#I’m just formulating some thoughts here

[alexanderlightweight]

This might not be your thing, so feel free to not do anything with it. My thought is that in canon their relationship is very rushed, a lot because so much is happening around them that they don't have time to just sit and be, at least not for long. So I was thinking of what your take was on how that would go for them. I'm not thinking angst, just the quiet realisation that a lot of their relationship happened at the time it did because of outside interference. Like with the love confession, it was always going to happen; we know that, but it happened at that time and place because Alec was genuinely fearful of Magnus having died.

Not sure my formulation makes the most sense, but I can't think of another way to phrase it right now.

no, no. so this is interesting but i talk about this both online and in RL quite a bit. i try to hint to it in my writing too, that things would have been so much different if they'd just had some time and space without worrying about you know, everything.

so this is kind of reflection of your thoughts maybe? I hope it comes across like that and i felt like the best place to put this would be petals vs. (last part i wrote here)

also this is pretty early on in petal vs. there aren't flower crown quite yet. but as most things, in the early days things were been rushed. there is still plants. i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

in his wake, petals fall

“You think I wanted the first time I ever told that that I loved you to be right after dozens of your people and several of mine died, when we still weren’t sure what was going on?”

It’s not the incredulity but the bitterness in Alexander’s voice that surprises Magnus the most.

“Oh? Here I thought shadowhunters found battlefields romantic.” Magnus doesn’t bother trying for coy and looks at his darling with pure curiosity. After all, by now their battlefield dances and passions were widely commented upon. "But truly Alexander I didn't realize you'd thought about it so deeply."

“We both know that wasn’t a battlefield, Magnus and I’m not about to pretend otherwise. That was slaughterhouse turned grave for far too many, but one thing it was not was a battlefield. Just a massacre.”

The distinction is stark and it’s important to Magnus, but he hadn’t realized it was also important to Alexander.

Isn’t that another marvel.

“I still think about it constantly. I told you then, that I loved you and I did and I do. But I told you despite the trauma of destruction of the day because I was afraid of what could happen. Because I didn’t want to risk a world where one of us died and you didn’t know how much I loved you. That you’d become my heart and home, Magnus. I was selfish. Because as much as I wanted to make your heart stutter, I was more afraid that you'd never know.”

Magnus never fails to feel unfairly attacked at moments like these. How in Edom’s name is he expected to keep his composure when Alexander is like this.

“I wanted to romance you Magnus. To tell you I love you with honor and pride, not in desperation.” Alexander’s face twists with wry misery. “After the soulsword I realized how dangerous Valentine could be. I didn’t think it was worth the risk to wait. I needed you to know how I felt. And I wanted every moment, every step every milestone every date I could possibly take with you. I loved you. I knew that much and I knew I’d never love another. And that all there was left to figure out the best ways to love you.”

Magnus felt the same and his heart races to realizes that while he also ached desperately for Alexander, Alexander was unknowingly to Magnus, just as deeply and desperately entwined.

 “How would you have told me, then?”

”Well now I could tell you a thousand different ways how I’d have loved to tell you. Then it would have probably been in the sanctuary of our bed in each others arms. The most romantic and safe place I knew at the time. In the dawn before we fall asleep. So you could dream knowing my heart beat for you. That would have been the safest way. I wouldn’t have wanted to burden you by asking you to portal us somewhere back then. Also while we spent as much time together as we could, it still wasn’t enough. Not in such little time. Because while I knew and loved you, I still didn’t know you. Not like I do now, not like I’m still learning.”

“Must everything you say be as sweet as the vows of our wedding?” Magnus asks, because this is entirely unfair and he’s being attacked emotionally.

“It’s not.” Alexander tells him with a frown, as if puzzled. But then a smirk replaces the frown and Magnus’ heart-rate thunders at the confident and adoring look Alexander is giving him. “But if you’d like I can try to speak like that.”

That’s the exact opposite of what Magnus needs no matter how he’d love it and he pulls Alexander into a kiss so he can wipe the smug look off of his face.

It works like a charm.

Instantly the smugness is replaced by dazed delight before he eagerly presses forward. Toppling Magnus so over so they’re lying on the couch and Alexander laughs breathlessly into the kiss, sighing in contentment from where he’s atop Magnus.

“So pleased with yourself.” Magnus teases as he kisses Alexander jaw and cheek and his darling love grins at him before placing a tenderly kisses the corner of Magnus’ unglamouerd eyes with a sigh of delight.

“I really do love your eyes.” He whispers.  Not like it’s a secret of shame, but a promise of devoted awe. “I’ve never seen or known anyone as beautiful as you Magnus.”

—

Alec has no idea why telling Magnus the truth gets him such incredible reactions, but it delights him none the less. There is nothing better than making Magnus happy just by telling him how much Alec loves him, or how incredibly Magnus is.

Truly Alec wonders every day he learns more of Magnus how much Magnus knows. How talented he is and the way that he effortlessly keeps everything together even when the world or realm itself is falling apart.

He’s not perfect.

Alec doesn’t want perfection.

He wants Magnus and the raw wounds of his past that Alec will love because they are simply a part of Magnus and the anger and the bitterness.  He wants the rage that Magnus is more than entitled to.  At his father, Camille, the world, shadowhunters, and even Alec himself. Alec wants everything of him and he had hoped and now knows that Magnus wants all of him in turn.

Now that they have talked more, Alec has noticed how Magnus is still friendly and sincere but less… endeared to his family. They aren’t invited over unless Alec first extends it and despite numerous hints from Alec’s siblings, Magnus has refused to give them permanent access through the wards anymore.

And Alec loves him for it.

Because now that Magnus knows him better, he understands how Alec’s siblings sometimes treat him.

Even now, married and moved out and away they still try to sometimes treat Magnus and Alec’s home like their personal lounge. And that through their bond of marriage they can ask Magnus for things without true payment.

Not only that but Magnus has taken on the burden of spinning the spoken truth. Every-time he’s asked Magnus smirks lasciviously and lowers his lashes as he flashes his eyes gold and pulls Alec to him. “Because we’ll need privacy.  No one truly puts a limit on a warlocks honeymoon.”

And Alec is spared yet another uncomfortable conversation where he reminds everyone that boundaries exist, feelings are hurt and then the lines are crossed a few weeks later.

Magnus has made the boundary impenetrable and Alec’s home with his husband is a true safe place.  Where he can retreat from all troubles that might chase him down.  Even here in Magnus’ lair, a home so embedded with Magnus’ magic that it practically breathes with him, Alec has a place all to himself.

If they do argue or have a disagreement or simply if Alec is overwhelmed and having trouble communicating or people are over and he wants to leave, there’s a place for him to go.

Magnus insisted on it. Going so far as to ward it so even he’s not even allowed in and while a part of Alec always feels a hollow ache in want when he’s alone, it has served a practical purpose.  One that has Magnus smug for days.  In fact the first time Alec retreated there after picking a fight with Magnus for no reason other than tired frustration and hating how he could tell Magnus was only pretending to be happy.

Instead of leaving the lair, Alec had retreated.  To a room coated with Magnus magic, reminding Alec that even in arguments Magnus loves him.

And Magnus got the relief of knowing that Alec wasn’t running from him, just taking time to himself.

It worked out well for the both of them in the end.

AN:

Alec’s space is a little garden room. Like a garden in the middle of a house. Except it’s magically large and it’s connected to several rooms in the house and only alec can go in it. It’s kind of like a very large glass dome enclosure garden with a day bed and a pond and a little magically maintained library that alec can update and a little magical rotation of snacks etc. This isn’t just to give Alec a safe space in the lair, this is so Alec isn’t leaving. Magnus doesn’t want Alec every retreating somewhere else again.

 It’s actually ends up being a little annoying for Magnus. Because he ends up being so smug and pleased when Alec retreats simply to a place in his lair, in their home, that Magnus often stops being angry way before he’s ready to.

And Alec wants to let magnus be angry when he needs and be angry in turn but if he does need to back off for whatever reason, he can. Mostly now he uses it when guests are over and he’s overwhelmed or ashamed from something or so overstimulated that even explaining to Magnus what’s wrong is too much. Like it’s not just Alec’s crabby corner, it’s also his safe space when overloaded since I hc alec autistic. But also if we’re being honest, everyone needs a place they can retreat to.

Magnus did that so alec could be petty but also so that alec can have privacy if guests are over and he retreats. He can also go there to try and get rid of his anger from work/life so it doesn’t effect their day. Like if magnus is already stressed alec absolutely does not want to add and runs to room to decompress.

Magnus adds it after they marry because why would he want his husband to go somewhere else if needed space? Just create space. A safe space. Problem solved. Alec ended up really appreciating it.

Magnus put the ward magic of the room in a node and tied it with blood magic to alec so while he can maintain it he can’t manipulate it without alec being aware. Because magnus is very sincere in giving alec a truly safe space. (magnus is allowed in with limited permission and if alec’s life is in danger. (like if he’s isolated himself and is cursed)

and yes a lot of what alec considers romance is a bit old timey or unconventional or bloodthirsty and magnus adores all

[lesbianfakir]

While I’m on my horror kick (sorry it’s finals week and I need smth to obsess over) thinking about how I would LOVE to draw horror/macabre themed tutu art. I mean fucking hell if we assume the main characters of the prince and the raven are around mytho’s age, princess tutu is about a bunch of dead kids and the next group of children doomed to relive their fates!! Then you’ve got all the raven stuff + things going weird because of the heart shards. THEN you’ve got the horror of complete loss of autonomy (fakir physically being forced to write Duck’s death, duck being forced to dance). Idk I’m sleepy but there is a horror take on princess tutu out there and I want to see it.

[goosehadfood]

Goose! Your Ichika

(Her design is very fun)

Hehehehehehheheusyhrhsggddhdhhebd fhahshdh skajhdhdhhshdhhdahhdbsbbevshajjshrhb eaughgvdbdhhf oh yeah. Oh yeah I like this a lot heh. Normal about this one. This is quite delightful augh the way you drew her is so cool. The lighting is especially beautiful I am definitely stealing this. Seriously this made my day so much thank you. eeeeek she looks so cool!

[mulloey]

clever girl

mafia!seonghwa & mafia!yunho x undercover detective!reader. feat. mafia!ateez

words: 7.5k

warnings: dark content. extremely dubcon. depictions of gangs, violence, death (not you or ateez& not shown) and prostitution.

smut warnings: heavy dubcon, threesome, hard doms!yunho & seonghwa, exhibitionism, gun play, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, sir kink, pet& degradation names, fear kink, some thigh slaps, mentions of pregnancy and breeding, death threats, humiliation, no aftercare, imprisonment etc

hate is deleted and blocked

-

“Detective.”

Your head darts up, gaze meeting that of your irritated looking boss. He stands above you with folded arms, a displeased expression on his face. “Sir,” you greet him. You struggle to keep your expression blank, a smile pulling at your lips; you know exactly what he’s mad about.

He slams a sheet of paper down on your desk. “Why did you request to do this mission alone?” He asks, wasting no time. “Have you lost your mind?”

You don’t need to ask what mission he’s referring to; though you, much to his annoyance, are known for choosing to go it alone, there’s only one mission on your roster right now that’s dangerous enough to make him this agitated. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your chair. You stretch your arms out above you with a yawn before sitting back up, eyes on him. “I’ve been watching these guys longer than anyone else,” you say. “Before anyone here would even acknowledge they were an actual threat. I know how they work.”

“Yes, we’re all aware of your qualifications,” your boss snaps. “But I wasn’t asking about that. I’m asking why you want to do this alone.”

You nod, a small concession and certainly the most he’d ever expect from you. “It took me a long time to fully understand these men,” you explain. “They’re incredibly volatile and unpredictable, even for a gang.”

“Even more reason to have backup.”

“No,” you disagree, shaking your head. “Even more reason not to send officers to their deaths because they don’t know what they’re dealing with or how to deal with it.”

His mouth opens and closes, formulating a response. He frowns, tapping a heavy black boot against the floor. “You really think that’s what it’d be?” He asks. “You think we’d lose men?”

“I’m certain,” you say. “I can’t emphasise enough how dangerous these guys are if you don’t know the way they work or how to stay on their good side. But I do know those things, sir. I’ve studied them for six years.”

He hums. “And you actually think you can handle it alone?”

You smile, nodding confidently. The thought of finally meeting these strange men in person has you a little queasy, but you know you can get this done. “It’s simple intelligence gathering, sir. I’m happy to have backup stationed a good distance away, but I’m not sacrificing good people for something I can do alone.”

He stares at you for a moment, searching for any signs of uncertainty before he sighs, nodding in defeat. “Very well,” he says. “I can see there’s no convincing you. You can do this alone if you’re absolutely certain that’s the best course, but you will call for help when you need it. The moment you need it. Understood?”

You smile, standing up to shake your still hesitant looking boss’ hand. “Thank you, sir. Understood.”

On the other side of Seoul, in a dark office piled with weapons and supplies, a screen lights up, buzzing with a new message.

4:37pm

unknown number: she’ll be coming soon. alone.

A man stares down at the message, a thin smile on his lips. It’s finally happening. The girl he’s been watching, who’s followed him around corners and stared into his windows for years, will finally stand in front of him, and she’ll be completely alone. He couldn’t have asked for more.

He sighs, twirling a knife around sullied fingers. Come, little dove.

—

Five days later, a taxi drops you off just on the outskirts of what has become their unquestioned territory. It’s an unassuming area, not rich by any means but not outwardly dodgy, either, and to the untrained eye doesn’t seem at all like gang territory. But you know better, of course. You know what happens behind the doors that quickly close as you walk by; you know the terrors behind the eyes of the men who leer at you as you venture further away from safety. You know this place, and you know that as far as anyone who knows anything is concerned, you’re not in Seoul anymore. As much as your boss may claim to, try to believe differently, neither the law nor the police nor anything can help you now. Every step you take now is taken at the mercy of the eight men you’ve come here to meet. The Owners, locals call them. You’ve come to know them as Ateez.

You walk with your head down, trying not to catch any more attention than being a lone woman at this time of night already commands. One hand is stuffed in your jacket pocket, fingering at your gun for reassurance while the other hangs at your side. Beneath your jacket, the black dress you’ve chosen to wear hangs just above the middle of your thigh. You hate the feeling of it, shorter and far less comfortable than the pants, jeans and shirts you’ve become accustomed to as a detective, but it’s all that was available for the very specific tactic you’ve chosen.

From your interviews of Ateez’s associates, or at least the ones who you’d managed to catch before they did, you know that they are extremely and understandably stingy with their information. Their personnel, operations and other intelligence is closely guarded on a completely need-to-know basis. It’s what makes trying to capture the lower-level members of the organisation such a pointless task; the majority of them don’t even know who their bosses are, let alone any useful information about them. In fact, the chances of actually meeting the men themselves are very slim even for people looking to do business with them; from several accounts you’ve ascertained that even trusted partners and allies will work with the organisation for years without ever meeting its leaders. No, the only people who get anywhere near the leaders and, more importantly, the information they possess, are the women who come and go from their penthouse on a quickly rotating basis, and according to your informants, always seem to emerge looking even more terrified than they’d entered.

As such you’d formed your plan; you’d enter as one of their hookers, with the clothes and parts to match, find out as much as you could, bug every inch of the penthouse, and leave with your satisfied clients none the wiser. A simple enough plan, but as your years on the force have taught you, not one that’s likely to go exactly as you expect. You just hope that you come out in one piece. Or that you come out at all.

You pull the jacket further across your chest, holding it tightly against yourself. Mercifully, the inconspicuous, but for you instantly recognisable building belonging to the organisation soon comes into view. By design it doesn’t stand out, except for the fact that it is quite a bit taller than its neighbours, but you know what goes on in there; or at least, you’re about to. You take a deep breath before biting the bullet and quickly stepping inside.

