupping your hands over your eyes, praying it’s enough relief for now. While you wait for Gideon to arrive with the boys, you look around Lila’s trailer. There is no space in the parking lot, but there are not too many people passing through either. So the UnSub could be stood out and no one would notice, ‘cause there isn’t much going around. You don’t know for sure.
“Did you forget your sunglasses again?” You squint at Spencer’s emerging figure. Gideon, Morgan, and Detective Kim are a few steps behind him.
“Mhm,” you wince. “I’m so ready to leave L. A.”
He just hums, but something else is holding his attention. You follow his gaze and it lands right on your necklace. The sun shines sparkles on the pendant he gave you.
“May I?” he asks, his fingers twitching in anticipation.
You are unsure what he is talking about, but you nod anyway. Then, he ever so respectful, not even daring to touch your skin, picks up the astronomical ring. He unfolds it, lifting it towards the sun so you can see the shadow that the principal ring casts on the other ones. “See?” he whispers, “the shadow? It’s around noon.”
You’re positive you’ve forgotten how to breathe while buzzing ants walk over your arms. You can’t help but giggle. “Yeah?” you say.
He nods, wearing his good-boy smile. He’s close enough you can see the golden flecks dance in his brown eyes. “You can check it with your phone if you want.”
“I don’t need to do that,” you smile, leaning in enough so that your forehead rests against his cheekbone as shallowly as if it were a feather. “I trust you. And your 187 IQ,” you chuckle, pulling away.
“Are you two done?” Morgan tries to ask in a stern voice but fails to hide the smugness in his smile.
You are about to bicker back when you notice the uncomfortable expression on Detective Kim’s face and the warning in Gideon’s eyes. Maybe later. “Yes, sorry,” you murmur.
“C’mon, kid,” Morgan rolls his eyes, looping his arm around your shoulders to drag you inside Lila’s trailer.
Once inside, all of you begin to search for new details that will help you materialize the UnSub. And as if sent from heaven, Lila enters with a crumpled paper in her hand. Gideon, gears fast from years of experience, puts the note right away in an evidence bag. He hums before passing it around. “I’m intrigued by this particular version of the verb ‘to be,” he says.
“Past participle.” Spencer adds, holding up the evidence so you can read it too. The message is written in pencil this time, with angry caligraphy, made it in a hurry. Lila- I’ve always been good to you. Why’d you go to the police?, says the paper.
“Steady state of being,” you nod, understanding where they are getting.
“Preceding adverb,” Gideon continues.
“‘Always’,” Spencer agrees.
“In English?” Detective Kim urges.
“That is English, actually.” Spencer explains, uncrossing his arms so he can be able to gesture with his hands. You hold back a smile. “We’re discussing the verb tenses of-“
“Reid. Reid.” Morgan cuts him. This time, you don’t hold back your frown on him.
“Our stalker sounds like someone she knows,” Gideon translates.
“Based on the tense of the verb,” you add. “Plus, Garcia couldn’t find any interview about red anemonas. So, the UnSub might even be close to her.”
Morgan then suggests that maybe it’s time to take Lila off the streets in order to protect her. Spencer argues that so far Lila has not been physically threatened and that perhaps it would be best to do the exact opposite: keep her in the public eye. Gideon is about to give his opinion when Lila speaks for the first time since she came in.
“I’m standing right there, guys,” she uses her celebrity tone, tilting her head to the side and letting her hair flow down in a coordinated cascade of golden champagne.
“If we did remove you, we’d have to take you to a non-disclosed location,” Gideon states, glancing at her above his glasses. “I’m sure your stalker knows where you live.”
“I’m not having the whole show close down.” She shrugs, nonchalantly. “I only have one more scene to shoot.”
Everyone shares a moment of silence.
“Look, last night I decided I wasn’t going to be afraid of this lunatic.” Lila’s expression leaves no room for doubt. Surely she gets things done her way more often than not. “Am I safe here?”
