[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

tying down the balloons | | spencer reid x black!fem!oc

Smut will be tagged 🖤

Chapter 1: Caltech and Club Members

Chapter 2: Lamplights and Lonesome Bridge

Chapter 3: Doctorates and Dedication

Chapter 4: Committed and Captured 🖤

Chapter 5: Renting and Realisation

Chapter 6: Babies and Buildings

Chapter 7: Infants and Individuality

Chapter 8: Diligence and Declivity

Chapter 9: Reminisce and Remember Me

Chapter 10: Send Offs and Shooting Stars

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

me when i return and write for random characters i’ve hyperfixated on over the past 3 years 😌✨

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

the way i wanna come back and just drop the remainder of the fic bc it’s been irritating me that it’s unfinished even though nobody reads it is interesting

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

tying down the balloons | | spencer reid x black!fem!oc

Smut will be tagged 🖤

Chapter 1: Caltech and Club Members

Chapter 2: Lamplights and Lonesome Bridge

Chapter 3: Doctorates and Dedication

Chapter 4: Committed and Captured 🖤

Chapter 5: Renting and Realisation

Chapter 6: Babies and Buildings

Chapter 7: Infants and Individuality

Chapter 8: Diligence and Declivity

Chapter 9: Reminisce and Remember Me

Chapter 10: Send Offs and Shooting Stars

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

today is missing you hours <3

stop i miss you and tumblr so much but it seems so inactive now :(

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

debating whether or not to come back in the new year of whether to just delete this account 😭😭😭😭

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

hi to anyone who still floats to this blog, i’m taking a little break. i’ve got a whole lot of personal stuff going on, and other things to catch up on. i’ll keep writing but i’ll post it all when i’m back. if i don’t see y’all before; have a good christmas. 🤍✨

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 10

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her new friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid. (Baby Spence)

pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer

word count: 4.3k

content warnings: discussion of violent crime, kidnapping and murder.

A/N: hey everyone! i'm back and so so excited to share this chapter with you all. i needed some inspiration, but i loved writing this part and can't wait to get back into posting new content for it.

masterlist

the next day at work, I'm begging Spencer to teach me how he performed that magic trick from the tattoo parlor. he's got his arms crossed over his chest, smiling smugly while he perches on the edge of my desk.

"does it ever get tiring?" I ask after he denies me.

"does what ever get tiring?"

"knowing more than everyone." I say it as a joke, but he seems to really mull it over for a few moments before replying with a shrug. I just scoff and shake my head, which makes him defensive.

"you asked."

"I also asked you to teach me about that trick, but I didn't get a response to that one."

"a magician never shares his secrets, Clea."

despite my frustration, I feel my lips turn up at the corners from the way he says my name. however precarious our friendship, I appreciate the casualness with which he says it in conversation. it's familiar.

"how am I supposed to become a magician myself if nobody will teach me how?" I raise an eyebrow.

he grins enthusiastically like he's going to relent. "do you want to see another one?"

I peek around the bull pen for a moment, as if to make sure nobody is watching us not do our jobs, but everyone seems fully invested in their own tasks. they don't even glance our way.

"yes, please."

he grins excitedly at this before pulling open one of his desk drawers to retrieve a small, plastic canister. "this one is fun." he muses.

I watch intently to soak up every bit of information I can; frankly, the thought of him knowing how to do something as simple as a few magic tricks that I can't drives me insane. it makes me want to learn some of my own, just to impress him.

"turn around." he breaks my train of thought.

"what?" my voice comes out accusing, arms crossed over my chest. "you just said you'd show me."

"I said I'd let you see another trick. I didn't say I'd teach you how to do it." I watch his eyebrow lift with a cockiness that surprises me. something in it makes my stomach flip. words disappear from my vocabulary all at once.

"dammit, Reid."

but I follow his order, spinning on my heel to face the staircase. Hotch's office is empty, but JJ passes by and gives me a quick wave before disappearing inside the small room. she doesn't look distressed, which is reassuring.

maybe it's selfish, but I don't want this moment to be interrupted.

"ok, you can turn back around." the mischief in his voice is boyish, endearing, and I'm quick to follow his command. that's when I see the little canister flipped upside down. the lip of its cap bubbles like soap; it fizzes quietly.

"is it supposed to do that?" I'm confused by the anticlimactic nature of what I'm looking at, but Spencer shushes me. his fingers wiggle with anticipation. I find myself watching with a curious focus until suddenly, the small canister flies up from the desk.

it soars, little hollow shell, through the air like a missile. my eyes follow its arc, right down to the moment when Hotch walks briskly into the office and it lands at his feet.

shit.

the team leader stops in his tracks to peer down at what almost hit him squarely in the face.

"Reid." he says his name without looking up. I think I hear Spencer gulp.

"yes?" he asks meekly. my hand curls around the back of my friend's chair, awaiting the inevitable scolding. this time, a couple heads in the room lift to notice us.

"what did I tell you about these?" Hotch doesn't sound nearly as annoyed as I expected.

"sorry, sir." Reid's eyes shift down. he must have shown other people in the office this trick before, because I certainly haven't seen it.

I swallow as the awkward silence between them festers. then our boss' lips quirk upwards into a small smile. "you're getting better."

he walks off to his office before either of us can say anything about it, and Spencer twists around to look up at me. I'm positive that my face is just as baffled as his.

"that was--" I begin.

"weird."

"yeah."

"if you go get it, I'll teach you how to do the trick." he bargains. I grin.

"really?"

"sure. it's not really a secret. just physics and chemistry." he shrugs like those are two things that everyone completely understands. I like to think of both as kind of magical themselves.

nevertheless, I go to pick up the tiny object. when I hand it back to him, his fingertips brush mine and I find myself pulling away rather quickly. I have no idea if he registers the sharpness of my movement, but he doesn't react at all.

instead, he gestures for me to come closer while he begins to explain.

...

I decide to start a new show while we're on the jet, something to pass the time between now and Montana, where our next case awaits us. Spencer and Morgan are sitting across from me, both of them engrossed in their own activities: the latter has his headphones in while he stares out the window, while the other hasn't looked up from his book since he sat down.

frankly, I'm trying to take my mind off the strangeness of going back to that state for work. we're going to be just a town away from where I grew up, so there's a little bit of distance, but not enough. some things are printed into the back of my mind.

it's not like I have a lot of downtime to binge TV at home, so I don't spend much time browsing Netflix before landing on a medical show that I've been meaning to watch. tucking my legs up beneath me, I get comfy and try (unsuccessfully) to become absorbed in the program.

I wonder if the dust smell will bring back memories, or if the small accent that I did have will return in any form. it's never been strong, but there are a few words which I've been known to pronounce a little differently. I wonder if being back will feel nostalgic or repulsive.

I feel eyes on me a couple minutes later.

my attention is drawn up to Spencer's face, which is somewhat twisted in a focused expression. he doesn't even notice that he's been caught staring until I clear my throat rather loudly.

"something wrong?" I ask. his frown deepens for a millisecond before a rosy hue takes over his cheeks.

"you chew your lip a lot." he observes clinically. I shift in my seat, partly due to being called out.

"oh. yeah," I shrug and pause my show. I try to change the subject. "stare much?"

"I'm a profiler. I observe a lot." he says this like it explains everything. I'm about to retort when Morgan opens his mouth.

"it's true. he knows how many words per minute I can read." the agent pulls off his headphones.

"how many?" I frown.

"345." Spencer answers immediately.

"more than average." the smile on my face is mischievous.

"yeah-- how'd you know that?" Reid is watching me again, somewhat surprised that I know this. I am, too.

"probably read it in a magazine or something."

he nods thoughtfully in response, thumb running along the pages of his book. his gaze is technically on my face, but his mind is obviously somewhere else as Morgan nudges his shoulder.

"don't be creepy, kid." he's obviously joking, although this doesn't stop Spencer from blushing once again and looking around somewhat frantically.

"I'm not being creepy, I just--" he can't seem to find the end of his own thought. Morgan casts him a different look-- one that feels more concerned than playful-- before leaving him alone. I watch Spencer adjust the wristband of his watch several times over until he catches me staring and goes back to reading.

he's much more jumpy than usual, and it makes me curious as to what's going through his head. we've both been kind of off. I'm not sure why.

it's like how some animals, like frogs, can tell when there's a storm coming, so they burrow into the ground to avoid the damage. I retract into myself a bit, but that could just be because I'm anxious about going to Montana again.

except the feeling has been weighing on me for longer than just today.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but I keep thinking about Spencer at strange times. the other day, I was going for a walk in the evening and saw a small nest tucked between some tree branches. even though I couldn't see the babies inside, I could hear their longing, young chirps as they waited for their mother to bring them some food. and I started to think about how if Reid was there, he'd be able to tell me what kind of birds they were. probably even what color eggs from which they'd recently emerged.

little things like that, which I can't seem to categorize as emotions. it's just friendship, thinking about him.

"where are you from, again, Clea?" Morgan breaks the silence. I glance up from my show.

"Butte."

he nods as if he's familiar with the place, which is kind of funny. nobody from here ever seems to know anything about it, which I can understand. it feels like keeping a secret. granted, a secret that I share with every resident of the state, but that's different when I'm in DC. only I feel the intimacy of its geography.

"there are a lot of casinos," I smile, turning to Spencer. "you'd like it."

"I don't like gambling. I'm just good at it." he corrects me. I roll my eyes.

"it's, like, the only thing people do there. you might just meet your match."

he gives me something like a smile, but I can tell he's also preoccupied with something other than casinos. once again, I'm fighting an urge to figure out everything about him. he's a fucking Rubik's cube, and I'm just trying to find the right sequence of turns.

...

it comes rushing back as soon as we land. my throat goes dry for a moment as I inhale what made up so much of my youth. the day is sunny, kissing my skin as I look out. even though Missoula is only somewhat familiar, I don't feel out-of-place in the way that I sometimes do in the other states we visit.

as we walk to the cars to head to the police station, I turn my gaze from the horizon of mountains to look at Spencer. he casts his gaze away at the last second, and I think it was a figment of my imagination.

the police station is small and not as busy as some of the other places. instead of engaging with them, Spencer and I head straight to the back room to set down our things and get started. I'm still deciding whether or not I'm desperate to leave this place already.

the only sound is the shuffling of papers while we work, and I don't even know how much time passes before Hotch walks in.

"how's it going?" his eyes move over the enormous map that Reid has laid out between us. there are markings where he's pinpointed important spots-- including the most recent murder-- and his hands are splayed out over the paper. I notice the long, slim fingers and the bitten-down nails.

"good. I'm almost done with the geographical profile, but it'd be good to go out and get some interviews before I finish it." Spencer speaks up before I can respond, my own voice seeming to get caught in my throat. a branch outside brushes the window pane, and I glance over to see dark clouds rolling in.

"perfect. Morgan and Prentiss are out talking to the pastor, but you two can interview the victim's parents before it gets too late," the unit chief checks his watch briefly before his eyes land on me. "everything okay, Clea?"

I clear my throat and tear my gaze from the darkening afternoon. "yes, sorry. we'll go now."

we pack up and head out to the car before the rain can hit, so quickly that I allow Reid to drive. he pulls out of the parking lot and then we're driving through this small Montana town.

"how does it feel to be back home?" he breaks the thickening silence once we pull up to a stoplight. I raise my eyebrows and peer out the window.

"I wouldn't call it home. This isn't really the town where I grew up, anyway."

"you know what I mean. the climate is similar, which must bring up some feelings."

"you're pushy today." I look over and he frowns at my reaction, obviously deciding whether or not to press my buttons.

"sorry for asking." he retreats and I start to feel guilty. it isn't his fault that I can't figure out my emotions about this place. for someone who has been trying to become closer friends with Spencer, I'm being awfully unapproachable.

"no, I'm sorry. it's just weird to come back here anytime. with the murder backdrop, I don't really know what to think."

the light turns green and he plows through the intersection. the seatbelt tightens across my chest.

"the lights take forever to change here." he observes quietly. I almost state that everything takes forever to change here, but hold my tongue before he continues. "anyway, that's fair. is there anything I can do to help?"

"no, but it's sweet that you're offering. it's one of those things I just need to get over." I readjust in my seat and try to give him a patient smile. he returns it, even though both of us seem to be swimming in our own thoughts again. I appreciate his attempt to help, despite his obvious preoccupation.

a slash of sunlight shines through the window, angled between the clouds and warming up the car as we make our way to the victim's parents' home. the most important thing is solving this case, not whatever backed-up issues that are pressing the back of my brain.

...

that night, we stay in a kitschy motel a bit out of town from the station. the wallpaper is painted with these fluffy, horrendously pink peonies and their watercolor stems. pictures of porcelain dolls with barrel curls stare darkly at me from the cheap wooden desk that I've been using. after two hours of pacing back and forth, I finally sit down to think this case over again.

one of the most difficult parts of this case is the location: so many truckers come and go through the town, it would be easy to kidnap someone and disappear completely. the unsub we're looking for is most likely not even from here, which widens our span of suspects much further than the city limits.

there's a mess of open case files in front of me. the most recent victim, a young woman of nineteen named Marcy, stares accusingly up at me. her eyes are deep set and beautiful; she's a student at one of the local colleges, her life just beginning to unfold. all I can think about is how scared I would be, and then I start to spiral as I wonder if she's even alive.

based on the trail of other missing people and the MO of our unsub, he's moving at an unprecedented pace through the small towns. plucking people off, one by one. but he's also become messy with his kills. it doesn't seem like he knows the FBI is after him since he's been murdering across state lines.

according to Reid's geographical profile, he's moving northwest. the best we can do is predict that he'll hit somewhere near Washington soon.

there's a knock at my door. I drop the pen I've been clicking onto the desk and go to answer it.

"Reid." his name settles on my tongue.

"hi." his face is shifting between different expressions, as though he just woke up and can't figure out how he got here.