The interior of the building is just as uneventful; relatively clean but stained in places with substances you’d rather not think about. A few men shuffle around silently, looking up briefly when you walk in before quickly averting their gaze when they realise what you’re here for. It’s a well-known rule, apparently, that no one is to even think about a girl the leaders have had, even after they’ve discarded her. And with such a fast employee turnaround, it’s no mystery what they do to people who violate even the smallest of rules. The leaders — particularly the eldest two, you hear — run a tight, disciplined ship, and think nothing of throwing anyone overboard. Except each other, apparently; the one thing that every single one of the informants had vouched for is the tight, indestructible bond of the men at the helm of this operation.

A man approaches you nervously, asking why you’re here and you quietly whisper the name of one of your informants; miraculously you’d managed to turn one of the men Ateez frequently used to procure their companions, and he’d agreed to hand you over to them, essentially guaranteeing your authenticity; basically, he’d promised to vouch for you not being the exact thing you were— a snitch. A cop, at that. The man you speak to nods in understanding and directs you where to go and, thanking him with a smile, you make a note to thank your informant the next time you check in with him.

The further you venture into the building, your heart pounding heavier with each step, the nicer it becomes. When you step into the elevator, far nicer and more richly decorated than the front of the building, it becomes clear that the first part of your mission — breaching the restricted area — has been successful.

You step out on the top floor and the difference is obvious; polished floors and hallways lined with mirrors, paintings and flowers show you this is a part of the building few will ever see. This is the bosses’ world. Ateez’s world.

Breathing shakily, you knock on the doorbell the way you’d been instructed — five times, with a gap between the third and fourth. You hear voices before the door opens seemingly on its own, revealing the lavish interiors of the leaders’ apartments. It’s richly decorated with a dark, oak theme, and there’s not a person in sight.

“Hello?” You call out. Your voice almost seems to echo in the vast emptiness of the penthouse. “I’m here to see the Owners? Binwoo sent me.”

Silence abounds and then, just as you start to worry this has all been a big set-up to take out the only detective who’s gotten remotely close to the group, someone emerges. You recognise him instantly as the leader, Hongjoong. You’ve only seen him in surveillance, and very scarcely; the only time he ever seems to leave this place is when someone pisses him off so badly he decides to deal with them himself, so naturally the majority of your surveillance of him has been of torture and murder and pain. Seeing him in front of you now, not as tall as he looked from afar yet somehow even more imposing, those images of him — the things you’ve seen him do — play on repeat in your head.

When he raises a hand to wave at you, all you can picture is the black leather gloves he wears while he brutalises, covered in blood. Your blood, if this doesn’t go well. There’s a reason, you think, that the employees who don’t know this man’s name and thus resort to nicknames, have settled on The Butcher.

You gulp as you wave back. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your hands shake. “Hello, sir,” you greet. You bow politely, trying not to let on to the fact that you have any knowledge of who this man is or what he’s capable of. “I was sent by Binwoo to entertain you.”

He cocks an eyebrow, staring you up and down. “He did say he had someone for us,” he says. This is the first time you’ve heard his voice clearly, and you have to stop yourself from looking surprised at how… normal he sounds. Like a regular guy in his 20s, really— certainly not the monster you know him to be. In another situation, you think you’d quite like his voice. It’s gentle and welcoming and you could even see yourself getting flustered by it; but instead the voice, the man, everything about this moment, fills you with terror.

“Yes, sir. That was me.” You try your best to sound seductive, or even normal, but you’re not sure if he buys it.

He stares at you for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “Take off your jacket,” he orders. Fear pulsates as you obey; you note that his voice is deeper than before. You hope it’s arousal— or even just curiosity. Anything but what you’re fearing it to be.

You take off your jacket as quickly as possible, hanging it up on the hanger next to the door as he instructs you. You stand in place, hands by your sides like your informant, Binwoo, had told you he teaches his girls to do. Wearing only your dress and heels, you feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

He stares at you for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “I’m Hongjoong,” he smiles. “What should I call you?”

You don’t think about your answer; you’d come up with a name while planning this mission, just as you always do. “Mira.”

He cocks an eyebrow, sceptical, but nods. It’s not uncommon for prostitutes to give a fake name, particularly in circles like this, so your obvious moniker shouldn’t be a problem unless he figures out the real reason you’re using it. You pray he doesn’t.

“Very well, ‘Mira’,” he grins. “I’ll take you to the others. They’re waiting for you.”

You follow him down the hallway; dark, ambiently lit, almost cosy. The sound of your heels on the wooden floor breaks the silence into small seconds, giving you a rhythm to follow and cling to as you walk towards what could very well be your doom.

Reaching the door to the dining room, Hongjoong spares a second to look back at you, offering a thin smile that could almost be reassuring before pushing open the door. The room is bigger than you could have imagined and impossibly lavish; more suited for royalty than a criminal syndicate. Along one side of a long, oak table that stretches much of the length of the room sit seven men, arranged to face you in an intimidating formation.

You recognise them all, each face unnerving you more than the last. It’s true, they’re all stupidly handsome — even more so in real life, you realise — but all you see on their faces are the countless, endless amounts of blood on their hands. You’ve seen some of it yourself, more than enough, but the stories are even worse; men, women, children, anyone who stood in their way, slaughtered like sheep. You could swear you hear the faint ringing of screams in your ear as they look up at you.

“Gentlemen,” Hongjoong says. “This is Mira.”

They greet you with interest, a few of them offering a smile while the others simply stare you down. “Turn,” one of them says — San, you think. You stare unsuredly at Hongjoong and he lifts an eyebrow; a silent order to obey. Slowly you turn around, letting them see your back side before facing them once again. They look pleased.

“She’ll do fine,” another, Wooyoung, says with a grin.

Your gaze catches his and you gulp, unnerved. Wooyoung was the person you were most nervous to encounter; though his demeanour is friendly, enthusiastic even, the stories you’ve heard about him are the worst. He kills, massacres people with ease and he does it with that same grin on his face. It’s more terrifying than the more calculated, stoic members, because while they’ve probably killed and maimed more people than him in the long run, they at least treat it with the seriousness it deserves. Wooyoung ends lives without consideration and treats it all like some kind of game.

“Um…” you start. “What would you like me to do now, sirs?”

“Unless anyone has any requests,” Hongjoong starts. He looks around at the others and when no one speaks up, he continues. “You may put your bag on the table then come back here to present yourselves to us.”

You nod, voicing a quiet ‘yes, sir’ before nervously making your way over to the table. Your grip on your bag is iron and you’re hesitant to let it go; your bugging equipment lies in a secret compartment at the bottom hidden beneath the makeup and toys you’d brought to make yourself more convincing, and to leave it with them feels like giving yourself away. But even if they check your bag, you think, they have no reason to think there’d be any kind of secret compartment. You’re safe. You just need to get this done and then you’re safe.

You walk back to where you were, alone this time — Hongjoong has gone to take his seat next to the oldest member, Seonghwa, and now you’re eight-to-one.

Seonghwa speaks for the first time and his voice is surprisingly sultry. “Take the dress off,” he says calmly. His eyes are narrowed. “I’d like to see what I’m working with.”

With shaking hands you remove the dress, carefully unzipping the expensive (for a detective’s salary, at least) fabric and sliding it down off your body. Clad only in black, lacy lingerie, you feel a deep flush across your face; you’ve never been so exposed in front of a man before; certainly not multiple men and certainly not dangerous, notorious criminals. A whistle sounds across the room, though you’re not sure who it came from, and you blush deeper. You feel the weight of their gazes as eight pairs of eyes hover over every inch of you, inspecting and scrutinising you silently. Seonghwa, the closest to you and with the sternest expression, can’t seem to draw his eyes away from your breasts. You swallow, feeling vulnerable and smaller than you ever have before.

“Turn,” Seonghwa says, voice commanding. “Let me see the back.”

You nod, turning once again, taking your time to give them the opportunity to rake their eyes up and down the back of you; no doubt hovering on your ass, globes cleverly exposed by your lingerie. You hear a few whispered comments and try to keep your composure; you almost feel the touch of their hands on your ass, squeezing and slapping it however they like. You know they want to; you hope they will— it will mean you’ve convinced them enough for them to let their guard down.

“That’s enough,” Seonghwa says. “Turn back.”

Relieved, you turn back to face them. You’ve passed one obstacle, you think. Seonghwa stares at you for a moment, expression unreadable before he curls a long finger, bidding you closer. You take a few steps before he raises his palm, stopping you, and you still yourself. His eyes rake over your torso again before he nods. He stares up at you with dark but interested eyes and a smile breaks onto his face before he speaks.

He says it so casually you almost miss it. “I know what you are.”

His voice is so soft you only just hear him and the words take a moment to hit you. When they do, your reaction is sudden and visceral; you heart drops into your stomach like stone, blood rushing to your head at a dizzying pace and you almost pass out. But you do your best to keep your reactions internal; you know the only way to make them more certain of why you’re actually here is to freak out and panic at the mere suggestion. No. You can play this one off. You’ve trained for this. You just need to de-escalate.

You clear your throat, tapping your foot against the floor. “And what’s that?” You ask, trying to sound sultry; your voice almost breaks on the last word but you catch it in the nick of time. “A whore?”

Seonghwa’s lip quirks. “You know,” he says. “That’s not as far off as you think. But no.”

You almost want to huff at the jibe he’d thrown at you, but you remember your situation, the danger you’re in and choose to stay on his good side.

“What am I, then?”

“We don’t really need to say it, do we?” Hongjoong interjects. There’s no anger in his voice; he sounds somewhere between bored and amused. “We both know already.”

You reach up to your chest, to the chip you’d hidden in your bra in case you needed to call for backup, but a loud laugh stops you.

“Are you calling for backup?” Wooyoung grins, confirming what you already knew — they know exactly why you’re here. They’ve figured you out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, still fighting your case. Your voice starts to falter as you speak, composure beginning to crack. Some small, stupid part of you still seems to think there’s a way out of this, but you know there’s not. They know your secret. And even if they were wrong, if you were innocent, this is their territory and their house— if they say something is so, there’s no arguing.

“You are,” Wooyoung laughs.

“And that backup,” Hongjoong interjects again, “they wouldn’t be the officers we found in vans on the next block, would they?”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, jaw dropping in disbelief. No. The next block? Does no one listen to a fucking thing you say?

“I—”

“I wouldn’t bother calling for them,” Seonghwa says. You hear a few chuckles from the others, clearly enjoying this. “I don’t think I need to explain why.”

No, you think, he doesn’t. You know what they do to spies and traitors — what they’ll do to you. You can only hope they killed your colleagues quickly. If you somehow ever make it out of here, you’re going to do the same to your boss — you told him to station backup far away and this is why.

Starting to panic, you begin to back away but your pathetic attempt only takes you a few steps before Seonghwa barks, “Grab her!”, and the two men nearest descend on you.

Your years of combat training are no match for the strong, probably better-trained men, and within seconds they have you fully restrained. You struggle in their hold and the taller, Mingi, harshly grabs your hair, yanking it back to force you to stare the others straight in the face.

You expect to see anger, even bloodlust when you meet their gaze, but you don’t. Other than Seonghwa, who seems irritated at your attempt to escape, they look… unbothered. It doesn’t make sense, you think. Not with what you were trying to do and especially not with how painfully close you came to doing it. For having almost had their entire network penetrated by one terrified looking woman, they look strangely calm, like they’re entirely unsurprised by this development, and you don’t know why. Unless…?

You hold back a groan as the realisation hits you. “You knew.”

Hongjoong smiles, amused. “We’ve always known, Mira. You think we wouldn’t realise we were being watched?”

You bow your head. You’re still terrified, knowing these men have killed countless people with the blank, unbothered expressions they wear now, but right now the overwhelming, crushing emotion is just… embarrassment. You feel like a rookie again; cocky and confident with your badge and gun until you fuck up for the first time and it all comes crashing down.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

You hear someone snort and look up to see Wooyoung, giggling almost gleefully to himself. “Aren’t you meant to be the smartest on the squad?” He laughs. You hear a few others chuckle too. “Didn’t you tell your boss you ‘knew everything about us’? But you didn’t consider the fact that we might know you?”

He makes a good point, you realise. But while you figured they’d know they were being watched, with your high-tech surveillance equipment and ability to blend into a crowd, it had barely crossed your mind that they might know who was watching them — certainly not that they’d somehow know the exact things you’d said about them. They must have bugged you, you think, or somehow gotten a spy into the department to listen in on your discussions on them. You guess you owe them more credit. And a lot more fear.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say.

“I’m certain you are,” Hongjoong says. “Now you’ve been caught. Are you keen on proving it?”

You look up, confused, hopeful and terrified all in one. You thought you’d be dead by now, shot on sight. And if they intended on killing you slowly, torturing you for information before finally letting you die, you figured they’d have started by now. Or at least made any attempt to move. They could still do it, of course, but they don’t seem in the mood for that. They look… curious.

“P-prove it?” You stutter. “How?”

A few of them smile, mouths curling into thin smiles and you shift uncomfortably. The two oldest share a look before Seonghwa nods and seemingly out of nowhere, Hongjoong pulls a gun, setting it carefully but loudly on the table. He keeps a hand on the trigger and his eyes on you as he speaks. “Firstly,” he says. “Don’t try to run. I’d hate to stick a bullet through your pretty face but if you bolt, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And I know you’ve seen yourself how excellent my aim is.”

You gulp. Hongjoong’s right. Through the lenses of your binoculars you’ve seen him — all of them, in fact — make some almost impossible shots. Certainly more impossible than a woman in heels trying to escape from a locked room. There’s no point trying to run. You’ll leave when — if, you think with a shiver — they allow you to.

You feel yourself deflate, nodding defeatedly. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he smiles. “Mingi, Jongho, let her go.”

The men holding you stare almost petulantly at their leader but he raises an eyebrow and they relent, releasing their grip. “Not a fucking toe out of line, Mira,” Mingi whispers in your ear. He says your ‘name’ like it’s diseased.

Despite being released, your body refuses to move; it stays paralysed in the same position, too terrified to even shiver. A blessing in disguise though, you suppose; Hongjoong looks pleased. “See,” he smiles. “It’s so easy to just be good for us, isn’t it?”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a small, pathetic squeak. A few chuckles sound out across the room and your gaze catches Yunho, who, though appearing calm, in his eyes looks just on the edge of feral. You gulp.

Seonghwa is the first to move; he says your ‘name’ lowly, curling a finger towards you. “Come here,” he orders.

You approach him as slowly as you can excuse, soon enough ending up inches away from him. He looks you up and down, inspecting your body with dark eyes.

”You’re shivering,” he says softly.

You manage to force out a few words. “I’m cold,” you reply. “And…”

“And scared?” He asks. You don’t respond, but you flush pink and he chuckles. “Clever girl,” he says. “You should be scared. I’ve never liked the way you seemed so… fearless about us.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, eyes flashing when you jump in surprise. “So flighty,” he mutters. “Sit on my lap.”

You don’t know if you would resist if you could but that doesn’t matter; your body, seemingly in survival mode, moves of its own accord to straddle him. His hands settle on your waist, just above your ass and he smiles.

“Still shivering,” he chuckles. “Good girl.” He leans in close enough that only you can hear as he whispers; “San’ll be much nicer to you if you stay this terrified.” You gulp, eyes flickering in the direction of the man mentioned; he’s watching you intently, face blank but he’s clearly not one to mess with. He’s so much more intimidating in person.

“Now,” Seonghwa says, and you turn your gaze back to him. “Let’s see what you can do for us, hm? Open your mouth.”