“Well, the set’s cleared of everyone except essential personnel,” Detective Kim concedes, “and we have increased security at the gate.”
There’s a knock on the door that waits for no response. “Lila, they’re ready for you,” a blonde girl says.
“I’m staying at work,” it’s the final answer Lila makes, leaving the trailer.
“Well, she’s one tough girl,” Morgan says.
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees.
You press your lips into a thin line to avoid scoffing. Yeah. Tough girl.
* * *
You make the paper cup dance in circles, watching thoughtfully as the watered-down coffee spirally reflects the lights of the studio. You and Morgan are waiting on this fake beach for Spencer to come back from buying his coke.
“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, toasting his own bad coffee with yours to get your attention.
“Hmm?” you reply, lifting your gaze to him. “Yeah.”
“What’s bothering you?” he insists.
“I don’t know…” you hoop your finger in your necklace, fidgeting with it. “I think we’re missing something but I can’t really tell you what. And- on the other hand, I feel like our efforts are being dismissed by the very victim.”
Morgan huffs, noding. “I hear you.” Then a smile takes over his features. Oh, no. You know his teasing look. “Ooh, pretty boy is bold.”
You don’t want to look. You really don’t. But you can’t stop your feet soon enough, already turning in Spencer’s direction. He stands awkwardly close to Lila, shifting his gaze to every available surface to avoid looking at her. She is so bright it may burn him. And then- you can swear Morgan hears you gasp when Lila extends her hand, grabbing Spencer’s coke.
“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” Lila says matter-of-factly before bringing the bottle to her lips. And Spencer just shakes his head.
The acid settles at the bottom of your heart. You can’t help but feel displaced. You’d never say it out loud, but you thought you were special to Spencer. You thought you were the exception to his aversion to germs. You thought you had earned the privilege of sharing food with him out of confidence and a record of cleanliness. Well, you were clearly wrong. Because you’ve learned to carry hand sanitizer everywhere you go, but all Lila has had to do is reach out and shoot her sly smile. Huh. It doesn’t seem fair. But you should know that playing against stars isn’t. You will never shine the same.
And as if she were listening to your thoughts, Lila drops her bathrobe. You are going to cry. A blue bikini hides enough to not be censored on open television, but that’s it. The rest of her slender body catches the studio light in all the right places, making her skin look like porcelain. You know you shouldn’t, but there isn’t enough willpower in you: you look up at Spencer. And he’s looking at Lila like she’s the first girl he’s ever seen. You drink the horrible coffee hoping to choke.
Morgan, however, has another agenda in mind. He walks over to Spencer and waves to you. You shouldn’t listen to him, but there you are. Right behind him.
“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” Morgan repeats, already laughing.
Spencer flusters immediately. “Shut up.”
You don’t look at him and he doesn’t try to make you do it before leaving as fast as he can. Like your presence is unbearable to him. You don’t know why. He’s not the one having his circulatory system drowning on poison.
* * *
Are three agents more than enough to take care of Lila? Maybe you should leave this to Spencer and Morgan. Maybe you should’ve gone with Gideon. You sigh. You’ve already done your best to profile every person on this studio set. From the lady styling Lila’s hair to the guy carrying the microphones. Even the girl that popped up into Lila’s trailer- huh. That’s funny. You don’t have eyes on her anymore. But you do have eyes on Spencer. Again. He’s talking over the phone and sending worried glances towards Lila. You bite down your jealousy and approach him.
“Is everything alright?” you ask, keeping your voice low.
He shakes his head, not acknowledging you, his eyes still fixed on Lila. “Gideon’s got too late to her manager. He told me to take her out the streets.”
“By yourself?” you furrow your eyebrows, worried.
Spencer blinks, looking at you somewhat hurt. “Why? You don’t think I’m capable?”
“What?” you step back, surprised. “I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant?” he’s using his flat tone. The sarcastic one. He’s shutting you out.