"what's up?" I gesture for him to come inside, and his eyes immediately find the clutter on the desk.

"I'm in the room under yours. I could hear you pacing."

"oh. I was just thinking." my gaze drops to the horrific turquoise carpet.

"so it seems."

he's wandering around the room, everywhere but near my bed. his hands are shoved into his pockets and I once again notice his poor posture. neither of us speaks for another ten seconds before I realize that it's uncomfortable.

"is there a reason you stopped by?"

"well, I was thinking that maybe you needed a break from the case."

the image of Marcy's face flashes across my brain. "I really shouldn't. I don't wanna lose any time."

Spencer turns from his position at the desk, his fingertips running over the carved chair before raising an eyebrow at me. there's a ghost of a smile on his face. "you were the one who interrupted me with pizza the other night."

"y'know, I was hoping you wouldn't throw that back in my face," I bite back a grin. "fine, but not for long. I want to make some more headway on this before I go to bed."

Spencer's shoulders relax a bit at the playfulness in my tone. like he's been hoping to reclaim some of the friendly energy between us and is satisfied now that he's done so. I push this sentiment aside, however, as I grab my coat and we walk out into the dimly-lit hallway.

"this place is definitely a murder house." I note quietly. the sconces on the wall are gaudy, frosted glass with occasionally flickering bulbs.

"of course. have you looked at the paintings?" he gestures to a particularly large one that sits at the corner of the hallway. it's a girl standing in a small white dress with tights and a teddy bear in her grasp. I nod slowly and Spencer leans down by my ear. "you never know if she might just reach out and pull you in!' he punctuates his sentence by suddenly grabbing the back of my neck so that I squirm and let out a sharp giggle.

"Spencer!" my voice rings out as we reach the stairs, laced with a laugh. I push him away, his own chuckle filling my chest with an unfamiliar feeling.

"there's that smile." he says quietly. and then that feeling blossoms into something three times more powerful, causing my breath to catch in my throat.

"let's go." I open the door into the cool night and we make our way down the cement steps, his words hanging in my mind like clean laundry. I don't know what it is about them-- he didn't mean anything-- but it makes me feel good.

it's only once we reach the parking lot that I turn to him. "where are we going?"

he breathes in the air for a second, chest rising and falling. "no idea. do you have anywhere you wanna go?"

for a moment, I try to remember anywhere around here that I would go to. when I was a kid, my friends and I would occasionally come around these parts, but there wasn't much more to do here than there was in Butte. except maybe...

"I know a place, but I'm driving."

"all yours." he throws me the keys to the SUV and we make our way to the car. despite the foreboding clouds, it never rained tonight. instead, they linger overhead, as if afraid to leave the serenity of Montana.

I roll the windows down as I take us to the one place that I remember with absolute clarity; a bit of a drive, but not outrageous. we don't talk much, either. Spencer lets the breeze take over the conversation, instead electing to watch the scenery mold into steep mountainsides.

it's getting colder, though, so I end up putting the windows back up and turning the heat on as we get closer to our destination.

"so... this was your childhood?" he refers to the expanse of topography through which the road winds, and I let out a short laugh.

"sort of. there were plenty of normal elements, too. just the backdrop was a little strange."

I notice a place to pull off the road, where the trail begins up the steep hillside. technically, it isn't closed yet. the parking lot is abandoned, however, and Spencer notes this as I park in a huge spot towards the corner.

"are you sure this is safe?" he asks slightly nervously. night swallows the tops of the trees. I shrug.

"not really. but the rest of our job is pretty unsafe, too."

we get out and I grab a flashlight from the console of the car. there are lights along the path of the trail, which Reid eyes warily. I start to walk up them, then turn around briefly.

"watch out for coyotes. they don't usually come around here because there are so many people, but you never know."

"you're joking, right?" he glances around at the surrounding area.

"no." I turn back to make my way up the path, hiding a secret smile. there's always a chance of running into some unfriendly animals in these parts, but so many teenagers are usually at this place that it's not really a prime place for them.

it smells the same as it did, the trees and the dust and the impossibility of life in a barren place. and although it's been years since I've been here, hiking up is muscle memory. I could probably do it in my sleep, honestly.

"how much farther?" Spencer asks behind me, somewhat breathlessly. I turn around.

"a while. are you already tired?"

"it's steep!" he defends himself, though it brings another laugh out of me.

"you would never survive here."

"is that a threat?"

"I don't know... is it?" I turn around to flash the light in his eyes and he makes a displeased noise.

"can we just get to the top, please?" he whines.

"fine." I giggle and turn back around. our conversation fades out, but I love the sound of his footsteps behind mine. I remember how different it sounded as a teenager, the five other sets of feet that were so eager to make it to the top, so eager to crack open cans of alcohol and forget about the staleness of a life we didn't want to live. the one escape I had from being stuck, and how easily that feeling returns at the smell of nature.

sometimes the memory of everything rushes back at once and it disarms me to think of how quickly things have changed. how everything remained for the same kids who came up here with me. they chose to hold on.

finally, we get to the top. I walk over more even ground and inhale deeply, stumble a bit to the clearing. Spencer follows quickly behind me. I hear his labored breath as he sidles up beside me.

"the road is right down there." I point out the curving place from where we came, and Reid's eyes bug out.

"I thought we were up a lot higher than this."

"it's just steep. sorry for making you do so much work; I forgot how weird the hike is."

"you know what?" he fixes his gaze on the much more beautiful view, which is the jagged line of mountains before us. "it's actually okay."

except what I'm noticing isn't even the mountains; it's the expanse of sky above us, stars tossed to and fro among an ocean of navy. this is what I missed. not the endless roads or the serenity, but the clarity of midnight. the thing you can't photograph.

despite the open space, it's like all the air between us has been vacuumed into nothingness. I sit on the dusty ground. Spencer turns to watch me, then does the same. we cross our legs.

"different from DC, right?" my voice comes out hushed, as though a higher level will puncture the atmosphere.

"way different."

"you're from Nevada, though. there must be something similar there." I recall traveling to his neck of the woods.

"not really. the light pollution anywhere around Vegas kinda precludes that," he shrugs. "did you know that you can actually see it from space?"

"wow." I almost laugh at the absurdity of such a thing. the gleam of consumerism so ostentatious, aliens could get a glimpse.

"it's interesting that you can love a place so much and still be completely different from everything inside it." his eye line remains on the mountains, even as I watch him speak. the shadows slip over the bridge of his nose, his brow bone.

"you know what I think?"

"hm?"

"everyone I know from a small town, they don't forget where they come from. you still carry it around, even if you try to hide it. and you meet other people who went through the same thing, and you bond over that loneliness until it sort of becomes worth it in the end."

the thought sits on the dusty earth between us for a while before he responds.

"like us?" they're spoken with a fear behind them, like an offering that he's afraid I'll push away.

"sure. you've got your stuff and I've got mine, but it's helped our friendship." I smile while my eyes search for the constellations. there are the familiar ones which my dad would point out when I was a kid, the Big Dipper and other stories.

"thanks for bringing me here." he says quietly. I realize that I like the sound of his voice and the way he says every word with care.

"no problem. sure as hell beats sitting in Bates Motel." I joke. he lets out a laugh before we sink into silence again.

we'll need to go back soon, but I'm not ready yet.

taglist (add yourself here or lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @donald4spiderman @awritingtree @gingeraleluke @bewitchedbibliophile @multixfandomwriter @xoxospencerreid @spencerreidat3am @azuriteannie

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

GET INSIDE MY ASK BOX NOW; IM FEELING CREATIVE!

Little blurbs for any CM characters, Any MGG characters (no RPF)!

🤍✨🤍✨

[thepowerwithin]

Regardless of what anyone else thinks; you are your own self. Your body was born to turn out a specific way, naturally, and you must allow it to do its own thing. There is no ‘perfect’ body. There is only a body, which is beautiful in its own right. You only have the one that you’re currently living in, remember that. Try to respect it and take care of it, for its amazing and is your sacred temple! It doesn’t matter what others think; your health is FAR more important than getting satisfaction from others. -Nicole Addison

[faeriedreams]

oh idk maybe you should explain it to me in a soft voice while i suck on ur thumb

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Icarus and the Moon (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Unsub!Reader have had a not-so-friendly rivalry that turns even more dangerous when they start to fall in love.

A/N: Based on “One of These Nights” by The Eagles. This was written for the wonderful @mercy-burning. Thank you for being you. I hope you enjoy every bit of this as much as I did. You deserve it. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Unsub!Reader (art thief), Enemies to Lovers, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, discussions about pregnancy, drinking, guns, threats, drugging (male victim) Word Count: 12.3k

MASTERLIST

——————————————————

What if Icarus had loved the moon instead?

It was a question I first asked myself when I was twelve years old, wandering the night streets lined with neon stars. I’d since left Las Vegas, but the afterimage of sinful signs remained at the forefront of my mind. The brightness almost seemed to be a mockery of the sun, and the longer I stared with a twisted sort of wonder, the less I found appealing about the light.

Most nights in Virginia, I found myself contemplating the question. The brightest lights to be found here were trapped in rusted metal cages. They were less distracting than the kind that surrounded me in my youth. Rather than desperate, arrogant attempts at replacing the sun, these lights had a flicker about them that reminded me of the others in the sky. They were humble, trapped remnants of stars guiding me to the place I was meant to be.

Whether I would call the woman I’d come for a home, however… was another question entirely.

I stood outside of the establishment with as much confidence as I could muster. It wasn’t exactly hard to be convincing. Over the years, I’d found that the real way to frighten people was to convince them that I had nothing to lose.

It had been easier to convince them when it had been true. But that night it was a lie. There was something to lose — or perhaps something already lost to me. I could almost see her through the frosted windows. Sitting alone at the bar, but not for long. Never for long enough.

She was waiting for someone. I liked to think it had been me.

My desperation to see her must have been obvious to the man trying to keep men like me out. Just as soon as I’d stepped forward to make my intention to enter known, I felt a strong hand against my chest.

“I think you’re lost, kid.”

But if my yearning had been obvious, so was my rage. The fire flared deep in my chest. It tried to burn his hand, to rid myself of the pressure that felt like the only consistent thing in my entire life. A reminder that, no matter where I went, no matter which side of the prison bars, the message remained the same.

You don’t belong here.

Before I could open my mouth and spill the resentment towards every man that I’d ever met who held me back, someone else spoke. From the shadows behind me came a voice like velvet wrapped handcuffs and the debauchery of it all.

“There you are baby. I thought I saw you loitering,” she said through a smile. “Trying to work up your nerve to apologize after the last time I saw you?”

And just like that, the pressure was gone.

“You know this guy?”

Gone was one obstacle, but two new ones presented themselves. Her arms wrapped around my body from behind with a disturbing familiarity. I didn’t turn to her despite feeling her eyes burning into me. But I didn’t stop her, either. I allowed her to rest her head against me with a dreamy midnight sigh.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she explained.

I could tell from her voice that her smile had fallen. Her arms quickly followed. She abandoned my body with such urgency that I was convinced she had given up her facade. That she would out me just as easily as she’d lied.

But she didn’t. Instead, she joined me at my side with crossed arms that told me she was at least somewhat upset with me.

Perhaps I’d arrived too late for her liking. Either way, her scrutiny wasn’t the only one I was facing. Because the guard dog was still watching us, analyzing us in a crude and ineffective manner. He contemplated her lie a little while longer, and then settled on a follow-up that hardly seemed like a joke.

“Boyfriend… Which one?”

For a man who’d only looked at her with an average amount of care, her laugh might’ve seemed genuine. But with her head tilted back and her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, she was nothing but a talented actress.

The murderous intent flared from her fingers as they reached forward to snatch the man’s cigarette from between his lips. Rather than bringing it to her own, she took no time bending forward and extinguishing the amber embers against soaked cement.

That time when I refused to look at her, it was not for a lack of wanting. In fact, there were few things less tantalizing to me than her. Even worse, that night she was in rare, full moon form. Ornamented with jewels and carefully tailored cloth that begged to be torn open with teeth and claws.

She was a sight to be seen and see her he did. The man in front of me was so enamored by the sight of her that I felt bile burning at the back of my throat.

She didn’t belong to me, but I hated to see her actions be entertained by anyone but me.

What we had both failed to notice, however, was how quick her hands could be. How fast she could discard tightly packed tobacco in favor of gunpowder and lead — the same one that she had pulled from my ankle holster as if it had been her own.

He was rewarded with a front row view down the barrel of my Smith & Wesson, and a smile on her face so bright that it rivaled the one that the moon borrowed from.

But she wasn’t the sun. Her darkness was always a little more inviting.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clucked her tongue, “You should know better than to be rude to a lady with a gun.”

For all the knowledge about her the man lacked, he certainly knew enough to believe her.

“Yeah, right. He’s your problem now,” was all he’d said before he stepped back to his place among the other, less beautiful shadows.

“Come on, Vegas,” the moon and all her splendor called to me with a wave of her hand.

When that alone hadn’t succeeded, with my eyes too busy watching my firearm settle against her hip, I saw her roll her eyes from the corner of my own. Her arm was gentler than it ought to have been when she slid it under mine. She’d locked into her place by my side with such ease and comfort that I’d started to wonder if I’d made a mistake by ever opening myself up to her again.

It was precisely that self-doubt and awareness of my own idiocy that made me state what I wanted to be obvious.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” I whispered into her ear the second we were out of his earshot.

She just gave an ungraceful little snort before she muttered, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

That dastardly darling knew better than to wait for anything resembling thanks from me. What she did instead was guide me through the lion’s den. Whether she had been flaunting her catch or trying to protect me, I couldn’t be sure. But there was an unavoidable affection in how closely her body pressed against my own. A satisfaction in the way that my steps fell in line with hers, and how I’d offered a hand to help her sit on the barstool before I took my own seat.