You hesitate briefly, but quickly obey, parting your lips slightly. Seonghwa runs his thumb across your bottom lip before he tugs at it to open your mouth further; before you know it a wad of spit lands on your tongue, and he closes your mouth again. He taps your cheek. “Swallow,” he says.

You pray your boss never finds out about this; straddling your enemy’s lap and swallowing his spit on his command. Then again, you’d be lucky to see your boss again at all. You don’t particularly trust that they’ll spare your life just because you let them fuck you. This feels more like playing with their food.

Seonghwa pushes two fingers into your mouth, ordering you to suck. They push to the back of your throat, making you gag but you keep them inside, sucking them desperately and trying to ignore the way your body screams at you to get them out. “Sucking me so good,” he grins. “You’re gonna look so pretty with our dicks in your mouth.”

You can’t help the moan that slips out; nor the flood of relief that washes over you at the praise. Maybe they will let you live after all.

Seonghwa thrusts his fingers lazily in and out of your mouth, letting you choke and gag on them as your throat slowly adjusts to the intrusion.

“I must say,” he says. There’s curiosity and knowing in his eyes; a knowledge of something you think is secret. It unnerves you even further. “You’ve come around to this remarkably quickly. I really thought you’d put up more of a fight, petal.”

Noises of agreement sound out, the men chuckling to themselves. “Pathetic,” you think you hear Yunho say.

“You know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. You turn in surprise at his voice— sitting in Seonghwa’s grip, those dark eyes burning into you, it’s easy to forget there’s anyone else in the room. Hongjoong smiles amusedly at you before he continues. “It’s almost like she wanted to fail. Like she wanted us to realise what she was because she knew that’d mean we couldn’t let her leave.”

You manage to stop yourself from scoffing— thank God, you think, because the pistol on the table in front of Hongjoong is ever present and you’ve seen him use it on others for a lot less. But come on. That’s ridiculous. You’ve been after them for years, never for a moment with any intention other than locking each and every one of them up for good. You try to protest but Seonghwa clamps his palm over your mouth, shushing you. “You might be right, Joong,” he smiles. “That would explain why she came here so poorly prepared. Like a lamb to slaughter.” He removes his hand from your mouth; his fingers brush over your lips and linger a little longer than you can justify.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Is that it, little lamb?” He asks. “Were you hoping for this?”

You shake your head, determined to refute him but to your horror, part of you starts to wonder if there might be some truth to his words, if you… no. No way. Of course you weren’t hoping for this. Still, your hesitation tells them more than you want them to know. “I…”

“She was,” Seonghwa grins. “Naive little girl.”

You frown, brows furrowing. “I’m not—”

Before you can finish your sentence, a deep voice you recognise as Yunho sounds out, silencing you. “Will you stop fucking talking back,” he snaps, almost shouting. He leans over to where you’re still held firmly in Seonghwa’s grip, eyes dark. “I swear to God,” he whispers.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong replies before you can, tone warning but amused. “Don’t be mean to her. She must be so scared right now, hm?” He turns back to you, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe something else?”

“She’s horny is what she is,” Yunho snorts dryly. “Dripping for us yet still with so much attitude.”

“She can’t resist,” Seonghwa says. “It’s in her bones, isn’t it?” He strokes your face with a gentleness you’d never expect from him; but the knowledge of how easily he could and might still kill you makes it a lot less comforting. “She wants to hate us, knows she should but this feels so right, doesn’t it? So good.”

You whine, shaking your head; you know you’re past the point of resistance now but you can’t bear to fully submit. There’s no coming back from that. Seonghwa sighs, stroking your hair. “As soon as you give in,” he says, “this will get so much easier.”

“I—”

“Hm?” He asks. “What? You can’t?”

You shake your head and he smiles. “You can, Mira,” he says. “You will.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could make this all go away just by blocking it out. You hear them chuckle, then before you know it you’re being lifted up; you open your eyes and see Seonghwa has stood up, still holding you in his arms, before laying you down on the table with your legs hanging over the edge. Your stomach twists as you realise the position you’re in; completely exposed and at their mercy. Ripe for the taking. Your hands are lifted above your head and you look up to see Yunho, holding them together firmly in one hand. Seonghwa’s hands come to rest on your hips again.

“Open your legs.”

You whine, shaking your head squeezing your thighs together. Seonghwa scowls, displeased and wraps a calloused hand around your plush upper thigh. He stares you down, eyes dark as he starts to squeeze. His sharp nails dig into you, piercing the skin ever so slightly under the pressure. You whimper, squirming a little but he doesn’t react.

“Open them.”

Cold metal touches your temple. You don’t need to look to know that Yunho is holding a gun to your head. You swallow thickly, trying to stay calm. At this point, you’re not disobeying on purpose; you’re not stupid enough to think that would work. But in the thick of adrenaline, where your body had once obeyed of its own accord, now… it won’t move.

Seonghwa gives Yunho a pointed look and then the gun leaves your head. Now in the elder’s hand, he puts it down for a moment before, with one hand on each thigh, he spreads your legs open with ease. “There we go,” he hums.

The steel of the pistol is ice cold against the warmth of your inner thighs as he moves it slowly up your legs until it points directly at your pussy. Covered by the thin black fabric of your panties, you nonetheless feel entirely exposed, like he can see right through them.

The end of the gun comes to press up against your panties and you feel the cold steel through the fabric; but where it presses against your clit, pressure slight but noticeable, it’s almost nice. It doesn’t move; Seonghwa keeps his hand still in place, watching with a small smile as you try to conceal your pleasure. He pushes it against you slightly, making you gasp, and gestures to your panties.

“Take those off,” he says. “Quickly, if you want the safety to stay on.”

You scramble to obey, tugging them off and discarding them next to you. With a small smile, Seonghwa picks them up and stuffs them in his pocket. You bite your lip. “Sir,” you whisper.

He hums, cocking an eyebrow before placing the gun back where it was before. This time he presses it more firmly against your clit and you squirm. “Nice and still for me,” he murmurs.

Turning your head, you see the other men gathered around the table. They’re just… watching. No one looks affected, no one’s touching themselves; they’re just watching their friends take you apart with entirely blank, focused expressions. Like it’s a clinical procedure.

Unnerved, you turn back to face Seonghwa just as he slips the gun ever so slightly into your pussy. You gasp, almost crying out but Yunho quickly shoves his fingers into your mouth, silencing you. “Now, now,” he cooes. “We don’t want to make them angry, do we?” His voice is sickly sweet and condescending and the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard. You shake your head, still gagged by his fingers and he chuckles. “Good girl.”

Then the gun is gone as Seonghwa pulls it away— a string of wet, sticky liquid following in its wake. He smiles knowingly and you wish the earth would swallow you up. You’ve creamed on a fucking gun, shoved up your pussy by your worst enemies. You’ll never come back from this.

“My, my,” you hear Hongjoong chuckle. You turn to meet his eyes and he tilts his head, smiling innocently. Seonghwa grabs your face to force your gaze back to him. “Stop looking away,” he says. “I’m the one fucking you.”

The gun clatters down and without warning Seonghwa’s long fingers are penetrating you; two, you think, maybe three. He doesn’t ease you into it (why would he, really?), just quickly stretching you out on his fingers. And then Yunho’s there too, standing next to the elder and watching him work you open with dark eyes.

Soon they swap places, and while Seonghwa’s fingers are certainly large, Yunho’s are something else entirely. His fingers pump in and out of you efficiently; your pleasure clearly isn’t what’s on his mind, but rather, working you open for something bigger. He certainly pays no mind to your reactions; even as you whine and cry his eyes never move from your pussy as you come more and more undone around his fingers. He’s focused, dangerously so.

Once his third finger sits comfortably in your pussy, he pulls them all out, leaving you gaping and empty. You whine at the loss and he chuckles before he picks up his gun again. He runs it up and down your thigh with light, teasing touches.

“Want it in you?” He asks.

You nod, desperate. At this point, you wish you felt shame— you wish you were embarrassed and humiliated to be debasing yourself like this for your targets; but instead you’re just aroused. Completely, overwhelmingly, suffocatingly aroused. “Sir,” you whisper again.

He grins, twirling the gun in his hand. The ease with which he handles it is a stark reminder of where you are, who these men are. It does nothing to lessen your desperation.

“Very well,” he says. “Stay still, Mira. Wouldn’t want the safety coming off accidentally.”

Accidentally. You almost scoff. You’re a detective; you know a thinly veiled threat when you see one. And this is barely veiled. Still, you do as he says without complaint, keeping your legs spread and pussy open for access as he presses it against your entrance. It goes in surprisingly easily; lubricated by your gushing pussy and it’s as humiliating as it is exhilarating. You make a noise of discomfort, biting down on your lip until you taste blood; half of pleasure and half of pain.

The steel is cold and inhuman and the edges push painfully against your walls and it’s degrading and terrifying. Yet at the same time it feels so good to be used and demeaned in this way; to be fucked open not for your pleasure, not even his pleasure, but purely for his own amusement. You know every noise or face of pain you make is making him harder and it’s a rush you’ve never even felt from sex. Fuck. What is wrong with you?

At this point, you don’t even know who’s talking; people and voices blur into one distant, surrounding haze.

“She’s loving this,” someone says.

“Sick bitch,” another spits, then, “we should keep her.”

Then the gun is gone, and you’re suddenly empty, your walls clinging to nothing— briefly. Within a few moments something else nicer, warmer, better is sliding into you; you look up, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze as he pushes into you. He’s large and thick, bordering on this side of too much, but it feels… good. Fuck. You’ve never felt like this in your fucking life; neither, it seems, has he.

“Fuck,” he choked. “Tight little whore. So fucking good.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, lost in a fog of pleasure and clinging to the rhythm of his quickening thrusts. Half of you wants to forget who it is that’s doing this to you, making you feel so good; the other half thinks this is the only dick you want for the rest of your life. But with each thrust of Seonghwa’s dick deep inside you, slamming against your cervix each time, you become less and less able to think of anything at all— except the waves of painful pleasure washing over you, and your desperate desire for it to never, ever stop.

It’s just your luck that, just as you feel yourself approaching your climax, Seonghwa pulls out without warning, leaving you empty and leaking. You’re about to cry out in protest when you find yourself flipped over, pressed down and bent over the wooden table. You feel the two men behind you, kneading your ass, and a sharp slap lands against it before Seonghwa pushes back into your pussy again.

“Hwa,” Yunho says. “I don’t think she’s full enough.”

Seonghwa slows his pace, and you feel his stern, scrutinising gaze on you. “You’re right,” he says. He spreads your ass cheeks, making you gasp, and he chuckles. “Look at that little asshole clenching. I think it wants to be filled.”

Yunho makes a noise of agreement, pressing a finger to your rim and making you jump. “Think she can handle my cock in there?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Yunho says nonchalantly. “But I’d rather not break her completely. She’s too tight, it’d be a waste.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa says, slowly starting to thrust again. After a few moments, he pulls out, and you feel Yunho’s long fingers enter your pussy. You whine, confused, but a slap of Seonghwa’s hand against your thigh silences you. Yunho’s fingers pull away, replaced with Seonghwa’s dick again, before Yunho’s fingers are on your asshole, pushing into the rim with— oh. He’s… he’s using your slick as lube.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters. It takes embarrassingly little time before he manages to fit all three fingers in there and he stills. “You ever been fucked here before?”

“N-no,” you gasp, squirming under the two men’s grips on you.

“Good,” he says. “Hold still.”

The feeling of his cock pushing past your rim makes you scream— it’s fucking maddening; painful and pleasurable and pretty much every adjective you could use to describe anything. You don’t even recognise the sounds you’re making now; you barely sound human, squealing and crying like an animal.

“Yeah,” Yunho grunts. “Bark, bitch.”

You’re fully sobbing now, a broken, dripping mess as two cocks pump in and out of you. Seonghwa’s fingers are digging into your hips, no doubt leaving bruises to match those blooming under the impact of your colliding bodies each time they thrust. Yunho’s hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards; it stretches your neck painfully, but you doubt he cares; the only thing on either of their minds is using you for their own satisfaction. Only the sound of laughter reminds you of the presence of the other six and you crane your neck to look at them.

“Look at her,” Jongho laughs. “Taking it like a fucking whore.”

Emboldened by his comments, Yunho speeds up, thrusts getting quicker and harder by the second. You feel your walls clenching around his cock, squeezing him each time he moves.

Seonghwa’s thrusts are just as fast, hitting you just as deep, but in the more familiar cavern of your pussy, they’re not quite as overwhelming as Yunho’s. You can tell by their tightening grips on you when they’re close, slowly losing their control.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in you,” Yunho growls. “I’m gonna get you pregnant and fucking keep you here. Our little breeding bitch.”

You cry out, half pleasure half pain, and it pushes you over the edge; with a shout he releases inside you, hot load filling you up and leaking out around his dick before he pulls out. Seonghwa follows quickly, unloading in your pussy before pulling out, leaving you fucked out and leaking onto the floor.

“Disgusting bitch,” someone says.

Seonghwa touches your hip almost gently, and you find yourself crumpling to the floor, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Sat in a pathetic heap, you faintly see the men surrounding you.

“You did a good job, Mira,” Hongjoong says, and he almost sounds fond. “A maid will take you to your cell.”

Cell. The word hits you like bricks crashing down; knocking the wind out of your chest and dropping you back into your reality— you tried to beat them. You failed. You’re trapped. You know they see the terror creep back onto your face. You imagine they enjoy it.

Seonghwa pats your head, and for a moment it looks like he wants to kiss you; instead he just smiles, nodding curtly before following his brothers as they walk away. Hongjoong is the last to exit, leaving you alone, still crumpled on your knees and covered in cum on the floor of the hall. Before he closes the door, he turns back to you; his eyes hover over your shivering form and a smile flickers.

“If you can keep this up, Mira,” he says, “we’ll probably let you live.”

The slam of the oak door echoes around the room.

-

thanks for reading! i think this is darkest fic i’ve ever written. i’m trying to start branching out into more plot-heavy fics along with the usual smut, so this is something of an attempt in that area. your feedback is much appreciated and motivates me to write more. reblogs and comments are appreciated. requests open. love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[sugarverse]

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.2k

mentions of: yeah its just sex,, uhhhh ya get together at the end but it’s pretty vanilla and i think this might be one of my fav writings for iida so far ehehehe this story was so fun to make. I plan on making a pt.3 and I’m going to postttt soon idk :P

part one

moodboard here!

You tied a cute bow in the belt of your robe once more, walking over to him and fixing the glasses on his oh so cherry red face. “Tenya..?” You ask, sitting on the side of the table next to him. You glance down at the sketch, seeing how far he had actually gotten. It was pretty impressive for someone who is a beginner when it comes to realism, or art itself really. “Do you want some help?”

His jaw was slack, staring up at you now that you were so much closer. Whatever perfume you had on almost made him faint, and there was nothing he could really formulate besides a very quiet, “Ex..excuse me?”

“I said, Do you want some help..?” You tease, leaning down so your faces were only a few inches from each other. You reach for his tie, slowly sliding your hand down his chest. “I wouldn't want you to fail just because your model was a distraction..” You lean closer, gripping the end of his tie as ruby eyes glancing down at your pretty plump lips.

Did you mean help help him, or draw it yourself? There was no way he was reading into this wrong, right? Did you see his hard-on the whole time?? He gave a long blink, trying to keep his head on straight. “I w..would love-” Before he could finish the sentence, you tug on the tie and press your lips against his. He melted into you, hands placing themselves onto your hips softly almost as if you’d break if he did touch you.

He had yearned for this for so long. There was no way you felt this way all this time and he never picked up on it. The thought only made him deepen the kiss, his hands moving to hold your face in his palms. You let his tie go with a smile, giggling at his eagerness to kiss you back. You place your hands on his shoulder, feeling him stand but refusing to let his lips leave yours. It felt like fireworks were going off around the two of you, only pulling away when you both needed the air.