“What? Where is this coming from?” you say, blood boiling in incredulous annoyance. “I am just worried. You might as well be a target. Lila likes you, after all.”
Spencer’s gaze softens a bit, but his words are still defensive. “I can manage. I am an FBI agent just like everyone else on the team.”
It takes everything in you to not roll your eyes. You sigh and hold your hands up, offering peace. “Okay, Spencer. I’m gonna get back to the precinct with Morgan. Let Gideon know that you’re safe.” ‘Cause right now I don’t care. You don’t wait for his response before turning around.
* * *
You never made it back to the police station but instead went after a lead. Joe Martinez, a paparazzo in the words of Detective Kim. You guys found a ton of photos of Lila and even a schedule of her shots. And several close-up photos of Spencer from his night in the gallery. The “I told you so” is quickly swapped away by your worry. You can only pray that he and Lila are okay.
And perhaps you prayed too much. Elle clicks her tongue in disapproval, looking Spencer up and down. He is soaked and his hair acts as a curtain, protecting him from embarrassment. You focus on the camera in your hands, mechanically taking out the photo roll. At this point in the investigation, you should know better than to trust your masochistic instincts, but it’s as if you’re looking to stab your heart at every given opportunity. You hold the negative photos up to the moonlight. And you would like an eclipse to occur that pulverizes the evidence of his indifference toward you.
Each frame is fascinating in itself. Lila grabs Spencer’s tie. He doesn’t make much of an effort to move away, but you notice his resistance. Lila’s lips are persuading, however. And Spencer’s conviction wavers with the flow of the pool. In the next photo, they both hold their faces as if they were what kept them afloat. Safe. They are the oxygen they need in the middle of the chlorine.
“I, uh, fell in,” Reid explains to Elle.
Elle extends a hand toward you, palm up. You’re more than relieved to leave the photo roll in her possession.
“Yeah, and I’m sure there’s plenty of photos of it,” Elle states bluntly, passing him the film. “You’re welcome.”
You chuckle, but it comes out more like a huff. And now Reid is looking at you. No, Spencer is. He brushes his hair off his face. You want to follow Elle and get out of there, but there’s a longing in Spencer’s gaze that you can’t ignore. You know what he’s willing to find. And you know you weren’t quick enough to hide it, so you disguise it. You dress your wounded heart with a protective layer of disapproval. He’s a federal agent. He was supposed to take care of a victim being stalked. Is his idea of surveillance making out with her in an open pool? What if Joe Martinez turned out to be the UnSub? They would both be dead. A bullet pierced between their eyebrows by now. He accused you of not believing in his ability to get the job done because all this time he was the one doubting his own skills. He was projecting. You know it well because you know him. And because you know him, you also know that he is having this same monologue inside his head. You sigh. You really don’t want to add more pressure to his guilt. You might be disappointed, but you know he is even more.
“Ang-“ he starts, but you cut him right there.
He wouldn’t. He has no right to call you that. Not now. Not after- Lila.
“Of course you fell in, Crash,” you say, your tongue tracing soothingly every letter in the nickname his mother gave him out of his clumsiness. “Make sure Lila lends you a dry mismatched pair of socks, okay?” you smile softly at him, turning around to enter the house and hide the sting that your eyes surely hold.
Comforting him as your heart bends in two unable to hold its own weight is the last thing you thought of doing, but you don’t regret it. If you are being honest, there’s no room for your hurt. You two are friends. And friends support each other, they don’t rub their mistakes on each other faces. It doesn’t matter how poorly they did their federal job. After all, he’s only 24 years old and he was in a pool with a gorgeous girl. How to blame him? Clearly, his IQ does not exonerate him from being human. But what really hurts you is that he tried to call you angel. How does he think that’s fair?
