#read my fic! i spent a long time on it and (i think) it is very good!

[miss-fanfictions]

Sundays at the Library | Spencer Reid x Reader

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Spencer talks to the sweet librarian at his new library and slowly Sundays become his favorite day of the week.

Warnings] Cursing, creepy guy, misunderstandings (but its cute I promise), written from Spencer's POV

Word Count] 8.9k

Author's Note] This is my first fic here! I'm planning on doing a few more parts to this, so this is only the beginning 🙃

The first time Spencer saw you, the encounter wasn’t anything special. 

If he wasn’t working, he was reading, and because he can read 20,000 thousand words per minute, he needed new books often. Not even his FBI salary could afford the amount of books he consumed in a month and his cozy apartment certainly couldn’t contain them all. Already his bookcases were spilling out onto nearby surfaces. So to quench his constant need for new books, Spencer borrowed books from the library. However, since the one near his apartment closed just a week ago, he had to find a new one. That led him to drive to the library ten minutes away. 

It was larger than the one down the street from his apartment—it had a full three floors. Beyond the double doors, he followed two velvet rope barriers onto the main floor of the library, wandering past a grand front desk to his left to where the room divided into two sections and the barriers ended. In the left section, beside the desk, there were a couple computers set up, as well as two printers and a side wall dedicated to DVDs. In the other section there were tables and chairs set up for quiet studying, as well as more comfortable lounges for reading. Behind those two sections started the book shelves, nearly ceiling high and organized via genre and then further alphabetized. When he ascended the staircase at the back of the main floor, he found the upper levels were fully dedicated to rows of shelving containing books, interspersed with a few tables and lounges for reading. 

 He spent approximately 45 minutes getting the layout of the library, as large as it was, and finding the books he wanted to read. Of course, he got a range of books. Two books on psychology, a mathematical textbook, and another two books based in the sciences. A bit of light reading, really, just to occupy his time at home during a busy caseload week. 

He balanced the heavy books awkwardly in his arms as he made his way to the front desk, practically dropping them onto the counter. His lips twisted up in embarrassment, glancing around to see if anyone was disturbed by the loud clatter. When his eyes turned back to the desk, they met the bespeckled ones of you, the librarian, seated behind the counter. They were wide behind the frames, doe-like and startled by the noise. He winced and stuttered out an apology.

Too often he embarrassed himself due to his clumsiness. Over the years, Spencer got a lot better at the shooting range, but he still couldn’t run a mile without tripping a few times, or be able to participate in sports, and he didn’t even want to think about his driving. JJ often compared the experience of being in his passenger seat to riding shotgun with her senile grandmother. No matter what he did, the awkwardness crept in and all he could do was apologize. He didn’t mean to startle the nice librarian who he would seeing every week for the foreseeable future. 

“It’s fine,” your voice was a gentle whisper, perfect for the quiet of the library. You closed the book on your lap and placed it out of sight under the counter, standing up to help him. That’s when he could take you in completely, with your long flowy skirt and oversized sweater. Perhaps a shy attempt to battle the chill running through the library, or maybe a purposeful effort to hide yourself away from prying eyes. He could tell—despite your attire—that you were his age or maybe a little younger. You lacked the wrinkles, grays, and even the weathered dullness associated with age. Your hair was done up messily, effortlessly, and his eyes tracked your chewed up fingernails as you tucked a few strands behind your ears, out of the way of your eyesight. 

He thought you were plain and shy. The soft pastels and neutrals that colored your clothes and the fact the garments covered you so entirely, made you blend into the background. Had he not needed to speak to you directly, he might not have noticed you tucked behind the desk, folded up in your chair with your nose deep in a book. 

“Can I check these out for you?” You asked him, and he almost missed it due to both his staring and your airy cadence. 

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, then quickly added. “And a library card, please. I’m new to this library.”

“I’ll just need an ID then,” you held out your hand while he rummaged through his wallet for his state ID, and when he placed it into your palm he was careful not to touch your hand. It was less about you as a person as it was his disdain for germs. 

You went about clicking and typing at the computer to the side of the desk, face plain as if whatever you were doing you had done a thousand times. Your nimble fingers only stuttered when you glanced back at him, catching his eyes as he watched you before he darted them away from your face, caught. Quickly, you grabbed the mouse, clicking only three more times before handing back his ID. He was careful not to touch your hand or meet your eyes as he took it back. 

He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he had a habit of it, always trying to profile. But you were just a meek librarian, and there was no reason to take note of your behavior. You went about printing out a physical copy of his new library card, and he opened one of his books to occupy himself as you did so. 

When you turned back to him, you scanned a plastic card before offering it to him with a small smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled as you went about scanning the books on the counter with the same barcode reader. You were on the fourth book when your brows creased and you looked back up at him. 

“Are you studying?” You asked, the words sudden as if you couldn’t hold the thought off your lips. 

“No, this is just some light reading,” he answered politely, because it was. Though he forgot that was maybe not normal, because you giggled at his reply. 

The sound brought his eyes to your lips, the way they parted to let the breathy noise out. It was a unique giggle, though he supposed everyone’s is, but something about it suited you so completely. It was soft, and when he glanced around the library to see that no one else had heard it, he thought it was also just for him. There was no taunting, just joy that you emitted in the most delicate of sounds. If only he could understand what he did to extract it from you. 

“Right,” You said jokingly, and then he thought maybe you didn’t believe him, but he didn’t get a chance to assure you he was being truthful before you finished checking out the books. “Here you go, have a nice day, Spencer.”

He hesitated, thrown off by your use of his name, but cleared his throat and collected his books nonetheless. He thanked you and mumbled a brief goodbye as he did so, not looking back as he rushed out of the library. When he got to his car, he used a pack of disinfectant wipes on the books and set them up in his passenger seat, thoughts of the little librarian withering away to the casework waiting for him at work tomorrow.

—

He finished the books quickly, in only two days actually, but thankfully most of his time was taken up by his work. In his remaining free hours, he resorted to rereading a few books on his shelves. On Sunday, he collected his library books and drove the ten minutes back to his new library, exactly one week since his last visit. 

The inside was chilly and smelled like old paper and leather. There weren't many people he could see on the main floor, a few of what looked like college students spread out studying and some preteens huddled on the computers, whispering snarks and giggles. He walked up to the front desk, following the rug and the velvet rope barriers that led right to it from the entrance. This time he didn’t pass by the desk, but stopped at it to place down his books—quietly.

Your familiar framed eyes looked up at him, just as doe-like as surprise crossed them right before a smile took hold. Again, you closed the book in your lap, though this time Spencer caught a glimpse of its orange and yellow cover before you hid it from sight. He couldn’t make out the title. “Back so soon?”

It had been exactly a week since he’d seen you, and though he had not thought of you much since then, Spencer was incapable of forgetting a face. You looked just as you did last week—messy updo, baggy clothes, bare face. It seemed that was your natural state, or at least what you wore to work, but what Spencer wore to work was pretty much his normal wardrobe and he worked in the FBI, not a library.

“Yes, I need to return these books,” he told you, returning your smile with a quirk of his lips and placing his library card on top of the stack of books. 

When your eyes roamed back down from his to the five books, your brows furrowed. “Give up on studying then?” You asked, scanning the books back into the system. 

For a moment, Spencer was confused, then he recalled every word of your last interaction, and realized you still thought he checked the books out to study them, likely for some graduate classes, given his age. “No, I wasn’t studying them. I just needed a few books for casual reading after work.”

You paused once you turned to the computer, looking at him down your glasses. “Casual reading?” Your eyes went back between the thick books and his face, a smirk of disbelief growing. “You read all these books in a week?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. 

“For fun?” You had a skeptical eyebrow quirked.

“That’s what casual reading normally implies.” Spencer furrowed his brows at your line of questioning. Maybe most people wouldn’t read such topics simply for fun, but why would he lie about that? 

At that, you giggled again, a bird’s song, and resumed clicking at your computer. Your gentle laugh tickled something deep in his chest. Again, there was no malice or ill intent to it, not any that he could see behind your genuine eyes and smile. You simply thought he was a funny guy, and no one ever thought that of Spencer. He was too awkward, or too serious, or even too annoying to be fun. 

You took the stack of books in your arms, the pile reaching right up to your chin, and walked them to a cart behind you. When you turned back, you were still smiling sweetly at him. “Your light reading has been checked back in.” You slid his library card across the counter.

He plucked the card back off it with a thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his sweater vest. For a moment, he debated telling you about his PhDs, his eidetic memory, and maybe even his genius IQ because Spencer always felt the need to prove himself—to state facts—because he wasn’t the funny guy. He was very serious and all the things he was telling you weren’t just silly jokes. Then he worried he might wipe the smile right off your face, and he couldn’t let himself do that. So instead he gave you a stiff nod and continued into the library.

. . . Only to spin right back around, fist awkwardly pressed against his lips. “Oh, also, what is the maximum amount of books I could have checked out at once?”

You had just cracked the spine of your book again when you looked back up at him, a swirling look of confusion on your face. “Ten books, but you don’t have any out so I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

Spencer gave another nod, spinning back around on his heels and taking himself right up to the second floor of the library. He spent approximately 37 minutes collecting books from around the library, setting them aside at tables as he weaved through the rows of bookcases for the different genres. A wealth of knowledge in all areas was useful for his job, and also just for him personally. He found great pride in knowing many things, as annoying as others might find his incessant info-dumping. 

When he finished, he took a stack of books from the table and carried them down from the second floor, slowly stepping down the stairs and craning his neck around the stack to watch his steps. He could be uncoordinated at his best, so there was no need to tempt fate into sending him tumbling down the staircase by not paying attention. 

After successfully making it down, he took long strides to the main desk and set the stack down on the counter. Of course, you looked up at him again, however skipped surprise and jumped into an inviting smile. You closed your book and stood up, taking in the books he set in front of you. “Another five to check out then?”

“No, actually, I’ll be right back.” He turned away so fast he almost missed the way your smile faded and you leaned over the counter to watch him ascending the stairs again, spindly legs taking them two at a time.

He grabbed hold of the second tower of books, nearly dropping the top one in his haste to get back to you. After that he continued to take the stairs carefully even as he felt your eyes on him. Maybe especially because he felt your eyes on him, because if you watched him fall down the stairs he’d have to drive an additional ten minutes away to find another new library, because he certainly wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore. 

Beside the first stack on the counter, he set the second, then placed his library card between them. “This is it, I promise.”

Again, you glanced between him and the books, eyes bugging behind their glass shelter. After a moment or so, as if you were making sure he was serious (he was), you began scanning his card and the books. Despite the larger quantity of books, you were slower as you ran the barcodes on the back, taking the time to read the titles and authors. 

“Are you a graduate student?” You asked, looking at a book on human genealogy. 

Spencer twiddled his thumbs. “No, I’m finished with school for now, but I might go back for another PhD in the future when I have more time,” he answered honestly, the words flowing out quickly, even though he wasn’t sure why he was telling you that. Only about two percent of the U.S. population has a PhD, and an even slimmer percent had more than one. So it was an unusual thing to say.

He thought you might laugh again, or even question him, but you simply hummed and moved onto the next book, chewing your lip. “I’m in a graduate program for poetry,” your voice was quiet, as required by the library environment, but more so than usual, like you seemed embarrassed to share that information. 

It made sense you were a graduate student working in a library while earning your MA in writing. He wondered if you had plans for your degree beyond getting a slight pay increase as a librarian. There was a career as an author, or maybe you wanted to be a teacher or a professor, he could see you doing that, standing in front of a class in your skirts and sweaters pointing at a chalkboard with a ruler, though that image was outdated. More likely you’d be in front of a white board or presenting from a projector. 

“That’s interesting. I find myself reading a lot of nonfiction recently—it helps more with my job, though I also just enjoy facts and statistics—but I’ll always have a special appreciation for fiction. I’m fond of poetry in particular because it’s created for multifaceted analysis,” even in his own whisper, the words were breathy and fast. He had to catch his tongue between his teeth when he caught your eyes trailing back up to him. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Write poetry hopefully,” the words came out in a gust of wind and your eyebrows quirked up, as if you didn’t believe even your own dream. “Maybe you can analyze it one day.” You finished scanning out the books, putting them back into two neat piles as you did. You went about clicking at your computer, making sure the books were grayed out in the system, avoiding his eyes.