Tenya was once again standing with crooked glasses, red faced, and this time slightly out of breath. “Y/n I.. Why didn’t.. How did I not..” He panted, after what was only a few seconds, he crashed his lips against yours before you could even respond to his stuttering. You whimpered in response, attempting to untie the tie the best you could with your eyes closed. He helped you, loosening it and letting his hands tangle themselves behind your head and into the kitchen of your hair the best he could. He just wanted you closer. Closer than he already was.

You pull away from him, feverishly leaving kissing along his sharp jawline. He sighed, hands going back to your waist patiently. He rubbed your sides up and down as you kissed down his neck, letting out a breathless whine at the missing feeling of your warm lips against his.

“Why haven't we ever k..kissed before now if this is how you ..f-felt..” He sucked in a sharp gasp once you kissed the right side of his neck. Bingo. You bit down on that spot listening to him groan in your ear, gripping your hips a little harder.

You open your legs slightly so he can stand between them, his body involuntarily pulling you towards the edge as he takes the step towards you. “Because I can't lose you.. I never thought you'd feel the same..” You mumble against his skin, leaving open mouthed kisses down to his collar before unbuttoning it.

You could feel the hard-on poke at your thigh, tauntingly moving to grind against him. After all, the silk of your robe was the only thing keeping him from well.. you. He ached, looking down at you with an almost heartbroken look in his eyes.

“Of course I do, I have wanted you for a very long time.. I know I can treat you better than anyone else out there y/n. It hurts so bad when you'd find someone else more interesting than me. I thought I was too..” He paused for a second, groaning as he grinded against you subconsciously. “A square, if you will.” He chuckled nervously at the admission, feeling you nipping at the most sensitive part of his neck as he let out soft moans and grumbles.

You pull away to look at him, fixing his glasses from earlier with a small giggle. “There's nothing wrong with liking books, or wanting to follow the rules..” Manicured hand began to unbutton his collar and down his shirt.

“And I just never thought you'd go for someone like me. I assumed you'd want a shy girl or somthin’.. I guess we really did make an ass out of u and me.” You tease, giggling once more at your own play on words. You stopped about halfway down his shirt unless this was too much. You didn't wanna be too pushy but God did you want to see those abs.

He let out a small laugh as well, staring down at your gorgeous lips. “I would have told you a lonnnng time ago, y/n. I'm sorry I didn't–” He started, feeling your finger press against his lips to stop him.

“We know now, don't we? Now we move forward.” You wrap your legs around his waist, watching him nod until you move your finger away. “How about I finally help you?” You run a hand down his chest, watching him shudder at the feeling of your acrylics.

He leaned over you, hands moving onto the table rather than on your hips. “If we're going to do anything, I want to do it the right way..” You wanted to pout at his response. He was right, being caught would be absolutely terrible for the both of you. I guess it wouldn't hurt to go back to one of your apartments and finish? Ugh but then the mood is different..

As the gears in your brain worked, Tenya still mindless pressing against you, began kissing you once more. You smile, coconut colored eyes following as he kisses your neck. This time looking for you to gasp or make some sort of noise. His lips smirked against your skin, kissing down to your shoulder and moving the robe off of it. He bit right between your neck and shoulder, causing you to squeal and grip onto his shirt.

Your eyes fluttered, feeling him kiss down to your collarbone. He guided a hand to unbutton the rest of his shirt, the other going back to resting on your waist. He made sure to kiss down the valley of your breasts, not breaking eye contact with you once had he looked up.

“May I?” He motioned to the robe, watching you quickly shrug the silk off of your other shoulder and pulling the tie of your belt. All he needed was to open it up completely. He chuckled at your quickness, letting it pull around your legs once again. He made sure to kiss both of your boobs, finishing with the unbuttoning of his shirt. He used that hand to pinch at your nip, putting the other in his mouth to suck on.

You arch your back into his touch, whimpering as you squeezed your legs around him in response. You could feel him smile, swapping to give your girls equal attention. He felt you buck at such simple actions, kissing down your navel and to where your robe pooled.

“You sound so sweet.. I need to taste you. Wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to go first baby,” You melted at the name, nodding hurriedly. He smiled, going onto his knees and scooping his arms under your knees. He pulled you to the edge, watching you jolt in surprise. You could feel your heart beating in more places than one. The entire time the only thing that had been covering you up was that flimsy piece of silk which he finally moved out of the way, staring down at you for a moment.

This obviously wasn’t the first time he’s been in a sexual situation, but he couldn’t help but freeze for a moment. You were so stunning.. ethereal even. He really didn’t mean to stare, not wanting you to think something was wrong or he was too scared. Just very much in love with the look of you. He finally breaks concentration, looking up at you with a small smile. “You promise this is okay?” He wanted to double check just in case you saw him as he saw himself.. God forbid you did.

“I promise.” You put your pinky out, watching him move his hand from your thigh to interlock his pinky with yours. Without any hesitation, he shoved his glasses up and opened your legs wider. He kissed your clit before starting to suck on it, crimson eyes staring up at you to see what he was doing well vs what you didn’t like as much. Your breathing hitched, hand going to take the glasses and set them on the table so you could grip onto his hair the correct way. You rut your hips towards him, staring down in awe.

He couldn’t help but stare back up at you, strong hands keeping your thighs pressed against his shoulders despite your involuntarily squirming. He swirled his tongue around your bundle of nerves, hands gripping onto your thighs so he could be as close as possible. You tasted so sweet. Damn near sweeter than fruit, only making him want more. Flattening his tongue against you and going back to giving your sensitive spot hell.

You pulled at his navy blue hair, hands gripping onto him as you rode yourself against his tongue. Stuttering out praises through pants and moans, “Ffffuck.. tenya-ah!~” You squeak out, thighs beginning to shake from wanting to close. He slithered a hand from your thigh, teasingly tracing his index finger around your entrance. “Don’t t..tease me!” You leaned forward, hair falling around your shoulders as you looked down at him.

“Please please pl-ngh~!” Your begging was stopped by the feeling of two thick fingers sliding into you as he swirled his tongue around your clit some more. He made sure to curl them, feeling you clench around his fingers drove him insane. Thrusting his fingers into you even faster than his tongue was moving. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the knot in your stomach starting to tighten. You couldn’t keep quiet even if you really wanted to. You were on another planet.

The face you made when you came could only be described as angelic to iida, he watched as you came undone around his lips. You laid your back against the table as he lapped it up. Almost liked someone dying of dehydration. He slowed his fingers down, sliding them out of you to lick his fingers clean. He lightly placed your legs back onto the table. “You taste divine, you know that?” He asked, unbuckling his belt and tossing his wallet on the table.

You blink up at him, panting and giggling. “I know now,” You stared up at him, messy haired and mouth wet as lustful but loving eyes stared down at you. You took a mental picture, biting your lip to hold back your happy giggles. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sliding the belt off and placing it on the chair behind him. “Let me,” You lean forward, unbuttoning his dress pants hurriedly and unzipping them. It ached being hard for so long, but as many times as he’s imagined this to play out, he was always going to make you feel good first.

“I need you, y/n..” He admitted almost in a whisper, reaching for his glasses so he could actually see you. You tug his pants down, letting out a small laugh to yourself at the red checkered underwear he wore before pulling them down as well. You assumed he’d be big, the man is 6 foot and built like a fucking unit.

What you weren’t expecting was for it to spring right in front of your face. There’s no way that can.. Well, Doesn’t matter if it fits or not. No way you’d miss the opportunity. He let out a chuckle, assumingly at your wide eyes.

“You have me,” You smile up at him with half lidded eyes, changing your expression quickly so you werent the one looking like a deer in headlights. You grab his cock with manicured nails, licking the precum from his tip before siding as much as you could into your throat.

His breath hitched, a small groan leaving his lips. “No sweetheart, I mean I need you. As much as.. I’d l..love you to,” He let out a breathless sigh filled with pleasure, head tilting back.

“Keep.. feeling your mouth, I need you. Awfully bad, I might a..add.” He struggled to speak, moans escaping his lips as he felt you take him completely down your throat for a moment. You pulled away with a pop, smiling up at him.

“Whatever you want, sir..” You tease, sitting up and putting your hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them to his neck to cup his face. “Give me a few more kisses, huh mister?” You didn’t even have time to lean up, feeling his lips desperately go back to yours. You tangle your hands in his messy hair once more, feeling him lay you down gently.

He pulled your legs to the edge once more, listening to the squeak you let out as he subconsciously manhandled you. He looks over to the wallet he tossed on the table earlier, opening it to fish for a condom that he always carried around. Not that he ever thought he’d really use it.

“You don’t need one,” You see him quickly look at you as if you were insane, vermillion eyes studying your face. “I’m serious! If worse comes to worse I’ll stop by the pharmacy. I want us both to actually feel it..” You sit up once more, pretty brown eyes staring up at him pleadingly. You place a hand on his arm, which was enough for him to go standing right back in front of you.

“Are you sure, y/n? Absolutely positive?” He asked carefully, cock twitching at the cold air of the room. The snow from the skylight had covered it so much the room was practically black if it weren’t for the very dim but few lights in the room. You nod, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” You smile, laying back down. Big hands gripped your hips as he lined himself up to you, staring down at your sensitive bud for a moment before slowly sliding the tip into you. You whimper, gasping and letting your eyes roll back as he slid what you could take into you. You felt full, eyes trying to focus on the man in front of you.

“Fuck..” He muttered, leaning over you and kissing up from your collarbone to your neck, holding you close as he started to move gently into you. He knew he was big, and he didn’t plan on hurting you. he wanted it to be the best experience you’ve ever had.. despite the uncommon location. You hug him quickly, whining out and pressing your face into his shoulder. It couldn’t get closer than this.. Or so you thought, feeling him slowly start to fuck you open and press against that spot. Tears well in the corners of your eyes, gasping and biting the pain into his shoulder.

He hissed, making sure to go as slow as his mind and body would let him. He needed to see you completely undone, but your comfortability and adjusting to it would come first. “It’s okay sweetheart, ‘m right here. I got you. “ He whispered into your ear, nipping at your lobe with a small smile. You could hear how passionate he was in his voice, letting your legs wrap around him once more.

After a few more slow thrusts into you, you move from his shoulder and whisper back. “F..Fuck me like you mean it, Ten. I can take i..it.” You mewled out, feeling him kiss from your cheek to your lips before slamming into you. You squeaked, having trouble trying to kiss back. You couldn’t quiet down even if you wanted to. Your nails grab at his back, lightly scratching so you didn’t rip his skin open. Shit, fucking you like this you might not be able to stop yourself.

He shuddered at the feeling, pulling away from your lips to leave open mouthed kisses against your neck. You bite your lip hard, you didn’t know what time it was but you knew there were still people in the building. He slid his hands up to your back, letting his hands hold onto your shoulders from underneath you to keep you still while he fucked your brains out.

You were seeing stars, biting and leaving hickeys all over him to muffle yourself. He gritted his teeth, glancing down at you through foggy glasses. “You take it so good, honey.. Need..Need you like this all the time.” He huffed out, letting out another breathless chuckle at your fucked out expression. “Can I have you?”

Broken sobs of pleasure was really all you could give in return, nodding as quick as you could before kissing him once again. He smiled against your lips, letting a hand slide down to your clit. He only thumbed over it a few times before you came, legs squeezing tighter against his torso. He pulled his hand away, moving both of them back to your hips. He was obviously close too, but it felt so good he wasn’t sure he could pull out exactly in time.

“G-Gotta let me pull out, honey..” You shake your head no, burying your face into his skin once again. “Need.. need to feel.. In me– cum in me.” He began to slow down, trying to think through racing thoughts and how good you felt around him. It wasn't much time to make the decision and professionalism was already out the window at this point. “P.. Please- please tenya~?” You cry out, hugging close to him. If that’s what you wanted, he was going to oblige.

He gave a couple more thrusts, cumming into you and holding you close. Once you pulled away enough, he left peppered kisses amongst your neck and jaw.

You smile, sighing out tiredly before giving him a few kisses on his poor red lips. “You are my favorite human being on the planet,” You huff out, trying to continue but your thoughts were a bit scrambled. “I’m yours. For as long as you want me.”

He quickly responded, kissing your cheek in conformation. “Forever. I want you to be mine.. Forever.” He was sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead and still out of breath himself. His face was red, eyes hanging low from both tiredness and wonderment.

You giggle at his response, taking his glasses and cleaning them with the silk of the robe that was under you.

“Forever it is.”

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot! Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

ALSO ALSO special thank you @urfriendlywriter for some of the smut ideas and the vocabulary, it helped better than fighting a thesaurus lol

thank you @thecutestgrotto and @arlerts-angel for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top photo!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[uss-butterscotch]

It’s Tuesday you know what that meanssss

Part three of my Eddie tries to solve whatever mystery the freshmen and steve are hiding (another between seasons 3&4 fic)

Part 1 Part 2

-

Eddie dropped down next to Gareth on the couch in Jeff’s parents’ garage. Usually when they were all out here together, they’d be practicing, since this was where the drum kit was. Today however, they had agreed to meet up after their most recent Hellfire meeting.

“Okay so, are we gonna talk about it?” Gareth asked, gaze locked on Eddie.

“I mean, I’m not even 100% sure what most of it was.” Eddie said.

“How ‘bout you start from the bathroom.” Jeff offered.

So Eddie started explaining finding Harrington in the bathroom, something clearly wrong. How he figured if anyone knew what was going on it might be Henderson, and he was right.

“Yeah, after you guys left, we tried to ask Mike what it was all about and he said Dustin was the only one who really knew any details, he just knew that Harrington had been having issues with headaches and stuff.” Grant supplied.

“One hell of a headache.” Eddie said, shaking his head. “I mean, the guy was on the floor, he could barely form coherent sentences until Mike and Dustin started having it out in the hallway.”

“Yeah, what was that all about?” Gareth pressed.

Eddie shrugged. “To be honest it was kind of hard for me to follow. Every time they said anything I felt like I was missing half of the story.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But what I did hear confirmed something i’ve been suspicious about for a while.”

“What?” Jeff quirked an eyebrow at him.

“They’re hiding something. All three of them and Harrington.” He looked to his friends’ faces to see their reaction. Most of them looked curious.

“Have you noticed, when they talk about certain things, they start to say something, then stop and change what they were going to say?” He asked.

Gareth was nodding. “Yeah, and none of them will give a straight answer on how exactly Henderson got so close with Harrington.”

“And,” Eddie said, just remembering another detail, “Wheeler said something like ‘we would have died in the tunnels without him.’ What fucking tunnels?”

He received a round of shrugs and head shakes in response.

Eddie leaned back in his seat, bringing his fingertips together like he was a villain in some shitty action movie. “Boys, I believe we find ourselves with a puzzle of our own to solve.”

Eddie figured Henderson would be the easiest to crack, with his inability to shut up about things he knew a lot about. Sinclair was far too good at deflecting and brushing things off, and nobody was willing to try to break through Wheeler’s attitude.

After about two weeks of trying to pry any details he could from Dustin, he had an epiphany. It came to him as he drove past Family Video, Harrington’s beemer sitting in the parking lot, and the man himself visible through the window reshelving an armful of tapes.

He could just ask Harrington.

As soon as he had the thought he physically recoiled. What had happened to him in just a few short weeks that a thought like that almost seemed not insane? He couldn’t just talk to the former Basket Ball Team Captain, Keg King, Prom King, Steve Harrington. It was just too weird. And Eddie was comfortable with weird but this was like, against the laws of nature territory.

Then he had a second epiphany. As he sat at the red light, he watched Harrington start walking toward the next aisle over, looking behind himself at something, and clip his shoulder on on the corner of the shelf, sending his neatly stacked movies tumbling to the ground. As the light turned green, he saw the answer to his problem step into view and help Harrington pick up the tapes and he began formulating his plan.

