stevie

[corollaim]

stevie (aka steph) ⋆ 23 ⋆ she/her

MASTERLIST ❀ ABOUT ME

ongoing event: 500 celebration !

⁠༄ most recent fic: good boy ⁠༄ coming soon: ??? ₊⊹⁀➴ out soon! ⤷ >works in progress ˎˊ˗ ⁠༄ requests: CLOSED (guidelines here!) ⁠༄ minors: PLEASE block the tag #corollaim after dark ⁠༄ join my taglist! ⁠༄ other socials: wattpad ⋆ ao3 ⋆ tiktok

sideblogs: @corolla-im & @corollaimreblogs

[corollaim]

good boy

mystery fic revealed! event info here ˋ°•*⁀➷ 【 500 celebration 】

summary: your best friend gets drunk for the first time. relationship: spencer reid x bombshell!bff!fem!reader genre: fluff word count: 3.3k tags: alcohol consumption, reader pees, MILDLY suggestive thoughts (spencer is a man okay) but nothing explicit, brief suggestive content (mention of sex and offer to strip), cuddling, idiots in love author's note: it has been three months since i proposed the blind fics ikik but FINALLY here is one!!! hope you enjoy <3

You're reclining on Derek Morgan's couch, head tipped toward the ceiling. With your eyes shut, long lashes fanned across your cheeks, anyone else might suspect that you've fallen asleep in the middle of his party. Spencer, however, is attuned enough to your physiology to realize that you're just blissfully tipsy; your breathing, while slow and even, is still not settled enough to be attributed to anything other than a generous helping of alcohol.

Despite the warmth coating your insides, your buzz is nothing compared to the euphoria that the team's resident genius is currently experiencing. For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid is properly drunk. Stumbling, slurring, uninhibited drunk. He's never been all that interested in alcohol, but he was feeling particularly anxious about tonight's gathering, and decided to nurse a seltzer to ease his nerves. Then, you had walked in, and the can had mysteriously drained itself.

Spencer hadn't intended to get shit-faced, really. He was, foolishly, hoping for some liquid courage to bolster his microscopic amount of confidence in talking to you. It's not that he lacked experience in that department; the two of you actually spoke more than anyone else in the BAU. Unfortunately for him, though, that talk tended to involve lots of intense friendzoning. Not long ago, you went so far as to refer to Spencer as your "platonic soulmate", and he had subsequently faked a virus so he could go home early and mope.

Now, his morbid depression is a thing of the past. Even if he ends up with his head in the toilet by the end of the night, at least he can say that his head was, at one point, resting in your lap. Granted, Spencer doesn't recall making a conscious decision to drape himself across the sofa like this, but he's not complaining in the slightest. Quite the contrary, in fact. Spencer is beyond content, unabashedly studying the features of your peaceful face. His vision is swimming a bit, but even with his impaired perception, he's confident that he's never seen anyone more perfect.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he murmurs, voice barely carrying over the thrum of the music. For a moment, Spencer thinks his sentiment hasn't reached your ears, but then your full lips are tilting into an amused little smile.

Your eyes flick open, quickly finding his. His gaze is hazy, his blinking languid as he stares up at you. The dim lights sparkle in your wide pupils, reminding him of the night sky. Spencer thinks that the moment can't get more enjoyable than the pleasure of admiring your beauty, but then you coo, “Aren’t you cute.”

Spencer is far too hammered to note the mocking edge to your words. You're far less inebriated than he is, so you draw the (seemingly reasonable) conclusion that his words are fueled by the slew of alcoholic beverages currently flooding his bloodstream. You're wrong, your praise offered in jest, but it inspires his face to brighten nonetheless. His lips part in a lazy grin. “You think so?”

“Of course I do, silly," you affirm. Spencer's not really sure what's so "silly" about the words tumbling from his mouth, but your voice has that familiar, soft lilt to it as your lips form the word. You sound so pretty, he finds himself not really caring if you meant to insult him. Then, your slender fingers are brushing his flushed skin, sweeping an errant strand of hair away from his forehead. You smooth his hair away from his face before cupping the back of his head. Lost in the feel of your gentle touch, it takes his sluggish brain far too long to comprehend that you're trying to coax his head out of your lap.

Why are you pushing him away? Did he do something wrong?

Spencer flops beside you on the couch, dizzy from the sudden postural change. Only your shoulders are touching now that he's upright, and he's unable to prevent a pathetic pout from crossing his face. Immediately, he mourns the loss of physical contact between the two of you—a mere shoulder won't suffice.