You can count on one hand the times he has called you that. The first time was when you killed your first UnSub. You stayed as still and quiet as a rock the whole travel back to Quantico. You felt like a bad person. What was the difference between you and him? You both pulled the trigger. You were just like the UnSub. You should resign from the FBI. Maybe it’s the first thing you’d do when you get to the office. The fluorescent lights in the elevator were suffocating you. All your mistakes were on display. The team would see them. Spencer would see them. My God, your lungs were burning.
Before you walked through the glass doors, Spencer pulled you lightly by your sleeve. He took you to the side of the hallway and looked you straight in the eyes. You’ve never seen him so determined. There was no trace of the timid genius who doesn’t shake hands.
“You did what you had to do,” Spencer assured you.
“It doesn’t feel like it.” You simply replied. You couldn’t talk more or you would break.
“It doesn’t matter how you feel right now. It matters who you are not.” He grabbed you by the shoulders, acting as an anchor to the real world.
You were not following, your brain being blurred from tears.
“You are not a murderer,” he breathed out, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You are not the same as the UnSub. You are not a bad person. And you are no less angel than before. Okay?”
You blink the memory away along with the tears. What is an angel compared to a star, anyway. With your focus back to the present, now you notice the collage in front of you. You must be losing your mind, ‘cause you swear you can see Lila’s features all over the art piece.
“Pretty girl?” Morgan softly calls you. It’s the first time he ever calls you that. And you know why.
You look at him like a deer caught by the front lights in the middle of the night. Frightened. In awe. And a little startled to be noticed, allowing you to accept your own existence now that you are in evidence- even if it means your death. “Am I that obvious?” you lower your voice, ashamed.
“Nah.” He hugs you by the shoulders. “Babygirl figured out. She might not be a profiler, but she sure has a sixth sense when it comes to these things. She was the one who told me. I don’t think anyone on the team had noticed, tho.”
“I can’t believe Penelope,” you breathe out, hiding your face in his chest. The tears are gathering again.
“She meant no harm,” he says, locking you secure against him. “And neither did pretty boy.”
“I know.” Your voice comes out muffled by Morgan’s shirt. “But it hurts anyway.” Knowing that I will never be the one he likes.
“Yeah, I know.”
You wipe away your tears, stepping back from Morgan’s embrace. You smile briefly at him. “Thank you. And, please-“
“Not a word, pretty girl. Of course.” His smile is nothing but gentle and caring. “So, what’s up with this collage? What’s so interesting about it?”
“Lila said she likes it because it reminds her of life itself.” Spencer’s voice says from behind you.
When you look at Morgan, pure terror in your eyes, he just shakes his head. Thank God. Spencer wasn’t there the whole time. You let out an audible sigh of relief.
“What was that?” Spencer asks, placing himself by your other side. Now you are between him and Morgan, all of you in front of the collage.
“Nothing,” you dismiss. “What did you answer to what Lila said?”, you turn your attention to him, tilting your head so you can face him better.
“I, uh,” he attempts to control his blushing. “Said there was something definitely appealing about this one.”
“Oh,” you nod, returning your gaze to the exhibit. “That’s a first time. You’ve never used that word before-“
You are right. He has never used that word before towards a piece of art. And maybe it is your hot white jealousy talking and you are really losing your head- but now you can see more clearly splashes of Lila. What did Lila say? Life itself. Of course. The collage is made with moments of Lila’s life. You share a glance with Spencer and you know he has clicked as well.
“I hope you already committed to memory this, ‘cause we are tearing it apart,” you say to Spencer, before addressing Morgan. “Help us to take this down.”
You guys take the strips of photographic montages to Lila’s kitchen table and recompose the work. You can’t believe it. It is a great warm and sick love letter that tells Lila’s entire journey.
“Lila, it looks like someone’s been stalking you for years,” Morgan says.
“Yeah, this tells your whole life story,” Elle adds. “Movie premieres, theater playbills.”
“Everything since college,” Spencer says.