~

In a move worthy of every self respecting John Hughes movie, Eddie positioned himself perfectly and silently behind the open door of Robin Buckley’s locker so that when she slammed it shut, she was met with his mischievous smirk.

She let out a short yelp of surprise, then punched him, not so gently in the shoulder. “What the hell, Munson?”

“Firstly: Ow,” he started, rubbing the spot he could already feel a bruise forming, “Secondly: has Harrington’s penchant for getting into fistfights rubbed off on you so easily, my dear Lady?”

She scoffed. “Ok firstly,” she said mockingly, “keep calling me ‘Lady’ and I’ll do a lot more than punch you in your stupid vest-“

Eddie made a sound of offense at the insult to his beloved battle vest, but Robin kept going.

“And second: Steve’s only gotten into one fist fight on purpose. By your logic, I could say you have a penchant for repeating senior year.”

“Low blow. You know, I’m almost too hurt to even do what I came here to do.” Eddie brought the back of his hand to his forehead, miming fainting.

Robin hummed in faux consideration. “Did it maybe occur to you that was my goal?”

Eddie gasped, overdramatic as always. “Oh, Buckley, don’t tell me the evil King Steve has turned you against your fellow freak!”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Steve is not evil,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “and if I don’t get to work before 3:00, he’s going to pick the movie playing on every tv in the store, and it’s gonna be that stupid star wars movie and if I have to see those alien teddy bears one more time I’m gonna gouge out my eyes with quarters.”

Eddie winced at the mental image that painted and jogged a little to keep up with her brisk pace toward the front doors. Robin pushed through them harshly and continued out into the waning sunshine of early fall.

Without turning back to face him, she asked, “And what’s your deal with Steve anyway, why do you keep bringing him up?”

Eddie, having finally caught up to her, only a little out of breath said, “Let me give you a ride, there’s something I need to pick your brain about.”

This, mercifully, made Robin pause. “If this is about whether or not Steve and I are dating, or sleeping together, or whatever, it’s a big fat ‘no’.”

Eddie shook his head. “Do you really think I’d stoop to the low of common high school gossip?”

Her eyes roamed over him, seemingly trying to sus out his ulterior motives, weighing them against the effort of walking all the way downtown.

Finally, she let out an exasperated groan. “Fine, but if any of your questions piss me off we ride the rest of the way in silence.”

Eddie agreed to her terms and led her across the parking lot to his van. Once they were settled in the front seat, Eddie practically flew out of the parking lot.

“Well, Munson,” Robin said through gritted teeth, knuckles white as she held the handle above the door, “what do you want to know?”

“Ok, most importantly, how do Henderson and Harrington even know each other, outside of, I guess, Dustin being friends with Wheeler and Harrington dating Wheeler’s sister?”

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Aha! So this is about Steve! What’s your deal with him?”

Eddie held up a hand. “It’s not just about Harrington. It’s about how my newest lost sheep are keeping secrets and he seems to be at the center of them.”

Robin crossed her arms and sunk into her chair without responding.

Eddie glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Oh come on, Buckley, you really don’t think it’s weird that the head asshole of the school just suddenly starts hanging out with a bunch of middle school dweebs? One of whom, might I add, is his ex-girlfriend’s little brother?”

“Head asshole, two years ago,” Robin jabbed back, “You’re telling me you didn’t notice when he lost all his friends and only hung out with his ex and the guy she left him for? How Billy terrorized him just as much, if not more, than he and Tommy ever did to anyone else? Sure they were assholes and a general nuisance, but Steve never held someone down and punched them until they blacked out.”

When Eddie couldn’t come up with an answer quick enough, Robin barreled on. “You’re so intent on putting people you don’t like in little boxes so you can step on them like the lunch trays you’re always destroying,” she glared at him, now clearly genuinely angry instead of just playfully annoyed, “you of all people should know that sometimes there’s more to people than what you might assume just by looking at them.”

They were stopped at the same light that Eddie had had his original epiphany at and Robin seemed to deem the car ride over. Before Eddie could even process her words fully, she had slid out of the passenger seat and slammed the door as she marched toward the Family Video parking lot. Even after the light turned green, Eddie found himself watching Robin storm into the store, catching a glimpse of the man in question meeting her at the door and placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. When Harrington looked out the glass door and saw him, still idling in his van, Eddie punched the gas all the way to Jeff’s house.

Part 4

[mariasont]

Sending another thought that I can’t think of a way to elaborate on to your magnificent mind

Aaron Hotchner with his assistant who’s rambling (like every other day) about random stuff and she’s just like “I want kids someday” and Hotch is like “oh yea?” And she’s like “yea! And if I ever have kids I hope they’re just like Jack, he’s such a little angel” blah blah blah and poor Hotch is screaming in his mind like YOU COULD HAVE JACK??? BE HIS STEPMOM????

Sorry I’m absolutely feral for them ily bye

BUSINESS OF MAKING BABIES - A.H

a/n: i took this in a slightlyyyy different direction but ugh same im so feral for these two!!!! thank you for your most amazing request! i <3 you!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: references to baby making!!!!!!

wc: 0.6k

Aaron needed to get work done, but his focus was more trained on the delicate patch of skin that connected your shoulder to your neck, smooth and glowing like you'd just stepped out of the sun. You smelled delectably good, which was sending his neurons into overdrive. You were saying something, formulating and articulating thoughts from that perfect brain and through your also perfect mouth. 

He was concentrated on making sure you knew he was listening, nodding and humming every so often as you continued on your tangent, hands waving dramatically through the air, heels clanking on the floor in his office as you paced the room. His gaze moved to your thighs, only for a second, he was a gentleman after all. 

"And she's just, you know, popping them out left and right, and I'm over here like, Hello? Can I get a turn? I'm not asking for much, just a sweet guy who's willing to, you know, help me out with the whole baby-making thing."

You stopped dead in front of his desk, placing your hands atop the wood as you let out a melodramatic sigh. This caught his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"You want kids?" The words left his mouth before he could filter them. "Isn't that a bit premature at your age?"

"Okay, Grandpa," you giggled, plopping yourself down in the chair before him. "And, of course, I want babies. They'd be the cutest, hopefully just like Jack. He's the sweetest, isn't he?"

Hotch felt his heart plummet to his stomach, jaw clenching and unclenching as he rubbed his thumb along the rough edges of his chin. "Yeah, he's pretty great."

You sighed again, a common occurrence in this conversation, as you stood up and moved around the desk before plopping yourself down on it. Your calve grazed accidentally against his thigh. You absentmindedly adjusted a wrist full of charm bracelets, creating a gentle jingling sound that should've annoyed him, but it did anything but.

"Honestly, though, who even needs a boyfriend these days? I could totally just take the whole donor route for the baby thing. Easy-peasy!"

Hotch's response came after a brief, flustered pause, during which he seemed to search for the right words. Clearing his throat, he managed to look anywhere but at you as he carefully said, "Ah, yes, I suppose you could... do that."

In an effort to regain some semblance of control over the situation, Hotch took a deliberate sip of the somewhat stale coffee sitting on his desk. However, before he could swallow, you bounded off the desk, eyes wide with sudden realization.

"You know what? You would be a great donor."

The coffee in Hotch's mouth nearly made a swift exit as he choked, trying to comprehend what you had just said.

Hotch opened his mouth, attempting to form a coherent response, but before he could broker a single word, you had both hands on his shoulders.

Your eyes were sparkling as you took in his face. "Yeah, like, you have great hair--totally not receding--perfect eyes, great skin..."

Your rapid-fire compliments left him momentarily speechless, a rare flush making its way to his cheeks.

"Well, I--" Hotch began, but your excitement had already taken the reins before he could even navigate through his thoughts.

"I can totally see it; we'd have such cute kids!" you gushed, practically dancing towards the door as if your dreams were almost tangible in the air.

Hotch watched you leave, stuck in his chair, dumbfounded and momentarily lost for words. A bemused smile formed on his lips as he realized he didn't hate the idea at all.

No sooner had the door closed behind you than Morgan appeared, looking thoroughly baffled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking between Hotch and the door you had just exited through.

"Since when are you and Miss Pretty in Pink in the business of making babies together?"

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join my taglist here!

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely :)!

I have a Spencer Reid x Reader req

(I’m new to requesting, and I also completely understand if you don’t want to write this)

Reader has been working at the bau for about less than a year, and hasn’t gone to hang out with anyone outside of work. Eventually one day she gets invited over to Garcia’s house for a team party, and to everyone’s surprise (especially Spencer’s) she dresses completely different outside of work, almost like a hyper manic pixie dream girl straight from the movies. Spencer complements her, and it leads to some budding romance and silly flirting :)

you can make any adjustments you’d like, I really don’t mind.

thank you!

- 🐞

dreamgirl — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hiii 🐞 !! this request is so cute !! i loved writing this <3 also the pictures r just here for the aesthetic not necessarily representing readers outfit :) and i did a bit of research on hyper manic pixie dream girsl and i hope it's what you were thinking of ( i mostly took inspo from jessica day😭 )

Garcia's apartment smelled of vanilla frosting and freshly baked cake.

Spencer carefully poured a bag of chips into a large glass bowl. At the counter, Garcia was decorating a cake, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she attempted to pipe a perfect heart in the center. “Ugh, this won’t work,” she muttered under her breath, squinting at her creation.  Spencer glanced at her before the sound of the doorbell pulled his attention. 

“Can you get that?” Garcia asked, not looking up. “My hands are kind of full—literally, full of frosting and frustration.” 

He placed the half-empty bag of chips down and made his way to the door. As he pulled it open, his mouth fell slightly open, words momentarily escaping him. Standing there, holding a neatly wrapped box of cookies, was you.  You, who always dressed in neutral tones at work. You, who usually blended in with the professional, serious atmosphere of the BAU.  But this was a whole new side of you. 

You were wearing a vibrant, oversized cardigan covered in mismatched patterns, flowers, stars, maybe even a tiny dinosaur if he looked closely enough. Underneath, a pastel pink t-shirt featured a giant, cartoonish strawberry in the center. Your bag, also pink, was slung over your shoulder, covered in pins and keychains that jingled softly as you shifted on your feet. 

“Hi, Spencer!” you greeted cheerfully, eyes bright. “I’m so glad I found the right place.” You let out a small, nervous laugh. “I got lost, like, five times.” 

Spencer was still standing in the doorway, staring at you , trying to process what he was seeing. This was not what he had expected. Before he could formulate a response, a voice piped up behind him. “Boy genius, are you going to let her in, or are we just gonna leave her standing out there ?”  Garcia appeared behind him, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before stopping in her tracks. Her eyes widened as she took you in from head to toe. 

“Oh. My. God,” she gasped dramatically, hands flying to her chest. “This outfit is everything.” 

You laughed, cheeks warming under the attention. “I usually tone it down for work.” 

Garcia shook her head in mock disappointment. “Such a shame. We’ve been robbed of this fabulousness for months. But not tonight! Come in, my little pastel dream!” 

Spencer finally blinked, stepping aside to let you pass, still visibly processing the contrast between your work self and this.  You smiled at him as you walked by, completely unaware of the way he was still watching you, fascinated by this entirely new version of someone he thought he already knew. 

Garcia linked her arm through yours as she led you toward the kitchen. “Okay, we need to discuss this transformation immediately. Where do you shop? How do I get a cardigan like that? And—” she gasped dramatically “—please tell me you brought something sugary in that little box.” 

“I did,” you confirmed, holding up the cookies. 

“I knew I liked you.” 

Spencer lingered near the door for a moment before closing it behind him, a small smile tugging at his lips. Half an hour later, nearly everyone had arrived, the team had been nothing but warm and welcoming. You’d lost count of the number of compliments you’d received, Emily had gushed over your cardigan, JJ had called you “adorable,” and even Derek had thrown in a playful “Look at you, all cute and colorful. Who would’ve thought?”  Even Hotch had cracked the smallest hint of a smile and simply said, “It’s good to see you here.” 

Now, you found yourself drawn to one of Penelope’s many shelves, admiring the collection of trinkets she had displayed. Tiny figurines, colorful glass bottles, and an alarming number of cat-themed items covered nearly every inch.  As you reached out to gently poke a ceramic cat with oversized eyes, someone appeared beside you. 

“It’s so cute,” you murmured, turning slightly when you realized Spencer was standing next to you.  Spencer, who had been staring at you practically all night. Spencer, who had endured teasing remarks from both JJ and Derek about his obvious interest. He cleared his throat, glancing quickly at the figurine as if he hadn’t been watching you the whole time.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a little too fast, trying (and failing) to act casual. A small smile tugged at your lips as you noticed his gaze lingering, not on the cat, but on you. More specifically, on the colorful hair clips securing small sections of your hair. 

“Do you like them?” you asked, amusement dancing in your voice. 

Spencer blinked, caught off guard. “What?” 

“My hair clips,” you clarified, tilting your head slightly. “You keep staring at them.” 

A faint pink dusted his cheeks. “Oh. Yeah—yeah, I do,” he admitted, a small, sheepish smile forming when he realized he’d been caught. 

Your smile widened. “You can borrow them if you want.” That made him huff out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think I could pull them off.” 

You playfully squinted at him, pretending to assess. “I don’t know, Spencer. I think you could totally rock the look.” 

His lips quirked at the teasing tone in your voice, but before he could respond, he blurted out, “I like your outfit.” 

It came out too quickly, like his brain had tried to filter it, but failed at the last second. His eyes shut briefly, as if he was mentally kicking himself for how awkwardly it had slipped out. Your heart skipped slightly at the unexpected compliment. “Yeah?” you prompted, tilting your head. 

He nodded, gaze flickering to yours before quickly shifting to the shelf again. “It’s... really different from how you usually dress at work. But it suits you.” 

“Thanks, Spencer.” You nudged his arm lightly, lowering your voice just enough to make him glance at you again. “I like your outfit, too.” 

His brows raised slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “This?” He glanced down at his usual button-up and cardigan combination. 

You grinned. “Yeah. Classic Reid. Wouldn’t change a thing.” 

He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. But you could tell, from the way his lips curled at the corners, that he liked hearing it. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, you leaned a little closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, if you ever want to borrow the cardigan, I wouldn’t say no. I think you’d look... interesting in pastel dinosaurs.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to my usual look, thanks.” 

“Suit yourself,” you said with a shrug, your grin widening. “But just know, the offer’s always open. You might surprise yourself.” 

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re full of surprises tonight,” he said quietly, his tone warm. “I like it.” 

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice, and you looked down at the ceramic cat again, pretending to examine it more closely. “Well, maybe I’ll have to surprise you more often.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but when you glanced up, he was smiling, a big smile that made your stomach do a little flip. “I’d like that,” he said simply. 

The moment lingered. And then, as if on cue, Garcia’s voice cut through the room. “Reid! Stop hogging my guest and come help me with this cake!” 

Spencer blinked, startled out of the moment, and you laughed softly. “Duty calls,” you said, nudging him again.  He hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer before he nodded. “Yeah. Duty.” 

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your fingers brushing against the ceramic cat one last time.

[inkdrinkerworld]

𝐏𝐑 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐑 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐦'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 '𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬,' 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

You’re anxious as you stand in the elevator of what used to be Avengers Tower. Your kitten heels tap on the linoleum, the hem of your pants brushing your ankles with the action as you take the elevator straight up, holding your laptop, phone and a series of files against your chest. 

You know what you want to tell Bucky. You’d thought about it all night, you want to tell him that this isn’t what you signed up for; this superhero act he’s gone into, you only know the world of politics. Then that thought had you thinking about how good you’d be at helping him with whatever this is going to turn into. 