So you did want to be a writer then. He could easily see that as well. Though he got the sense you didn’t believe your aspiration was attainable, and it likely wasn’t due to lack of skill. He told himself he wouldn’t profile you, but he did it practically subconsciously. Your lowered gaze, modest clothes, shy smile, and even chewed nails all pointed to a lack of confidence in yourself. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty in your own right, and were clearly intelligent and hard working if your pursuit of a masters degree said anything. If you needed a little encouragement, the least he could do was give it to you.  “I look forward to it,” he said, and he was just as sincere as he always had been. 

It only seemed to increase your embarrassment, causing your face to shy further away from his gaze. “Thank you, Spencer.” Even if you couldn’t look at him, your tone was of genuine appreciation, and if he tilted his head just right, he could see the wisp of a smile on your face.

He nodded with a tight lipped smile, staring at you while he waited for the conversation to continue, only to realize you’d finished with his books and it was over. His hands stuttered to gather up the first heap of books, muttering about how he’d be back. However he only got a few paces when he heard you say his name again, feet stopping dead.

“Would you like me to help you carry these out?” You were already trying to get a hold on the books.

Quickly, he shook his head. “No,” the words came out abrupt and firm, louder than he’d ever spoken before in the library, and you flinched. 

“You shouldn’t be following anyone out of here to their cars. This library has a disturbing lack of cameras and an abduction, even in a public area, can happen in less than ten seconds. It’s safest for you to remain in the library and follow the good practice of having someone walk you to your car after your shifts.” Spencer felt obligated to warn you strictly, because your distinct quietness and sweetness made you the perfect prey for the killers he hunted daily. 

Though he almost regretted it as he watched the way your hands retreated from the books, crossing around yourself, and the gentle smile became forced. “Oh. I–I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer nodded and hesitated, but didn’t linger much longer before exiting the library and heading back to his car. He was quick to toss the books into his car, your tangled smile stuck in his mind. Was it an odd thing to say? He was only trying to warn you, to keep you safe. But the look on your face, you didn’t seem at all grateful for the advice. Spencer took brisk strides back to the library entrance. You were standing there behind the front desk, arms still crossed, a distant look on your face. When you heard him approaching the counter taking in breath just a little faster from boardline jogging back, you barely spared him a glance. He scared you a bit, he realized, and he didn’t want to leave you like that. 

He paused beside his leftover books, wetting his lips.  “I didn’t mean to scare you with what I said before.” He finally caught your eyes and you seemed to hear him out. “I work in law enforcement, for the FBI actually, and all too often I see cases of nice girls like you who go missing just because you want to help people. Unfortunately it’s a pretty common ruse. So, I—I didn’t tell you all that to make you worry, but because I want you to be safe,” he admitted, and your face softened again, your hands falling back to the counter. It brought a smile to his own face to see you relax your guard again. “It’d also be awful if my librarian went missing. Who will check out the heap of books I keep bringing you?” 

You giggled, your lips pulling into a toothy smile. “It’d definitely suck, but I’d hope you’d put those FBI skills of yours into finding me.”

Spencer chuckled, ducking his head into his chest to quiet the sound as he pulled his books into his arms. “Of course I would, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.” He was good at his job, he never stopped until he found their victim, their unsub. 

You bowed your own head, hand holding your glasses to keep them from slipping down your nose. “Goodbye, Spencer.” You gave him a small wave with the other hand, ending the conversation with averted eyes, but he still noticed the growing color in your cheeks. 

He fumbled with his own wave under the stack of books, really just an outward flash of the fingers he could manage to peel away for a second, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him with how awkward it was. He turned on his heel, pink growing in his own cheeks, and exited the library again for the final time today. The gears in his head grinded the whole way to the car and continued as he grappled to get into it and wiped the books with disinfectant. 

You lingered in his mind longer than a librarian should have. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to warn you, to explain himself to you, or even comfort you. There was something about you, as meek and bashful as you were, that he found charming. Perhaps he saw himself in you, the insecurity. Or maybe it was how different you were from his job, where he was met with the most wicked minds and evil acts. You in comparison were the very image of innocence and life, in your pastel purples and yellows, lively eyes magnified behind glass, and your—your laugh. He liked your giggle. Even though he suspected at times it meant you didn’t fully believe him, he let you find him unserious, just so he could continue to hear that sweet sound tickle his ears in a way that scratched an itch inside him.

He was sitting in the parking lot staring out the windshield lost in his thoughts of you. When someone walked by, he found himself clearing his throat and finally putting his car in drive. You dissipated from his mind as he pulled out of the parking space because his Sunday at the library was over. 

—

It took five days for him to finish the ten books from the library. The team was in California from Tuesday through Thursday, but he took four books with him to read during his down time and while on the jet. He still ended up with spare time that he spent shopping with Penelope and babysitting Henry for JJ and Will’s date night. It was for this reason he was glad to be back in the library on Sunday.

Inside he was hit with the familiar crisp air and the vague smell of paper and coffee. The tables to the left had quite a few more students than usual, though there were not very many to start with previously. He wondered if a bout of exams were coming up. As Spencer neared the front desk, he could smell something else, a faint vanilla scent maybe.

You were there as always, standing this time, and almost leaning over the counter to see the door. You smiled when you saw him and he realized that you must be wearing perfume, because around you the vanilla air became thicker.

“Sunday at 11am. You're more reliable than my alarm clock,” you hummed cheekily.

Spencer set the books he held in his hands on the counter, his messenger bag following them up. “Having a routine is actually really good for you. It’s been proven to reduce anxiety and stress and also helps people to cope with certain mental illnesses,” he told her, pulling the rest of his books out of his bag.

If you were thrown off by his fact telling, you didn’t show it. “That makes sense. I like having a routine, but I’m pretty sure my friends think it makes me boring.”

Spencer dug around in his vest pocket for his library card, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

You plucked it from his fingers, bringing it to the barcode reader without breaking your eye contact. “Because they say it to me all the time.”

“Oh,” Spencer snorted a little and clutched the strap of his bag closer. There’s something different about you today. You’re much more talkative and playful, but it’s also in your appearance too. Your glasses are still perched on your nose and your face is bare as it always is, but your updo is more put together, less stands fall away into your face. You wear another long skirt, but it's tighter, less flowy, and he can nearly make out the shape of your legs through it. You’re wrapped in a cardigan too, but where one side falls open he can see your tank top underneath and the sight of your skin has him clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back to your face. 

“And how was your recreational reading?” You’ve started to scan the books back into the system. “You must have been pretty entertained with ten books in seven days.” You state it like a fact, but your tone has a whimsical disbelief to it.

“Actually I finished them in five days,” he corrected with an incline of his head. 

You reply quickly, like the words were primed in your mind. “Then you should have come back sooner.” Under the teasing, you sound serious, looking up from the books at him, lashes fluttering against their glass encasement. 

“I would, but I’ve been pretty busy at work.” He was too. He would spend hours in the library reading if working at the BAU didn’t take up so much of his time. He loved his job of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but what is someone with his talents to do but hole himself up gorging every book he can get his hands on. Spencer had a thirst for knowledge, that’s why he wanted to be in the library so much. 

“Well, that’s too bad then. What do you do for work?” Your head tilts with interest and he almost mirrors the movement, brows furrowed. 

 “I told you—I work for the FBI. Specifically, I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He has an eidetic memory which means he can remember every word you’ve said to him and every word he’s ever said to you, so he knows he’s told you this before. Of course he knows people forget things, but they also normally remember when he tells them he’s in the FBI.

Your face falls a bit and you chew your bottom lip, brows creasing. “Oh. . . right.” You finish scanning the last book quickly, gathering a couple into a pile to carry to a cart behind you. 

Spencer’s not exactly sure what he’s done to upset you, but his fingers twitch with the itch to fix it. Unfortunately, he’s got the idea his job is what makes you so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was unsettled by the fact he carried a badge and gun, or that he had the authority to arrest people. But you had joked about it last week, possibly were soothed by the fact he was a cop after his blunt and maybe eerie warning. So why were you suddenly so upset with him? 

The thought occurred to him then that  maybe it was because you didn’t completely believe the things he was saying. Not only that, but you were no longer finding whatever game you think he’s playing by telling you those things to be funny. As you carry the rest of the books back to the cart, he fidgets with his fingers, wondering if it was time to show you proof of what he’s been saying. Or did you really even care? Maybe he was wrong and you would be even more frightened by him presenting you with his badge. Was it odd to flash his FBI credentials at his librarian? That was all you were after all. He didn’t even know your name.

You were back to clicking at the computer when you glanced at him. “They’re all checked in.”

Spencer froze as you pulled him out of his thoughts, his hands locking in the joints before dropping to his sides into fists. That was your cue for him to leave. “Right, thank you.” He went to walk away, but his feet were stuck. “. . .thank you, um, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

You didn’t have to tell him, you could have brushed it off. You were just the librarian and one didn’t need to know the librarian's name, but you looked back at him again, eyes studying his face. Then, you murmured your name so softly he almost leaned in to hear it louder. Soundlessly, he let your name ghost over his lips.

He used it as he thanked you one last time, certainly overkill but it seemed like the only correct way to exit. Although he only got a few feet before he heard you call his name.

“Spencer, wait!” You didn’t yell, he’s never heard you yell, but your voice was the loudest he’s ever heard it. You always spoke in a whisper or a hushed tone, but your voice was nearly normal when you called him back. The urgency of it had him back in front of you in just two strides.

You dipped beneath the counter and when you came back up you placed a basket on it. “When I used to go on picnics to read in the park, I used this basket. Well, I haven’t gone in a long time actually, but I thought maybe you could use it for all the books you check out,” you were bashful, tilting your head down and only sparingly meeting his eyes. Spencer was in shock, all he could think about was how this was one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for him. You gave him whiplash with how quickly you seemed to forgive whatever trespass he committed against you. He wondered even if he exaggerated the interaction in his head. 

The basket was woven, made from wicker, and had two handles at the top. It was rectangular in shape, pretty deep, and large for a picnic basket, he thought, big enough for fruits, pastries, sandwiches, and maybe more. It was a very nice basket, and the thought that you were giving it to him made his heart ache the most. You’d considered him, truly sat down and thought about him and then decided you were going to gift him a solution to his awkward problem. Not often did people solve his problems, it was always the other way around.

“Wow,” his finger grazed the side, considering the cost such a nice piece must be. “Are you sure? I really couldn’t take your basket it’s—”

“I don’t use it anymore,” you interrupted him for the first time. He realized that you never cut him off, you had always listened to him. “You can have it. . .” Your face was kind, then suddenly dropped into a panic. “Only if you want it of course! You don’t have to take it. I guess it’s kind of silly, carrying a picnic basket in a library. . .” You started to pick your nails, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he assured you quickly, leaning just a bit closer so he could catch your eyes again. “Thank you so much. Now I don’t have to worry about falling down the stairs or taking two trips to my car.” 

Your smile returned with a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, you kind of made me nervous going down the stairs like that with all those books. You don’t strike me as very. . . coordinated.”

“Ouch,” Spencer said, though he smiled back at you. You’d read him there, he was not very coordinated at all. Knowing physics was one thing, existing smoothly and with grace on the physical plane was another. 

“Sorry,” you shrugged half heartedly.

“No, you’re right. Thank you for the basket and uh, I’ll be back,” he waved you goodbye as he walked toward the stairs and you fluttered your fingers back at him. 

Spencer took exactly 52 minutes and 34 seconds adding books to his new basket. He got a few stares and side glances as he toted it around, mainly from a group of teenagers huddled at a miniature table and chair set in the children’s section. They snickered as they peeked up from their circle at him, but it wasn’t anything Spencer wasn’t used to. All his life people had laughed at him for a variety of reasons—he was too scrawny, too small, too bumbling, too nerdy—the list was miles long. All he could do was grow thicker skin, and he had. So he didn’t let it bother him as he wandered the library, adding books to his basket. 