Spencer shoots you a longing glance, incapable of masking his dissatisfaction. You quickly assuage his concerns by declaring, "I gotta go to the bathroom." Pleased that he hasn't done anything to upset you (and fantasizing about the prospect of resting his head in your lap again once you've returned), Spencer relaxes into the cushions. You softly pat his knee before rising from your seat, and in response to your touch, a wonderful warmth tingles beneath his skin. "I’ll be right back."

You haven't even taken a complete step toward the restroom before Spencer's stomach drops. “Wait!" he desperately exclaims. You look at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed in question. His voice borders on a whine as he pleads, "Don’t leave me here.”

You roll your eyes at his pathetic display, stating flatly, "Well, I’m not gonna take you in with me.”

Spencer blinks. “Why not?”

“I don’t need someone watching while I piss, Spence," you scoff, thoroughly entertained by his drunken curiosity. He sounds so genuinely surprised by your lack of invitation, as if the two of you regularly accompany one another to the bathroom. At your refusal, his gaze drops to the floor, and you can practically see the cogs in his mind trying their damn hardest to spin.

He looks up at you through his lashes, still frowning like a petulant child. Innocently, he swears, “I’ll turn around.”

Cursing his stubborn nature, you shake your head incredulously. Knowing that any further rebuttal is futile, you groan, “Fine.” With exaggerated annoyance, you snatch his hand out of his lap and tug him into a standing position. He sways, struggling to find his balance. Once you're certain that he won't tumble to the floor, you start weaving through the crowd, pulling Spencer along behind you.

Before long, the two of you have navigated the throng of partygoers and are entering the empty hallway. With the flashing lights and booming music behind him, Spencer's muddled senses become more aware of the feeling of your hand in his. Your hand is warm, and he hopes that his skin isn't too clammy or callused. He'd hate to disappoint you, even in a seemingly trivial way like this. He's almost tempted to ask, but you always tell him that he needs to worry less about what others think of him, so he resists that urge. Instead, he muses, “I like when you hold my hand.”

“That’s nice, dear," you reply absentmindedly, opening the bathroom door. Spencer's chest squeezes with affection at your response. He's no stranger to your pet names, yet they never fail to fluster him. He hums happily, wondering how he can coax another sweet sentiment from your lips.

As he steps into the cramped restroom, you lock the door behind him. Wasting no time, you grab his shoulders and guide him into the corner. He trips over his own feet as he turns to face the wall, smiling to himself when your grip tightens in an attempt to steady him. “You stand here," you command. "No peeking.”

“Okay," he nods, squeezing his eyes shut. It's not like he can see anything from this angle, anyway, but he figures you'll appreciate the effort.

“Good boy," you praise, squeezing his shoulders affectionately before striding to the toilet. It's fortunate that he's facing the corner; surely, you would tease him if you could see how splotchy his face has become as a result of your compliment.

The rustle of fabric is agonizingly loud in the otherwise silent room. Spencer is keenly aware of the fact that you're only inches away from him with your panties pulled down your legs, and he feels kind of perverted for sexualizing a fundamental bodily function, but it's not the function he's interested in, in his defense. He's so occupied with contemplating your undergarments that he doesn't even realize you've finished until the sink is running.

Spencer swallows thickly, awkwardly shuffling his feet as he turns around. You're utterly oblivious to his stiff posture, too busy drying your hands to psychoanalyze him. He shifts on his feet, preparing to exit the room once you've finished, but he freezes as your fingers dip into the neckline of your top.

Before he has time to question what he's witnessing, you've procured a thin tube of lip gloss. You're swiping the wand over your lips when you meet Spencer's stunned gaze in the mirror. You shrug nonchalantly. "No pockets," you say by way of explanation, smacking your lips together with a pop.

Spencer rubs an eye, nodding in acknowledgement of your reasoning. He hopes that the action looks as casual as you're acting, but he's sure that his amazement is likely written all over his face. He's never been such a… boy around you, but something about the past five minutes has reduced him to precisely that.

Satisfied, you cap your lip gloss and shove it back in your shirt. The sight of you reaching between your breasts was already erotic enough, but then you're adjusting your bra, fiddling with the underwire and ensuring that the cups lay exactly right. Spencer gapes at your reflection, eyes glued to your chest like a fucking pervert. He quickly snaps to attention when you face him, desperate to appear less… ogly.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” you ask, smiling brightly. Spencer forces his bleary eyes to meet yours, as tempted as he is to watch your shimmery pink lips open and close.