There’s already been some blow back in the media, so you really are behind already. Bucky can’t risk not keeping you. 

Your resolve is hardening the longer the elevator ride, your back straighter as you formulate your argument in your head. If you’re confident and stern, Bucky can’t say no to you. He needs you. 

That’s what you tell yourself as the doors slide open and you see all six of them sitting in what had to have been a living room. 

“Y/n?” Bucky stands, surprise on his face as he jogs to meet you at the elevator doors. 

“You should really get security here.” You say to him and he smiles despite his worry. 

You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be even remotely asssociated with him anymore; it’s career suicide. That’s what Bucky’s telling himself, what he’s planning on telling you. 

You and Bucky have a weird relationship; you’re his PR manager, but there’s something else underneath that title begging to be let loose. 

You and Bucky hadn’t seen eye to eye in the beginning, butting heads and getting into yelling matches instead of being able to have a simple conversation. It had driven everyone you worked with mad, until one day when you hadn’t been feeling in the mood to argue and had let Bucky drone on and on before he realized you weren’t saying anything back. 

“Y/n?” his voice had gone soft, crouching near your table and trying hard to meet your eye. Sure he liked the back and forth, the arguing; it was like foreplay in the most innocent sense of the word. 

Bucky just liked you, even if he felt like he was wrong for even having those feelings. 

“I really don’t feel like it, today James. We can pick it up tomorrow.” Your voice had sounded wrong, and your coworkers were watching in a weird mix of shock and amusement as he nodded. 

Bucky hadn’t said anything to you after that, but you had noticed that your favourite lunch was on your desk, along with two bottles of juice from that place that sells the fresh pressed juice you like and there had also been a few cookies. 

After that, they’d started keeping a betting pool for what would come first; him lasting a full term as congressman or the two of you getting together. 

“You shouldn’t be here, doll. We don’t know what’s going on and I don’t think there’s any more PR crises you need to save me from.”

You roll your eyes, pointedly looking around. Sometimes, Bucky’s can be such a man. You don’t point out that he’s in the old Avengers tower, but your glance around the place has him flushing a little. 

“I’m serious, doll. There’s no PR management needed.”

You scoff, it’s so like him to get under your skin so quickly. 

“James, look around. This is the PR crisis.” You point to the other people in the room, feeling only slightly bad for it when they look at you in confusion. “You’re not exactly all heroes in the general sense of the word. And you’re using a government owned tower that used to belong to Tony Stark and the Avengers.”

He says nothing, just puts his hands on his hips and you can tell he’s getting his argument ready. 

Bucky doesn’t get time to answer because Alexi pipes up, “But we are new avengers, very different thing.” 

You watch as John Walker rolls his eyes, and you feel a little strange having him agree with you. 

“You know I’m right, James.” 

“Doll,” he sighs and shakes his head, his argument dying on his tongue as he thinks of all the articles that have been published about them since Valentina’s little stunt. His mind runs on Sam and how they’re not talking right now.

Bucky knows you’re insanely capable and you’re terrifying when you want to be, but he’s not sure you could pull them out of this one.

You take his silence as free reign to make your case. 

“You’re going to be in some sort of legal trouble after Valentina’s little stunt. Surely the name is trademarked under either the Stark name or through the government seeing as they own Stark tower now. You can’t just use it, unless you actually become part of the Avengers. I can deal with the legal backlash of it, or try to mitigate the damage.”

You take a breath as he stays silent, blue eyes boring into you with an intensity that makes your skin hot and itchy. 

“James, I’m serious. This is a big deal, especially if Sam doesn’t want you guys to use that name. He is Captain America, and he wouldn’t be wrong. After that whole fiasco with Thaddeus he’s under scrutiny as well, he has to do everything by the book, create an illusion of perfection. Working with you guys might be bad, unless we can shift his opinion of your merry band. You don’t know how to play this,” you pause, “But I do.”

Yelena is the one who pipes up first, “She does have a point. Even you could not get through to your friend.” 

You raise your eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. 

You and Bucky stare at each other for a few minutes, your eyes darting to his metal arm as he uses it to run through his hair. 

“You can help with this. Only this. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

That makes your stomach summersault. 

“Whatever you say Barnes. Where do I set up? We’re only going to look worse if we don’t get ahead of this now.” 

Bucky pinches the bridge of his as you find a seat, his other hand on his hip as he looks up at the ceiling. He’s hoping if there’s anyone up there, they’ll help him with his sassy PR manager who he’s definitely got a little crush on.

[flippinpancakes64]

How would the cullens (separately) react to a really flirtatious reader. Like where reader makes flirtatious jokes and comments about them all the time and how they would react to the reader doing that in front of other people?

The Cullens with a flirty! Reader

Am I back in my Twilight phase? Who knows. Only time will tell.

Happy Valentines Day everyone!

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He can hear them before you speak

And if he could blush, he would

He’s one of the more traditional people, probably the most stuck in his ways out of all of them

All that to say he goes crazy over an ankle showing

Any comments you make about him have him (mentally) blushing and telling you to stop

Now don’t get me wrong, he can dish it out too

But only in private

The moment he hears you formulating a flirty thought in your brain, his hand is covering your mouth

You rarely ever get the jump on him

He might let you speak your mind in private

But you can already forget about saying anything with others around

Alice:

She would beat you to it every single time

She’s the flirty type

Y’all match each other’s freaks

You two have had compliment wars where you guys just go back and forth flirting

She loves it though

Every compliment, every innuendo, makes her fall deeper in love with you

And if you go out of your way to flirt with her in public, she goes feral

She loves being loved and you are more than happy to do that for her

Also you can’t embarrass her

You’re talking about how sexy she looks in that dress in front of a group of classmates?

She doesn’t care

She’ll retort back about how she can’t wait to get you back home later

When they go low I go lower type beat

Jasper:

Bro is a Casanova

Absolute sweet talker

But only in private

The moment you try to flirt with him outside of the confines of your or his rooms, he’s out of his element

Again, if vampires could blush, his face would be bright red

He always gets mildly annoyed when you say insinuating stuff in public

Not actually annoyed but more of like a

“Come on, really? Now? Here?”

The truth is that he loves the attention

Just maybe not outside of the bedroom

Rosalie:

She can def take it and dish it out

If you two are together, she is your ride or die

And she wants everyone to know

She’s not shy about flirting with you in public

And she never says no to you flirting with her

She welcomes it, actually

She loves the idea of fully being someone’s

Of her partner not being afraid to show her off and publicly admit how much they love her

Some would call it vanity

Or ego

But she calls it love

Emmett:

Oh sweet Emmett

He loves it

No ifs ands or buts

He feels like he’s on cloud nine when you flirt with him

And trust me, whatever you’ve got to say, he has much worse

I think he has a dirty mind

Definitely similar to Alice in the if you go low I go lower department

You’re out with friends and you make a flirty comment?

He’s going to go on a whole rant about how much he loves *insert specific body part of yours*

So yeah he basically has no shame

Say what you want

Just be prepared to be outdone

Esme:

I feel like she’s similar to Edward in this department

She loves the flirty compliments in private

But she gets all flustered in public

Cause wdym you’re at the store with her and now you’re talking about melons??

She’s gonna leave you behind to find your own way back

She gets embarrassed in private too

But it’s not as bad as in public

At least in private yall are left to yourselves

(Save for Edward unwillingly eavesdropping)

Definitely the type to smack you playfully

“Babe are you from tennessee? Cause I’m tryin-to-see them titti-“

*Smack* “Not another word.”

Carlisle:

He thinks it’s funny

He doesn’t really take it too seriously

You like his man boobs?

That’s nice sweetie

Very pacifistic about it

Doesn’t care if you’re in public or private

He loves you and your antics either way

The only time I could really see him caring would be if you came to visit him at work

As long as he’s wearing his coat, he needs to be professional

So that’s where he draws the line

Vampire! Bella:

I get mixed feelings about her

I can’t decide if she would love it or absolutely hate it

On the one hand, she would definitely love the silly jokes and all the attention

She has lower self esteem, and being able to know for sure that your partner finds you desirable is a great thing

On the other hand

Whenever you flirt with her in public she feels like she’s gonna die

She knows it doesn’t really matter

She’s a Cullen now

But she’ll be damned if that little anxious voice in the back of her head isn’t still there

[darkmatilda]

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the death of your father brings you back to your hometown, straight into the grip of a long conversation with an old friend, during which you both rediscover who you truly were and how differently you remember certain events.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!reader, childhood friends, flashbacks to times when they were 12-14, an alcoholic father, the father's death, brain tumor, death of both parents and grief, lots of inner rage, reader has actually a whole backstory so you need to immerse yourself, father is referred as "y/s", an open ending

𝐚/𝐧: my keyboard was burning as i wrote this

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9k

Spencer had always found a certain comfort in nights spent aboard the jet.

In the dim light, with its warm, amber glow spilling softly into the shadows, there was a kind of serenity. A quiet that didn’t invite troubling thoughts to creep in but was instead punctuated by the gentle reminders of his team’s presence. The low hum of JJ and Elle’s tired but easy conversation, occasionally broken by soft laughter or the sound of cards hitting the table. The faint whisper of music leaking from Derek’s headphones as he drifted in and out of sleep. The rhythmic rustle of papers as Hotch worked methodically through them.

Usually, in this specific moment, Spencer felt relaxed. The case was behind them, and they were heading home. But that day, an unshakable knot lingered in his stomach.

He tore his gaze away from the chessboard. For a while now, he had simply been staring at it, his mind abandoning any effort to determine the next pawn move. He tried to snap himself back into focus, to analyze the game so far, find the weak spots, formulate a strategy... but he just couldn’t.

Leaning over the table, Gideon shifted back a little, propping himself on his elbow as he studied Spencer carefully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Spencer, after a prolonged moment of silence, shrugged.

“I’m still thinking about your last move. Of course, for obvious reasons, I’m not going to tell you what conclusions I’ve drawn, opponent...”

“No, Reid, I’m asking what’s wrong,” Gideon repeated, nodding slightly in his direction. His voice softened a bit, as if trying to give Spencer space to open up. His eyes held their characteristic mix of curiosity and concern. “With you, kid. You’re acting strange.”

“According to some, I always act strange,” Spencer tried to shrug dismissively, forcing a small joke. He exhaled heavily afterward. 

“But not like this. You’re not hesitating on your move because you don’t know what it should be. You’re hesitating because you’re distracted. You can’t focus, not even on chess,” Gideon stated with certainty. Spencer wanted to shrug again, but he knew repeating the gesture and his disoriented behavior wouldn’t ease the older man’s worry. Instead, he kept staring at the chessboard, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I’m going to ask you one question,” Gideon said, his tone steady yet gentle, “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer it. I just want to see your reaction—the rest I’ll figure out myself.”

Spencer couldn’t hold back a genuine chuckle, brief but sincere.

“Are you profiling me, Gideon?”

“That skill isn’t limited to catching serial killers,” Gideon replied evenly. “So, here’s the question—does the way you’re feeling have anything to do with the death of Lieutenant Y/S?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A resigned sigh escaped instead. He abandoned any attempt to deny it, to change the subject, or even to lie—it was too precise a hit. A blow too accurate to defend against.

“How do you know?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.

“You usually read through entire newspapers as if they were single-page pamphlets in a doctor’s waiting room. Today, you stared at it for a good fifteen minutes. Then you slipped one of the pages into your jacket pocket. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so I couldn’t make out which one exactly. But considering Y/S was from your hometown…you knew him. That much is clear.”

The curse of being surrounded by profilers: they noticed everything.

But eventually, Spencer gave a small nod, conceding the point. Deep down, he supposed he did want to talk about it—with someone he trusted, someone who knew him well enough to piece together his worries from something as small as lingering too long over a newspaper.

“He was my neighbor,” he began cautiously, unsure where to even start unraveling the story. Slowly, he reached up to remove his glasses, pressing the bridge of his nose in thought. “His whole family, actually. His wife and…and their daughter.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows, as if everything suddenly made sense. And, knowing him, it probably did.

“An old friend, then,” he said, his voice carrying a faint note of melancholy. “How’s she handling her father’s death?”

Spencer shook his head.

“We…we’re not in touch anymore.” The words felt strange on his tongue, as if he hadn’t said them out loud in years. And perhaps he hadn’t. No one had asked about her in a long time. The words didn’t fill him with sadness exactly—maybe too much time had passed for that—but there was still that odd sensation in his chest. A warm ache, tinged with something like regret. He pushed through it and met Gideon’s gaze. “But I’ve been thinking about her. Ever since I found out.”

“Understandable. Especially since you were so close,” Gideon replied.

There was a hint in his words, a suggestion that settled into Spencer's mind. He truly knew everything.

“I’ve been wondering if I should reach out to her,” Spencer suddenly blurted out. The idea had come to him earlier, spontaneously, and hadn’t let go since. “Maybe not meet up, but…maybe just call. Garcia could probably find her number…What do you think?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m from a different generation,” Gideon started slowly, taking on a more serious, almost fatherly tone. “But to me, things like offering condolences shouldn’t be done over the phone. Especially when that person means so much to you.”

“She doesn’t—” Spencer began, but the words died in a sigh. He couldn’t say she meant nothing to him. Still, he sensed that Gideon had formed an image of their relationship that wasn’t quite accurate, and he felt the need to clarify things. “Listen, I had feelings for her, that’s true. I’m not…not ashamed to admit it.” Why, then, did his cheeks begin to warm? “But what I feel now has nothing to do with that. Above all, she was my friend. And her father…I spent a lot of time at their place. Actually, it was because of him that I even started thinking about going this route. You know, the FBI. I just feel…I feel like I should do it. Reach out to her, I mean. Say I’m sorry, listen to how she’s doing. For both of them.”

When he finished speaking, he felt a slight out of breath, like he’d just run a mile. Well, okay, maybe it was more like he’d climbed the stairs faster than usual. He stared at Gideon, waiting for the next words. But Gideon’s face remained unreadable, his posture still.

Spencer blinked, a bit desperate.

“What? You got me to say all that, and you’re not even going to give me any feedback?” he asked. 

Gideon watched him for a moment, then a small smile appeared on his lips.

“Spencer, you’ve already figured it out for yourself. There’s nothing I can add.”

He frowned in confusion. He started to think about it and didn’t even notice when they returned to their chess game. Surprisingly, he managed to move a pawn at last; his mind actually felt clearer. His opponent leaned slightly over the table again, unmoved, pushing the queen despite it being a risky move, one that could change everything.

“Did you tell her how you feel about her?” he suddenly asked, as Spencer remained lost in thought.

Spencer winced slightly, not understanding the question. Before the other man could repeat it, Spencer suddenly understood, and a short sigh escaped his lips. Oh.

He mumbled an unclear confirmation. He had to swallow to clear his throat.

“I did,” he admitted. A deeper breath, as if to wash it off. So much time had passed, he should have done it long ago. He looked more confidently at Gideon, his expression showing some finality, something unquestionable. “But she didn’t feel the same. And that’s…completely okay. Can we get back to the game?”

Gideon agreed, of course. But before doing so, he once again scanned his face. He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, but despite that, it was clear.

Clear that he truly cared about him.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time something as simple as sending an email felt like such a challenge. You also couldn't remember the last time you'd written so many versions of a single message, all with the same goal in mind—agreeing to meet up. With someone you hadn't seen in years.

You alternated between typing and holding down the caps lock key, deleting everything. In recent days, you’d been replying to a mountain of messages, not even trying to hide the falseness of it all or force a smile of gratitude when someone insisted on hugging you, offering their deepest condolences. You surrendered to it all like some kind of medical procedure, while feeling the weight of eyes on your face, searching for traces of tears and the despair behind them. Searching for proof that it mattered to you. That you were conforming to their image of no one else but your father. The Lieutenant, repeatedly decorated for his service, who passed away shortly after retiring due to unspecified health reasons (such a nice euphemism for the pulmonary embolism caused by years of alcoholism). A daughter, humbly lowering her head at his funeral, eyes filled with tears, accepting all words of comfort with graceful charm. It perfectly fit the romanticized image of the person your father was.