No, the reason Spencer took so long to pick books was because each time he slipped one into a wicker embrace, he thought of you. He blinked and saw your face like a phantom burned into his retinas. The way the corners of your mouth twisted in your smile when you were so excited to give him the basket flashed and faded in his vision. Sometimes he cursed his eidetic memory because he’d memorized your face in its entirety with all its most miniscule details and peculiarities—and he didn’t even mean to. He would find himself staring into the empty space in the basket and have to drag his brain clawing back into reality.

His watch had ticked past 12 when he made his way back down the stairs to the main floor, lugging his basket in his right hand. It was heavy, weighed by two textbooks and eight other decently thick books, but the woven willow held strong. 

At the landing he could see across the library that you were already checking someone out. He meant to add himself to the queue, but pivoted to a lounge chair between two bookcases just as he got close enough to hear your voice. Immediately he felt wrong, a churning disgust with himself in the pit of his stomach. It was weird, wasn’t it? To watch you from afar just to gauge your behavior? But he had to know, it burdened his brain to wonder if you were just so saccharine it spilled out to everyone around you or if particularly you poured your sugar onto him.

You didn’t see him duck between the shelves to the lounge chair, not in any way that he could tell. With a tranquil neutral face you scanned the book that the college girl at the counter placed in front of you. The interaction was done in comfortable silence, even when you finished the transaction and she said her thank yous, you merely mumbled a “you’re welcome.”

It was different from how you interacted with him, he realized. You were much more playful and chatty with him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly inspired it in you. You were clearly shy, maybe anxious, but in some moments it faded when you talked to him. He didn’t think he said anything particularly special, but thinking you saw something in him that made you so comfortable, so cheerful, made his stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

The next man in the queue placed his book on the counter. He was the only other person waiting. You asked him absent-mindedly for his library card. He was older than you and Spencer, mid to late 40s if Spencer had to guess, but it gave him an idea about how you interacted with men as well. Which was just as bland as your interaction with the college girl before you. Spencer had a fleeting thought that maybe—just maybe—you liked him. Why else would you be so inclined to laugh with him? To be so shy sometimes you couldn’t meet his eyes? He’d read books, watched movies, and he knew the signs. He was just not used to spotting them in women interacting with him.

He cleared his throat as if to shake off the idea. It was vain, and in all likelihood an arrogant over analysis of the little interaction he’s had with you. He was about to get up and put himself in line behind the man when he heard his lurid voice croak out.

“How about you give me a smile, pretty?”

Spencer froze in place, white knuckle grip engraving the grooves of the entwined handle into his palm. Something like anger flared in his chest. It grew hotter as he saw the way you bowed your head even further from the man's sight, pulling your cardigan closer around your body.

“Um, yeah, could I just get your library card?” You squirmed under his leering gaze, lips faintly curling into the most awkward half-smile you could muster. 

Despite the way you clearly showed you were in duress, the man leaned closer over the counter. “My name’s Todd.” He slid his book across the counter to you like that tidbit of information helped any. “I’ll take this book and your number, baby.” Spencer’s jaw clenched.

His body tingled with the readiness to step in, to tell this Todd fucker to leave you be because obviously you weren’t interested. But his mind, the logical side of him, stopped him because Spencer also respected you and your autonomy. He was not an expert on women, but he knew quite a few strong women in the BAU who would be offended if he stepped in to defend them when they were capable of doing it themselves. He definitely didn’t want to offend you if you were able to brush off Todd on your own.

The uncomfortable smile dropped to a grimace. “If I could get your library card. . .” Your hand hesitantly reached for the book only for Todd to grasp your wrist in a tight hand.

“Stop asking for the damn card,” his voice dropped into a growl. “Baby, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Your arm fought to pull your hand back behind the counter, but Todd’s grip tightened and pulled back to keep you close. “Sir!” Your voice pitched higher, eyes widening almost too big for their frames. “Sir, please let go—”

Todd huffed, face screwing up in frustration. “Why’re you being so difficult?”

“Sir, you’re hurting her and you need to let go now.” Spencer practically flew over to the front desk. It was his instincts as an FBI agent kicking in. The need to de-escalate and protect was driving him. This man was now hurting you and he was not going to allow it to go any further.

Todd’s scowl looked Spencer up and down, assessing whether or not he could take him. He must have come to the conclusion Spencer was not a threat because he puffed up his chest and continued gripping your wrist. However, he was so distracted by Spencer, you were able to yank your arm away, rubbing at your wrist with your free hand. Todd shot you a similar glare before leveling his even angrier gaze back on Spencer.

“We’re just having a conversation here, asshole. So why don’t you get back to your books,” Todd barked at him so loud they had now attracted all the eyes in the library. But Spencer was only looking over at yours—your creased brow and the watery worry the glass highlighted. 

“Spencer, it’s—” You didn’t get to finish as Todd whirled his head between you and Spencer. 

“Spencer? No fucking way this wimp is your boyfriend.” Behind the rage, Todd looked almost smug.

But Spencer wasn’t. He hit his own boiling point and was passed asking politely. He pulled his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open in Todd’s face. “No, I’m the FBI agent who is going to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public disturbance if you don’t get out of this library right now.”

Todd’s head reeled back at the badge in his face, eyes squinting between the lettering and Spencer’s face. Realization of how much shit he was in passed briefly over Todd’s face before reverting to his glower. He must not have wanted trouble with the FBI though, because he started taking steps backwards toward the exit. But he couldn’t leave with a completely bruised ego.

“Whatever man. If you want the uppity bitch so bad you can have her!” Todd slammed open and closed the door as he made his grand exit. The entire library watched it, listening to him as he got his last dig in and fleeing before Spencer could make him eat his words. He didn’t have his cuffs or gun on him, but he’d dealt with enough unsubs to know he didn’t need them to handle Todd. 

When all the eyes slowly went back to their business, sure that Todd wasn’t coming back into the library, Spencer’s gaze returned to you. Your eyes were dinner plates, mouth agape, still clutching your wrist.

Spencer frowned, whispering your name. “Are you okay?”

“You’re an FBI agent. . .” The words slipped out of you in one shocked exhale. His brows furrowed. He just rescued you from an arrogant asshole and that was what you were stuck on, something he’d told you several times.

“Yes? But I told you—” 

“You were serious?” Your head bobbed forward in disbelief. So you really hadn’t been believing what he was saying. 

“Of course, why would I lie about that?” Spencer was confused and deep down a little hurt. It was such an odd thing to lie about to a stranger, he didn’t understand why you thought he wasn’t truthful. 

“I–I don’t know,” your eyes bounced around in a panic. “I thought you were just trying to impress me. I mean—you don’t really look like an FBI agent you’re. . . young? I don’t know, I thought you were flirting with me so I—” Your hand clasped over your mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir—agent—”

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“Call me Spencer,” he gave her a tight lipped smile, a near look of pity on his face. Your complete panic reassured him you were just as embarrassed over the miscommunication as he was. “Technically it would be Doctor, since I have three PhDs—but you can just call me Spencer.”

“But—But I didn’t. . . you were being serious the whole time and I. . .” You stuttered, shaking your head in confusion. “I was so unprofessional. . .”

Spencer chuckled, unable to hold it back. “Unprofessional? Just because I’m an FBI doesn’t mean I can’t like to talk to people. And I like talking to you, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” His disappointment dissipated quickly. Your shyness and embarrassment was so genuine and charming he couldn’t find the space to be upset with you beside all his amusement. 

You crossed your arms, somehow becoming even more bashful. “You’re sure it's okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Spencer grinned.

A small sigh of relief breezed past your lips. “Okay. . . I should—I should definitely apologize for not believing you.” You meet his eyes then with such profound remorse. “Because I am really sorry. It’s just. . . your accomplishments seemed so amazing they were kind of hard to believe, especially for someone so young.”

It was Spencer’s turn to become bashful. His head ducked and he laughed quietly. “I guess they can be hard to believe. Especially when you aren’t meeting me at work. I just thought maybe all the books helped prove it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes wandering back down to the countertop. “I kinda thought that was also to impress me. I didn’t really think you were reading all of them.”

“Well. . . I do.” He shrugged, figuring you had to believe him now. As you smiled at him, he realized he left his basket and books back at the chair. “Speaking of reading, I’ll be right back.”

You eyed him as he retrieved the basket and set it on the counter in front of you along with his library card. “Oh, were you sitting over there?” You looked curious. Certainly you hadn’t seen him sitting there today or anytime before.

Spencer coughed into his fist. “Um, just for a second.” He moved on quickly, removing the books from the basket. “Thank you for this again, by the way, it’s so much easier to carry all the books.”

You hummed, eyebrows jumping up. “Yeah. . . I’m having trouble believing I really gave an FBI agent a picnic basket to carry books in.” You started swiping the books over the barcode scanner, adding them back into the basket once they appeared on the computer screen next to you.

He cracked a half smile. “I think you watch too many movies. We’re not as serious as you think we are.” Hotch’s face flashed in his eyes and he thought maybe they were pretty serious, but not off duty. Hotch could also be serious enough for the whole team sometimes, so maybe he wasn’t a very good example. “And I like the basket. It was nice of you to think about me.”

Your eyes caught on his for a moment, glazed over in thought, so deep you bumped the basket as you went to set the book you held into it. It snapped you back into reality and you watched your hand as you tucked away the book, clearing your throat. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

Spencer’s head tilted to the left, considering you. He didn’t know what he could do to pull you back from this rut of self-consciousness. He was starting to regret ever pulling out his badge because now you seem standoffish in a way you never were with him before. He wanted to go back to when you laughed and smiled at him and didn’t find him intimidating. “Of course it’s not,” he paused a moment, wetting his lips. “And this isn’t weird either, y’know? Me being in the FBI? I’m still Spencer.”

You looked back at him again, eyes searching his face. “I know that. I’m. . .” You stared at him a second longer, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a smile. “I’m letting it sink in.” You continued scanning the books quietly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes as he absentmindedly picked at a loose string in his pocket.

His thumb brushed against his FBI credentials and the encounter just before this revelation came flooding back. He glanced over at the double doors as if to make sure Todd had not come back, though Spencer already knew he didn’t. 

“Are you okay?” You met his eyes, brows pulled together. “About before—with that guy?”

“Oh.” You shrugged, rolling your wrist unconsciously. “Yeah, I’m fine. We get one of them every now and again. Normally they’re pretty harmless.” A glimmer of realization passed over your face. “Um, thank you! I should have said that before. Not everyone would have done that.”

Spencer shook his head, waving off your thanks. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He was again reminded of the fact he was not a woman, and even though his job was to put away serial killers—monsters, creeps, pervs—he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. You shook it off well, but he didn’t doubt you were scared in the moment. Probably wondering how far he would take it, whether your reaction was appropriate, if your employer would be angry at you. He was just glad he was there to step in.

Slowly, you finished scanning all the books, tucking them neatly into the basket in an organized order he thoroughly appreciated. Heaviest books sat at the bottom and lighter books were stacked on top of them. You paused, flipping through the last book in your hand, a biography of Max Born, a German-British physicist. 

“So. . . you really do read 20,000 words per minute?” You had a cheeky grin as you peeked up at him from beneath those frames, and suddenly you were back. Spencer smiled.

“Yup. I also have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

You giggled, nodding along. “Right. Well then I guess this isn’t even enough books for you.” A finger waved over at the basket.

“It depends on work, actually. I’m usually busy, but I often have to travel too and then I become really busy so I don’t have time to read,” he explained. When he did sit down to read, he could get through one to three books, depending on their volume. “But yeah, ten books in a week is kind of light.”

You tapped the book in your hand with your thumbs, thinking. “Okay.” Suddenly you dropped the book into the basket, dipping below the desk to set another book in front of him. Examining it, he realized by its orange and yellow coloring it was the same book you had been reading the last time he was in the library. It was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and from the look of its creased spine and faded orange cover, it was well loved. “You should read this too then.”