“G-good," Spencer stammers in response, coughing a bit in an attempt to clear his dry throat. Your eyes glint with fondness as you beam up at him. His eyes may be struggling to focus, but they still trace your delicate visage with rapt fascination. Suddenly, his self-doubt surrenders to overwhelming, alcohol-inspired bravery. Before he can bite his tongue, he blurts, “You’re so pretty.”

Your lips fold into a tight line, a sight that suggests you're suppressing a giggle. As always, your voice sounds melodic as you reply, “Thank you, Spence," but your words are laced with placation. Maybe he's misinterpreting something, but Spencer's distraught by the thought that you may not believe him.

“I think you’re the most beautiful person," he murmurs, speaking with as much conviction as can be conveyed through slurred syllables. He locks eyes with you, willing you to trust in the sentiment.

“Oh, stop it," you say instead, playfully rolling your eyes and lightly poking his shoulder.

“I’m serious," he complains, voice bordering on a whine.

He's trying to be romantic. Why are you being like this?

“You’re also plastered, hon," you answer sympathetically.

Oh. That's… fair enough.

“But—" Spencer attempts to argue, but then he realizes how lightheaded he feels, and then he starts worrying that he might pass out (or otherwise embarrass himself) in front of you, and then he forgets what he was going to say in the first place. Sheepishly, he admits, "The room is spinning a lil’.”

“Oh, Spence," you grimace. "Maybe we should take you home.”

“Okay," Spencer easily agrees, finding no reason to challenge you when he'd happily follow you wherever you go.

A bit later, you're carrying Spencer through his front door, encouraging his slumped form to inch forward.

“Home sweet home," you grunt, struggling to keep him upright. You have one arm supporting his waist, and the two of you are slowly shuffling toward his bedroom while he leans most of his body weight on your side.

“Mhm," he hums, too thrilled by your presence in his apartment to realize that his tall stature threatens to smush you with one misstep.

“Here, sit," you encourage, though the words have barely left your mouth before he's sprawling across his bed, the mattress bouncing beneath him. Certain that he lacks any sort of dexterity at the moment, you look at his Converse and mumble, "I’ll get those.” You're speaking more to yourself than him, of course; he's halfway to Dreamland already.

You plop down on his floor, guiding his hightops into your lap so you can untie the laces. Not entirely sober yourself, you fumble a bit with the knots before they come loose. Slipping his shoes off his feet, you deposit them in their rightful place in the closet, not wanting Spencer to trip over them in case he gets up in the middle of the night. At this point, he's breathing so deeply that you're almost positive he's asleep until he mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Please tell me you can handle the rest," you say half-jokingly, gesturing to his rumpled clothes. He squints at you through half-lidded eyes, watching as you cross the room to open his dresser.

“Mm, I can do it," he drawls, despite making no effort whatsoever to sit up.

“I’ll get you some water, then," you decide. After rummaging through a few drawers, you find some pajamas and toss them onto the bed. "Put these on.”

“Yes… ma’am," Spencer manages around a dramatic yawn. You snort, ignoring the affectionate pang in your chest.

It's nothing, you tell yourself. You just find him cute 'cause he's being a silly drunk.

Right.

You bustle around the kitchen, filling a glass of water before returning to his bedroom. You chuckle at the sight before you, but your laughter has the slightest hint of exasperation. Your eyebrows furrow as you ask, “What happened to your pants?”

Facedown on the mattress, Spencer grumbles, “Too hot.”

He may be your best friend, but he's a bit too modest to ever be seen in his boxers. Well, except for right now. He managed to change out of his party outfit, but evidently only got so far as tugging on a worn t-shirt before collapsing back onto his bed.

“Oh, you’re gonna be so embarrassed about this tomorrow," you muse. Poking him in the back, you offer, "Here, drink up.”

“Okay," Spencer obeys, slowly rolling over and somehow managing to sit up. He blinks sleepily, staring off into nothingness as he raises the cup to his lips.

“I’m gonna go crash on your couch in case you start hurling," you announce as he drains the glass and sets it on his nightstand. Ruffling his hair, you request, "Sleep on your side, yeah?”

Spencer's face contorts with confusion as he looks up at you. He looks certifiably adorable, with his tousled hair and big brown eyes. “But… I have a big bed.”

“You do indeed," you acknowledge. "Enjoy it.”

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” he says sadly. When you offer him a blank expression in return, he huffs. “Oh. Heh. It sounded like I meant intercourse.”

“Too sophisticated to say ‘sex’, huh?” you tease.

“No!" he retorts. With a dramatic shudder, he clarifies, "It just sounds so… dirty.”

“Uh-huh," you say flatly. Crossing your arms, you pointedly ask, "Why, exactly, are you trying to get me in your bed?”