That parasitism was just part of our dynamic. Each time that she flashed me a smile, I would give in to her. It hadn’t mattered where, when, or how. There was simply an unearthly magnetism about the moon of her.

I knew that it was wrong for me to feel the way I did about her. I should’ve resisted it. In my own sort of way, I tried to. But there was something exceedingly indulgent about her. A temptation unlike any other.

“Here,” she offered with a glass of undoubtedly strong and expensive whiskey.

I had to resist her, I reminded myself before I told a half-truth.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” I said.

Around you, I meant. Because you make me stupid.

That woman paid no mind to my well-being. Or, in another way, cared about it in excess. Either way, she was entirely unenthused by my explanation, and wasted no time making that known.

“Honestly, are you trying to get murdered?”

Out of fear that she was slipping from my fingers — and with my gun, no less — I acquiesced to her admittedly simple request. But I was not stupid enough to take a drink as offered from her. Especially not when she’d looked so pleased with herself when I lifted the glass from the counter.

I am also a big enough man to admit that the disappointment on her face when I leaned over the bar and emptied its contents in the sink was more than worth whatever pretty penny that she’d paid for it.

That saturnine smile returned the second I’d gestured to the bartender. I didn’t allow myself to wonder if that was why I’d done it. Instead, I dedicated all efforts to maintaining a straight face. No matter how fruitless it seemed while seated next to a fallen angel herself.

With a cherry stem stuck between her teeth, she eyed me with an odd concoction of intrigue and regrettable desire. I watched her back, but I was significantly less bashful about it.

It had been a few months since I’d seen her last. She was the reason for that. It turns out, the FBI has a few questions for a man who gets his hands on the second femme fatale in his career just for her to walk away unharmed. Catherine Adams, of course, hadn’t been able to dodge the inevitable end. But she had. Again.

Unlike the last time, I hadn’t fought the suspension. I told myself it was a matter of maturing. I lied to myself that it wasn’t to chase the path of breadcrumbs she’d left me starting from the moment she kissed my cheek goodbye before bolting.

I still felt her sometimes. Most days it was a metaphor or a mere memory. But that night it would be real. If I could just reach out and touch her, I would feel the sweet sting of hellfire and the warmth at the deepest, darkest chill in my heart.

Eventually, she decided she hadn’t appreciated my ogling if it meant silence.

“So, your suspension certainly has you bored,” she suggested with something resembling pity, “Only explanation that makes any sense for why you would put this much effort into finding me.”

“It worked,” I reminded, but she rebuffed the claim almost immediately.

With a scoff and a smile, she laughed, “Spencer, I clearly wanted you to find me.”

Her confidence when she said it bolstered my own in a way that she probably hadn’t meant it to. An unfortunate byproduct of asserting her own form of dominance. An acknowledgement of the roles in this parasitic dynamic. I resisted the urge to call it a relationship. It felt wrong when I’d never been allowed to touch her the way I’d wanted to.

But then she had gone and admitted it so easily. Whether it was to save her pride or prove me wrong, I didn’t care. I just wanted to know the answer to the more important inquiry.

“… Why?”

“I missed you,” she answered just as easily. There was no heavy breath, no insult, and no pretense. There was a decent dose of sarcasm, though, when she turned the statement back on me.

“Did you miss me?”

I considered lying, but I wasn’t sure what a lie would have consisted of. The truth was more complicated than a yes or no answer. I suspect that she felt the same, although she always had been more nonchalant in her supposed vulnerability.

But there was nothing courageous about being an open book. There was nothing vulnerable in sharing your stories with everyone if it meant that you never actually allowed yourself to feel the ramifications of those events.

Unfortunately, reminding myself of this led me to a conclusion that, while it was true for her, it was also true for me. I was so eager to hide behind riddles and half-truths. It had been ages since I’d had what felt like a real conversation.

I turned to the woman eyeing me with all the luminescence of the moon, and I decided to do the brave thing. I decided to tell the truth.

“Yes,” I admitted. I turned to face her with a smirk, and reiterated, “I did miss you.”

“Oooh. Honesty… how unlike you,” she murmured just before taking a sip of her drink.

“Would you prefer I lied?”

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “The chase is fun, isn’t it?”

The thought shifted my smirk to a softer, sadder smile once again.

“Yet… you wanted me to catch you.”

She stopped in the middle of her drink, waving an urgent open palm in the air in front of my face until she could correct, “Find me. Not catch. Catching implies it’s over.”

“I suppose so,” I agreed, much to her pleasure.

She waited, with those ever-expressive eyes begging me to finish her thought for her. To demonstrate for her for the millionth time that the connection we shared hadn’t been imagined nor one-sided. At least, not as much as I’d made it seem.

Those universe-colored eyes got to me every time.

“It’s just beginning, isn’t it?” I finished, not a question but not a statement, either. An invitation, the same as her eyes had been.

It still wasn’t enough for that damned woman. That greedy, insatiable thing with her manicured fingers that felt like home when they slid over my wrist. Her whole body swayed closer until I could smell alcohol on her breath, until lips plump from wanting nearly ghosted over my own.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

I pondered the offer from the devil for approximately five seconds. I listened to the gentle thrum of the music that always seemed to follow her command. I felt her hot breath wet my lips, and I imagined holding her close enough to me that we felt our lies through the hard beating of our hearts.

I considered dancing with her for less than five seconds, and then I answered, “Absolutely not.”

“I have a gun,” she so kindly reminded with a roll of her eyes. As if it hadn’t been enough of an incentive, she pulled the revolver back out of her thigh holster and let the barrel touch my chest before she continued, “I have your gun.”

My heavy sigh in return told her all she’d needed to know. That not only had I agreed, but I had done so with little resistance, all things considered.

One hand was already close enough to mine that it was she who pulled me from my seat. I followed that eager thing onto ancient creaking wood and paid no mind to the others eyeing us from their tables. The parts of us that they could see through tobacco smoke and liquor haze would be inconsequential compared to what we felt.

But still, part of me enjoyed the way they watched when I pulled her body tight against mine. I reveled in them knowing that she would place herself beside me so boldly. That she would release her lazy grip on the gun in favor of gently draping her arms over my shoulders.

I suppose a stronger man would have gone for the gun instead of her hips. I suppose I was a weak man because I hadn’t even considered the former.

Because she was the moon, and I was a lost ocean reaching for something that would remain so far out of my grasp. But I would bask in the light, nonetheless. I would worship the parts of her small enough for me to consume and torture myself forever with the wondering.

“You’re a terrible dancer, Vegas.”

Although my eyes were open and staring directly at her, I saw her again for the first time in a while. Not just the afterimage or reflection of her, but the true extent of eyes filled with mountainous terrain and extraterrestrial delight.

“God, I have horrible taste in women.”

Despite laughing, she regained her straight face before she answered, “Well, that’s rude. I’m delightful.”

She’d known what I meant. It was her way of avoiding one of her least favorite topics. The only one that I think might’ve actually compelled her to shoot me if I’d had her alone for a few minutes longer.

This woman was not the first dangerous creature I’d fallen for. Catherine had set her sights on me first. While things hadn’t worked out in her favor, though, didn’t mean that I hadn’t appreciated the time we shared before she faded back to the vitriol infested hell she’d risen from.

But this woman, the one in front of me steadily wrapping loose curls of my hair around her fingers… she was different. I just hadn’t fully grasped why, or what that meant for me.

“I’m honestly not sure which of you is worse,” I sighed for the second time since she’d touched me.

She was quick, and consistent in her reply.

“If you bring up Catherine again, I’m going to actually shoot you.”

I knew that she saw the subtle smile grace my cheeks, and I knew that it would only feed into her fervor. But even that knowledge couldn’t stop me from showcasing my satisfaction up close and personal. I would risk damnation for her to understand the extent that I’d felt for her.

As predicted, she got angrier. Her fingers tugged at the shorter hairs at the base of my scalp as she warned through clenched teeth, “It won’t be somewhere immediately fatal, either. You will suffer long and hard.”

Just like that, she’d proven my point. As soon as she saw how my eyebrows jumped and my lips began to curl, she released her hold with the same energy as a toddler might stomp their foot on the ground when they hadn’t gotten their way. She was sulking. Pouting like it might convince me to spare her from the obvious conclusion that the two of them were not nearly as different as she’d like to think.

But in another way, the way that dominated my heart and drove my hands to wander over her lower back, they were nothing alike at all.

I wasn’t going to tell her that, though.

“Come on, Spencer!” she whined, unable to recognize that the adoration in my eyes had not been sarcasm for once. With a nervous, forceful scoff, she turned to several colorful adjectives in an attempt to win me over. “Catherine was a-a cruel, pathetic, nasty, sociopathic bitch! How dare you compare us!”

Of course, the only thing I had heard was the meaning behind the words.

“You sound jealous.”

“I do not get jealous,” she lied.

There was no need for me to push it. Lies like that were fruitless to follow. I could have her naked in my bed, with her chest bared and her mouth singing my praises — and she would still swear to me that her feelings were nothing but primal.

It did feel cruel, however, to leave her in such a state. Especially when I could see the anger and insecurity gnawing at her. It was all baseless, after all. If she was meant to be jealous of another woman, it might as well be justified.

“I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, almost absently. Then she sighed as she muttered, “You’re too good for her.”

An odd, but understandable conclusion. I might argue it another day. I could win, too. I just hadn’t decided if it was worth it to use her as a pawn to win an argument that any woman I came to love was already doomed to disaster.

By my hand… or another.

“Besides, I would have killed her if you had,” she grumbled in perfect harmony with the thought.

I had to laugh. It was a sound unlike any other she’d heard from me. The kind of laughter more akin to a giggle than a chuckle. An undeniable, identifiable joy in how casually she’d said it. And she smiled. A bright, toothy grin that we shared for approximately five seconds before I went and ruined it with a completely correct observation.

“Oh, you’re definitely jealous.”

Her hands moved as quickly as I’d come to expect. But when the gun pressed hard against my chest, I felt no fear. Instead, there was a spark of excitement. A playfulness that I might dare call the psychological equivalent of foreplay.

“Watch it, Vegas.”

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me?” I teased, leaning harder against the barrel until our noses brushed against one another. Until she took a step back. Then another, and another. Over and over until she was crushed between me and the wall.

Trapped. Forced to decide just how much she valued her freedom — and my company.

“Maybe,” she answered.

She might as well have said no. That she could never bring an end to our game so quickly. That, like she’d alluded to moments before, she would need something that could be savored. She was a lover of cliffs, after all. She would dangle her feet over the edge long before she leapt.

Myself, on the other hand… I hated anticipation. I had grown tired of waiting.

So, in a brief lapse of self-preservation, I took what I wanted. And just before our lips touched for the first time, I whispered through a smile, “Doubt it.”

She was sweeter than she’d had any business being. Like sugar dipped cherries. Like a sticky, saccharine shot of liqueur or syrup. I clung to the sweetness and shared my own bitterness. Our tongues, like the rest of us, found themselves tangled together in a mess of ungodly lust and a desire to win.

Just as my hand splayed on her lower back pulled her forward, she lifted her leg to accommodate me. She begged me to come closer. She accepted my brutality, and in fact savored the bruising force of our lips.

She was so busy conceding everything that when I reached down and tugged the gun in her hand, she hadn’t even hesitated to give it to me. She hadn’t even thought twice about it until she felt the tables turn; until it was the bare skin between her breasts that embraced the warm metallic embrace of the weapon.

Then, the magic was gone. For at least one of us.

She tore her lips away from mine with what almost sounded like a whimper.

“Ha-ha. You got me,” she said with a voice that trembled too much for my liking. She could barely look at me, stuck instead staring at the gun in my hand and my arm still wrapped around her waist.

There was a fear I’d never seen on her before, and contrary to every theory I’d ever had about my feelings for her, I found that I hated the sight. I hated the idea that she thought me capable of using her so carelessly before tossing her aside. Then, she spoke those fears into existence, and I hated myself even more for having tried to take the power back. To have surrendered any excuse to stay.

“Nice sleight of hand, Houdini. You gonna disappear now?”

“You’re really going to accept defeat that quickly?” I challenged, hoping that she might recognize the message behind the taunt.

Give me a reason stay.

If there was anything I could count on her for, it was that she never turned down a challenge. Never spited a beg if it was genuine in its submission.

“I hardly call convincing you to kiss me losing,” she taunted back. Her confidence began to repair itself with each word until she was back to her usual seductress methods. With her hands reaching to comb through my hair and her lips close enough to share air, she whispered, “Sounds like a win to me.”

I couldn’t make it that easy on her, though. Especially when there was such a strong undercurrent of arrogance over something as innocent as a kiss. Something that I had given to more than one woman whom I would have killed with my bare hands if I’d been given the chance.

“I kissed Catherine, too, you know.”

The look on her face told me clearly that she did not know.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, although we both knew she didn’t want me to repeat it. That she would take it as a personal sleight, an insult to what we’d just shared. She wanted more than anything for me to stop comparing the two of them, no matter the context.

Which is why I just couldn’t help but tell her the truth.

“Sure did.”

And oh, how sweet it was to be caught in crosshairs. What beautifully crafted, mutually assured destruction it was.

I sighed with relief when I felt her hands dig into my skin. I threw myself into her grasp, let her guide me into the figurative and literal darkness because I knew what euphoria awaited on the other side. Like the addict that I always would be at some level, I craved her to an unhealthy degree that I had no intention of restraining.

Not even when she forced me into a dark room filled with millions of dollars’ worth of various types of poison. I succumbed to the sharpness of her affection; let her throw me against crates full of clinking bottles of glass and said nothing when she immediately began to furiously attempt to undress me.

I didn’t ask her what she was doing because I already knew. But she took one look at a dazed, licentious libertine and felt the need to clarify the reason behind what she was about to do.

“Bet she didn’t do this.”