Spencer turned the book over in his hands, looking at you with a twisted face of confusion. “But the check out limit is ten books?”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to add it to the basket. “It’s not a library book,” when he still looked puzzled, you continued. “It’s my book. You can borrow it from me.”

Your kindness and generosity was both shocking and overwhelming. Spencer wasn’t sure how he was to thank you for being so gracious to him. He could only think of one thing. So he quickly fumbled his wallet up onto the countertop. “You have to let me give you something for this—”

“Spencer,” as you said his name, your hand covered his as he dug for bills to give you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He shook his head, bewildered. Not only was your kindness startling, but so was the feeling of your hand on his. He had to stop his body from flinching at the contact. He was mostly uncomfortable at the thought of people touching him, but your palm was warm, soft, and offered the most comfort he’d felt in a while. “The basket and the book? It’s too much. I mean. . . you’re too nice.”

Your lips spread into a bright smile, flashing him your teeth. “Just bring me back your analysis. I’d love to hear what an IQ of 187 can cook up. Deal?”

Spencer laughed, ducking his head as he nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

When the laughter faded and his head came back up, he looked at you for a while longer, just feeling the paperback cover underneath his fingertips. You met his eyes just for a few moments, twiddling your own fingers. “So um, see you next Sunday?” You asked. He dared to see hope in your eyes.

“See you next Sunday,” Spencer agreed again. He hesitated putting the book in his new basket then finally left the front desk, waving you goodbye as he did. He watched over his shoulder you return his wave as he exited through the double doors. 

Spencer walked back to his car practically swinging the basket, so in his head he didn’t even realize he still had a smile on his face. He set The Poetry of Pablo Neruda aside as he disinfected his books and wondered what he would do the rest of his day off. What he was sure of, deep in his chest, was that he was excited for next Sunday. 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x shy!reader

[honeytama]

Make Your Move - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Matt Dierkes

Fic Masterlist

A/N: If you left a comment on Ch. 1, I love you so much <3 If you’d like to join the tag list, lmk!

Fic Summary: Having known Matt for a year already, he knows your talents and hires you as his assistant for Bad Omens' upcoming tour. You’ve had a crush on Matt, your friend, and now boss. However, his good friend and your celebrity crush, Noah, takes a liking to you the second you step through the door. What happens when your feelings develop? What happens when they find out? You only hope your heart doesn’t break trying to care for two others.

Content and Warnings for Ch. 2: Fluff, some smut 18+, stress/anxiety, alcohol, masturbation, praise kink, close proximity

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @flowery-mess @abiomens @exitwoundsx @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @narcissisticbehavior81 @xxkittenkissesxx @rain-down-on-me @doomhands-jr @justdamnpeachy (For tags that aren't working, I’ll try to put you in my replies)

The bus traveled for a day before it ended up at the tour’s first venue at dawn. The first bus sleep went smoother than expected as the morning wore you out.

You spent the extra travel time getting more familiar with the boys; chatting with them on the leather couches about their favorite music, hobbies, and their favorite foods. This was important as you were in charge of doing food runs and taking orders for dinners every show night.

The times you weren’t laughing it up with them or hanging out with Matt. You sat by the bus windows to focus on your many hobbies: crocheting, drawing, reading books, listening to music, and making playlists. It was surreal to watch the world whizz by as you sat alone in peace.

Although, you couldn’t help but feel an ache in your stomach thinking about your first show as assistant tour manager.

Matt was your friend, but now that you worked for him you felt as if you couldn’t talk to him about your anxiety about the first show.

For now, you brush those thoughts off your shoulders as you step off the bus into the alley behind the venue.

—

Nevertheless, the next sixteen hours gave you a headache. The guys helped you and the crew unload the trailers and help set up the stage for sound check by noon.

Matt set up the sound booth on his own in front of house, while you helped instruct the crew on how to set up the show production: confetti cannons, pyro, lighting, and video walls.

The guys did their sound check as you ran out to grab a small dinner for everyone. It was the easiest part of the day because they decided they wanted nuggets and fries.

By 6 pm, fans were entering the venue and patiently waiting for the opening band to perform.

Before and throughout the opener’s set, you were consistently running errands and making sure everything was set up perfectly for all the guys. However, every time you would try to catch Matt to ask him for help, he’d brush you off and say, “I know you’ve got this on your own. Don’t sweat it.”

Every. Time.

You loved him, but boy, was he going to hear it from you tonight.

How could he do this? The first night, even? You thought, angrily.

Luckily, the opener’s set went without a hitch and you felt somewhat proud.

Yet, the most unfortunate part of the night is the beginning of Bad Omens’ set. Being a fan for years, you had waited so long to watch them live, and you thought tonight would be even more special knowing how you affected their production. But, by the time the boys began Artificial Suicide, you feel a pain in your temple and a blanket of exhaustion drape over your body.

Side stage, you frown and make your way to the Bad Omens green room. You allow your body to rest and collapse onto the brown leather couch. The urge to allow your tears to fall and scream into the pillow is severe, but you hold it back.

I’ll get to see them tomorrow, you repeatedly think like a mantra as you close your eyes and fall asleep.

—

“Y/N?” Your name sounds like a whisper in your dream.

“Y/N, wake up, it’s time to go,” Noah says softly.

Your eyes slowly open. He stands beside the couch and your lying body with a folded towel and clothes in his hands. His hair is wet with sweat and his chest glistening in his black tank.

“Oh, my God. Noah,” you frown, “I’m so sorry.” You sit up and rub your eyes.

“What for?” he asks, concerned.

“I missed your set! It’s the first show and I missed it,” you cry out with your hands covering your face.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay. You’ll get to see us tomorrow,” Noah says soothingly.

“I would’ve taken a nap too, Y/N, today felt so long,” Jolly says from behind him.

“See? No worries. Did you get some good rest at least?” Noah asks genuinely.

“Yeah, I think I feel better,” you stand up and stretch your back.

“Well, that’s good,” he smiles, “because we’re going to have a little post-first show celebration if you’re interested?”

Your heart flutters at his invitation. “That sounds nice. I’m down.”

“It won’t be much, but we want to wind down before going to bed,” he explains. “We’re all going to go get showered and meet you on the bus in fifteen, sounds good?”

“Yeah, I might as well change into my pajamas while you guys are cleaning up,” you suggest.

Noah nods and you follow them out of the room to walk towards the back door of the venue. It’s dark out now and you can see some fans still trickling out of the venue as you walk to the bus.

Once inside, you run into Matt getting undressed to his underwear. You knew he never liked sleeping with clothes on, but the sight still made your thighs clench.

“Matt, can we talk?” You ask cautiously.

“Hey, sleepy,” Matt teases. “Could we in the morning? I’m drained,” he climbs into his bunk.

“Sure,” you yield. “Goodnight, Matt.”

“Night night,” he says, closing the curtain.

Tonight felt like such a bummer, but you wouldn't let it keep you down. In the small pile of clothes in your bunk, you choose a cute pair of pajamas to wear for the impromptu “celebration”. There are cute, sexy clothes even, that you brought just in case, but Noah didn't seem to care that you wanted to feel more comfortable this evening. You felt confident there would be at least one night on tour that you could whip out the mini skirt, but tonight isn't it.

Once dressed, you waited at the dining table at the front of the bus to scroll through your phone. Your leg bounced up and down as you considered opening Twitter to read the responses from fans for tonight’s show. Nonetheless, you thought it best to wait until the morning after talking with Matt.

“Who’s ready to drink?” Folio sings as the bus door is pulled open.

You laugh as he realizes only you and a sleeping Dierkes are aboard.

“They’re still showering?” He asks you, whining.

“I’m down to do a shot with you,” you suggest. “I need it after today.”

“I’m not a big fan of shots, but let’s do it,” he shrugs.

Folio walks over to the cabinet above the sink and grabs the bottle of Tito’s. The fridge below him is opened afterward and he pulls out a can of Sprite and a beer.

“So, how are we celebrating tonight?” You ask as he gets comfortable in the seat across from you.

“Literally just chatting and drinks,” he shrugs, smiling. “We’re pretty lame. None of us are really party guys, but I like to get down from time to time,” he pops open the bottle of Tito’s and pours shots into plastic cups for you and himself. He cracks open a can of Sprite, too. “You wanna share?”

“Sure,” you giggle. You take your cup in hand as you hear the latch of the door click open.

Jolly and Nick enter with their hair wrapped up in towels and Noah has his towel draped over his shoulder.

“Folio,” you say, raising your cup to his eye level, “Arriba.”

“Arriba?” he repeats, holding up his cup.

“Abajo,” you bring the cup to the table with a soft thud.

“Abajo,” he follows suit.

“Al centro,” you say, putting the cup in the middle of the table to encourage him to cheers you.

“Al centro,” he cheers you with a toothy smile.

“Pa' dentro!” You throw your cup back and gulp down the vodka with your eyes shut tight. Before Folio realizes, you grab the can of Sprite to chase down the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Pa' dentro!” He downs his shot and smacks the table with his fist. “Hey, give me that shit!” Folio sputters reaching for the can.

You throw your head back and laugh as Folio gulps down half the can of Sprite before you.

“You two having fun?” Jolly smiles while taking his hair down from the towel.

“So much fun,” Folio coughs. “You want one?” He raises the Tito’s bottle to Jolly.

“I’ll stick with the beer,” Jolly replies before heading toward the bus restroom.

“Same,” Nick adds and takes a seat across from Folio on the opposite wall of the bus on the long, black couch.

Noah, who’s now wearing Bad Omens joggers and an oversized white t-shirt, takes a seat next to Nick.

“Are those your pajamas, Noah? Those pants look so comfy,” you gush.

“Actually,” he laughs, “I usually just sleep in my underwear.” His cheeks turn the familiar shade of pink you witnessed just days before. “But for this tour, I thought I should cover up to show some respect to you as our guest,” he smiles.

“Oh! I don’t mind—,” you start, but you cut off when you see Folio and Nick’s lips turn up into shit-eating grins. “I mean,” you begin again, “Matt always sleeps naked when he sleeps over at my place, so I know, you know…” You wave your hands around the front of your shorts.

“She wants you to take your pants off, Noah,” Nick says, bluntly.

“Nick,” Noah and you groan before making eye contact, luckily you both can laugh it off.

Folio passes out beer to Nick, and to Jolly when he returns. You spend the next hour talking and laughing together while drinking, but Noah chooses to stay sober. You have about two and a half shots total— the other half of your shot being downed by Folio for you.

Through the hour, you couldn’t help but notice Noah talking with his hands and then brushing through his drying hair. His smile, which made you watch his lips when he talked, and his laugh, which sounded like a song. Every moment you spent around him, you grew more infatuated.

Nick checks the time, “I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”

“Yeah,” Jolly said, standing from his seat. “Folio, you coming?”

“Sure, I'll hit the hay,” he says. “Goodnight you two.” The three men follow each other to their bunks and head to sleep.

You twiddle your thumbs as you’re left alone with Noah at the front of the bus.

“You're not tired?” He asks you.

“I just took a two-hour-long nap,” you laugh, slightly embarrassed.

“Makes sense,” he shrugs.

“You?” You ask back.

“My adrenaline from the show makes it hard to sleep sometimes,” he responds. “I’ll go to sleep when you do.”

“Nice,” you reply and the conversation trails off again.

Noah clears his throat, “The show was great, by the way.”

You look up to meet his eyes, “It was?”

“Everything went off without a hitch. I don’t mean to do it, but I checked Twitter after my shower. Everyone gave us high praise. I just wish you could’ve seen it yourself,” he smiles.

“I didn’t even know you still had the app downloaded,” you say, surprised.

“I rarely do it,” Noah says. “I just thought you would want to know. I checked for you.”

“Thanks,” you smile and absentmindedly kick your legs. “It’s crazy being on this bus with you guys, by the way,” you admit. “I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.”

“Trust me, it’s real,” he laughs. “You deserve to be here. Matt, me and you, we made this thing happen,” he opens his arms to the air.

“I hope it’s not weird for you that I’m a fan,” you say cautiously.

“No, I think it makes things interesting,” he smirks.