That bitterness toward the entire situation grew stronger within you with each passing day. At the funeral, you’d been too disoriented to notice it. You felt like an empty field where any thought or conclusion simply withered in its infancy, never able to fully blossom. Too disconnected from reality, too preoccupied with logistics to cry.

But putting aside this self-analysis of your grief (you never bought into the whole five stages theory—though you didn’t deny it might work for some people. You just thought it was too complex a process to be summarized into bullet points), you agreed to meet with Spencer. His message pulled you, however briefly, out of that apathetic void, leaving you genuinely surprised. Only later did it occur to you that this was normal—old friends often reach out after years apart. They comment on vacation photos with flame emojis or laugh-reacts. They send generic birthday wishes. They ask how you're doing when your father dies. Normal stuff.

There had been no falling out between you. Sometimes people are simply separated by distance, by different stages of life, of career, and contact becomes more sporadic until, eventually, it fades. The moment it happens is easy to miss, and you’d missed it entirely. The last time you’d spoken face-to-face was right before you left for a college far from your hometown. Six years ago. By then, Spencer had already accumulated a staggering number of academic accolades, advancing at a pace that matched his brilliance. During your first year apart, you exchanged a few messages—it seemed like the right thing to do. But you’d never been good at maintaining long-distance friendships, and soon enough, his presence was relegated to that most worn-out folder in the archive of your life, simply labeled as childhood.

You had no real reason to turn down the meeting. You were curious about the kind of person Spencer had become. Still, you couldn’t deny, even to yourself, that your primary motivation was to escape spending any more time in that desolate house. A house that bore visible signs of use yet stood conspicuously empty of owners.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t much like you. The house, that is. As though it harbored a grudge against you for deciding to leave, and now, upon your return, it had no intention of welcoming you back.

Any excuse to get away from it was a good one.

Your area didn’t offer many options for meeting places, so you suggested the first one that came to mind—a bar. As you walked inside, your eyes scanned only for a familiar face, paying no attention to the mahogany nooks and crannies of the place you knew all too well.

You exchanged a touchless greeting—two polite smiles, nothing more.

And then, the silence settled in, thick with awkwardness.

"I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral," he said finally. The words tumbled out, and he winced the moment they did, likely realizing that opening the conversation this way was steering it down a less-than-pleasant path. He sighed but pressed on, determined to explain. "I only found out about it, well, through the paper. By the time I knew, it was already too late to even think about it. Plus, work…"

"You’ve changed," you cut him off mid-explanation with a simple observation that seemed to spill out of your mouth unbidden. "Maybe that’s where we should start. It’s good to see you, Spence."

The use of his old nickname seemed to throw him off balance.

"Sorry," you added quickly, breaking into a small laugh. "I forgot how much you hate small talk."

"No, it’s fine," he assured quickly. At the sound of your laugh, he shifted in his seat, almost distracted. Even though you weren’t exactly an expert at reading people, it was clear that something about that moment had triggered a wave of warmth in him, the sharp and tender grip of nostalgia. You could almost see the memories flickering across his mind—the two of you racing your bikes to the library, abandoning them haphazardly near the entrance, and bursting through the doors with a triumphant shout of first! Or maybe one of the countless other small moments, fragments of your shared past that sometimes surfaced in your own mind like snippets of a forgotten commercial.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of the haze, a faint smile curving his lips. "I mean, I’ve come to realize small talk isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes it’s just…part of connecting with people. It doesn’t have to feel like this desperate attempt to keep a conversation from flatlining."

You ordered a beer—not because you wanted to drink it, but to have something to fidget with. Still, at his words, you raised it to your lips in an overly dramatic gesture.

"Wow. Words like that coming from Spencer Reid. Who would’ve thought?”

He spread his arms as if wanting to join in on your question. The initial awkwardness between you both seemed to be fading, and it felt like you were both becoming more relaxed.

"You said it yourself, I’ve changed," he reminded you, then raised an eyebrow. "Well, I just don’t know if you meant for the better or for the worse."

You adjusted your posture, like some professional judge preparing to deliver their verdict. The chance to scrutinize him had presented itself, and you were ready to take it.

You'd known each other since you and your family had moved to the house on the outskirts. You weren't exactly a little kid by then, but in hindsight, you weren’t sure you even had memories before that event. If you did, they were insignificant. Anyway, you had always been fascinated by how friendships were formed when you were kids. As an adult, it’s incredibly difficult and usually based on shared interests. You meet at work, a manga club, or a Pilates class. You have to have something to talk about. It’s best when your sense of humor aligns, or at least doesn’t offend each other. Shared views are nice, though some people claim to enjoy a bit of difference for expanding their horizons. But it’s always just a bit.

Well, that’s how it was with you two. You were the little, mischievous adventurer, and he was the know-it-all shadow behind your back. Somehow, he always agreed to your silly ideas, the ones that later got you both into trouble. But despite the differences, every summer morning one of you would show up at the other’s door. It’s hard to compare him to his childhood version when the last time you saw each other, you were both eighteen. But even compared to that, the man sitting in front of you was different. Still young, but with more mature features. His hair was neatly styled, instead of the shapeless mess of long strands. He wore a side parting now. His dressing style, once a bit granddad-ish, was still polished, but it now had the feel of someone who might, at any moment, be heading to the garden to transplant a fern.

That much hadn't changed, you thought, noting his navy cardigan and the collar of his shirt peeking out with a tie. You glanced at his shoes—no Converse or any kind of sneakers, but proper dress shoes.

Then, the last thing—his eyes. The most striking feature of his face, drawing attention like two slightly melted pieces of chocolate. They were penetrating, yet once upon a time, they allowed you to peer into his inner world and his feelings. At least, that’s how it was back then. Now, there was more calculation and seriousness in them. Only after a moment did you realize that the coolness in his gaze was likely a result of the years spent working around the horrors of violent crimes.

You cleared your throat, realizing that your staring had gone on longer than necessary.

"I don't think I can really judge," you finally said, trying to stay diplomatic. "But I'm glad you didn’t give in to the contact lens trend. You've always looked good in glasses."

Spencer gave you a doubtful look.

"When I started wearing them as a kid, you laughed and said it sealed my nerdy reputation," he pointed out.

"I don't remember that," you replied innocently.

"I do. And I think that's enough evidence," he snorted. "I have to admit, though, I did give contacts a try for a while. Just out of curiosity, to see if they were more comfortable and how I'd look in them."

You pointed a finger at him.

"Poser."

He rolled his eyes, amused. This word in combination with someone like him was so absurd that he wouldn’t have been offended even if you’d said it with the utmost seriousness.

"Classic me," he sighed. His gaze had been drifting toward you for a while now, darting away whenever you caught him. Eventually, though, it settled fully on you. "You've changed a lot too. Which, I guess, is obvious considering how much time has passed. Still, it surprises me more than it should. You’ve finished school by now, right?"

"Right. Though I feel like I should be asking you which degree you’re on now."

That sent the two of you down the path of catching up—old-fashioned life updates that somehow didn’t feel tedious or like either of you wanted to change the subject. It turns out, when you’re interested in someone enough, even hearing about their Thursday trips to the farmer’s market for fresh eggplants to make some fancy casserole can feel fascinating.

With genuine curiosity, you caught up on everything that had happened over the years, growing more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Question, answer, sarcastic jab, playful comment. Anecdote, opinion. Gratitude that you’d chosen to come out for this meeting instead of barricading yourself at home, surrounded by the thoughts you still hadn’t confronted and the walls steeped in the lingering presence of your father. A desire to capture your shared laughter, to trap it in time. A tightening in your stomach—though maybe that was just you.

Nostalgia was a dangerous pursuit. It stretched like a rubber band, reaching deeper and deeper into the past, plucking out the good parts. But at some point, it always had the potential to snap back, hitting you square in the face.

“You know,” Spencer started suddenly, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. “I really hate that it took something like this for us to meet again. And that it’s been so long.”

You shrugged, letting out a soft sigh.

“Well, it’s not like you made much of an effort to stay in touch.”

The words landed like a pebble dropped into still water, rippling outward. Both of you stiffened in your seats, and you both noticed it. A part of you regretted saying it, but another part—heart pounding in an inner applause—did not.

Even though you hadn’t delivered it with sharpness or cutting sarcasm, you could see from the way his expression tightened that the atmosphere around you had shifted.

“You didn’t, either,” he pointed out. His tone was calm, almost detached, but above all, honest.

You shifted in your seat, trying to shake off the weight of your own hypocrisy. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other in silence.

Spencer opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost a whisper, carrying an undertone of apology.

“I just want you to know…it’s not like I stopped thinking about you. It wasn’t the news about your dad that reminded me you exist.”

"Spencer, please… don’t lie," you blurted out almost involuntarily. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly for a moment, your temples tensing. Of course, you couldn’t just enjoy a pleasant evening—you had to let your inner frustration spill out. You wouldn’t be yourself otherwise. Biting the inside of your cheek, you pressed on despite that or the expression on his face.

"I mean, I know that’s exactly how it was, because it was the same for me. You crossed my mind a few times, sure, but let’s not kid ourselves. If we had really meant that much to each other, we’d have met up long, long before now."

He shook his head as he listened to your words, simultaneously rejecting them and admitting their truth, as his tense jaw suggested.

"I went to see your parents," he confessed suddenly, hesitating as he wet his bottom lip with his tongue, a faint, somber smile touching his face. "It was actually the only time I came back here, after my mom… after I placed her in a sanitarium. I was hoping to run into you, but your dad said you hardly ever came home."

"Was he sober when you talked to him?"

"It was lunchtime."

You couldn’t hold back and let out a short laugh.

"Oh, boy, you missed a lot."

His eyes softened yet stiffened at the same time in a paradoxical way. You saw how he straightened slightly in his seat, as the saliva that had long been gathering in your mouth threatened to spill. You weren’t sure what you hoped to achieve by bringing up your father. Maybe you were trying to make some twisted, clumsy argument, or perhaps, after everything that had revolved around him in the past few days, your mind instantly turned to his figure every time you were too exhausted to pull up anything else. It was easy. Silence, awkwardness, pain. The memory of your father, the immediate understanding directed toward you. Almost pity, but dressed up in a more pleasant package.

"Do you have any idea what was going on with him in the last few years?" you asked, empty.

 "He had a problem? You know, with drinking?"

You tried not to snort in contempt at the question.

"He’s always had a problem," you stated, your hands tightening slightly on your chest under the table. You'd never spoken to anyone about this aloud. Any grievances you had with him were always kept in your head, knowing you wouldn’t find understanding from people who hadn’t lived with your father every day. Who knew him as a cop with an iron fist, but with a big heart for suffering, innocent people. "Well, I don’t know if you remember. Beer as an inseparable part of the day. Or maybe more of the evening. But he had a stressful job, right? It’s normal to have a drink or two in front of the TV, isn’t it?"

Spencer’s lips pressed together tightly.

“He saw a lot of crap every day, so of course, he’d take it out by yelling at his wife,” you continued, not stopping the bitterness building up inside you. It had been there for so long, but never formed into one angry thought. It surfaced every time someone spoke of him in glowing terms, patting you on the shoulder and pitying your loss with a tear in their eye. “Or at his daughter. He had to control everything, right? After all, he worked hard. He deserved to come home to a perfect family, in a perfect house, with no complaints.”

You stopped, closely watching his reaction. Maybe you'd said too much, unloaded too much all at once, putting too much pressure on him.

“I remember when we were thirteen,” he suddenly spoke, in a strangely detached tone. It was as if he was talking about something that had unexpectedly lodged itself in his mind and couldn't wait. “And he let us try beer.”

Well, that wasn't the response you'd expected. But really, what did you expect? You'd told yourself countless times that someone's sympathy wouldn't change anything about your situation. But still, you felt a sting, as if he was changing the subject and brushing off your words.

“He let you try the beer,” you corrected him automatically. Yet, despite your grim mood, the corner of your mouth quivered involuntarily. “But you gave it to me because you didn’t like it.”

The memory flooded you, bringing a wave of others with it.

Another summer evening filled with shouting.

You waited until the two arguing figures disappeared into the kitchen walls before quietly slipping through the terrace doors. You’d started doing this a while ago. Your father had always been strict, making sure your mother sent you to bed at the designated time—unchanged since you were seven. And that year, you were twelve. Anyway, one evening, you lay trembling under your blanket. Even the smallest argument seemed like a horror story in a child’s eyes. You saw the light on at your neighbor’s house—Spencer’s and his mom’s. Knowing that after drinking, your father’s vigilance and control weakened, you decided to take the risk.

You managed to sneak out unnoticed once, then again. Soon, it became normal. You’d return about an hour later when the situation calmed down, and his drunken anger had finally shifted to drunken sleepiness, and he wouldn’t notice your return. You never asked about it directly, but your mom probably knew.

“Can we watch something normal, just this one time?” you whimpered at the sight of another nature documentary on the TV in the Reid’s living room.

Spencer, lying on his stomach on the carpet, jumped slightly, startled when you slipped in through the glass terrace doors. However, he was starting to get used to your evening visits and quickly shook off the shock.

“There’s nothing more normal on earth than the processes that happen on its surface,” he said, turning his gaze back to the TV.

You raised your finger, sticking out your front teeth.

“There’s nothing more normal on earth than the processes that happen on its surface,” you repeated, mimicking his pretentious tone in an exaggerated way.

“Go away.”

“Then give me the remote.”

You chased each other around the living room, trying to wrest the remote from each other’s hands. Your squeals, arguments, and laughter never seemed to disturb Spencer’s mom, which always puzzled you. She didn’t even come out when you accidentally knocked over the bookshelf, sending several shelves of books crashing to the floor, which you both scrambled to pick up in a panic.

You often wondered that every day, Spencer watched those science programs, alone in the living room, with the terrace doors open. The darker thought would occasionally cross your mind: What if, just that one time, someone else had barged in? What would have to happen to pull Diane Reid out of one of those strange states she sometimes slipped into, when nothing around her mattered, not even her own son? But, as you said, those were very rare thoughts. After all, you were just a kid.

“Why can’t you watch TV at your place?” Spencer asked, pouting his lips.

He lost the fight for the remote, and you were now watching cartoons. His eyes absorbed them with interest, even though he denied it.

“Evenings, the TV belongs to my dad.”

“Couldn’t you ask him to let you watch something sometimes?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because no.”

“That’s not an answer!”

But even though he pretended to be unhappy, the terrace doors remained open every evening.

You confessed to Spencer that your father had always been like that. He pretended to be fine, then would crack, and afterward deny everything. You saw hesitation on his face as he listened, especially when you described how things were during your childhood. Spencer Reid liked to be right, and he absolutely trusted his own judgment. He hadn’t been a direct witness to those events, unlike you. Your father had always adored him—the small, smart neighbor kid who skipped grades and always asked so many questions about his work in the police. Of course, he had always been the best version of himself around Spencer. You also suspected that he probably always wished for a son.

His assessment, therefore, might not have been objective. He hadn’t seen what went on behind closed doors. For a moment, fear crept up on you. Did he even believe your words? Or did he think you were just fabricating a tragic story to explain a real problem that, in reality, hadn’t started until after you moved out?

Spencer just gave a barely noticeable nod, his forehead tense.

"You spent so much time at our house," he said quietly, uncertainly. "Why...why didn’t you ever tell me what was really going on? Back then and later on?"