Without further exposition, that wonderfully wicked woman dropped to her knees. She dirtied her dress without a second thought, and her hands and tongue did the same. Before she had even fully pulled my throbbing cock free from my clothing, her tongue was already at work.

It all happened fast enough that I could get away with saying that I hadn’t thought to stop her. But the truth was that my dreams were turning to reality around me, and I had no intention of ever stopping her. I would let herself worship me in whatever way I could take.

That was, of course, assuming that I was in any way the one in charge. Which, while an adorably arrogant thought, was very, very wrong.

The moment her lips wrapped around me, I knew that I was completely and utterly fucked. Even with the risk of being caught looming through the cracks in the door, I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped me when her tongue wrapped around the tip of my dick.

“Fuck.”

I swore I saw her smile when she started to take in more of me. As I disappeared into her mouth, it almost felt like a laugh. Like she was mocking me for using such ineloquent language.

Still just a stupid man willing to do anything to get his dick wet.

That wasn’t all it was, though. Not with her. No matter how skillful she was as she slid me down her throat, it was more than the physical pleasure. But don’t get me wrong; she was talented. Enough so to make me not care about maintaining a studious facade when I could barely stand up straight.

“Shit, you’re good at that.”

She shot me a glance as if to say, Don’t sound so surprised.

My head fell back, but I didn’t allow it to stay there long. Because I wanted to look at the true source of pleasure. At her, with her mouth full and her chin dripping with still clear saliva. Not the kind of woman to leave a trace — even when she did get her hands dirty.

And they were. One dug crescent moons into my thigh and the other was wrapped around the part of me she couldn’t make fit.

Yet.

“Fuck, just like that,” I all but whined. My hand finally tangled in her hair, and I returned that ferocity and possessiveness she so clearly exuded.

I bucked my hips twice against her face. I watched how that experienced nonchalance and confidence faded away for a second and left her true self bare. I witnessed her submission for only a few seconds, and I craved it with such overwhelming need that it made me dizzy.

With a quick tug of my wrist, I wrapped enough of my fingers in her hair that it would be next to impossible for her to pull away as a matter of physics alone. I pulled her forward and felt the resistance of a hard swallow before her jaw and tongue fell limp to accommodate me.

I looked down at her, now dripping spit onto her pretty little dress and spilling tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Good girl,” I whispered. And for the second time since she’d started, I swore I saw her smile.

The praise flowed through her, reinvigorated her enough that when I started to thrust against the back of her throat, she somehow kept her eyes open and moaned against the intrusion.

I knew it wouldn’t be long. I knew I couldn’t last while she was choking on me but somehow also holding me more gently than ever before.

My hands also lost their violence, although the rest of me retained their urgency. In my own display of vulnerability, I let go of the guilt and the shame. Or, perhaps more accurately, I basked in it. I thought of how she was beautiful and clever and how I wanted her to be mine.

I did everything we were never meant to do at the same moment I begged her, “Swallow for me, sweetheart.”

The rolling waves of pleasure felt entirely new. There was a reverence about it, about feeling her tongue pressed hard against my pulse as I painted her throat with the sticky remnants of our desire. I held her against me, wishing that I could feel her come undone with such intimacy. Immediately fantasizing about how she might look when equally overcome with pleasure.

As soon as she pulled back, carefully and while assuring not a drop was spilled, I felt the urge to kiss her. I wanted to pull her up from her position below me and straight into my arms. I was not yet done drowning in her.

I was a man filled with hubris, a lovesick fool that wanted more of the moon despite the fast-approaching dawn.

She got herself up without my help. I’d offered it; she’d refused. I couldn’t say I was surprised, but I also had to admit I was devastated by the loss of her touch so soon. We both readjusted our clothing to its previous level of austere debauchery.

Then, the quiet came. The stars that had seemed so bright were starting to fade into a new palette of navy hues.

We had to decide.

“There,” she sighed. “Now I’m satisfied.”

I heard the finality in her voice, and I came to my decision.

I wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Wait.”

The request, too soft and submissive to be considered an order, nonetheless succeeded in stopping her in her tracks. Perhaps the true reason wasn’t audible at all, but instead was the way my fingers wrapped around her wrist with the little strength I retained after reading my soul for a night with the devil’s favorite daughter.

Regardless of the reason, I tried to be grateful for her eyes on mine. They took their time meeting, as she’d remained distracted by the seemingly chaste contact considering what we’d just done. The gentle hold I used. The diametrically opposed temperament when I finally spoke again.

“You win,” I said.

That damned mysterious woman just stared. With her recently plumped pout and hindered ability to regulate her own body language.

Her feet turned towards me. She eyed the state of me in her wake. She took note of flushed cheeks and still heavy breath. I felt her analyzing every aspect of me she could find.

I couldn’t be certain what it was that she’d found. But I knew with fullest confidence that it scared the ever-living shit out of her.

Her feet turned away, her hand starting to slip from my grasp. I felt her leaving — saying no, not because she wanted to, but because of how badly she’d wanted to say yes.

I grabbed her harder, but only so she wouldn’t leave. I took one step forward and I croaked with a painful vulnerability, “Please, don’t leave.”

She left her hand in mine, but she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on Vegas. You can’t be serious.”

We both knew I was.

“You don’t like me!” she yelled.

She was right. I didn’t just like her. I was obsessed. It had only been a few moments since we’d ever really seen each other, and she had already consumed my every waking thought.

Logically — realistically, I was aware of the barrier that remained between us. That didn’t stop her from reiterating it, however.

“I’m a criminal! You’re a cop!”

Yes! I screamed to myself. But that doesn’t change how badly I want you.

I thought about telling her but feared that admission would be too much for the fleeting woman of the night sky. I wanted so badly to tell her, though. To call her bluff and force her to acknowledge that she felt the same calling I did. That incessant magnetism drawing us together.

She’d clearly meant to take a step back. But her feet once again betrayed her, and she stepped closer to me. She opened her mouth to defend herself, to swear that she had just been playing a game and I was the idiot who fell in love. But I conceded her victory immediately. I was downright honest in my praise. I allowed my gaze to caress every aspect of her beauty in the dim lighting and I lifted my hand to do the same.

She did not stop my knuckles from brushing across the heated skin of her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breath coming out stuttered and small as she tried to resist the inevitable.

“Please. Just for one night,” I whispered as she leaned closer. “Let me forget about it for one night, and then you can go back to hating me.”

We sat in the relative quiet, the poorly illuminated den of sin, and we thought about the future. Or at least, I did. Because I held her. With both arms hung loosely around her waist, I wondered if she would kill me for this later.

As if to answer my question, she dealt the final blow in hushed tones against my shirt.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer.”

And I realized it was the first time she’d ever really, truly been honest with me.

And maybe with herself, too.

Like cursed fairy tale creatures, we took off into the quickly fading night. We wasted no time, spared no shortcut to where we’d wanted to be. Anywhere we could be alone. Although I wasn’t concerned with who had the home advantage, I wondered if that was the reason that she’d led me to her hotel room.

Part of me wanted to pay attention to the parts of her psyche littered through the room. I spotted neatly hung clothing and stacks of books that I could only imagine were concealing less savory things. There were thousands of traps I could have fallen into. Countless opportunities to gain an advantage over her for another, rainier day.

But as soon as we crossed the threshold, I found all my attention stolen by the woman who turned to me with mischievous, sneaky stars sparkling in her eyes. When she wasn’t taking away my breath figuratively, she did so literally. She clung to me with voracious lips and even more rapacious hands.

And my god, those hands. So soft yet skilled, unassuming with their stark lack of callouses. Stained with irreplaceable remnants of ancient art and unadulterated hubris. They were quicker than they had any business being. Before I’d even located the zipper at the base of her neck, she’d had me half stripped.

Desperate to steal back any ounce of power, I tugged at the metal and practically tore the sleeves from her shoulders. Once her bare skin was exposed, I forced her body back until her head hit the wall with a gentle thud. The impact made her gasp, with her chest rising and her head rolling back to display her pounding pulse in her throat.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she said through a dreamy laughter. Her eyes showed a similar nostalgic quality that ripped through my defenses in seconds.

“Shut up,” I ordered just before I kissed her.

She hadn’t appreciated the order. Turning her head to the side at the same time she pulled me down until my lips hit her shoulder, she continued, “Remember how you told me that you’d never touch me?”

As much as I’d wanted to linger, to feel how her heartbeat fluttered whenever it was exposed to softness, I couldn’t help the burning in my chest. The way that her words struck me to my core and revived that competitive spirit she brought out of me so often.

“Bet you’re feeling stupid now,” she laughed.

My instincts took over and my hand closed around her throat with a force I honestly hadn’t been expecting. Memories of someone else, someone that filled me with a rage unlike any other I’d met, burst through the reality. For just one second, I’d seen someone else. I saw Catherine Adams for just long enough that when she faded away again, I realized something I’d tried so hard to deny.

I didn’t hate her like I hated Cat.

I didn’t hate her at all. In fact, I was quite fond of her. There was something so effortlessly beautiful, so raw and honest in her vulnerability. That simple magnetism that kept us close made my hand clutch tighter as I tried to rid us both of the tragedy that was bursting through our rib cages.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” she said through tight, breathless cords. Her body relaxed, not at all bothered by the way I held her life in my hands. She did not move away, did not scratch at my arms, or show any fear at all.

She smiled. That same saturnine look that made my heart change its rhythm and my hand lose its grip.

Then, with teary eyes and more air to laugh, she whispered, “I feel stupid, too.”

She further sacrificed her comfort, accepting my lips on hers with the fullest enthusiasm. My hand that had been on her neck moved to cradle the back of her head like a child might hold something fragile. It was clumsy, but pure in its intention.

The not-at-all delicate woman was not offended, and possibly even flattered by the attention I paid to lead her to the bed. I spared no tenderness, sliding careful fingers under fabric that had stubbornly stayed covering her.

Inch by inch, I revealed the scarred but still stunning surface of her. I admired each aberration while I memorized them. There was no worry about whether she noticed — I wanted her to. I wanted her to see the effect she had on me so that when it was all over, she might remember the way I looked at her the same way that I will remember the way it felt to have her.

“You’re beautiful,” I explained.

When she rolled her eyes, I felt compelled to expand on the meaning of the praise.

“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you, but… I needed you to hear it, anyway.”

Her mouth opened, out of protest or surprise, but she closed it before any words came out. Although I was sad to lose the opportunity to hear whatever clever retort or redirect that she could come up with, I was all too thrilled to see that she’d opted to kiss me, instead.

Sometimes things didn’t require talking. It wasn’t often that I was rendered speechless, but every time I saw her, I got this feeling that the words would just get in the way. Like our bodies knew what to do, like two souls that had met and already started to blend back into what they once were.

When it became too difficult for us to remove each other’s clothes, we switched to our own. Each piece of fabric less, we moved faster until there was nothing left.

I stared down at her and felt like something else had changed. No longer was I looking at her like a fantasy. She was there, flesh and blood and prepared for my consumption. Her hands almost appeared shy, almost insecure in the way they roamed her own body before they came to mine.

My eyes tried to shut, but I forced them open. I watched her as she watched me, with goosebumps rippling in her wake. It wasn’t until her fingers began tracing the line of hair beneath my belly button that I couldn’t take it any longer. I closed my eyes, dropping closer to her and taking in the sweet scent of liquor and perfume.

She pressed a chaste kiss against my temple, pulling me closer to her with one hand on the back of my head while the other formed a loose, tentative grip around my dick.

“Fuck.”

“So eloquent,” she hummed before she began to move. Just a small, gentle motion. Enough to make me want her more. To have me bucking against her hand with pathetic whimpers and heavy breath.

It felt so good — she felt so good — that I’d hardly even noticed how she positioned me against her heat. I could barely form a rational thought through the euphoria, but I forced myself to. That self-preservation, or rather fear that she was in a similar or worse state, won out in the end.

“Wait.”

She stopped. But while I sighed in relief from the way she hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, she seemed a bit confused and perhaps even anxious by the silence that followed.

“What?” she asked a little too quickly to be calm.

The fear sprouting in her eyes when I pulled back almost made me feel guilty. Or silly, I suppose. Because when I did finally voice my concerns, it all vanished and was replaced with an astounding amusement.

“We should… use protection,” I suggested.

I was immediately met with laughter. A warm, inviting sound that felt world’s away from the usual mockery. Through that loveliness, she tried to explain, “Spencer, this might come as a surprise to you, but I have absolutely zero interest in carrying some man’s bastard while on my international crime sprees. I have like three different birth control methods. Are you joking?”

That time, it was me that laughed. We both burst into giggles about how ludicrous it all was. How absolutely insane we were to have fallen into bed together and acted like we were still concerned about how it all would end. As if we had forgotten how many times that we’d narrowly escaped with both of our lives.

“Of course you do,” I sighed with a smile.

Our demise was inevitable, if not having already occurred. So imagine my surprise when the smile on her face remained genuine, and her voice pure and filled with a compassion so rare I had only experienced it a handful of times in my life. She pressed her palm against my cheek and smoothed her thumb over the stubble that had formed after a few days of boredom.

“But if you want to use it, you can,” she assured me in a way I hadn’t ever imagined would make me want to cry, “I just want to make sure before we have sex that… you know that I would never do that to you. I would never lie to you about that. I know how much family means to you. I’m not in the business of hurting you, no matter how difficult it is for you to believe that.”

That time, Catherine’s face appeared, but it strongly contrasted the woman resting peacefully below me. I saw her, but only in the way that I’d wished she had lived to see this day — where I was with a woman capable of affection and offering it to me without reservation.

I thought of Catherine because I wanted to imagine her turning in her grave when another woman, not at all like her, held me like something fragile, too. Someone who knew me. Wanted me despite the chaos of it all. Someone wonderful, all things considered, who saw me as more than a plaything.