“The couch is uncomfortable," he replies.

“Right," you hum.

“I just want you to sleep well," Spencer promises, injecting an exaggerated amount of sweetness into his statement. He lifts his eyebrows and shrugs, failing miserably to feign nonchalance.

“Thoughtful," you deadpan. "Total bullshit, but sweet.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m not lying," he insists, far too defensive to be believable.

“Yes, you are," you argue. "You know how I can tell?”

“How?” Spencer asks, crossing his arms defiantly.

You lean down. “‘Cause when you lie, your nose scrunches up the tiniest bit." You tap the tip of his nose. "Right here.”

He glares at you for a moment before relenting. With a hefty sigh, he confesses, “Fine. Maybe I think it would be nice.”

“To sleep together.”

“Yes!”

“You’re practically naked," you point out, gesturing to his bare legs.

Spencer's gaze falls to his boxers, seemingly losing himself in contemplation before he looks up and declares, “I can get completely naked if you want.”

“That was so totally the opposite of what I meant," you chide, reaching up to rub your temple.

“Oh," Spencer mumbles. Without another word, he crawls under the sheets, staring up at you like a child waiting to be tucked in. You stare back, motioning for him to turn on his side. He groans loudly, but obediently rolls over. You move his trash bin to the side of the bed before heading for the door, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Before you hit the lights, you hesitate.

“Can I borrow pajamas?” you ask.

Spencer drops his head onto his pillow and, for a second, you think he might ignore you. Then, he sighs tiredly and croons, “If you sleep in my bed.”

“Insatiable," you complain. "You’re gonna cuddle me to death, aren’t you?”

His head pops up, his wide eyes finding yours across the room as he replies unconvincingly, “No…?”

You shoot another unimpressed expression in his direction before huffing, “Fine. I suppose I accept your conditions.” You figure that sharing a bed is innocent enough; besides, there's no chance you'll allow him to try anything more in his drunken state. If he wants to make a move, he'll have to man up and do it while he's sober.

With that in mind, you head to his ensuite bathroom to change. A few minutes later, you emerge with a fresh face and a ridiculously comfortable ensemble, his shirt and sweatpants swallowing you. Spencer's curled up, facing away from you. Once again, you think he's knocked out until he murmurs, “Beautiful.”

“You should be sleeping," you chastise, stomach flipping at his compliment.

“I was waiting for you," he replies with a sense of longing that suggests a deeper meaning.

“Well, here I am," you reply, flipping the light switch and sliding into bed beside him. You settle on the far end of the mattress, leaving a generous amount of space between the two of you. Your weight has barely hit the sheets before Spencer sighs.

“Come closer," he pleads quietly.

“Don’t tickle me," you warn, though you don't have any serious reservations about moving.

“Of course not," he promises, sounding absurdly serious. It's as if you've just asked him to keep a government secret.

Something about the quiet calm of Spencer's dark room makes you feel safe enough to shift closer. You're just sober enough to register the significance of this moment, to process that this seemingly innocuous decision holds the power to forever change the trajectory of your relationship.

Still, you shift closer.

You're laying on your back, Spencer's breath puffing against your cheek. It's too dark to see each other, but he's somehow sensed your movement. In one swift motion, he throws his arm over your chest, tucking himself against your side.

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, and you can feel his throat vibrating as he slurs, “See, this isn’t so bad.”

“You’re squishing my boobs," you say flatly in response, not wanting to admit how delightful this arrangement truly feels.

“Sorry," Spencer immediately apologizes, muscles tensing as he prepares to reposition himself.

You find his forearm in the inky black, holding him in place. “No, don’t move.”

“But you said—”

“Don’t argue with me," you scold.

“Okay," Spencer acquiesces. He relaxes into your side once more, his weight pressing comfortably against you.

“Good boy.”

Your praise renders him speechless for a moment, but you can feel his lips tick into a soft smile against your shoulder. After several seconds, he interrupts the silence to declare, “This is even better than holding your hand.”

Your heart swells with adoration. You grin into the dark, in pleasant disbelief at how the night has unfolded. Instead of voicing an equally mushy sentiment, you tease, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a little crush on me, Spence.”