You nearly choke and your face burns at his remark. “You know what? I think I’m ready for bed,” you sell it with a fake yawn and stand from the couch.

“Of course,” he gets up and suddenly you're standing right in front of him. Noah stands nearly a foot taller than you and he looks down at you with darkness in his eyes.

You give him a sheepish smile and turn to walk to the bunks.

You feel Noah’s warmth as he follows closely behind. His eyes feel like lasers on your legs as you climb up to your bunk.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Noah says softly.

“Goodnight, Noah,” you give him one final smile before quickly closing your bunk’s curtain.

How the fuck were you supposed to last a month around him? You think, shutting your eyes.

—

The next morning, Folio and you eat cereal across one another at the dining table. You had a restful night's sleep as the bus stayed stagnant to play a second show at the same venue from the night before.

“Mornin’, Folio,” you hear Matt’s voice come up from the bunk section of the bus. He walks up to you ready for the day in a new set of clothes and his charming Bad Omens baseball cap, as usual. “Y/N, can we talk?” he asks, cautiously, just like you asked last night.

You swallow your pride in wanting to respond like a brat and just nod.

Matt has you follow him outside to the side of the bus. “Will you go on a walk with me?”

You nod again and walk beside him around the perimeter of the venue.

“So, for starters, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he says.

“Matt,” you try to interrupt.

“Genuinely, you don’t deserve to be treated like I did to you yesterday,” he continues with a hand on his chest. “I was an asshole and I left you hanging on your first day on the job,” he admits.

“Thank you for saying sorry,” you say quietly.

“I think I had a bit of nerves for the first show but, that doesn't matter,” he admits. “If it's any consolation, I meant what I said. ‘I know you've got this on your own.’ I believe in you and you did it like I knew you would. You helped put on a banger of a show last night,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You laugh softly, amused by his rare moment of openness. “You’re such a sweetie,” you teasingly pull at his shirt.

“Blegh, yeah, yeah,” he shoves your hand away. “So, today, I was thinking I could help you throughout all your tasks today. I’ll be by your side the entire time. I’ll even go with you to pick up dinner,” he assures. “Then later tonight, for Bad Omens’ set, come and hang out with me in the sound deck?”

“Oh!” Your cheeks flush. “Thank you, I would love that,” you smile.

“Great,” he breathes out and his shoulders relax. “Let’s get today started.”

–

Matt stuck to his promise and this evening felt so much more nice. He took a Lyft with you to pick up Mexican food and just followed you around to all the different tasks you needed to get done before Bad Omen’s set. You felt like a badass stomping around the venue with him by your side. Both of you with walkie-talkies on your hips and facilitating the crew.

When he wasn't looking, you’d smile up at him and imagine a life where you two were doing this together, always. You daydreamed about being another power couple in the metalcore music industry.

Fifteen minutes before Bad Omens’ set, you stepped into the fenced-off section of the sound deck. You watch as he finalizes his setup as you sit in the fold-out chair he set up just for you.

“Now, we wait,” he says, sitting next to you.

“Matt, would it be unprofessional if I just screamed all the words to their songs?” You ask him, holding in your excitement.

“As your friend, I will silently judge you,” he laughs. “As your boss… just don't scream in my ear, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod vigorously.

The two of you chat until Matt gives the signal for you to stand. You fight the urge to bounce on your toes during the intro to Artificial Suicide, but it happens anyway.

Once the song starts, the crowd fades away, leaving just you and the music.

You jump, sing, and dance throughout the show while also sneaking glances over at Matt working. If there was one other person to run through the setlist as much as Noah and Matt, it was you. Matt times the pyrotechnic and CO2 cannon cues perfectly; the same cues you noted for him during rehearsals. The confetti cannons went off on time and you watched as other fans grabbed at the air for a souvenir. Lastly, the lighting and video looked spectacular; you held your hands to your chest in awe at some moments, and at other times you could feel tears well up in your eyes.

Then, there was Noah. His performance is unmatched. Goosebumps raised on your arms and neck when he screamed, gave clean vocals, and pretty much everything else he did. You couldn’t help but blush watching him flex his biceps with a mic in his hand once he was down to his tank top.

As you reach the end of their last song, Dethrone, Matt turns to try to say something to you.

“I can't hear you,” you yell over the music.

He tries to repeat himself, but gives up and steps into your space. With his chest right up against your shoulder, he leans in close to your ear, and says, “Look how fucking good you did. I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” You say, not that you couldn’t hear him, rather he shocked you dumb. A lightning bolt formed in your stomach and shot straight in between your thighs.

Matt brushes your hair and tucks it behind your ear, “I’m so glad you're here as my assistant. You’re doing so well for me.”

—

Later that night, you lie awake, tossing and turning in bed thinking about Matt’s words.

“Look how fucking good you did.”

“You’re doing so well for me.”

Even though Matt made it his life’s purpose to make you squirm with his constant flirtations, you doubted him to know that these words would affect you in this way.

Fuck Matt. Fuck him for praising me after he was a jerk for a day. Fuck him for making me squirm under his touch. Fuck his no masturbation bus rule, you think.

I want to fuck him.

Frustrated, you pull your sleep shorts to your ankles, careful not to mess with the curtain separating you from Noah’s bunk.

With one hand, your fingers rub your clit in circles over your panties, while your other hand squeezes your breast.

You softly close your eyes, and touch yourself to your imagination:

“My good little assistant,” Matt cooes. “When are you going to let me use your toys on you? I know they’re in your bag.”

Your fingers clasp your nipples roughly while you adjust your other hand to move your panties to the side. You gather your arousal and trace rings around your pussy in relief.

“Matt,” a familiar voice overtakes your imagination. “You meant us, right?” Noah comes into view.

“Noah,” you silently moan. Why’d he have to make things so complicated? You think.

“Complicated?” He scoffs. “I’m just here to make things interesting,” Noah says darkly, taking the palm vibrator from Matt and buzzing it on. He brings it to your clit as Matt presses the head of your dildo into your needy hole.

On accident, you let out a squeak, and your hand shoots from your breast to your mouth to cover it. Scared of them hearing you, you resistantly remove your fingers from yourself and pull your shorts back on.

You roll your eyes, frustrated still, and flip onto your side to try to sleep, hoping the Sandman will at least grant you a wet dream tonight.

#matt dierkes x reader #matt content #matt dierkes #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian

[tracingpatternswrites]

Leather and Cinnamon | Wolfstar Bingo

It's that time of the year again! The @wolfstarbingo2024 is here.

I'm supposed to be working hard on my Big Bang fic so naturally I instead spent the whole day writing 13k words of... well, this.

I've had this idea for a long time and I think I started it over a year ago, but now I finally found the inspiration to finish it (while also crossing off one of my prompts). So here it is.

Title: Leather and Cinnamon Pairing: Wolfstar Rating: E WC: 13.2k Prompt: One night stand Summary: Remus hasn't got laid in a while, but that's okay. That's fine. He's been busy raising a son, thank you very much.

Now, however, Teddy is off to university and when Remus goes to Brighton to drop him off, they stumble over a coffee shop in the south lanes. It's a cosy little place with a barista who has silver eyes and pale skin and an arse to die for.

Remus hasn't got laid in a while, but that's okay. That's fine.

Read on AO3.

Snippet below the cut:

“I’ll order,” Teddy said as they entered the coffee shop, nodding towards a table by the window. “You can take a seat.”

“Oh really?” Remus asked, a little amused. “You’re paying too, then?”

“Obviously not,” Teddy remarked casually. “I’m a poor student, remember?”

“Sometimes I think you just spend time with me for my wallet.” Remus sighed wistfully but Teddy merely grinned at him, snapping his fingers.

“Money, please.”

“Maybe I want to order,” Remus said, but Teddy was already snatching the note from his fingers.

“Please,” Teddy scoffed. “Like I’d trust you with my order.”

Remus looked fondly as his son sauntered off towards the bar, unable not to smile to himself. He honestly couldn’t get his head around the fact that he had an 18-year-old son who was now heading off to university all on his own.

It had felt bittersweet, packing up Teddy’s boyhood room. He knew the day would come eventually, and even though he was excited for his son, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad as well. They had driven down to Brighton together, their old little car stuffed full of (almost) everything that Teddy would need for the coming few months.

They had spent the day getting his room in order before Remus decided it was time for him to head back home. Teddy had agreed to a coffee before he left though, and Remus was set on making the most of the time he had left with his son while he still had the chance.

The café they had picked was in the south Lanes and had a bright red door with rainbow flags decorating the windows. It was the name that had drawn Remus in though, Baskerville’s Hound written in bold letters over the painting of a big, black dog.

The place itself was cosy enough, with paintings decorating the walls together with black and white photographs of Brighton and random people. The walls were painted in a dark blue colour and the furniture was all mismatched and clearly second hand, but still in good shape.

Teddy returned without drinks, pulling out the chair opposite Remus and slumping down on it, shrugging as Remus raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“They’ll bring it out,” he said, slouching back on his chair.

“Any chance you got a change on that twenty?”

“Sorry.” Teddy grinned at him, pushing a hand through his longish hair, currently a bright orange. Remus had long since accepted that Teddy opted to change his hair colour as often as other people changed clothes, and he enjoyed seeing him explore. “Consider it a contribution towards your only child’s education.”

“Ah, yes, never mind the 9K tuition fee,” Remus deadpanned. “It’s the change on the coffee that’s going to make the real difference.”

“I’ll need pocket money.”

The corner of Remus’ mouth twitched. “You need money for beer, you mean.”

Teddy threw his arms out. “It’s uni life, Da.”

Remus snorted just as the barista approached the table, clearing his throat.

“A latte with a dash of cinnamon and…whatever this monstrosity is,” the barista said, and Remus tore his gaze away from his son to the man standing next to their table.

Remus found himself doing a double-take at the sight of him. He didn’t know why he’d expected a student, but this man looked to be roughly his age. He was tall, muscular, with tattooed arms and wearing a simple white tee-shirt underneath a light apron with a large black dog printed on the front of it.

There was the hint of a stubble over his very chiselled jaw, high cheekbones and long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was his eyes, however, that caught Remus’ attention. They were a light sort of grey that reminded Remus of silver, seemingly drawing in the light around them. They were dancing with something that looked like amusement as Teddy sat up excitedly.

“That’s mine,” Teddy said eagerly, reaching for the tall glass topped with a hefty dollop of whipped cream. “Cheers, mate.”

“I take it you’re the sensible one then,” the man said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he turned his gaze on Remus, placing the mug in front of him with a little wink. “Enjoy.”

Remus couldn’t help staring as the man walked away, gaze taking in the dark jeans and heavy boots.

“Earth to Da!”

Teddy’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he flinched, accidentally burning his hand as his coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grabbing a napkin to wipe up his spill and when he looked back up, Teddy was watching him with a mischievous sort of twinkle in his eyes.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Remus replied quickly, clearing his throat as his voice came out weirdly rough. “Fine.”

“I said, are you coming down with Ma next week?”

“Oh,” Remus said, taking a sip from his coffee to distract himself momentarily. “Dunno, mate. D’you want me to?”

“You don’t have to,” Teddy shrugged. “It’s just cause she couldn’t be here this weekend.”

“Right,” Remus nodded. “I’ll be there if you want me to.”

Teddy waved it off, pulling his phone out of his pocket as it made a chirping noise.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes on the display as he quickly tapped out a message. “Aoife says there’s a group heading to the pub tonight.”

“That sounds like fun,” replied Remus as his gaze darted over to the bar, just briefly, catching on the man who was wiping down glasses and humming to himself, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You should go with them, make some friends.”

He only tore his gaze away from the man as he heard Teddy’s snort, and his son was watching him with an unimpressed sort of expression.

“What?”

“Make some friends?” he echoed, pulling a face. “It’s not pre-school, Da. It’s uni.”

“What?” asked Remus, a little affronted. “You don’t make friends at university?”

“No,” Teddy said assuredly. “You just…get to know people. Hang out.”

“Right,” Remus said, giving a solemn nod. “My bad. You should go with them and hang out then.”