I thought of Catherine one final time, and then I let her go for good. I threw her aside without an ounce of concern for what it meant. I was too busy, too starved for more memories of the woman already practically writhing underneath me.

She laughed when I spat into my hand because she saw how eager I had become with such little persuading. She had become so accustomed to a fight when it came to us that my submission almost seemed like a joke.

"Wow, it was easy to convince you,” she teased.

But that wasn’t an accurate representation of the truth.

"You didn’t,” I clarified as I slowly worked the saliva over my cock with a fondness that almost seemed to make her jealous. Tapping my nose against hers, I awarded her the credit she deserved. “I just realized I don't care either way."

"I hate to disappoint, but this womb definitely can't sustain life right now,” she promised once more. Then, after seeing that nothing about me changed, she pushed further. Arching her back until I bumped against her sex, she sighed, “But… maybe another day. Maybe one day."

Just like that, the both of us were transported to another reality. Another universe where there was nothing between us. Where our jobs were just titles, and our hearts were still one. My endless imagination stretched to some exhaustion of infinity as I imagined lifetimes upon lifetimes of us. Of her holding me and our child with the same tenderness I now knew her capable of.

She noticed the sentimentality in my eyes, though. She snuffed it out swiftly, but I found the smoke just as sweet.

“God, our kids would be so good at stealing stuff,” she offered with a laugh.

“Over my dead body,” I grumbled just before I kissed her. That stubborn woman hadn’t stopped though, muttering back through my attempts, “It might be. Would be terribly boring for me, though.”

I paused my efforts and took in a deep breath. I cherished each of the distinct notes in her perfume and smiled at the thought of recognizing each of them everywhere I went. I thought about how she would linger, and how I was so glad that I would never be able to rid myself of this memory.

Of that moment when I said, “You’d miss me.”

And when she answered, “Yes… I would.”

I clung to it, to her. We stayed staring at each other and daring the other to call a bluff that hadn’t existed. To prove that we were not as star-crossed as we’d wanted to believe.

But just before I said it, she proved the romantic in me correct with a few simple words.

“I almost do already.”

Crude joke or honest confession, I didn’t care. I gave in to both demands and chose to believe the latter. I positioned myself at her entrance; I pressed hard enough into slick, hot folds that I felt them begin to envelop me. There was no resistance — just her arms wrapping around my neck and her body lifting to meet me halfway.

“I’m right here,” I reassured her as best I could.

She laughed, dropping her head back as I started to enter her slowly and with enough tenderness that there was no doubting my intention.

“That you are, Vegas,” she hummed. “That you are.”

There were no other words exchanged before we became one. We hadn’t needed to say anything. We just allowed our bodies to do what came naturally to them. The moon and the tides, ebbing and flowing in perfect harmony.

A desperate moan tore through my chest. My body began to tremble, my chest heaving as it became accustomed to the burning heat of her. I fell apart in her arms already, only barely stopping myself from unleashing years of repressed passion. I hurried to make our lips meet, to taste her on my tongue like it might ground me somehow.

And it did. With her mouth still open and moans rolling in the space between our lips, she welcomed each romantic advance. She grabbed my face with her hands and sobbed in pleasure against my mouth. She made sure that every breath that I took was filled with her, and in return I loved her even harder. I thrust into her with purpose, feeling the way she slid against the sheets from the force.

I tried to place that feeling I had. The instinct of it all.

It wasn’t until she buried her face in my neck that I realized what it was.

Home, I thought but didn’t dare say aloud. You feel like home.

It was a silly thought, really, considering I’d never really had one. But like every creature and every fool, I recognized my home in her.

“Don’t let go,” I begged her without thinking. Or maybe thinking too hard. Fearing that if I hadn’t vocalized some aspect of my epiphany, she wouldn’t figure it out on her own.

I doubted her too much. She was cleverer than anyone gave her credit for. Myself included.

But when she pushed me back, she did not let go. Instead, she made me. Throwing her whole weight against me, she perched herself on my lap as I rolled onto my back. We both laughed, too. Our eyes met and we saw the desire written in every part of our expressions. We still said nothing, though.

She was much slower than I had been. She worked her way up and down my length without any hurry at all for the sunrise that would soon come looking for us.

In that time, that special space where it was just two parts of the same soul finding each other in the darkness, I looked at her. I saw the evidence of our past written on her skin. Deeply rooted scars from where we’d almost thrown away what we’d wanted most.

I could still see her there, but it hadn’t been as painful as I expected. Instead, it was a unique catharsis I’d never felt before. The recognition that we had tried and failed to let each other go.

That we were meant to be. Here, together. With her hands pressed against my chest and her hips undulating in tandem with each motion. Because if our downfall was inevitable, then so were we.

We were inevitable.

The warmth and love burned at wax wings until there was no more holding back. Until my hips started to drive into her harder, faster, and more erratic. Her hands joined mine as I propped her up so that I could fuck her freely. Each time that I bottomed out, she cried out with pleasure. Her nails found home in my knuckles, and I found myself craving more of the pain.

She was so beautiful exactly like that. Vulnerable. Defenseless by choice. She welcomed me to share her body, to come as close as humanly possible. Even as the force I exerted made her body ripple and quake, she looked at me with such devotion that I had no choice but to give her the rest of me.

Our hands came apart so that mine could wrap around her. I pulled her down one last time, calling her name before I finally let go. I thrust into her harder despite there not being any room for it. I filled her with the warmth that burst out of me. I fucked it deeper into her, thinking and dreaming of how her body would have accepted it greedily under different circumstances.

I was a foolish, selfish bastard, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to want to have me forever. And if I couldn’t have it yet, I would dream of it every chance afforded to me.

She wouldn’t know the difference. She would view my affectionate touch as nothing but a fool who’d fallen in love. She wouldn’t know just how deeply she’d touched me, nor how much I yearned for her to stay.

It was better that way. For us to stay… distant. At least to some degree.

We laid in the silence together. She looked at the relatively cheap motel art hanging on the walls, and I looked at her. I recognized something in her eyes, something so human it almost didn’t suit her.

“It’s evil, you know,” I called out, hoping to capture that empathy before it disappeared. But when she turned to me as if to ask what I’d meant, the sparkle had already faded.

“What is?” she asked like she didn’t already know.

“Stealing art,” I clarified, nonetheless. “That’s someone’s soul.”

She pondered the thought for a moment. She hummed a sad tune and tried to smile. But her lips curled down too far to be saved. They fell flat, twitching with one last attempt as she muttered, “Evil, huh? Funny. I don’t see it that way.”

I was dedicated to making her understand. I wanted her to give up on her exploits and choose me, instead. Even though we both knew that the damage was too deeply embedded in our skin to fade so easily.

“How could you think so highly of yourself? That you should get to hide it from the world like that?”

For the first time possibly ever, I saw pain in her eyes. No smile, no snark, no falsity. Her mouth dropped open and her bottom lip trembled while she tried to make sense of what I’d said. Of how I could have gotten it so fucking wrong and had the audacity to force my misconceptions onto her.

Whatever thoughts had immediately come to mind were swallowed. She glanced down at the same hand that had been wrapped around her throat, the one that had held her face gently. The one that had held a gun against her chest on several occasions.

She couldn’t look me in the eyes when she whispered, “Have you ever loved something so much, you couldn’t fathom sharing it? Because you knew that no matter what the others say, they would never love it like you do?”

I didn’t answer. I begged her to look in my eyes, instead. To notice how no matter what was happening, what wonders we were surrounded by, I had never once taken my eyes away from her.

When she did answer my call, though, there was no catharsis. No confession or ceasefire. She just took in a deep breath and found the strength to smile again. A fake, heartbroken look.

“Tell me your favorite painting,” she pleaded.

“The water lilies.”

“Which one?” she asked as she pulled herself closer. Until her head rested against my heart and my hand smoothed over her hair.

“On the pond.”

She sighed. I felt her lips twitch and I wondered if she would ever be able to smile while looking at me again.

“It suits you,” was all she said.

“What about you?”

I’d tried to hide the desperation in my voice. I hadn’t wanted her to hear just how badly I needed the answer because I knew how it would end. The same way it always did. With a joke.

“That’s too personal a question,” she sneered with feigned incredulity, “How dare you.”

But I was too tired to keep it up. I had already given her the last of my strength. I had succumbed to the comfort of her embrace and there was no more going back to the life I led before. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that it would end that night. That I wouldn’t wake up every morning wishing that she were there and fall asleep praying that she hadn’t found another idiot to fall in love with.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I won’t be in town for long. I have some traveling to do.”

No, she said.

“Will you come back?” I begged her.

That goddamned infuriating, breathtaking woman tilted her head up. She pulled back and crawled up until she could hold my face in the palm of her hand. Rather than looking into my eyes and risking revealing any part of the truth, she followed the tears stinging at the corners. She tried to smile, and I saw something beautiful through the distance.

“I’ll take a picture of the water lilies,” she promised in the quiet. “Just for you.”

Maybe, she had said. And for now, that would have to be enough.

Maybe one day.

I chased after that promise. I followed the feeling when it led me to her lips once more. I kissed her hard. I pressed my whole body against hers until she was forced to her back. I didn’t stop at her lips, her jaw, nor her neck.

I was sloppy in my loving her, but I was not careless. I left a trail of broken blood vessels and saliva across her abdomen, not from haste, but my hesitance to leave her in even the most minimal manner.

She was a thing to be cherished. A creature to be marveled at. A woman to be loved. Carefully. Delicately. Lest she breaks into shrapnel too risky to remove. To prevent her from embedding herself any further into my heart.

It was already too late for me, though. I knew that. My downfall would be nothing but a warning for the next foolhardy, hubris filled man who dared to think himself worthy of her.

But it was so hard not to get a swelled head when she was so eager to push me down further. I followed her lead and sighed against heated skin still dripping from the mess I’d made of her. Before I dared to taste her, I ran my fingers through her folds. I listened to the way she begged with just her breath alone.

Then, the way she whispered, “Please.”

Dipping one finger into her, I found myself mesmerized by the way she still felt as much like a home when wrapped around my finger. Despite having only just finished, I was aching with the need to have her again. I knew that I couldn’t have her that way so soon, so I took what she offered.

I slid another finger into her and reveled in the moans that shook her whole body. I caressed the inside of her as delicately as the rest, memorizing each twitch of her muscles and how they shot through her body.

I paid special attention to the times that she would cry out my name.

“Spencer.”

I would do it again, forever chasing the way her voice sounded that night. So that the next time she pressed a knife to my throat, I would be happy to let her win. I had already won.

As soon as my tongue touched her, her legs closed around me. She shook with anticipation and pleasure that had nowhere else to go. She invited me to take her harder, for my hands to stop treating her like glass.

I acquiesced to her demands. I fed into her cries, moving my fingers faster and harder while my flattened tongue drew languid crescent shapes just under the swollen bundle of nerves. Every now and then, I would pull back and lap at the slickness around my fingers.

“Good boy, Vegas,” she purred, “Worship me.”

I would exchange any godliness I was given for her pleasure each and every time the deal was offered. There was little I would not give to feel strong thighs pressed against my ears and her nails scratching at my scalp and tugging on my hair. I wanted to be smothered with her lust, to forever taste the bittersweet evidence of our debauchery until I was nothing but stardust reaching for her across the night sky.

“Spencer,” she keened with her heels digging into my back.

I pulled her closer with my free hand digging into her hip. I dreamed of how the skin might bruise in five perfect marks of my fingerprint embedded into her skin. I wanted her to be littered with permanent reminders that we loved one another too intensely to be unscarred.

It was a metaphor, to some degree, to write my name between her legs. One of the rare few I understood. Because the closer and closer she came to oblivion, the more determined I became to ensure that every time a star died in the sky above, she remembered that moment when she let me worship her the way she deserved.

Her walls fluttered around my fingers as she reached her peak. I didn’t dare change my pattern or pressure, continuing to nurse her through what seemed like endless waves of pleasure. Although I tried not to change it, I still moaned against her each time her pitch changed. I wished so badly that I could see her then, to watch as she surrendered in the most beautiful way.

Eventually, she decided that she had allowed me to take enough of her. She tugged on my hair until I finally abandoned my begging and returned to her. I took my time, though. I traced the same path I’d taken before, laying kisses over bruises from an overly eager mouth.

When our eyes met again, though, she was the one who kissed me. There was a tenderness to her as she raked her hands through my hair. As if she was apologizing for any damage done. But I would have worn — I did wear — the marks that she left behind like a badge of honor.

I think she saw my pride, too. Perhaps even tasted it on the heady, tainted taste of our tongues. The sinful decadence that was the night when Icarus fell into bed with the moon.

“Maybe I should take you with me…” she whispered in a voice so quiet that I questioned if I had been meant to hear, “if only you were always such a good boy…”

“If you weren’t such a bad girl, I wouldn’t have to disobey you,” I answered with a smirk that was more like a smile.

Once again, she laughed, and I gave up on any thought of ruining the sound with the harsh reality waiting for us on the other side of the ornate walls. I rested my body atop hers and allowed myself to rest for the first time that night. With her hands drawing loose, loopy swirls across my back and her throat tickling my nose as she hummed, I wondered who it was that taught her softness.

I wondered if I would ever feel it again.

We were both hesitant to let one another go. We knew that the second we stopped touching, it would all come rushing back. The fear, the tension, the inevitability of our ending.

Our hands stayed together as long as they could before they broke apart. I watched her disappear into the bathroom with evidence of my having loved her still dripping down her thighs. I grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and buried my face in her pillow like it might prolong the calm before the storm.

I half expected her to disappear into thin air. To abandon me the first chance she was given. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that she returned fairly quickly. Not soon enough for me not to miss her, but enough for me to bear.

She curled up beside me without concern for that fact we really ought to stop before it became impossible. There was nothing about her that seemed wrong, nothing sharp or jagged when she handed me a sealed bottle of water and opened her own.