His breath catches in his throat, but instead of sputtering a retort like you expect, he exhales in a rush, whispering, “It’s not little.”

taglist: @reidmiss-3 @dc-reid-heliotrope @theglitchywriterboi @toomanyfanficsbruh @lotsie2234 @opaliite13 @reidswife-x @rairaine @the-tpd-bau @lovergirliris @rottenstyx @hiddentattooodyssey @unalivebread @gaslysgirly @veronicawinters444 @anyasthoughts @mangos-library @thecrimsonfog @sp1derst0rrr @baelorandmaekarinparis @unlikelylovebarbarian @lizthewiz33 @wouldntuliketoknowweatherboy123 @yourlocaldingbat

[corollaim]

hi friends :D i know y'all are waitinggg for some series updates, but i finally have *something* to post tomorrow, and that is one of the blind fics from my 500 celebration! it's been on hold for a WHILE, so i'm glad to finally post something for that event :P

[corollaim]

just popping in to say hi :) i'm struggling so terribly bad right now with lack of motivation for ANYTHING recently and i'm so mad at myself for not being able to function at all but i don't know how to improve my stupid fucking sleep disorders and the fact that my brain just isn't working beyond minimum capacity at the moment

it's so frustrating beyond words but my sleep study isn't until the end of august so i just have to... exist like this? all summer?

ps if i owe you a response to a dm, i'm so so sorry for the delay, i frankly do not understand why it's so hard for me right now to form a coherent reply but i promise i'm thinking of you and i am YEARNING for a day where my brain fog clears enough for me to properly answer you OMFG

[corollaim]

i need to write SO many updates but i can't stop having anaphylaxis? LITERALLY allergic to productivity omfg

i have, however, started drafting a celeb!reader fic with some fake dating and sassy banter because i cannot focus on one idea at a time ever, actually

[corollaim]

Hi lovely! I have recently acquired a friend and she has hEDS. I wanna support her and was curious what sorts of acts of service/other things you've found helpful in the past! I'm trying to think up a couple options so that I don't blast her with questions lol.

No pressure to respond if this feels too personal!

hi dear! first of all, i just want to commend you for having the curiosity to ask this question. SO many people in my life have been dismissive about my chronic illnesses, so the fact that you're even searching for advice like this speaks volumes about your character <3

i TOTALLY get not wanting to bombard her, but hypermobility truly is a spectrum, and the way it affects her may be completely different from my experience! there's no shame at all in prompting an open conversation about it with her. something as simple as "how can i help you feel supported?" goes such a long way with most chronically ill individuals, since we're used to being blatantly dismissed and even belittled for our conditions. it's definitely hard to strike a balance here, because nobody wants to feel like they're annoying someone by asking too many questions, but you also don't want to assume that you are all-knowing and inadvertently silence her?

everyone has different love languages, so my point in saying all of this is that i think it could be really empowering for both of you if you genuinely just said, "i want to be mindful of your condition and be more educated, but i'm not really sure what your boundaries are with talking about it" or something like that. that way, she's welcome to disclose some info (or not) and trust that you'll be open to receiving it.

personally, i'm an "actions speak louder than words" girly, but i know some people REALLY like words of affirmation. so, while having a flare, i might want to be invited to do a chill activity like watching a movie together, while someone else (perhaps your friend) may prefer a "how are you?" text while they rest alone. preferences may change, too, so it's always just best to ask what she's up for.

the most helpful quality i've found in friendships is patience. it sounds so simple, but i've had far too many friendships and relationships alike end because the other person was not emotionally equipped to "deal with" me. a chronic illness is unpredictable, and it looks different from day to day. she may go for a hike one day and not be able to walk another; that's the reality of this condition. flares may also come on suddenly! if she ever has to cancel plans last-minute, know that she's likely just as upset as you, if not more. as long as she reciprocates your friendship and isn't constantly citing her illness to avoid your plans (because, of course, having a disability doesn't give you a free pass to be a bad friend), trust that she's probably dealing with a lot of guilt and shame for not being able to follow through on her commitments.

tldr: be honest about your uncertainty and be flexible! your plans may change or be canceled completely if she's having a bad flare. as long as you communicate with her to better understand her needs (while simultaneously managing your OWN needs... don't forget to take care of yourself!), you'll show that you're a supportive friend :D

[corollaim]

hii!! first of all i wanna say i LOVE ur writing its so good and second i was wondering if you were gonna finish the do i wanna know series or put a pause on it? no pressure obv but its SO good uve done 2 parts and im already all for it🥰

hi lovely! thank you so much ^.^ i am ABSOLUTELY continuing to work on this series! it may take some time for another update to come out (i know it's already been almost a month omg) because i have sooo many WIPs to tackle right now, but i have some dialogue written for the next chapter and a basic idea of how i want the series to go! <3

as always, you can check my WIPs post (linked in pinned) if you're curious about what's coming next :D

[corollaim]

no light, no light

════════ part two

『 series masterlist 』

summary: far too early in the morning, the team is briefed on a case. garcia brings them sweets to lift their sleepy spirits. relationship: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst (not anything intense, just spencer's inner monologue LOL) word count: 2.0k tags: spencer being an emotionally unavailable king, that's pretty much it!