Teddy rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath before he turned his attention back to his phone, and Remus pressed his lips together so that he wouldn’t smile. His eyes darted briefly back towards the bar, where the man was now stacking mugs.

It would be in Brighton where a random barista looked like he’d stepped right out of one of Remus’ wet dreams. He looked exactly like the type Remus would have been madly in love with when he was younger, and, it turned out, his taste hadn’t changed that much since then.

Remus hadn’t dated much in the past few years as Teddy was growing up. It wasn’t that it had been impossible, Dora had managed to move on just fine after their amicable split, and her dating life had never affected Teddy badly, he just hadn’t prioritised it. Ever since Teddy had moved in with him full-time when he was fifteen, Remus put his own dating life on a shelf.

Dora had told him he was being ridiculous, that Teddy was more than capable of handling his dad dating, and Teddy had even told him so himself. He’d even encouraged Remus to get out there, claiming that it would do him good to get laid. It wasn’t a lie, Remus knew that, but he had simply prioritised raising his son over hookups.

He knew it would be different now though, with Teddy off to university and Remus alone in their house. They had been joking about it, and Remus was happy that Teddy was starting his own life as a young adult, but he couldn’t deny that it would be strange.

He and Dora had been so young when they became parents. She had still been at university, and he had only just completed his Bachelor's Degree. He’d been a parent for all of his 20s and almost all of his 30s, it felt wild thinking that he was approaching his 40s with more independence than he’d had in a long while.

“Right, I gotta go,” Teddy said suddenly, his voice yanking Remus out of his thoughts. “Sorry, Da.”

Remus shook his head, smiling a little as he stood. “Don’t worry about it. Time for me to head back home anyway.”

Teddy nodded, watching him for a moment, his blue eyes searching over Remus’ face and he looked so serious suddenly.

“Are you sure that you’ll be okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Remus couldn’t help but smile a little at the troubled look on his son’s face, the half-grimace as he gave a brief shrug.

“I’ll be fine, Da.”

“So will I,” Remus replied, smiling a little as he pulled his son close for a hug. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Can’t help it,” Teddy muttered against the crook of his neck before Remus released him. “I worry about you all alone in that house.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Remus said as he clasped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I used to have a life before you, y’know.”

“Barely,” Teddy replied with a snort, the corner of the boy’s mouth quirking upwards as Remus swatted lightly at him.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky.”

Teddy laughed, seemingly unfazed as he leaned a little closer, stage-whispering, “You could always stay and chat up the barista, eh? I can see you ogling him.”

Remus had a horrible feeling as he was blushing as Teddy threw a meaningful look towards the man behind the counter and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Continue on AO3.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar bingo 2024 #prompt: one night stand #teddy lupin #muggle au #coffee shop au #my writing

[garbinge]

The Black House

Sirius Black & F!Reader (Sirius's Daughter) Mention of a Neville Longbottom x F!Reader Pairing 30 Day Fic Challenge (17/30)

Word Count: 2.7k A/N: First time every writing for the Harry Potter Universe!

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst, follows the timeline for Order of the Phoenix.

All Writing Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989

You heard the echo of his voice throughout the house and it was still shocking to you. While in the grand scheme, it had been years since your father, Sirius Black, had been back in the family house, this wasn’t the first time you’d heard the voice in the house. He had been here all summer with you but it didn’t stop your stomach from dropping each time you heard him speak. The sound of him discussing the Order downstairs currently should have been unsettling but it gave you a comfort you had been longing for for years. Him back home. 

It took you a minute to snap out of it when you heard your friends greet Harry in the room over. Despite you being in your room, the walls tended to be thin in all flat’s in London and this one, although magical, was no different. 

Harry might as well have been your brother, Sirius looked at him as such, especially since his parents had appointed the man his godfather. Harry had asked you questions about Sirius, about who he was, what he was like before everything. But before you even had the ability to bring Harry down from reality he knew you probably knew just as much as him since you were around the same age when he was taken to Azkaban. 

You didn’t bother getting up to go over, the three of them had a friendship that although they never intentionally left you out of it was easy to feel like the odd person of the group when it was just the trio. You didn’t mind, you had your group of friends, and when you didn’t, you knew you always had Neville. 

Being the first one in the dining room meant all eyes were on you when people entered and you got to see everything that happened as well. 

Sirius was beyond happy to greet Harry, it reminded you how long it had actually been since the two saw each other. You weren’t daft, the men must’ve exchanged owls, messages, Sirius was a fan of popping up in fiery places you had learned. But it was a reminder that he hadn’t spent the same amount of time with Sirius since he had been back like you did. That first summer after your third year at Hogwarts was a little hectic. There was no assurance that Sirius wouldn’t be caught and he couldn’t put anyone in that kind of danger, but this past summer, he moved back into the home he left to you and you got to create a lot of memories with him. He taught you magic that he’d use to prank his friends, spells that would get one out of a bind, he shared some of his favorite books with you, built you a new shelf to house them as well since yours were filled to capacity. 

“You know, you can enchant your shelves? You’ll never run out of room.” He pointed to the stacks upon stacks on the shelving in your room. 

“I know, but I rather like them this way, I can see each and every one whenever I want, with enchantment shelves, you never know what you have.” “Very well, I guess I’ll be building you a new shelf.” 

When he said that, you assumed he’d toss a spell at something and your shelf would be built but instead he took an old piece of furniture and created something new by hand. He ofcourse added the enchantment to it. 

“Just in case you need to hide a book or two.” He said before casting the spell on it. 

It was one of your most enjoyable experiences over the summer, but the biggest one was dinner, everynight. You’d talk about so many things, your days, the books you were reading, the books he gave you to read, and you’d both gush about your favorite parts, argue about your interpretations of them. 

“Well I’d like to think that the fade to black in the end was symbolizing that they both had moved on to the next obstacle in their life.” The wine glass was near his mouth as he spoke it. 

“I mean, I agree, I just think that next obstacle is death.” You argued taking a bite off your plate. “It’s quite literally a rip of Shakespeare, I thought it was obvious the two would end in tragedy.” 

“Quite literally a rip of Shakespeare?!” He boomed with a laugh, not even able to take a sip of his wine because he was astonished by your statement. “My dear girl, I have to get you some more cheery reads, you need to see the good in things.” 

“I never said I didn’t see the good in it, just because it was a tragedy doesn’t mean it wasn’t happy. I mean, isn’t that how things become a tragedy? You have to feel the good first?” 

You remembered Sirius’ face when you spoke those words, the smile on his face as you interpreted depth and emotion of a book at such a young age. 

“Perhaps in tragedy its the thought of what could’ve been good that hurts the most.” He added to your statement and to which you agreed. 

When he was your age he wouldn’t have been caught dead eating dinner with his family discussing books, let alone reading them the way you did, that was more a hobby he picked up as he got older, when he left Hogwarts and books weren’t forced upon him. 

“Very well, then I shall get you some books with far less of a depressing ending. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good, Dad.” 

It was the first time you’d let the title fall from your mouth, and you honestly hadn’t noticed it. Just like Sirius thought you wouldn’t notice the absolute grin on his face when the word fell from your mouth since he was hiding it behind the wine glass but when you looked up at him you saw it in his eyes. 

But now all those memories, they ached differently when you saw Harry and him. They weren’t just reminders that you had so much more to catch up on with your father, but reminders that you were way ahead of Harry, who really had no one. 

Before you could give it anymore thought, Tonks was sitting down next to you. 

“Hi darling.” She spoke rather abruptly as she placed her beer on the table. 

“Hello, Tonks.” You smiled. 

“Where’s Neville? Thought he’d be here by now, was practically here any chance he could this summer.” 

You smiled and felt your face get warm from a bit of embarrassment. 

“Now, now, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. When you find the right one, it just works.” She was looking off where Remus was standing, by Sirius and Harry. 

“He’s with his grandmother, I expect him to be here within a few days, before–” Your sentence was cut off by the group of Weasleys coming in and making themselves comfortable. 

The noise in the room got obnoxious between the lot of them, specifically Fred and George, and when the rest of the members of the Order came in there was no silence expected now. 

“Before what?” You heard Harry’s voice was suddenly behind you. 

“Harry.” Your legs shot up and moved to hug him. He embraced you back but you could tell he was looking for the end of the sentence you weren’t able to finish. 

“Before your trial.” It was hard to look him in the eye when you said it. 

“That’s enough of that,” Mrs. Weasly interrupted you both and a large amount of plates flew in between the two of you. 

“Harry, come!” Sirius called out for him to come closer to his side of the table. 

It was so like Harry to look at you, almost for permission, and despite it being your normal seat that Sirius was looking for Harry to fill, there was no jealousy or ill-will in your heart about it. “Go, I’ve listened to his stories all summer, I could use a break. Plus Tonks is my favorite dinnertime entertainment.” You pointed to the girl who was shapeshifting her face to different animals. 

The fun didn’t last long, and to your surprise, the room got quiet once everyone had pretty much finished eating, the main conversation at the head of the table taking a turn to more serious talk which let the room fall in respect. 

“What does the ministry of magic have against me?” 

As Harry skimmed over the paper that showed just how much the Ministry did have against him, you felt your insides turn. Everyone here had the entire summer to wrap their brains around this, except Harry. 

“We believe you Harry.” You felt that it needed to be said, but by the looks of everyone around you they thought best to leave the conversation to everyone else. 

“Well, we do, don’t we?” You took their silence completely different. 

“Of course we do.” Sirius backed you up with a nod. 

That’s when Sirius began explaining how Voldemort was suspected to be building an army, much like before, and that this group had done the same. That was another thing you had spent the summer doing, recruiting more members of the Order, helping Sirius find people who went into hiding, those who were a part of things before. That’s specifically what Neville had come to help you with when he’d come by. His parents were a part of the original Order, it felt like his duty to them to help see this through now. 

Despite the stress of the night, it ended pretty enjoyably. Molly Weasley served dessert, there had been laughs at the table again, but once it hit midnight you found yourself sneaking back off to your bedroom. 

“Waiting on an owl from Neville?” Sirius spoke as he crossed his arms in your doorway pointing to the open window. 

You shook your head. “That and it helps drown out the sound of the company, I’m still not used to this house having so many people in it.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” he was making his way to sit on the chair near your desk. 

“It’s not your fault. I’ve told you that.” It was said frustrated but only because you really wished Sirius could understand that you never blamed him. 

“I left you in the care of Remus, I know he’s not the most social, but Tonks, she’s a lot of fun.” It was like he was only speaking the words to convince himself that he had done the best he could. It was the only decent option, with him going away to Azkaban, your mother having passed when giving birth to you, it was either adoption or putting you in the care of a friend. 

“Remus and Tonks are incredible caregivers, they watched over me.” You agreed with him. It was the truth, they did everything for you that a guardian should. Remus had been your guardian since Sirius went away. It was rumored that he adopted you, and no one corrected the rumor, if just anyone knew you were really Sirius Black’s daughter, it would have put you in serious danger. It wasn’t until you had started school when Tonks came into the picture and became your other guardian. They kept you safe, they kept you fed, they made sure every book and necessity each school year was in your possession, each summer they’d make sure to stay at the Black house with you so you felt at home, you spent most holidays with them. But what no one knew was, some holidays, when you’d tell Lupin or Tonks that you’d be staying at Hogwarts you’d come to this house by yourself. 

“I used to come here by myself.” You spoke up to Sirius who looked at you confused. 

“I’d lie, tell Tonks that I was staying at Hogwarts, say a few of my friends didn’t want to go home so I’d just hunker down there with them, go to Hogsmead, prank Filch, I really sold it, you know?” 

“And you’d come here?” Sirius seemed shocked. 

“I would. I liked being here alone. I just feel like I’m home here.” You shrugged, bringing your feet to sit criss crossed. 

Sirius let out an astounded laugh. “I’m laughing because I absolutely hated it here growing up, I’m glad it could be a safe haven for you.“ He frowned as the next thought came to his head. “What did you do when Remus was at Hogwarts?”

“The year he was our professor, I told him I was going to the Weasley’s.” You chuckled. “I actually got caught that year. I didn’t realize him and Arthur were close.” 