We raised flimsy plastic containers together in honor of what would now become the past. Of the night when we were. We drank away the bitterness but begged the sweetness to stay. My throat still felt dry, and my chest remained weighed down by the thoughts I knew she was already aware of but had never gotten the chance to hear.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked.

“Of course,” she drawled in her usual charming way, “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

But what I had been thinking wasn’t a secret at all.

“I…”

I stopped. Not because I was suddenly unsure, but because the world started to rock as if I’d been thrown out to sea. As if the moon was hurtling toward the ocean and the angry waves were trying to pull away from the bedrock.

“I…” I tried again, but my vision followed shortly thereafter. I tried to breathe through it, tried to focus on the way she was still displaying that saturnine smile that made my heart ache. But now it just hurt.

“No…” I slurred, “Tell me you didn’t.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t move, either. Just tilted her head as she watched my eyes struggle to stay open.

“We were having such a wonderful time and you…” I warbled with the little sense I had left.

That time, I stopped because her thumb brushed over my lips. The same lips that had colored her skin with kaleidoscopes resembling my name. The ones that she had pulled closer, just to turn away from.

“I know,” she sighed.

But she didn’t.

“You…”

I forced my eyes to stay open when she brought her lips to mine, crying out to the others the inevitable tragedy of Icarus. The absolutely idiotic hubris that he held to think that the moon would ever be a safer place to him. As if she were not just the reflection of everything he swore not to covet.

You don’t understand, I screamed to myself and hoped that she would hear.

But she didn’t. All she heard was the weak, thready gasps of a man desperate to hold on. All she felt was the tired tides reaching for her, begging her not to let go.

Against my rough lips, she whispered with a tremble that told me I was not the only one reaching through the darkness for something unattainable, “You’ll forgive me, won’t you, baby?”

But she didn’t understand. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her.

You don’t understand, I cried as she faded back into the night sky.

I was going to let you go.

——————————————————

Why didn’t Icarus love the moon?

I never understood why romantics wrote about how they looked at their lovers as if they were the sun. I supposed it had something to do with its ability to give life, its brilliance and its seeming immortality. But the sun was a brute in its brightness. I hadn’t ever wanted to gaze upon it. Even when I emerged from the shadows of the darkest days, I never once sought the comfort of the fury of the daystar.

Perhaps that was all there was to it, I thought to myself. Perhaps what I craved wasn’t the one who would cast heavy shadows in my wake, but a companion to guide me through the others.

Perhaps I was just not an Icarus. My hubris would simply have to find another name.

All things considered it was an average morning. I woke at the same time as always and started to brew a cup of coffee before I’d even looked in the mirror. I stood there for a moment, soaking in the cleansing scent of coffee grounds before I would be forced to be anything more than myself.

I closed my eyes and I thought of the last time that I’d felt free to do just that. I traced my steps back through each monotonous repetition and I realized that it had felt like forever.

A year was a long time to be someone else. It was an even longer time to be without someone else.

As I drank a cup of black coffee, I tried to find her visage in the bitterness. I spent all the energy the warmth offered trying to remember the way she felt on my skin. The way that she lingered until the next day, despite having left long before.

I had been remembering her for at least an hour before I stepped over the threshold of my apartment and back into the real world. It was there, on my doorstep, that I found her in the form of an odd, unassuming package with only one word scrawled across the front.

“Vegas.”

The two of us stared back and forth at one another long enough for her to materialize if she’d been planning on doing so. But after a few moments of early morning silence, I realized that the brown packing paper was all that she’d planned to leave behind.

I called the bomb squad before anyone else. My eerie sense of calm must’ve disturbed them because they arrived not long after. I watched as they scanned and swept over the carefully packaged present, and I imagined how she might have critiqued the care they paid to it.

Have you ever loved something so much, you couldn’t fathom sharing it?

Because you knew that no matter what the others say, they would never love it like you do?

I wondered if she’d noticed my lack of an answer then had been my confession to the worst thing I’d ever done. The confirmation that I had fallen in love with her somewhere between the bullets and bedsheets.

I followed her package all the way to Quantico. A sick excitement twisted my stomach until the tension was almost too much to bear. I considered tearing straight through the paper, of digging my nails across it the same way I’d done to her skin. But I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to eviscerate my name as she’d written it or cherish it. To frame it forever as a reminder that we were. Once.

None of it mattered now, though. Not as I stood in front of blast resistant glass and waited for them to unveil whatever it had been that she found important enough to reveal herself again.

“It’s been over a year since we last heard from her.”

JJ’s voice was the first thing to notify me of her presence. It had been so sudden and unexpected that I’d jumped at the sound. She didn’t step closer, and neither did I.

“Yeah,” was all that I said.

Although she accepted the answer, she wondered aloud with me.

“Any idea what could have triggered this?”

My mind immediately rocketed back to that night when I shared a bed with the moon. I could smell her perfume and the liquor on her breath. I heard her crying my name, heard our breaths meet between heated, greedy mouths. I felt tears on my face the morning after, when the sun returned and shone down on a world that would never fully appreciate the brilliance of the moon until she was gone.

“Who knows why she does anything she does,” I said absently, knowing that she would never understand.

“I mean, we do to some extent,” she answered, proving my point.

“I guess so.”

Maybe. Doubt it.

After all, she was unknowable in so many ways. She kept so much of herself always hidden. With each fleeting scar and a bat of her eyelashes, the moon would do nothing but mock those that tried to claim her. I was no different. Especially not to her.

I knew that there were many men enamored with her. I wasn’t so self-deluded to think that she would throw away an empire for me.

But when the paper began to unfold, I felt the heart in my chest beat enough for the both of us. The breath filling my lungs sat heavy as I waited for what I’d felt in my heart to be true the moment I saw that nondescript gift on my doorstep.

“That painting…” JJ whispered from worlds away.

Or perhaps, I laughed to myself, as far away as Virginia was from Giverny.

‘I’ll take a picture of the water lilies. Just for you.’

I tried not to smile. I didn’t dare laugh. I just sat and stared at the stolen art of Claude Monet, and I wondered which part of her soul she’d left behind with it.

“That’s your favorite, isn’t it?” the woman behind me asked.

But I thought only of the moon when I answered, “Yeah. It is.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Reid Taglist (Everything Reid): @dreatine , @shilohpug , @draw-back-your-bow , @gspenc ,@trxshpandax , @hopefulfangirl24 , @lotties-journey-abroad , @beeblisss , @reidsbookclub ,@probablycryingg , @allthecolorsneverseen , @lovingloony , @reeid , @sydneekomspacekru , @random-human-person , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @sapphic-prentiss , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @violetclifford , @averyhotchner ,@itsmytimetoodream , @strictlyforliterarypurposes , @auspiciousharriet , @thotforcriminalminds , @spencerreidsmommy , @wentz2005 , @liaaacantwrite , @blxndeprincess ,

Complete Taglist (All Works): @shadyladyperfection , @princesssmooshie , @reid-me-a-story , @kya-li , @ineedabifriendficrecs , @nyx2021 , @bates-mattel , @xoxospencerreid , @cynbx , @hotchandspencearedilfs , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fandomgirl016 , @ashwarren32 , @rainsong01 , @la-vie-en-amour1 , @addievermore , @justaparttimeauthor , @muffin-cup , @calm-and-doctor , @bitterpeachs , @fueled-by-fanfic ,

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

[emmys-writing]

Can I request for a fix where reader and Reid are playing around with temporary tattoos? Tysm!

Temporary Tattoos with Spencer

pairing: Spencer Reid x GN Reader

word count: 559 (short but cute)

Warnings: Nothing really, lots of fluff, brief mention of spencer’s childhood

“Here babes, let me help you” You smiled and got off the couch, taking a few bags out of his hands and noticing his visible strength return. You both placed the groceries onto the counter and began to unload them into their proper places throughout the kitchen, while going back to the bag you were working on you reached in and felt something plastic. Upon pulling it out you realized that it was an incredible amount of temporary tattoos.

“Spence, why did you get these?” You chuckled softly and turned to your partner who had a large and childish grin spreading across his face.

“I saw them at the store and I thought we could do them together! Aren’t they cool?” He explained excitedly and came running over and grabbing a pack of them. The pack contained 10 temporary tattoos of cartoon animals and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself silently. You grabbed the wash cloth from the dryer and instructed spencer to grab a bowl and fill it with water. You both sat on the hardwood floor of your living room with tattoos scattered around you and made a little pile of plastic in the corner for easy clean up.

“Which one do you want first and where?” You questioned while soaking the wash cloth in water. He grabbed a sunflower tattoo and placed it on his inner wrist then let you see. You placed the cloth on it and let it sit for about a minute before taking it off and peeling the paper off as well. You saw Spencer's face light up with excitement, it was adorable and you smiled when he grabbed a few more tattoos he wanted to add to his body. You applied them all to random areas that he wanted before picking some out for yourself and handing Spencer the wet cloth. When you were finished you were both covered head to toe in childish temporary tattoos as well as stickers Spencer accidentally bought which he thought were more tattoos. It was cute in your opinion how excited he got over them. You each had found bubble letter tattoos and spelled your names on each other’s chests, spencer had found an ‘edgy’ heart tattoo with the word mom inside of it which you had to try your hardest not to laugh when he asked,

“Does this make me look badass?” It didn’t, but you couldn’t bear to see disappointment flash across his face at that moment. He was so happy and it was nice being able to experience the things he wasn’t able to as a kid with him. It made you feel special.

“Hey spence?”

“Yeah?“

“You realize you can’t go to work as an fbi agent with a unicorn tattoo on your neck, you know that right?”

“Shit.”

[golden-th0ts]

you into some freaky shit ain't you?

looool why would u even think to say that

[coffing-deactivated20220824]

would you woohoo me on sims yes or no

[221bshrlocked]

Why do you reblog your own fics so much?

Because someone might as well!? And look at this. Look. At. This.

Does this look right to you??

These are just the last three fics I wrote. I appreciate the likes, believe me I do, but you have to understand. Likes do nothing for content creators. It’s the reblogs. Because that’s how you find shit on your dashboard. Through reblogs. Not likes. This isn’t twitter or tiktok or instagram. This is a website that’s run by the reblog system.

Reblogging helps content creators put their stuff out there. Why do you think so many people stopped writing fanfic and creating beautiful fanart and edits? It’s because they put in hours of work and don’t get nearly enough notes for their masterpieces. Yes we do this because we enjoy it but like...some validation won’t hurt. A boost of confidence here and there might be all someone needs to finish whatever thing they started and left.

Anyway, I’m still going to reblog my shit...

[raewritesfiction]

I think I’m gonna restart blogging my own shit.

[221bshrlocked]

WRITERS. ARTISTS. EDITORS.

REBLOG YOUR OWN WORK.

THERE IS NO SHAME IN IT.

[kinkybazsmolsnow]

And still there'd be people who'd not REBLOG this post

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

Chapter 4 | | Committed and Captured

Warnings/Includes: mention of multiple injuries/concussions, guns, an unsub, self-defense violence, smut (MINORS DNI), dry-humping, fluff, cussing, more fluff, praise

Word count; 6.4k

There was barely any interrogation when Spencer asked for the day off. He was one of their best agents; deciphering, analysing, reading and using more brain power than the people around him thought humanly possible.

He’d been working at the BAU for 5 years now, joining almost immediately after getting his third PhD. After meeting Jason Gideon, his interest and intelligence had piqued in the criminology field.

Saving lives and stopping some seriously evil people had its rewards, but it had its complications too. Spending days at a time away from his home was hard. Especially knowing the reason for coming home would be sitting there waiting for him.

Zuli had been the epitome of support ever since she had set Spencer up with his mentor. Forcing him to leave in the mornings after a fresh coffee, a kiss to his cheek followed by a sleeve wiping it away, she’d send him on his way.

It could be seen as a routine, but they both knew it was something they’d never tire of. It came naturally to them, after officially living together for three years they’d sought out each others habits, hobbies and dislikes.

Spencer learnt that Zuli stayed up every Friday night with a telescope her mom bought her as a birthday present; he sat and watched her with adoration as she observed and studied the space they floated in until the sky turned from midnight black to azure blue.

Zuli learnt that she would have to buy a bag of sugar every week from the amount that Spencer had in his coffee; giggling to herself when he held the empty bag upside down and tried to smack the remaining granules out in frustration.

Spencer also learnt that stroking the space between Zuli’s eyebrows would send her into a deep sleep, making sure to do it as she curled up into his side at night. The way her breathing slowed down within seconds made him smile to himself, full of content.

He could do that forever. Watch her at peace snuggled up underneath the emerald covers, eyeballs darting back and forth underneath her eyelids as she dreamed of alternate universes.

He could do it forever, and he would. And once he’d been given the day off, he’d sprint out of the office, hurriedly pressing the elevator buttons to escape into the fresh air.

Bijoux De La Nuit. The secret jewellers at the edge of the state line, specialising in vintage jewellery with rare stones and gems. He’d found them in a Yellow Pages, calling their number and describing what he was looking for.

‘Something as beautiful and bright and uh, warm as she is’ was more confusing over the phone than Spencer thought. So he had a journey to make, almost jumping into his car and fumbling the key into the ignition; setting off to the ‘Jewellery of the Night’.

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

“Hello? Yes, this is she.” Holding the lid of a purple teapot, Zuli leant against the kitchen counter, phone trapped between her cheek and her shoulder as she poured out her tea.

“I’m sorry?” Stirring her drink slowly, she grabbed the phone and held it tighter to her cheek attempting to hear the person down the line even clearer.

“I did, it’s just been published in fourteen other states. I’m super proud of it!” Zuli babbled down the phone, gripping her mug and walking towards the couch.

“What?” Shock began driving its way through the routes of her veins as the caller spoke. Enough that the freshly made beverage was dropped to the ground, the earthenware shattering into jagged triangles.