“Who gave you this collage?” Morgan urges.
“He did.” Lila points to a photo in the collage. A bearded young man smiling.
“This guy? Who is he?” Morgan insists.
“That’s the guy I went to high school with, Parker Dunley,” Spencer answers.
What? That doesn’t makes sense.
“Garcia.” Morgan pulls out his phone. “Parker Dunley. E-mail me a sheet on him, all right?”
Spencer notices your puzzled look. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “It’s just… all right. Everything here feels so intimate. So close. So purposefully placed. Almost like a feminine touch. It’s something a girl in love would make like an anniversary present. And I am not saying that a guy couldn’t do it but… a guy like Parker? C’mon. He thought it was a funny thing to say that you look like a 12-year-old kid.”
Elle hums. “Whether Parker is the UnSub or not, we should pay a visit. Morgan?”
“Garcia already sent the address. Let’s go.”
* * *
The lights in the office are off and the only desks on are yours, Morgan’s, and Spencer’s. You want to finish the paperwork today. You don’t want to touch this case ever again, so the quicker it’s over, the better. But you’re so, so exhausted. Even though you pretended to sleep on the return flight, you didn’t get any rest.
The UnSub turned out to be not Parker Dunley, but Maggie Lowe. An old friend from Lila’s college. The same one you saw disappear from the set in the morning. So, so stupid. If you hadn’t been blinded by your dull feelings, perhaps you could have done a better job. Still, the only thing your mind is really determined to remember is Reid’s hands grabbing Lila’s face. It’s an infinite loop. It rewinds every time it ends. Her fingers intertwined in his tie. Reid’s hands on her face. Their lips colliding. Her fingers in his tie. His hands on her face. Their lips-
You make sure to read your report twice, afraid that you’ve accidentally described Reid’s kiss with Lila. You sigh with relief. Nope. None of that, just details of the case. Your eyes hurt and sometimes sting. The tears are at the back of your throat and you know it. Maybe you should have accepted the girls’ invitation. You could be laughing lightly in alcohol instead of drowning in thick sadness.
“I’m out,” Morgan announces, switching off his light desk. “Night, Hollywood,” he says, nudging Spencer’s side. “Need a ride, pretty girl?” he then offers to you.
You jump out of your chair like a spring. Her fingers in his tie. You can’t stay alone with Spencer. His hands on her face. Not with your broken heart on your sleeve. Theirs lips colliding. “Yes!” you nod, grabbing your satchel. “Bye, Spenc-“ You fail to act casual and he fails to hide his sad expression.
“Uhm, alright,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Have a good weekend.”
Oh, God. It’s Friday. You can’t do that to him. You swallow your shattered love. You’ll be okay. You’re his friend.
“Uh, Morgan, y’know what, I’ll take the train.”
Morgan shakes his head. “Okay, kid,” he smiles with sympathy, opening the glass doors.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says, gathering his things. “I get it if you are tired.”
You don’t know how much.
“No, it’s okay. What are we doing tonig-“
Oh. There’s a magazine on Reid’s desk. A pop one. Spencer never reads that kind of magazine. But of course, he had never been on the cover before. He has his hand resting on Lila’s shoulder and she leans her cheek there. It feels wrong seeing this. It feels more intimate than the kiss. It feels almost personal- Your breathing hitches. He has also taken your shoulder and you have also leaned on his hand. You’ve also seen it like Lila is seeing him in the photo. But he’s never seen you the way he sees her.
“Mystery man, huh?” you joke, trying to suffocate this ugly feeling that spreads through your body faster than the light itself.
“Hmm?” he says, not seeing what you are. But when he does, he looks guilty. A mystery man in Lila’s life?, the magazine says.
“You know, if this thing with the FBI doesn’t work out, you can always be a mystery man,” you chuckle. You can laugh this out. You know you can. You have to.
But Reid doesn’t find funny your joke. “Why’s Morgan calling you pretty girl?”