“Can’t believe he didn’t tell me this when I was back.” Sirius was grinning seeing his troublemaking ways shine through in you. 

“We had many other things happening,” you spoke obviously, “plus, I didn’t make it a habit to lie or act out, I earned a couple along the way.” Your hand instinctively ran over the fresh tattoo you had on your arm. 

Sirius’ eyes dropped down to see what you were doing. “The skin won’t be raised forever. It’ll subside.” 

You quickly brought your sleeve down, completely unaware of what you were doing. 

“No need to hide it now.” He was sitting so his arms were resting on the back of your desk chair. “I sense that was one of the reckless bouts you earned from Remus.” He tried to get a look at what you had gotten tattooed. 

“Um, no. Remus, I don’t think knows about this. No one does, besides Neville.” 

The thought of Neville Longbottom knowing secrets about your body boiled Sirius’ blood in a way any father would feel, it truly had nothing to do with Neville, if anything he supposed he should be grateful it was a young boy like Neville who had stolen your heart and not someone with ill intention. That’s what made Sirius think. 

“You took Neville Longbottom to a muggle tattoo parlor?” 

“It wasn’t a muggle shop, it was down in Diagon Alley. Nearly fainted the poor boy.” You let out a laugh. “But he stayed there with me the whole time. Even told the wizard giving me the tattoo to lighten up his grip.” Your nostrils flared as you let out a sincere laugh this time remembering the moment. 

“I think I quite like that boy.” Sirius was laughing along with you. “Well, let’s see it then.” He was looking over the chair waiting for you to show him the tattoo. 

You raised your sleeve and the symbol that sat at his sternum was minimized and placed on your forearm. He stared at the familiar ink for a few minutes trying to understand why this one.

“I’ve been practicing my animagus form and I finally got it.” It was a mumble, you weren’t really sharing that information with anyone, again besides Neville, but this was different. 

Sirius was amazed, his face was full of joy. “You’ve gotten it down in such a short time?” 

“Two summers.” You shrugged, the idea was put into your head after you saw your father for the first time since you were a baby. 

“Merlin’s beard.” He whispered and then took another look at the tattoo. “And you’re a?” He looked down at your arm. 

“A wolf. An arctic wolf to be more precise.” 

Sirius was grinning. “You do know that this symbol means a gray wolf, right?” 

“What’s your excuse?” Your eyebrows raised clearly aware of the mistake but calling out Sirius for the same thing. He turned to a black dog, not a gray wolf.

There it was. That’s what Sirius was thinking at the quick witted response of the girl. There he was. 

Before he could say anything there was an owl arriving at the window. 

He was standing up knowing that was his cue. Looking around at the room, seeing photos of your life, the bookshelves, the tiny potions station that was next to the window for ventilation of course, and then back to you. He wished he didn't miss so much of your life, he felt like one moment you were a little baby and the next you were this teenager. It was sort of true, he missed the time in between. Now you were getting owls from boys, one boy, he had to remind himself. Neville. He liked Neville. He placed his hand on your shoulder and squeezed before moving to leave your room. 

“Tell Neville I say hello.”  

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter Fanfiction #Harry Potter Fanfic #Neville Longbottom #Sirius Black #Sirius Black & Reader #Sirius Black x Reader #Sirius Black's Daughter #Neville Longbottom x Reader #Neville Longbottom x You

[orionsangel86]

Suddenly remembering the best and funniest Good Omens fanfiction I ever read which was set at a mutual Heaven and Hell "work party" and all the demons had bets to see who could bed an angel by the end of the night. It was hilarious and of course you read it presuming that Crowley will win but be gentlemanly enough to not claim the prize - which of course is what happens, but at the last minute it hits you around the face by revealling that Beelzebub hooked up with Gabriel

and well.

I think I'm gonna go reread that fic...

#true story this fic was the first time i even considered ineffable beurocracy #i dont think i even knew the ship name until after i read that fic #I hope the writer is having a great day today #once my emotions have calmed down and I've stopped spiralling over the last 10 mins of GOS2 #I think its really gonna hit me that they made a former crack ship canon #BEFORE CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE #unbelievable #Neil Gaiman I do wonder if maybe you've spent too long on tumblr #you clearly think like one of us #lmao #good omens #good omens season 2 spoilers

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

oughhhhhhhhh i’m reading the knight!sugu fic again……………………………. maybe . i’ve already hit my peak

#LIKE IT’S SOOOO????? #i guess it’s because it’s so long…. and i spent so much time thinking about it…….. ari when hard work pays off 😳😳 #but . aaaa. even just reading it makes me so happy :’3 #i don’t know if any character/reader dynamic i make will ever be as dear to me….………. #i’m also just polishing it as i read bc . i doooo think it could be better structure-wise 😭 some parts are a lil clunky!! #but like . again. i think that’s kind of a given when the fic is so long #wahhh i’m just feeling emotional over it :’3 #btw . mickey. if you happen to see this. i’m rereading the fic so i can properly answer the ask u sent ages ago ……. #i’m so sorry for taking so long T_T i got so hyped to answer it that i scared my brain into procrastinating #just need to get my thoughts in order bc this fic and couple makes me so overwhelmed:’3 in a good way i think….. #anyway i love them i adore them i would sell my soul for them . knight!sugu and his spoiled brat <333333333 #the only fic i can picture being better (if i do it well) is the bfb!kenjaku fic i have HIGH hopes for that bad boy #ari noises ✩

[astranauticus]

Do mechanites cry?

#rolling with difficulty #vrla rwd #mrsn rwd #vr la rwd #mr sn rwd #art i made #yet another thing i drew then just fully forgot to post LMAO #man i had to listen to 3.7 like 3 times for this. goddammit #easter egg: the 4 big infernal books in the shelf all say contract law like its a textbook series i guess #the small one next to them says Doctor Faustus bc i was looking to my irl bookcase for inspiration #and the christopher marlowe play was one of my alevel lit texts #also i think it would be really funny if the devils have their own version of the story of the deal with the devil guy #honestly this may have been the kinda. last straw of my burnout cuz this was a lot of time spent on a lot of stuff im really not good at #and none of it turned out... exactly how i wanted but oh well. it is what it is #ok the kinda annoying thing about me spending far too fucking long drawing super emotional scenes like this is i kinda #desensitise myself to whatever im drawing. like i felt it the most with the demon possession comic i casually tossed into the discord #bc thats the exact kinda angst i personally LOVE but it just doesnt have the same punch after ive been staring at it for 5 hours straight #(anyway go read cal's fic about it its on ao3 and its bloody good) #all this to say. when i first listened to 3.7 and austin had that exchange of like #'noir can i ask you a lore question' 'sure..?' 'do mechanites cry?' #i straight up got fuckin CHILLS. and sometimes i forget that but i try to force myself not to

[jamiesfootball]

I’m curious (if you’re willing to share) — is your post season 3 fic shippy or platonic? Looking forward to it!

Both of the main ones I'm working on now are platonic! But also you've opened the door for me to talk about it so I'm gonna talk about it!

The post-season 3 fic is platonic and--I cannot overstate this enough--has so much of a plot going on across multiple characters that I finally broke down and made a fucking spreadsheet.

That said a lot of Roy's struggle in this fic centers around his emotional attachments with other people and the roles he plays in their lives (with family, with friends, as a coach). He's stuck in this perfect storm where it seems like all his most important relationships are in flux.

See below the cut for spoilers:

His Family

This is a big one for him and where a surprising amount of therapy work gets done. When the story kicks off, Phoebe is suddenly Around Much Less and a part of that is his sister tentatively feeling out a reconciliation with their parents. This causes a surprising (to Roy) amount of emotional upheaval in his life. As someone who's always been in his sister's corner, he's always seen (even if he's never fully verbalized it to himself) his keeping contact with their parents as a way of releasing his sister from any responsibility or lingering guilt about cutting them off. But now that she's tentatively in contact with them, and introducing them to Phoebe, Roy is realizing that he has a lot of unresolved issues with his parents. Adding to that stress is the fact that while he's played a huge role in his niece's life, he's never actually had to ask to spend time with her before, and he is awful at admitting he might need something, especially when the people around him keep telling him he can 'have a break.'

Keeley

He and Keeley have decided to remain friends. Keeley wants to be single for a while and work on herself, her company, and all the special projects she has falling out of her sleeves (*cough*womensteam*cough*). However, Keeley is the most serious relationship he's ever had, and they started out on a flirty, romantic footing, so he's never just been friends with her. In fact he's never stayed friends with any of his exes. He's navigating unfamiliar territory and he's not sure what's allowed of him. Even basic shit--is he allowed to tell her she looks nice? invite her for coffee? for dinner?--he ends up second guessing.

The Diamond Dogs / The Workplace

He literally JUST became a Diamond Dog and showed them emotional vulnerability by asking what the secret was to becoming a less shitty person and now he's in charge of them. (And he's in therapy, seeing the staff therapist, so everybody knows about that too.) With Ted gone, the inter-team dynamics between the coaches is a whirlpool of Beard and Nate trying to out-smart each other, and suddenly Roy is the one keeping everybody in line and fielding Higgins' questions about player recruitment. This isn't the big drama but it is mundane and tedious and just another fucking thing to deal with.

The Team (Sam, Isaac, Colin)

The step between captain and assistant coach was a fairly easy one for Roy because he was essentially doing the same thing in both jobs (yell at them about their form, psych them up before a match, etc). He's the gaffer now. Most gaffers don't just casually hang out with their players. If he was another team's gaffer, he wouldn't. But these are people who know him, people he used to play side-by-side with, and god help him but he does care about them. So while he's pretty sure he needs to start drawing a boundary between the professional and personal, how the fuck is he supposed to tell them that when Colin is literally getting chewed up by the media as the only openly gay player in the league and he clearly needs the support? How's he supposed to back away when Sam, who's never angry about anything, is fucking seething over Edwin Akufo and asking Roy for help? Is he supposed to step back and drop it all on Isaac, who's trying his best but also seems to be carrying his own weight about something? They're not not his friends, but also he feels responsible for them. So what kind of coach is he going to be, now that he's the guy in charge?

Jamie (ofc)

Where does any of the above leave Jamie? Truly, if the boundaries between him and the other players are in flux, the ones between him and Jamie are fucking spaghetti. Because all of the same issues still apply, but with additional layers (their rivalry, Keeley, Amsterdam, Wembley, personal coaching, the fact that he's met Jamie's parents and would punch his dad in the face if he ever got a chance, the fact that his niece thinks they're best friends). His partiality is skewed every-which-fucking-way, and frankly he's a little annoyed that no one else holds it against him.

And all of that becomes additionally fucked up because:

Roy going to therapy is intrinsically tied to his behavior towards Jamie (Roy has a lot of guilt to work through on how often he's taken his anger out on Jamie)

Jamie and him have unwisely turned therapy into a goddamn competition (they have a chart), which means that any time he makes progress in therapy, he immediately ends up sharing it with Jamie

They don't even have the coach-player thing to fall back on because Jamie starts off the summer injured

This is also the Jamie Going Through It fic (with Tartt Sr in rehab being a huge part of that), and at this point its a given (to Roy at least) that if Jamie needs help, Roy is going to help him.

Jamie might be his friend. Maybe. Possibly. Roy might even admit that one day

So is this a shippy fic? No! No relationship statuses are added, lost, or changed in the winding plot of this fic (unless I figure out how to break up Beard and Jane). Everything picks up right where the finale left it.

But do relationships--the weight of identifying what you might need from other people, and how to navigate changes, and how to define things that aren't easy that are maybe complicated and messy and necessary for your own personal happiness--appear in this fic?

Absolutely yes.

#ask box is always open #[redacted title] post season three fic #i think this week's the week y'all #trying not to jinx it like i did last time #spent a long time today seeking emotional validation from the friend that does the reading and she is excited! so i've decided i am excited #definitely not scared! nope! #writing update #and if this sounds like a fuckton of stuff to cover - that is why i have the spreadsheet #and a pattern to keep all the pieces moving at a reasonable rate #or as the bestie described my writing style: #'you're conducting a 100 piece orchestra when the flutists have it out for the violinists and the drummer thinks they're at a rock concert' #which- yep!