"Good morning, my fine furry friends!"

Penelope's melodic voice carries through the room, bright purple pumps rhythmically clicking as she struts toward the roundtable. Her upbeat greeting pierces the otherwise sleepy silence, her words accentuated by the slap of a large white box as she sets it on the table. Morgan, who had been nodding off, snaps to attention at Garcia's familiar lilt, the tiniest warm smile gracing his face when his eyes focus on her. It's a weak response, but it's more than the rest of the team seems capable of procuring at this hour.

It's barely five o'clock. While Spencer is something of a morning person, he prefers to revel in some alone time before heading to the office. Being dragged out of bed before he's enjoyed some coffee and light reading—an amount of pages that would take anyone else a week to consume—is not his ideal start to the day, to say the least. He blinks slowly, offering Penelope an unenthusiastic groan. With his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in the cradle of his hand, he's afraid he might doze off if the briefing doesn't start soon.

"Morning," you answer in a groggy yet sweet tone. Ever since you arrived a few weeks ago, Spencer has been carrying a heavy weight in his chest, a sensation that prevents him from taking a deep breath. He's typically quite in-tune with his emotions, but this feeling is unlike anything he's experienced before. It's some cross between melancholy and frustration, though he's not entirely certain if the latter is directed at you. Regardless of this uncertainty, he feels a pang of discomfort deep in his bones when you speak. He's never been a fan of change, and your presence at the BAU completely upheaves the familiarity that has been the past year or so with this team.

Unfortunately, Spencer seems to be completely alone with these growing pains. Something about your sheer existence may dysregulate his nervous system to an alarming degree, but it seems as if everyone else is completely enamored by you. Case in point: at your simple reply, Penelope slaps a hand over her heart and beams at you, apparently touched by your vocalization of the two syllables. Spencer's eyes are already half-shut with sleep, but if they weren't, he'd probably narrow them at you.

"And that is why you're my new best friend," Penelope coos. Composing herself, she gestures to the box with a flourish, announcing, "First dibs for you!"

Spencer sighs, lifting his head to tiredly rub his eyes. Once his vision has cleared, he watches your brow furrow. Your eyes dart between Garcia and the paper box before you ask, "For… what?"

"I took it upon myself to brighten this dreary early morning with some treats for everyone!" Penelope exclaims, lifting the box's lid to reveal an array of colorfully frosted donuts. Immediately, Spencer's gaze falls on the one with chocolate icing and rainbow sprinkles dotting its surface. His morning routine may have been interrupted, but he supposes that Garcia's generosity (and purchase of his favorite flavor) will suffice as consolation. She backs away, giving you an uninhibited view of the selection as she instructs, "Pick your poison."

"Oh," you murmur. After a moment of silent deliberation, you reach for the exact donut that Spencer has had his sights set on. You set it on a napkin in front of you, and Spencer glances at it with a flat expression. Just his luck. You shoot Garcia a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you!"

Once you've made your choice, Penelope commands that the rest of the group goes by age. Hotch humors her by taking a bite of his donut before starting the briefing, though a mouse would probably eat more than that. JJ happily nibbles on some vanilla frosting, regularly chiming in to provide information about the case.

Since you're the only one on the team who's younger than Spencer, he's left with no choice at all. He gingerly lifts the remaining donut from the box, careful not to drop a dusting of powdered sugar on the table before plopping it in front of himself. He nods in acknowledgement, muttering a quiet "thanks, Garcia" so as not to interrupt the briefing.

A few minutes later, the team has been dismissed to retrieve their go-bags. They're a bit sluggish on their way out the door, but eventually, Spencer is the only one left sitting at the table. Or at least, he had thought he was, based on how quiet the room had become in the moment since everyone dispersed. Evidently, he's been too busy staring at the pastry before him to realize that you're still here.

"Not a jelly fan?"

Despite your soft volume, your unexpected inquiry has Spencer jumping. Fear zips along his spine in the brief moment it takes for his brain to comprehend that the sudden sound is not a threat. He huffs an exasperated breath, internally chastising himself for acting so skittish, before lifting his gaze to meet yours. He attempts to sound unimpressed, monotonously asking, "Is anyone?"