As Zuli shakily hung up after the call, she immediately texted Spencer to hypothetically summon him home. Funnily enough, he was already on his way; the tingling and twisting of her stomach beginning again as she waited for the knock at the door.

Looking around the room for her tea, she stepped forwards toward the couch and shouted out a long list of vulgarities as a piece of the broken mug pierced her foot.

So much for thick socks, Zuli thought as she limped to the kitchen to clean herself up. There were times when her head felt so busy she forgot her surroundings, excitement and fear both in a race to send her senses into overdrive.

A small distraction from the pain in the arch of her foot brought a wide smile to her face. Spencer had picked up extra band-aids, these ones covered in star print. Shaking her head with disbelief at how much she truly loved this man, she taped it on and hurriedly got on with cleaning up her mess.

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

Spencer hadn’t even placed his foot flat on the floor in the apartment before he was tumbling backwards, Zuli swinging off of his torso like a hyperactive koala. Giggling he fell back against the banister of the main building stairs, an arm snaking around her back to hold her steady.

It was like he’d left a puppy at home all day and he’d pulled out the lead ready to take it on a walk. She was pressing kisses all over his cheeks, chin and lips in the same puppy like manner.

“What is going on?” Spencer laughed, trying to keep up with the quick hard kisses being pushed against his lips. Zuli pulled back for a second, a wild and coltish energy visible in her eyes and her body.

Similar to when they were younger, Zuli tugged at Spencer’s arm, dragging him into the apartment and shoving him so he sat on the couch. Kicking the door shut, she bounced on her tippy toes and shuffled over to the flustered man still in his coat and bag on the orange leather.

“Okay, okay, okay so-“ Jumping onto the couch and ignoring the way Spencer bounced and almost fell off, she sat cross legged and tried to regain her composure, “I got a phone call today.”

“Okay? Is everything alright?” Spencer asked, hoisting his bag strap over his head and placing it on the ground; sitting up better to listen.

“Yes, god yes it really is. Okay so you know my research into the death of stars and how it all ties down to the overproduction of matter causing them to die violently?” Spencer smiled proudly, nodding along so she’d continue, “Okay so my research and thesis was discovered by the Astronomical Society of the Pacific.”

“The non profit?” Spencer asked, sitting even straighter up as his brain began to piece what Zuli was getting at.

“Yes. Yeah. Oh my god Spencer. Linda, the CEO called me herself. I won an award, the Rob-“

“The Robert J. Trumpler Award! Are you serious? Come here!” Spencer interrupted, body language and tone now matching the excitement before him. Whatever small or large thing Zuli achieved, Spencer felt the pride flood his body.

Throwing herself into his arms again, Zuli fell on top of Spencer squealing with exhilaration. He wrapped his arms tightly around Zuli’s back, burying his chin into her neck and smiling against her skin. Her heartbeat was prominent against his cheek and he realised he wanted to make sure she stayed this happy and excited forever.

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

The clinking of glass chimed sweetly as the couple simultaneously took a sip of wine. Looking over at the sight before him, Spencer grew nervous in the familiar company of his girlfriend.

She held the wine glass to her cheek, resting against it as she watched all the other people in the restaurant. A few black coils springing around the frame of her face, most tied back by an emerald green headwrap, bounced freely as Zuli turned back to look at Spencer.

A candelabra of six candles sat in between the two, the golden hue of the flames danced upon her ebony skin. She was positively glowing, the euphoria of the past week showing itself in the most beautiful way.

“What are you staring at Spencer?” Her voice broke him out of his gaze, eyes focusing back on hers and mouth matching the soft smile she held towards him.

“Oh uh, I’m sorry. You just look so beautiful, Zuli.” Spencer muttered over the table, loud enough that only she could hear. She giggled sweetly, reaching over to hold his hand and squeeze it gently.

Sighing in content, she let out a random chuckle of disbelief. “Can you believe this weekend is really happening?” She asked, shaking her head with shock and sipping her wine.

“Of course I can. You’re incredibly smart, Miss one-eighty-seven.” Spencer laughed, stroking his thumb over Zuli’s knuckles. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the slight damp that had begun to form at his fingertips, the nerves starting to pour out of his system.

“Thank you, Mister one-eighty-seven. And thank you for tonight too, this place is gorgeous.” She smiled, taking in the romantic setting of the restaurant. It was busy and filled with business dinners and families, but somehow remained at a calm and gentle volume.

To Spencer, it was silent. The sound had been drowned out by his own heartbeat pulsating quickly in his ears. He could barely breathe, the pressure of the next few minutes squeezing his chest. He reminded himself to take some deep breaths, willing himself to focus on Zuli talking about the dress she had packed for the ceremony.

“It literally glitters Spence, it’s got these embroidered stars and moons across it! I got it specially made, ugh I can’t wait for you to see it.” The rushed excitement in her voice sped her words up, making it nearly impossible for Spencer to focus as he tried to figure out a way to ask her the question at the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah? It sounds uh, it sounds beautiful.” He stammered, clearing his throat as to try and regain control over the wavering tone to his voice. Zuli didn’t seem to notice too much, frowning a little before carrying on discussing the dress.

“It honestly might be the prettiest dress I’ll ever wear.”

“I doubt that.” Spencer blurted out, eyes widening when he realised what he had said. Zuli stopped, a little shocked at his sudden tone of voice.

“What do you mean by that, Spencer?” Zuli challenged, not knowing if he meant it negatively or positively. Maybe he’d grown bored of her talking about herself, she realised she’d been talking about this awards night almost non stop since she got the call.

The worry in her eyes made Spencer mentally curse himself, he could’ve said it sweeter, smoother. Instead it just fell out. And now he didn’t know whether to carry on or change the subject. His hands were now definitely obvious, shaking and fidgeting with the napkin in front of him.

“I uh- I wasn’t trying to sound rude, I’m sorry. I just meant I could um- I could think of another dress you would look pretty in.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, looking down at where their hands had separated and the napkin was bunched under his fingertips.

“You haven’t even seen it yet Spence,” She giggled a little as she realised he was nervous and not angry, Spencer letting out a sigh as he realised the same for her, “Are you okay?”

Okay. He was perfectly okay, by definition. Physically he was convinced his heart was beating so fast that a doctor would diagnose cardiac arrest any second, his hands were shaking so much he was seconds away from knocking his wine glass over and his mouth was so dry not even the ocean could hydrate it.

But this was it. He reached into his pocket and gripped onto the blue velvet box, grounding himself and breathing deeply. He slid his seat back a little bit, wincing as the wooden legs ground against the floor louder than he expected.

“Spencer?”

“Hold on Zuli, I just need to-“ He stood up, legs almost buckling underneath him as they felt liquidised. He came to stand next to her awkwardly, but relaxing slightly when he looked into the hickory coloured eyes looking up at him.

“What’s going on? Do you want to leave? Are you feeling okay? Maybe it was the pasta, you know you shouldn’t have too much dai-“

Her words cut off as Spencer fell to both knees, grimacing as he accidentally dropped too hard. He quickly adjusted himself and brought one knee up, forearm leaning against his thigh. He hasn’t stretched like this in a while he thought, hamstrings already ready to snap.

“Spencer…” Zuli looked down at him with anticipation.

“Okay, I spent a total of fourteen weeks, two days and six hours reading speeches and poems, sonnets and anything romance-related to try and come up with something that was even close to describing how I felt but it turns out that not even Dante had the right words,”

Zuli felt like her skin was on fire, listening to the man on one knee ramble made her heart swell, her cheeks beginning to ache from the wide smile upon her face. She knew what he was doing, however it wasn’t settling in yet.

“What I do know is that being with you sends every hormone I have into overdrive. Even at work I don’t think my adrenaline is so high. Coming home to your face, not just your face, I meant, when you’re at home and I come back and you’re there, it’s the best feeling. I’m talking too much.”

Spencer felt like words were pouring out of his mouth and he wasn’t even sure they were making sense but he didn’t know how to explain to her that she meant the world to him.

“It’s okay Spencer. Yes.” Zuli spoke softly, excited but softly. She really wanted to pull him up by his tie, jump on him and scream out YES but she could see he was so nervous about doing this, she wanted to keep cool for him.

“Yeah? You will?” He asked, relieved she understood what he was getting at.

“If you say it, of course I will.” Zuli grabbed his hand, pulling him up to stand with her. They stood so close it was like some sort of electromagnetic force was pushing them together.

“Will you marry me?” Spencer whispered, finally pulling out the box from his pocket. He could barely open the lid from his trembling fingers but Zuli helped flip it up.

“Yes Spencer! Holy shit. Holy SHIT.” The facade had broken, the true Zuli was out. She was a few decibels lower than screaming, as the reality hit her. The ring sat perched upon the velvet, shimmering a little under the dim light that managed to break between them.

“I love you so m-“ Zuli cut Spencer off with a sharp kiss to his lips, pulling him by his shirt closer to her. He chuckled against her and pulled his face away; smiling down at the ring he hadn’t even placed on her finger yet.

Zuli wiped the tears she hadn’t realised were falling from her eyes; holding out her hand ready for Spencer to slide the ring onto her finger.

“I love you so much Spence, do you know that?” Zuli spoke with a quavering voice, kissing him again and pulling back and laughing a little when she realised they could both taste the salt from her tears.

“I love you more.”

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

“A star sapphire Spence? This is insanity.”

Zuli was sat cross legged on the hotel bed, admiring the ring on her finger; laying it against her satin pyjamas, the tones of both the ring and the white fabric accenting each other.

“Do you like it?” Spencer asked sheepishly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed in front of her. He was unsure as to why he was still nervous, she’d said yes, she’d kissed him in front of all those people and cried; there was no mistaking the way they both felt.

“Are you kidding me? Spencer I adore it. And you. I adore you so, so much.” Her voice wavered again as she crawled over to her new fiancé, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and sitting down right beside him.

“I was so nervous, Zu. I don’t know why but I thought you’d say no, or leave, or just laugh or-“

“Spence. Don’t let that big old brain keep tricking you. I love you, I always will.” Zuli reassured him, these anxieties were becoming frequent, understandably after the trauma from a year ago. All Spencer would tell her was that a guy from one of their cases with multiple personalities did something that led him to make some bad choices. Not to mention Jason leaving unexplained.

Maybe one day he’d open up to her more, but for now she would stay reassuring him, letting him know he was safe and loved always. It was the least she could do. He deserved everything; love, safety and kindness was the minimum.

“Can I sit?” Zuli asked, looking down at where he sat next to her. Spencer knew she cuddled when she was overwhelmed; nodding before repositioning himself to get underneath the duvet and leaning back against the headboard.

Zuli swung her leg over both of his and settled gently in his lap, barely taking her eyes off the ring on her hand as she laid it against Spencer’s chest.

“It’s uh- it’s a twelve ray star. They’re rare. I thought it was a good representation of you.” He muttered, air becoming thick as he looked up at the woman in his lap. His brain was struggling to calm itself; the excitement from the night, his beautiful fiancée and nervousness beginning to express itself in a way he hadn’t planned.

“I can’t believe how much you thought this out!” Zuli gushed excitedly, shuffling a little as she moved to lay down against him. Before she could, she stopped suddenly and looked right into his eyes. Smiling coyly, she sat back up again.

“Is that another ring box you’re hiding Spence or are you as excited as I am?” It caught him by surprise, he’d been praying to a God he didn’t believe in that she wouldn’t notice. It’s not that he didn’t want to progress, they’d gone further before but not really since that one case.

Spencer shuffled a little awkwardly, sitting up straighter. He knew what he wanted, he knew he wanted it with Zuli but he was nervous he was different since…before.

Noticing the change in his eyes, Zuli scooted back a little, sitting on his thighs instead. “I’m sorry. If it’s too soon it’s okay. We can get some sleep if you want.”

It was this. This basic kindness, this consideration and awareness that made Spencer’s heart beat faster, made his lungs tighten as he tried to breathe, in her beautifully suffocating aura. He really loved her.

“No, it’s not. It’s not too soon, I want this, I’m just not sure I can give what you need.”

Zuli could see the self-disappointment on his face, and she couldn’t figure out what he meant nor why he was putting so much pressure on himself.

“It’s only me, Spencer. I don’t NEED anything. I just want you. Whatever that is.” She reassured him, the kindness coaxing him out of his self-deprecating shell. He leant back more relaxed again, sliding his hands to the tops of Zuli’s thighs.

“Okay. I’m sor-“

“Hey. Look at me,” Her fingertips traced his jawline and palms rested against his cheeks, tilting his head slightly to look her in the eye, “I’m here okay. Don’t be sorry for being you, or for doing what’s best for you. I love you Spencer. And that’s me talking, not the wine or the damned most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

Spencer could just about break down with overwhelming adulation but instead he palmed at Zuli’s hips, pulling her back to the spot right above his arousal. “I love you so much.”

Leaning down again to press her lips against his, her hands found their way to the nape of his neck, one sliding up into his hair and tugging gently. The small whimper from Spencer’s throat spurred her on, igniting a heat between her own thighs that she tried to douse by wiggling a little.

Of course the friction only made things worse for the both of them, low moans simultaneously escaping into each other’s mouths.

“Promise to tell me to stop if you need to Spence.” Zuli whispered, slowly continuing to grind against him. He nodded and looked up at her, gulping heavily.

“I promise. This is good. Please.” Speaking in broken words and whispers, Spencer jolted against her; his hands gripping her hips tighter when her warmth rubbed softly against the covered head of his cock.

Despite the toasty temperature of the hotel room and the fabric of the pyjamas covering her body, a shiver ran down Zuli’s spine as she felt every detail in the outline of Spencer underneath her; an involuntary contraction of muscles beginning inside her.

“Can I take my pants off Spence?” Zuli asked, her eyes closed with delectation. Opening them slightly to see his response, she bit her lip as she noticed the pleasure on his face.