[smallblueandloud]

i have to go to bed very soon so instead i'm lying here being overcome by clintasha emotions

#i've spent today rereading bucky barnes gets his groove back and the clintasha chapter never fucking fails to send me into a tailspin #the shared history. their shared history. god #i love CNL and CNL is one of my top ships of all time #but man if clintasha by itself without anyone else and especially without any kids doesn't mean something so much to me #i will never be a normal person and neither will you and by fucking god we will warp each other beyond recognition to be abnormal together #we'll spend so long speaking in code that it becomes the only way we speak #i don't know what other people mean by trust but for me it's what you do #sb and l rambles #sb and l reads fic #mcu #mcu ideas #clintasha #there's a fic out there about nat time-travelling back after endgame and fixing everything #she saves all the other girls in the red room. she gets bucky out. she stops loki and thanos and saves the world #and it is good. and everyone is happy. and she gets a romance with maria hill #what does she give up for all of this good? there is so much good. and all she loses in this new timeline is her relationship w clint #i don't even think the author ships clintasha. but man if that doesn't sum them up #natasha can fix everything and can save herself and have sisters and be the hero she's never let herself dream about being #and all it costs is the absolute bone-deep fucked up secret language that is her relationship with clint barton #all it costs is her ability to be that close to another person. to only have one couch she allows herself to pass out on #''telling clint doesn't count. that's like talking to my right elbow'' indeed

[revenantghost]

Oh yeah my tbr fanfic list is totally normal and reasonable, it's on;y 321 fics *LAUGHS HYSTERICALLY AND IN PAIN*

#Anyway if I said I would get to reading your fic and I haven't yet... #This would be why #Yes it's all three pistols #I had real upsetting news right before the few minutes I actually had to write today #So I spent the time actually organizing the fics I had up in OneTab #(Short fic (under 8k) long fic that can go on my kindle without a backlight my beloved (over 8k) #and WIPs because I'd LIKE to get to them before they're over because I want to support authors) #Most of it's short fic #But it's still insane #And this is just from recs and a MASSIVE amount of filters on my AO3 search #Sometimes I think about changing my filters and then I'm like NO #YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO LET ANY MORE FIC IN #Anyway #It's manga time #Yadda yadda

[orcelito]

So I've had no time to write today bc work etc etc but I've been thinking about it like All day and

I have chapter 17 all plotted out, and tbh could potentially write it in a matter of days, brain willing. It's finally back to Not action, which as fun as action is to write its also fucking Hard. So it'll be nice not having to agonize over the sound of a fucking chain (Twice) etc etc. Add in the fact that it's gonna be angsty as hell (angst is always the Easiest for me to write) & I rly think I could knock this one out quickly.

And the Great news is that. Examining the timeline and what I have planned...

Wolfwood is definitely arriving in chapter 18. And not at the end like I'd suspected. No, he's probably gonna be there towards the Start.

I've gotten through the two most difficult arcs to write for early ITNL, so the ball is really rolling now. We are Finally getting places...

#speculation nation #itnl shit #the sandsteamer and the legato & monev things were Important #and i wanted to capture them in ways that was exciting to read #and displayed the sorts of things vash is doing to Make Things Better (with varying levels of success) #plus the experience of his friendship with the girls growing... these arcs have been ESSENTIAL for the progression of their relationships #so yes early manga stuff isnt really applicable for the vw but this isnt ONLY a vw fic #it's an examination of ALL of vash's important relationships. like with the girls. and with his brother. #thats why i got the platonic tags too. They Matter. #so i dont regret how much time and effort ive spent on all this stuff #... that being said tho. im REALLY looking forward to when he finally comes in. #i wont really know what to do with myself i dont think. #itnl has been such an exploration of grief and longing. and then itll actually get to the NEW romance??? #big if true. and it's Gonna be true soon... #so yea idk. im excited. im a little nervous too. just gonna try my best to make sure it keeps being good. #readers r so very nice. and i wanna give y'all what ur Really looking forward to... #soon. Soon.

[ereborne]

The special courage which comes from knowing that yes, you did really very fuck up that task, but also no, they cannot afford to punish you in any meaningful way. What are they going to do. They cannot frown more mightily than your soul is doing already.

#yapping tag #they can't give me more work because until I do this work there isn't any more #and they can't give me less work because. until this work is done there isn't any more #are they pleased with me? no. am I pleased with me? no. #did I forget to do this task because I was so busy defining all their terms for them in all the other tasks I was given? yes. #have I spent one-point-five of my nine-and-counting on-the-clock hours today reading fic? yeah. #but do I think that if I had not read Boba and Din being ideal mando co-parents again for the nth time #that these prospectives would be even more fucked than they are? yes. absolutely without a doubt yes. #the fic is load-bearing. so is the budget but frankly something had to give and it won't be boba and it won't be me. #anyway #fic rec #it's not done yet but 'Mand'alor Cabur' by nautilicious is a wonderful work #and today it's gone a long damn way towards keeping me sane and my college fiscally responsible

[saintfaulkners]

I'm so fucking bored and there are so many things I should be doing but I can't get myself to do them because I can't even get myself to do anything fun because nothing is fun

#the last few days I've literally spent all my free time just sitting there trying to think of something i would like to do and failing #and when i feel like this the only thing that can get me out of it most of the time is a good fanfic but i fear I've genuinely read #everything good at this point #the one i finished a few days ago was so perfect and it was so healing for my soul to experience some nice fucking emotions but now I've #just been wasting my time starting to read fics that turn out to be not my thing after a chapter or two and ugh. just ugh #i wish i could get into anything right now #a long ass book or a tv show with 8 seasons could fix me i think #BUT I CAN'T GET INTO ANYTHING!! #send help please #i can't even find joy in video games right now the situation is truly dire

[pokimoko]

summer winter reading/writing/arting tag

Thank you so much for tagging me @thealterscrolls in your post, you know I love an excuse to overshare about things I like and/or are working on. Though, I'll be nice and keep each list to a maximum of 8 cause otherwise I would go overboard and that would make this already long post longer than necessary. Alright, let's get into it:

Describe one creative WIP project you're planning to work on over the summer: No summer for me for a while but hey, winter for me personally is a great time to work on stuff cause excursions outside the house are at a minimum, and I don't have to feel bad about being inside all day when the sun's already going down at 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Anyway, I'm hoping to work on my In the Absent Place prequel slash companion fic focusing on Jake and the events that lead into that story. It's been an idea I've wanted to do for months and I have indeed started on it but I keep getting distracted from it by other ideas and fandoms (and also working on zine fics). But I do want to finish it. I also have a fic for The Owl House and one for Wolf 359 that I keep coming back to (aka the fics that have been distracting me), so we'll see if I ever get round to finishing those.

Recommend a book: When it comes to reading books, I am both very easily entertained (I rarely give out 1 or 2 stars) and extremely reserved with what I consider a great book, to me at least. I have given only a few books 5 stars. These are those few books: • 'Project Hail Mary' by Andy Weir • 'Piranesi' by Susanna Clarke • 'Loveless' by Alice Oseman • 'Radio Silence' by Alice Oseman • 'Elatsoe' by Darcie Little Badger • 'Good Omens' by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett • 'The Witch's Heart' by Genevieve Gornichec • 'His Dark Materials' series by Philip Pullman

Recommend a fic: There are so many great fics I've read that are lost to time because I'm stupid and rarely bookmark stuff (it's that same 5 star problem, y'see). But here's some I have bookmarked or remember really liking: • 'Mens Rea' by yellow_caballero (Moon Knight) • 'the dotted line' by zippe (Moon Knight) • 'An Evolving Situation' by whiskyrunner (Moon Knight, ongoing) • 'Puddlejumping' by Davechicken (Moon Knight) • 'Misguided Ghosts' by petrichorishly (Lucifer) • 'Thermotemporal Equations' by blinkytreefrog (Captain America) • 'No Echo' by sh0rtwave (Wolf 359) • 'you were the song that i'd always sing, you were the light that fire would bring' by rnelody (The Owl House)

Recommend Music: I like listening to a lot of genres, but I think indie pop is probably my go-to, so pretty much all of these will fall under that. Here are some of the songs I've really been enjoying lately: • 'Word to the Trees' by whatever mike • 'Christmas in June' by AJR • 'Kelly Time' by Owl City • 'Bite Down (Bastille vs. HAIM)' by Bastille • 'Jigsaw' by Conan Gray • 'Bloody! Bloody!' by Junie & TheHutFriends • 'Serotonin' by girl in red • 'Talking to Myself' by Will Jay

Share one piece of advice: Nothing you learn is a waste of time. Nothing. Doesn't matter how obscure or pointless it feels like it is, everything comes in handy some way or another eventually (and, hey, even if it doesn't, it can still be fun to have that knowledge). So learn! Learn whatever you want, however big or small. Learn that fictional language or lore from your favourite story. Learn about a show you've never watched from an hour long video essay. Learn about that obscure historical event you found in a Wikipedia rabbit hole at 2AM. Learn not because you have to but because you want to and because you're interested. Because no time is ever wasted when you've gained something new.

That's it for me. I'll tag @pizzee, @yellowocaballero, @theophagism, and @mockspector. Consider it my not-so-sneaky way to learn about your projects and/or favourite books/fics. ;)

#tag game #my stuff #personal #book recs #fic recs #song recs #long post #this piece of poki advice brought to from that one time in highschool that: #a) i spent a week and bit learning how to read/write in cyrillic because i liked bucky barnes and I wanted to write/say the code words #in russian (and yes I still vaguely remember how to do that; can I speak or understand russian outside of that though? haha nope) #and b) learnt the origin of the word 'robot' for a sci-fi story I was wrting for one of english classes which hardly helped with writing it #both of which came together to help me on a visual arts exam when the artwork i had to examine had 'robota' written in cyrillic #that single moment made me realise that knowledge and random facts have funny ways of helping you at the most unexpected times #so now i don't feel bad for going down rabbit holes or for learning about things that don't have any apparent practical use #also researching stuff is fun i'm sorry i'm a nerd #and yes before you ask 'radio silence' by alice oseman was 50% of the inspiration behind the itap(listening to silence on the radio) title #it's on my bookshelf. i looked at it. went hm. okay. i think i can work with that

[funshinebf]

everyone shutthe fuck up and draw merylmilly ONE THOUSAND YEAR MERYLMILLY ATTACK‼️💥👭👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💗🏳️‍⚧️

#my post #i spent way too long studying emojis and trying to think of what emojis to use to represent them #in the end i just settled on the gay girls. i wanted to get more specific but there were some emojis that just didnt suit my needs #like there really isnt a brown haired girl emoji?? like theres black blonde red and i think another blonde? #but no brunette. sad #so i couldnt make a little milly #i used the nonbinary adult with black hair for meryl though cause she has thay cute short hair #god i love meryl and milly theyre my sweeties i would die and kill for them #every time i read a vashwood fic and meryl and milly arent even MENTIONED im like how dare you. how fucking dare you #same with like mashwood. im like what the fuck about milly huh. where is she #dont fucking adandon her #ITS WORSE WHEN ITS MASHWOOD AND MILLY IS THERE BUT NOT PART OF THE POLYCULE??. #LIKE WHAT. THEY WOULD NEVER LEAVE HER OUT ARE YOU INSANE

[ghostlynimbus]

I like There's A Rumor, but trying to get back into writing it is, just, so much work.

#I spent three hours today just rereading what i've already written #and while 3hrs isnt a lot of reading for me normally #it is an awful lot of time when its my own work #the (still incomplete) timeline for this fic is 230 entries long #thats next on the reread list #and i have #just so many pages of notes about pregnancy and flour baby projects and diet fads #and just so much else #getting reacquainted with all this is just like #a lot #and also #while i definitely dont love all the writing in this fic #there are some bits of it that I think are quite good #and im feeling very anxious about the next few chapters not measuring up quality wise bc im so rusty #ghost.txt #anxiety rambling in the tags