It's a much more casual retort than he would typically offer a team member. Had anyone else been sitting at this table with him, he would have explained his distaste for the jelly's lumpy texture, likely delving into such extensive detail about his food preferences that he would've been promptly cut off. On one hand, he's curious as to whether you would entertain his rants, unlike his closest friends; on the other, as exhausting as constantly masking around you may be, he doesn't yet feel comfortable enough inviting you to see more glimpses of his true personality. No, he's let too many people come close to him—only to vanish completely—to rinse and repeat.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, you interpret his short reply as a sarcastic quip. You cock your head slightly to the side, lips twitching with amusement as you announce, "I don't mind it."

"Okay then," Spencer acknowledges, feeding as much dismissal into his tone as possible without portraying himself as an utter douche. He may be keeping you at arm's length, that's true, but he'd hate to upset you. After all, it's not your fault that there was an opening on the team, and it's certainly not your fault that he's missing the person who left more than he had expected. Besides, he knows how deep words can cut and, after growing up having been relentlessly bullied, he has no interest in taking on a villainous role.

So, he'll just have to be nothing at all to you.

Spencer's about to rise from his seat, to retrieve his belongings and head to the tarmac, when you speak once more. "Wanna trade?"

He blinks at you, surprised by your offer. It isn't until your offer has been lofted across the table that he realizes the chocolate donut is still sitting there. He hadn't thought he was distracted, but apparently he's been diverting a concerning amount of energy toward feigning disinterest. His mouth waters at the prospect of the exchange, but he clears his throat and rasps, "Um, no, thanks."

He should probably get up now. It would be best to end the conversation here, to shut you down and flee before you have a chance to change his mind. Yet, he remains in his seat, carefully studying your face as you smile. "Oh, come on," you coax. Raising your eyebrows knowingly, you sing-song, "You know you want to."

He does want to, frankly. Penelope probably bought that freaking donut for him in the first place, and it's infinitely more appealing than the sad ball of dough and clumpy strawberry filling that's sitting in front of him. He's kind of questioning your taste—how could you like that monstrosity?—but he's still not convinced that acquiescing is worth the trouble. You may be soft-spoken, but you have undeniable grit; if he offers you an inch of gratitude, you'll take a mile of friendship.

Maybe he's being ridiculous. It's just a donut. Still, he's seen how easily you've acclimated to the team these past few weeks. Everyone adores you, and he trusts that they're good judges of character, so he's pretty sure he'll get dangerously attached to you if he loses focus.

"I don't… share food," he mumbles, mustering the strength to push away from the table.

"It's not sharing!" you retort. You grab the edge of your napkin, dragging the pastry tantalizingly closer to him as you emphatically declare, "It's trading."

Spencer stares at you. You're being weirdly stubborn about this, and he's tempted to make a snippy comment about "not taking no for an answer", but he gets momentarily lost in admiring the flecks of vibrant color in your irises. A beat passes, during which you're expectantly awaiting a response, while his world is narrowing to you sitting before him.

"I didn't even touch it, you know," you continue. He blinks harshly, coming to his senses after whatever bizarre feeling had just seized him. You pointedly tap the corner of the napkin with one neatly-manicured finger. "I grabbed it with a napkin."

Spencer looks down at the donut, afraid that his cheeks will start to heat if he looks at you any longer. Clearing his throat once more, he furrows his brow. He's not entirely sure why you think this would be a good selling point; it is, but it's not like he's divulged the details of his germaphobia to you. "So?"

"So it doesn't have any cooties on it," you shrug.

"Cooties?" Spencer's eyes narrow as he glares at you. Suppressing a laugh, he pretends to be completely appalled as he asks, "What are you, a child?"

"At heart," you grin. Speaking of hearts, Spencer's does an uncomfortable skip as you lean into his insult. This may be the most the two of you have ever spoken, so he may not know you well, but he's sure that you're being earnest. You seem to carry a quiet self-confidence, which includes being as unapologetically silly as you want. His deduction is confirmed when you nod at the table and say, "Now, take this before I smush them together and eat both."

"Ew," Spencer immediately shudders, horrified by the thought of that sensory nightmare. He glances down at the pastries, shaking his head. The action was meant to be scolding, but it has a fond energy to it as he playfully rolls his eyes. "Cooties? Seriously?"

"What?" you ask, holding up your hands in surrender. Defensively, you add, "I thought you would appreciate that info, given your germ thing."

Spencer's face scrunches up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You shrug, showing no fear in the face of his apparent offense. "That you… have a germ thing."

You're not wrong, but Spencer feels scrutinized nonetheless. He looks at you flatly, and your voice hikes up an octave as you race to clarify, "There's nothing wrong with that." The rest of your statement pours out of your mouth in a jumble. "I just noticed your labeled mug the other day and thought I should probably point out that I didn't touch the donut."