“What?” you reply, confused.
“Why’s Morgan calling you-“
“No, I heard it.” You furrow your brows. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
He shrugs. You don’t understand.
“I’m just curious.”
And you are not sure why, but you get angry. What does he care what Morgan calls you. You know your anger isn’t more than just an unfounded resentment, but you can feel bile creeping up your tongue and you’re not quick enough to stop it.
“Why? You don’t think I’m pretty?”
He looks surprised. “What? That’s not what I said!”
Oh, how the roles can change. “But that’s what you meant?”
“Wh- no! Stop twisting my words” his voice is coming out in high pitches. And then he realizes. You are just repeating what he said earlier to you. And he hasn’t apologized yet. “Oh.”
Silence fall between you two. And not the comfortable one you’re used to. Maybe you were too optimistic. Clearly, you can’t be alone with him right now. You’re not being fair to him. Maybe you should have taken Morgan’s offer.
“You are pretty,” he then says. “And I’m sorry.” A pause. “Both are facts.”
You hate how your heart seems to sew back with honey threads when you hear him call you pretty.
“And you know how serious I’m about facts.”
Yeah, you do. And just like that, the silence is warm again.
bonus!
spencer’s pov
Spencer feels uncomfortable and it has nothing to do with the feeling of wet socks. No. It’s like a crashing shame that doesn’t let him breathe normally. What is Hotch going to think when he finds out that he was making out with the victim he was sent to take care of? Forget Hotch. What is Gideon, the man who introduces him to everyone as a doctor, going to think? Nonetheless, even as Spencer thinks about their disappointments combined, the weight isn’t enough to explain the pressure in his chest. What is it then? His own disapproval of him? As genius as he is stupid, he calls himself.
Forget both. When Spencer watches you hold the roll of negatives up to the moonlight, it’s like someone has kicked him in the pit of the stomach, effectively knocking the air out of him. And then a pale lightning bolt hits the necklace he gave you and he feels like he’s going to die. He becomes aware of every drop of chlorine in his body and how dirty that water must have been. Even if he bathes a hundred times, he will never feel clean again.
He expects to be greeted by well-deserved anger in your eyes, but instead, he finds a deep sadness that gobbles him up. No. Did he do that? Impossible. He tries to approach you, but the fear of you rejecting him immobilizes him. He is bolted to the ground and desperate. How can he return the stars to your gaze that he is used to looking at? How can he make you understand what an angel you are to him?
“Ang-“ he tries, but he is immediately shushed by you.
“Of course you fell in, Crash.” He doesn’t remember a sweeter nickname or a gentler gaze. He is ashamed of how fast you can soothe him, his guilt draining as your eyes are no longer devastating. “Make sure Lila lends you a dry mismatched pair of socks, okay?” You shoot him a soft smile that smooths his sharp ugly feelings.
His heart fills with relief to see that you’re not angry. Nor disappointed. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you in his life, but he hopes to do everything he can to keep you in it. “Okay,” he replies even though you’ve already inside the house. It doesn’t matter. After all, you’re always present in his mind. Just like the stars are always in the sky.
taglist: @mirdnightmass @monstrosityinside @nervousmumbling @sunflowersndpeaches s0urmarvelwispystarss405rryavis-writeshqsyrrupwishyoudaskmehaileycannotcometothephonernlololololooolook69redros3y@stargirlsturniololoveriamburdenedpleasantwitchgarden queermaxwooo becauseimamirrorball13 smashleywow cultish-corner zeida lou-the-confused-bisexual chaosemia l4venderia jupiteroftheuniverse keenstudentsuitcasegarden nomajdetective bohemianrhapsody86 sabage101 (once again, i hope i am not letting anyone out. THANK YOU SO MUCH, YOU GUYS! is wild how much you are liking these silly blurbs. it means a lot to me, thanks).
2K notes
·
View notes