Spencer was taking in every single feeling each one of his receptors could feel; the heat from her cunt grinding down onto him, the way her thighs kept tightening around his, how her fingernails dug into his chest.

Now the opportunity arose for him to feel her even more intensely and it made his cock throb against the material constraining it. He nodded quickly, fingers fumbling to help her pull them down.

“Do you want me to take yours o-“

“Yes, please yes.”

With Zuli wiggling backwards and after Spencer’s hips were up in the air, both pyjama pants were left discarded on the floor. Quick to resume her position, the closer connection again caused whines to leave their lips.

“I don’t think I can last long Zu, feels too good.” Spencer quietly gasped out, sitting up and bringing his hands up around her spine and to hold her flush against his chest.

Quiet fuck’s left Zuli’s mouth, the vulgarity lost in the passion as she rutted a little quicker against the hardness pressing to her swollen clit.

Reaching up to squeeze at her chest, Spencer left desperate kisses along the slightly exposed collarbone, up along her neck and underneath her jaw. “I’m so close Spence, please.”

He remembered how much it ameliorated her pleasure if he kissed her when she was falling over the edge, his hands instinctively coming up to pull her face down to his.

Messy, wet kisses were shared as they both got dangerously close to letting go; tongues pressing and sliding together, teeth bumping and foreheads touching each other’s.

“Let me feel you let go Spencer, want you to feel good for me.” Zuli breathed out against his lips, hips winding harder and faster.

Spencer moaned into her mouth, eyes clenching shut and fingers scrambling to hold her hips still as he rutted up against her. “I’m gonna come.”

Hearing her love say words she hadn’t heard in a while inundated her body with clarity, mental and physical pleasure and adrenaline. She kissed him hard.

“Can I come with you Spence?” She mumbled against his lips, pushing them harder against his again as he let out a deep “Mmhm”, barely giving him air to breathe from how their noses were scrunched together.

Zuli sucked at his bottom lip before she pulled back and let her body give in. Her jaw began to ache as she clenched her teeth hard, the few seconds of intense numbing taking over.

Spencer watched as her head dropped; still able to see her eyes scrunched up and lip being bitten. Watching her feel like that so fervently, grinding on top of him as if she were some sort of pestle to his mortar.

“God, you look so pretty, fu-“ Spencer’s hips rutted involuntarily into her, grunting out as his own release hit. He brought a hand down to grip at himself, almost over stimulating himself as he intensified the feeling.

Zuli had slowly come down from her peak, letting Spencer writhe against her and grip at whatever part of her he needed. As she felt the warm essence pool out of the fabric of his underwear and slightly onto hers, she kissed his forehead softly.

He needed to feel safety, love, comfort, pleasure at its highest; she felt elated knowing he allowed himself to, even just for a brief moment.

“You did so good Spencer. I’m so proud of you.” Holding his head against her chest, she muttered sweet praises as he trembled a little from the exertion.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me sweetheart, I’m glad you felt good.” Zuli reassured, pulling back to give him a soft kiss.

He was unbelievably tired, this entire day of euphoria, oxytocin and generally being on cloud nine had him exhausted. He also knew he had to be up early to meet the team before the awards ceremony.

It would be their first time meeting Zuli; who Spencer constantly talked about whenever he could. He wanted them to love her even a quarter as much as he did, he knew she would shine as she always did; but that the team would be analysing her immediately.

“Stop thinking so much, my genius. Tomorrow is going to be incredible. Just like it was today.” Zuli’s voice grew quieter as she got up and headed to the bathroom to grab something to clean up with.

As he waited for her, body laid out against the hotel’s cotton sheets; his mind began to drift off with the image of Zuli’s smile at dinner, the thought of her smiling the same way as he turned to watch her walk down the aisle.

So when Zuli walked back into the room and he was smiling in his sleep, she made sure to be extra gentle and quiet as she made him clean and comfortable.

Throwing the cloth into the bathroom sink, she looked at the ring glistening on her finger. He knew her so well; she couldn’t wait to show him the dress that would coincidentally match perfectly to the sapphire he picked.

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

“Calm down man, it looks great. Let me just-“

Spencer swatted Derek’s hands away as he tried to adjust his tie, looking in Derek’s hotel room mirror as he adjusted it himself. He was a little anxious, not necessarily for the awards ceremony; but for the team to meet the love of his life.

She’d be getting ready in their room, telling Spencer she’d meet them all in the lobby. He could only imagine what she’d be doing now; brushing out her coils with the Denman brush (or as she called it - the Easier brush), and scrunching them in her hand.

Every time she wore her hair out, it reminded him of the time she would bounce across the hall towards her tour group, or how he’d see it before he saw her in the corner of the library.

She was so beautiful. He got the cliche butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing her fully dressed up in a little while; but the shivers of suspense at the team crowding around her were more prominent. Why did he feel so protective?

“Reid. We gotta go man.” Derek's voice snapped him out of his worry, looking up to see the man already standing in the open doorway; gesturing him out.

Mumbles of the team came into earshot as both men walked into the lobby. JJ, Emily and Hotch stood not far from the entrance, smart and gussied up. Smiles adorned their faces as they noticed Spencer, but soon dropped as they noticed his expression.

“What’s wrong Spence?” JJ asked sweetly, gently placing a hand on his upper arm. He barely noticed as he couldn’t help but focus on the bizarre gut feeling he had.

“Something feels off. Has Zuli come down yet?” He asked, hopeful that it was just a nervy stomach. Looking around he tried to spot her in the hustle of the lobby but there was no sight.

“No, we thought she’d come down with you. Is everything okay?” Emily replied, looking at Hotch with a worried look in her eyes. Hotch nodded so she knew he understood the worry too.

The loud text tone sprung from Spencer’s phone and he immediately knew it was her, grappling to pull it from his pocket.

The awards have started early. Come see me in the hall.

Where was the signature ‘Z’? How odd. People were still mingling outside in the lobby, they couldn’t have started early. Spencer was confused.

“Hey guys…” He began, looking over at the grand double doors leading to the main hall where the ceremony was being held, “Has anybody gone inside yet?”

More confused glances around the group led Spencer’s heart to begin thumping faster again.

“It doesn’t start for another two hours Spencer, the doors are padlocked.” Hotch said slowly. Spencer looked over at the doors again; noticing the chain secured between each handle.

“I think Zuli is inside somewhere, there must be another door. She said she was i-“ As Spencer started to check out if there was a different entrance, his phone began to ring and vibrate strongly in his hand.

“Zu? Where are you? The doors are still lo-“

“Spencer?”

Something was wrong. The team picked up on his body language immediately as he tensed up. Zuli’s voice sounded forced, wavering and on the edge of crying. Spencer’s eyes widened as he realised she wasn’t alone.

“Did you not get my text? I said come and see me. I’m getting my award.” A deep masculine voice attempted a feminine tone through the speaker, chuckling darkly. Spencer could hear Zuli whimpering in the background and his anxiety turned into animosity.

“Spencer please!” Zuli cried out, and not only could it be heard through the phone but faintly from the padlocked double doors.

The team noticed this too, following quickly as Spencer ran to the doors. Tugging harshly at the chain and lock, he grew frustrated as louder cries could be heard clearer.

“Emily, JJ I want you to go and find another way in. Spencer, back up.” Hotch ordered, gripping Spencer’s arm and dragging him back as Derek prepared to try and kick directly in the middle of both doors.

The colossal echo of the chain splitting as well as the double doors smashing open against the inner walls of the hall made people in the lobby flinch.

Hotch began to shuffle them out towards the doors, nodding his head to Derek as Spencer slowly walked into the hall.

Somehow his body was gliding into the room, flowing across the floor like hot lava; but he felt frozen inside. Zuli sat on a leather dining chair, hands tied in her lap and her head bowed.

She didn’t look conscious, the entire scene in front Spencer utterly dark; though the way her dress caught the light of the chandelier above she glowed.

“Zu? Can you hear me? It’s Spencer.”

No response. If she was gone, he was too. There was no way he could live any more hours without her.

“Reid. The stage.” Derek warned from a few feet behind him. The stage at the end of the hall had lit up, a large screen projecting a photo of Zuli and the title of the award she had won.

JJ and Emily came bursting through a door to Spencer’s left, running straight towards Zuli and untying her hands.

“She’s breathing Spencer. I’ll call an ambulance.” Emily confirmed, holding Zuli’s face in her hands as her body slumped further down, JJ laying Zuli down in her lap.

Spencer knew he had to keep professional, there could be someone still close that was fully intent on hurting them all. A sudden high pitched screech sounded through the multiple speakers around the hall.

The feedback shrilled through each agent's ears, causing them to grimace as it grinded against their eardrums. The echo of somebody tapping a microphone sounded next, drawing their attention back to the stage.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we celebrate the smartest minds in science.” A man who couldn’t be any older than Spencer, stood proudly midstage; aiming a pump shotgun directly in line to where Zuli laid on JJ.

“Sir, put the gun down. Whatever it is you want, we can get it for you.” Derek cautioned, holding his FBI badge out so the perpetrator could see the authority slowing walking towards him.

“Whatever I want?” He spoke, racking the shotgun and hovering his finger over the trigger. Spencer was quick to jump in the way, blocking his view of his target.

“Whatever you want, just not her.”

“You really don’t recognise me do you, Spencer?”

Spencer was confused, his eidetic memory failing him at a time of great importance. The man grew angrier as Spencer didn’t reply.

“2002. Caltech. Not only did you two collaborate and steal my award from me then, but now your perfect little girlfriend steals another one?” The venom is his voice startled Spencer, triggering the memory of the man sitting in the third row at the Caltech awards ceremony.

“Listen, you can have the award. Just put the gun down.” Hotch spoke for Spencer, coming to stand a few metres away from the gun-wielding man and trying to distract him from Derek creeping around the side.

“It’s not just the award. It’s my entire life. I spent years longer than they did working, studying, and dedicating everything I had. And you’re telling me these two.. children? Just come and swipe that away?” He was spluttering, spit lobules leaving his lips as he spoke viciously.

Derek had snuck behind the stage, carefully and quietly climbing the steps at the back, merely ten feet away from him.

“So it was unfair. But we didn’t know we’d get that award. Zuli never does her research in hopes of gaining anything. She just got discovered by the society. She’d never do all this just for an aw-“

Spencer stopped talking as he watched the finger hovering over the trigger slowly begin to pull down.

“Are you saying I did it all for attention? Do you think I care that much?” He barked, bringing the gun up to his eye level and getting ready to fire.

“No please, don’t shoo-'' Spencer begged, the sound of a loud gunshot silencing him immediately. He could’ve gotten whiplash with how quickly he turned to see if the bullet had hit Zuli.

A stentorian thump reverberated around the walls as the armed man slumped to the ground, his gun dropping beside him. Derek stood where he stood before, looking down at him to make sure he was definitely unconscious.

“A carotid protruding from stress mixed with a punch to the vagus nerve completely knocks them out. By the looks of it, he did it to your girlfriend Reid.” Derek informed, jumping down and coming to meet the rest of the group circling the woman laid out in JJ’s lap.

“Brachial stun.” Spencer muttered, falling to his knees and stroking some curls away from Zuli’s face. She looked as if she was peacefully sleeping, but this was the only time he desperately wanted to shake her awake.

Within a few minutes, medics came with a stretcher, carefully lifting Zuli up and getting her comfortable. Just as they strapped her in, her cornflower blue covered eyelids fluttered open.

“Zuli? Love, it’s me. Are you okay?” Spencer panicked, coming to her side and gripping her hand tightly. She lifted her head a little and blinked a few times, eyes struggling to focus as she found who was talking to her.

“Spencer? Oh my god, I knew dinner was too good.” She mumbled, head falling back onto the pillow. Spencer was confused, but realisation hit that she must have a concussion.

“You remember dinner?” He asked, trying to get her to stay conscious for fear of losing her again.

“Duh, I’m gonna be your wi-ife.” Zuli sung lazily, wiggling the hand that didn’t occupy the ring. Spencer giggled a little, taking it in his and kissing the back of it gently.

Walking out next to the stretcher, he looked over his shoulder to give a grateful smile to his teammates; met with similar smiles from everyone.

Emily looked at the team with wide eyes as Spencer and Zuli were out of earshot.

“I’m sorry, wife?” She asked, just as shocked as the others. They all chuckled between themselves; in awe of Spencer’s secret engagement and fiancée, and the events of the past hour.

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

The bumpy journey to the local hospital kept Zuli and Spencer entertained. Although Zuli was concussed and mostly dizzy and disoriented, she was talking non-stop as usual.

“Spencer, I’m telling you that the purple mug pierced my fuzzy sock and that’s why I had to wear this dress out today.” She signalled down at her beautiful, star-embellished dress, giving Spencer a knowing look as if her words made sense and were obvious.

“Okay Zuli. I’m glad you didn’t wear the fuzzy sock because this dress is ethereal on you.” Spencer chuckled, gripping her ringed hand and squeezing it affectionately. He moved forward a little in his seat, pressing a kiss to her forehead and smiling softly as she nuzzled up against his lips.

“You’re gonna be my wife Spencer. You can borrow my dress if you like. But let me wear it to bed first.” Zuli whispered, looking into his eyes completely seriously. Spencer held his best straight face, nodding along with her rambles.

“I can’t wait, Lazuli. Falling in love with you is an adventure, to say the least. Get some rest.” He whispered back, stroking his thumb over her knuckles and eventually, the ring.

Humming to herself, Zuli closed her eyes gently and nestled into the pillows, lucky that the concussion and unconscious episode had erased the past day.

As he watched her fall asleep, Spencer felt his phone buzz against his leg. Pulling up the text he’d received from Emily, a photo of the team holding a black plaque with Zuli’s name engraved upon it. The caption reading:

We picked this up. For your soon-to-be WIFE.