Spencer's jaw tenses at your admission. Despite your nonjudgmental tone, he feels a bit embarrassed that you've noticed this. He shouldn't be surprised, really; you're a profiler, and it's your job to easily read a room and piece together unspoken facts. At the same time, though, you didn't just figure out his fear of germs—you're being nice about it. Admittedly, Spencer isn't always the best at interpreting subtext, but he's pretty certain that there's no snide edge to your words. You're not teasing him or trying to make him feel utterly ridiculous for his habits; you're just acknowledging them as if they're as ordinary as a favorite color.

Shit.

As much as he tries to convince himself that this doesn't mean anything, he's no fool.

Still, he reaches for your offering, condemning his heart to a connection that he's sure will only cause more suffering.

taglist: @reidmiss-3 @dc-reid-heliotrope @theglitchywriterboi @toomanyfanficsbruh @lotsie2234 @opaliite13 @reidswife-x @rairaine @the-tpd-bau @lovergirliris @rottenstyx @hiddentattooodyssey @unalivebread @gaslysgirly @veronicawinters444 @anyasthoughts @casiiopea2 @ddandelionfluff @mrsworldwider @spencerreidsproblem @mpotterr @babyspiderling @dreamerofasgard @shitemylife @justahopelessfangirl @esposadomd @mariposayl @unlikelylovebarbarian @lizthewiz33 @wouldntuliketoknowweatherboy123 @yourlocaldingbat

[corollaim]

part two of no light, no light will be out tomorrow :D SO excited to continue this series and return to writing omfg

[corollaim]

drafting the next part of no light, no light rn and i'm sooo excited for this slow burn mmm

[corollaim]

hi friends! i’ve been very ill recently and dealing with some other pressing family matters for the past few weeks, but i’m happy to say that things seem to be taking a turn for the better in terms of my motivation & time to write :3 i still have a LOT of updates to work on, but i’ve been pretty inspired lately (thank you, florence + the machine concert and new noah kahan album) so expect more activity here :p

[corollaim]

so....how are we feeling about the album? 🐛

HEY so if i said i #need to write a fic for each song...

(we're talking about noah kahan's the great divide if anyone's confused btw! :P)

i love it SO much. it's so stunning. i've been writing analyses for each song because i'm #obsessed and this album means SO MUCH to me. i rly want to hear everyone's thoughts about all of it so PLS, if you've listened, tell me your fav lyrics & songs & all the good stuff OMG

really feeling sooooo much new series potential and inspiration from this album... THANK YOU NOAH!

[corollaim]

Hi lovely!

I'm curious, how did you come about your username (if it's not too personal to ask)? My instinct was that there's some meaning behind it!

hello! it's not personal at all, it's actually really simple and silly! :3

it's my car model.

that's it.

i drive a corolla im.

it has a spencer reid air freshener in the window, in case anyone was wondering if my car is cool.

[corollaim]

ooooh do I have a contemporary romance author rec. ANYTHING by Chloe Liese. She writes really great chronic illness and neurodivergence (autism, adhd, etc) representation.

she's got two interconnected standalone series' that I've read and loved (the Bergmans and the Wilmot sisters). plus a lot of great queer rep in many of them

YES. MA'AM!

so far, i've only read always only you (bergman brothers #2), but i ADORED the representation! i'm definitely interested in reading some other books by chloe liese because they are some of the only representation i've read that was truly realistic and not watered down to appeal to an able-bodied & able-minded audience... :]

they're SO inspiring to me! i'd love to write my own fluffy romance novel someday with a similar vibe! i love love love the idea of writing a series like hers :D

[corollaim]

i owe y'all a ton of angst for the blind fics but i do Not feel like triggering a depressive episode rn so i think i will write & post the fluff first instead

[corollaim]

today would be my one year anniversary with my abusive ex if we were still together. perhaps it’s strange to announce that on the timeline, but it also probably doesn’t come as a surprise to those of you who have read iris! writing has been such a therapeutic process from me in the time since i was fortunate enough to leave that relationship, and i have found such wonderful community on this site that has truly helped me through some of the darkest trauma of my life. i’m choosing to view today as a marker of how much i’ve grown in the past year, and a big part of that change is all of you. thank you all so much for your support and kindness <3

(on a lighter note, i have some writing time BOOKED on my google calendar this week so hopefully i will stick to it and get more updates out soon!! :D)

[corollaim]

i wish my mom cared about me :/ totally not thinking about mommy issues reader who bonds with diana because at least when she forgets you it’s an accident