You shrugged. Inside, you could have easily mocked your father’s addiction, but in reality, you were still deeply ashamed of it. Like any family of an alcoholic, hiding his bottles, lying that he was sick when unexpected guests came over, never calling the problem by its name.

"I don’t know. You liked him so much." A moment of silence, swallowing hard. "And he liked you."

"I respected him. Like I think everyone did."

One of Spencer's most painful yet beautiful childhood memories was that one specific moment during the holidays. He always spent them only with his mom, who wasn’t always feeling the best, but that one moment stayed with him as something special. When they stepped out onto the terrace, where they had the perfect view of the terrace of the neighboring house. The family that lived there—mom, dad, and their daughter—would also lean out, and they would all sincerely wish each other a Merry Christmas.

Their house was always decorated with colorful lights and those slightly eerie garden gnomes in the night light. They stood on their doorstep, the three of them. Neatly dressed, their daughter in a red dress with a large bow in her hair, clinging to her mother's side. They always seemed so happy, so perfect to him. A strange feeling would arise in his chest, and he’d move closer to his mother’s side, but that only intensified the sensation of something missing inside him.

"You looked up to him."

"Because I was a kid. Look, just because he had an impact on me, on my future…it doesn’t mean I’m diminishing what you or your mom went through," he finally explained, his voice tinged with a slight crack. His gaze was both confused and sad, still processing everything he’d just heard. "It’s really awful, and no one should go through that. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to? Anyway…I’m sorry for being so clueless."

"You weren’t clueless," you assured him, a weak smile forming on your lips. His words echoed in your mind. “You were just a kid. And I didn’t bring this up to make you feel bad. I’m sorry if that’s how it came across. I just...I wanted at least one person, besides me, to have the full picture”

He nodded, but not in the mindless way that merely signals someone is paying attention. This was different—a deep, understanding gesture, replacing the words that had been growing more difficult to say. You both sat there in silence for a moment, your fingers mechanically tapping out a slow rhythm on the dark wood of the table, while his rested motionless on his knees. It was hard to return to that relaxed, pleasant conversation you’d started with.

“I’m glad we could meet,” you said simply, but honestly.

Usually, saying something like that signals the speaker is preparing to leave. You had already spent a lot of time in the small bar, and with the evening progressing, the crowd hadn’t really changed—only a few more people had trickled in. The thought of going home wasn’t so bad anymore, but still, you hesitated before getting up and grabbing the coat hanging on the back of his chair.

“I am too,” Spencer admitted, briefly rubbing his forehead above his glasses. “But before you go, please, tell me—how’s your mom handling it? Maybe you should give her my regards. I hope she’s...”

He stopped mid-sentence, reading the expression on your face, and immediately understood.

"When...when?"

There was something unbearably unsettling about the plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room. At the same time, you could feel your legs completely numb from sitting in them, yet you also felt you didn’t have the strength to get up. You were effectively stuck, like a prisoner awaiting their sentence. In some ways, that’s exactly what it was.

When you were fourteen, your mom started acting strangely. She got sick—started with mild symptoms like headaches and nausea. Then, she lost consciousness at work, and that’s when they found the brain tumor.

When people hear such news about their loved ones, they often completely change their lives. They pull themselves together to be a support for them, they face the painful reality, and they find the strength to fight their own demons, like quitting alcohol. But your father, he took an entirely different route. It seemed like he was sinking deeper into it. No one really reacted. After all, he was a man facing tragedy; surely, it was okay for him to have one too many drinks. Previously strict with his parenting, he no longer seemed to care much about you.

This threw you into a state of confusion. At that moment, more than ever, you needed an adult, a parent, even if they were the most controlling person in the world. Actually, rules might have even helped keep your family in check, maintaining the appearance of normality.

For the first time, you felt the urge to confide in someone, but you had no one. Spencer had started college, which still seemed absurd to you, considering you were the same age. Your contact with him had dwindled, just when you started thinking of him as a true friend—not the ironic, childish kind. You met from time to time, of course, but it was always hard to open up, especially about what was happening at home. Maybe, if he’d been around, he’d have noticed your dad’s decline. But he wasn’t, and it felt silly to even entertain alternative theories, as if they could change the past.

Your knees shook involuntarily, your fingers almost breaking through them. In the room next door, they were performing the surgery to remove the tumor, which was located in a difficult spot, as the doctor, with a gentle yet experienced face, explained to you in a tone that almost sounded apologetic—as though it was his fault. Your dad had been there with you earlier, but you had no idea where he went with the passing of time. Did you even want to know? No. You wanted to be with your other parent—your mom. You didn’t want to leave that room for a second; you wanted to be the first to hear any news, whatever it might be.

The empty chair beside you was suddenly occupied by someone. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, staring at your shoes, trying not to suffocate on your own breath. You didn’t notice who it was.

"Two years ago," you informed him. After those words, there was always silence—people calculating in their heads whether two years was enough time for you to have pulled yourself together, or if they should treat you like a fragile porcelain figurine at risk of cracking. You always helped them, softening the tension that followed with something disarming. "But don’t worry. We weren’t really in touch by then, so you don’t have to feel bad about not knowing."

Okay, that was one of the stranger things you could have said. Spencer must have thought the same; his mouth literally fell open in disbelief.

"Of course I feel bad," he managed, his voice a mix of a sigh and an incredulous scoff, shaken yet laced with growing pain. He quickly shook his head, as if trying to snap himself out of it. "Of course I feel bad. I—I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn’t. She’s your mom."

Someone’s hand awkwardly reached out to take yours.

You glanced to the side, realizing with disbelief that the person who had sat down next to you was Spencer.

The boy who would get goosebumps at the mere thought of germs. Who openly mocked the idea of drinking from the same bottle, sometimes blurting out that kissing was safer than shaking hands—only to blush furiously when he realized how that sounded.

And yet, he did it. Hesitant, of course, but he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to disguise the trembling. You barely noticed it. Your hand was shaking too.

Modern-day Spencer rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward. The return of your mother’s tumor had been a blow, and her passing, another. Time, however, had marched on, and you had learned to move through life with that weight. Thoughts of her hadn’t brought tears to your eyes in quite some time. But at the sight of his reaction, the familiar sting returned.

To him, she hadn’t just been your mom. She was the woman in whose house he had spent a significant part of his childhood. The one who always stopped herself at the last moment from enthusiastically hugging him on his birthday, remembering his aversion to touch. The one who listened to him with fascination, praising his brilliance while gently, softly asking how his own mother was doing. The one who loved to sit wrapped in a blanket on the porch with a book, watching as the two of you played a self-invented version of chess that involved running laps around the yard before each move.

You leaned back from him, blinking rapidly to dispel the swell of emotion.

Your mom was to stay in the hospital for a while longer. Night had fallen, and though you couldn't remain until morning, your dad was still nowhere to be found. Instead of fruitlessly searching for him, you and Spencer decided to walk home. The empty streets of the suburbs seemed to meditate in the stillness between you, adjusting to the rhythm of your silence.

Your feet, however, led you both to the playground—a place you hadn't visited in years, having convinced yourselves that you were too old for such things. Even though it was summer, a strange chill settled over your shoulders as you sat in silence on the two solitary swings. Each motion forward felt like it brought you closer to the stars.

It wasn’t that night, specifically, but sometime shortly after, you began to realize that you were starting to feel something more. Lightly, in that innocent, teenage way, you found yourself falling for your best friend. At first, you would have rather died than admit it, but the feeling lingered.

Over the next four years, you saw each other regularly but rarely due to his studies. But you awaited each of these meetings with the greatest impatience, while simultaneously becoming more and more terrified of your own feelings.

"I'm so very sorry I wasn't here then," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. You wanted to shake your head in understanding, to reassure him, but he cut you off. "Not even just at the funeral itself. Just...with you."

"Stop," you pleaded weakly. "You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. I probably missed a lot of things that happened in your life along the way too." You swallowed to wet your dry throat. The words came out with difficulty, your voice trembling slightly. "At some point, we stopped talking to each other—not the first childhood friends to drift apart and definitely not the last. It just.. happens."

"That doesn’t mean it was right," he replied without hesitation, tilting his head, clearly convinced of the truth in his statement. You weren’t so sure, given your hidden feelings, ones you had no intention of revisiting. Not then, not in that moment, not in that bar. During a meeting that was about to end.

"I’ve known you forever. Well, okay, not literally, but I’ve known you since my brain was forming the most—frontal lobes developing and…what I mean is, you’re really important to me. And I wasn’t there for you when both your parents…"

You let the completion of that sentence fade into the space around you. In the bar, which seemed to exist only in the space you occupied. Breathing more heavily, you recalled all the moments over the past six years when you missed him, wondering what he was up to and how he was doing. Which usually went hand in hand. Sometimes he would cross your mind when you saw kids playing chess in the park, other times you simply thought of him, unable to attribute the guilt to any particular association.

"You’re here now," you said gently, unable to say anything else.

He was still slightly leaning over the table, towards you. Suddenly, as if he realized his position, he slowly leaned back into his chair, exhaling more heavily after a long moment of silence.

You were unable to move, the growing sense of guilt shaping on his face. And when he felt guilty, so did you.

Your goal was to rise from the chair, but your body, against your will, made a different move. To both your surprise, it reached for both of his hands resting on the table, clasping them gently. You tried not to focus on their texture, not to compare them to how they had been before, not to search for that familiar feeling, not to flow with the current of any memories.

Simply to keep him in place for a moment.

“Thank you for being here today,” you whispered, gently squeezing his hands. His fingers, initially limp in yours, were slowly beginning to reconnect, though there was a certain confusion in them. The same confusion was in his eyes. “Thank you for coming as soon as you found out. It really means a lot, Spencer. It really does to me.”

For a moment, you both stayed silent, looking at each other. You both thought you would say something more. You would expand on the thought, maybe call him the best friend you've ever had. Perhaps, without thinking, you'd mention that once you had loved him in a way that might have seemed unexpected. Well, both those options passed through your mind like shadows.

“It’s late.” The third option won. If you had a watch, you would have glanced at it dramatically. That was all that was missing to complete this scene. “I really should be going.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. In the end, he just nodded with silent understanding when he noticed what time it was. Though, it wasn't the time that was the problem. After all, you were both adults who didn’t have a curfew. You could have stayed there until morning. But would that really be good for you?

Slowly, you pulled your coat over your shoulders.

Spencer didn’t move. You wondered if he planned on staying there.

"Do you... do you want me to walk you home?" he asked suddenly, hesitating.

You looked at him, unsure, slipping your hands into your pockets.

"I’m heading the same way," he added quickly, slowly getting up from his seat, even though you hadn’t agreed yet.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, then remembered that the Reid house hadn't been put up for sale and had been sitting empty for years. You waited until he had put on his coat, and then both of you were exposed to the crisp night air. As you crossed the street, an occasional car passed by with its headlights on, making you both squint. You couldn’t help but think how you never expected that if you ever found yourselves together, side by side in your hometown, it would feel like this. Perhaps you hadn’t even thought that you’d never see each other again. After all, it was quite possible you’d run into each other a few more times. People often bumped into their neighbors from the same apartment block on the other side of the world during vacations, fate had a wicked sense of humor. What you didn’t expect, however, was how present the ghost of your childhood, and the memories it carried, would be during this encounter.

Your steps were oddly small, as though your feet had shrunk. Unconsciously, you extended the walk, turning into a wrong street, just like when you had returned from the hospital after visiting your mother.

 “Are you stopping here?” you asked, your gaze absently drifting to the empty swings on the playground you passed.

Spencer’s eyes followed yours in that direction, and his steps even slowed a little. He probably would’ve stopped if you hadn’t kept moving confidently ahead.

“Just for one night,” he replied, adjusting his glasses on his nose. There wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice. Sometimes, returning to the family home didn’t bring joy to grown-up children, especially when the house had been empty for a long time—or unbearably loud, depending on the family. “I’m actually flying out tomorrow. I just...really wanted to talk to you.”

You nodded, briefly asking about his mom, then about work, though not in a probing way—just the steady rhythm of a lazy conversation. Slowly, the familiar neighborhood began to shift into the one etched deeply in your subconscious, the one you had both memorized long ago.

Eventually, you both found yourselves forced to stop, mainly due to the sight of your family homes. Standing steadfastly side by side, just like you both had during that entire walk.

“Maybe we should meet up,” he suggested quietly, stopping in front of you. “You know, tomorrow. Just for a moment.”

Staring at his face, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlight, you gently nodded.

“And...maybe sometime after that,” he added.

You were a little short of words, but not because you didn’t want to see him again. It was simply that you didn’t like making promises driven by the moment. For now, you both drowned in nostalgia, unwilling to part ways and disrupt it. But who knew? Maybe once you disappeared from each other’s sight, you’d forget each other’s phone numbers again. Your hesitation seemed to stir something on his face. Perhaps he took it as a refusal.

You sighed deeper and rose onto your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was a very slow, lazy embrace, gradually melding into his body as the scent of his clothes began to tickle your nostrils, and your chin sank deeper into his shoulder, like it was a pillow.

Spencer remained stiff for a moment. You’d only hugged before once, when you were packing your suitcase into the car before leaving for college, as far from your hometown as possible. That hug had been difficult for you. This one, although it too was a form of farewell, felt pleasant and hard to break. Especially when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms tightly around your back, almost lifting the tips of your fingers off the ground. You heard a soft sigh escape his lips before you pulled away to arm’s length.

"So...see you," you muttered, slowly stepping back, heel to heel. You felt like a magnet being forcibly pulled away from a fridge, shaking your head to get rid of the pull.

Two more small steps back, you should have already turned towards home, but his expression stopped you. Full of hesitation, with a clenched jaw, as if he really wanted to add something, but wasn't sure if he should. You were already half-turned with your back to him.

"Would...would things have been different between us if I hadn't given you that letter back then?" he asked finally, pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

The words seemed to bounce off your ears but didn’t fully reach you. At least not completely. Your posture straightened, freezing in place, facing him once again.

"Well, you know," he tried to explain, forcing a small smile. "We would have stayed in touch more over the years."

"What...what letter, Spencer?"

His brows furrowed, his lips parted, but no sound came from them. Suddenly, he froze, expressionless.

"Did you send me a letter?" you tried, completely not understanding what he meant.

Maybe he had written down your address wrong, and it ended up going to someone else who threw it away. Maybe you had actually received it, but tossed it somewhere in your dorm room, too busy to read it. Then, while dressing, you accidentally knocked it behind your dresser, where it gathered dust through all your years of studying, never meant to reach you again. The cobwebs covering its words, whatever they might have been.

"I left you a letter," he finally said, his voice so fragile that you could almost feel it in your chest. "I knew I wouldn't be able to say it to you. And, well...you were leaving, and I had no idea when we'd see each other again. I just...I didn't want to keep it to myself anymore."

A lingering moment of silence.

"I left it on your terrace," he finally added, barely opening his mouth as he spoke.

You pressed your fist to your chest, closing your eyes for a moment.

"I never got it," you confessed hoarsely, still not looking at him, trying to process what you’d just heard. "On the terrace...God, Spencer. It should've been obvious that someone would throw it out. My mom or dad. Especially him."

He suddenly chuckled, but there was no trace of amusement in it. A bit of absurdity, yes. But mostly, the realization, after all these years, that he had messed up and had no idea about it. On the contrary, he had been under the impression that you knew.

"What was in that letter?"

You felt like you wouldn't go back home until you knew. Spencer, however, shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock.

"You have to tell me," you insisted firmly. "Whatever it was, please. Even if it's no longer relevant. I just want to know...what you wanted to say to me back then."

His temples tensed as he squeezed his eyes shut. A few breaths later, his muscles loosened. Meanwhile, your body remained still, waiting for what you'd hear.

"I liked you," he finally managed to say. A rush of sound filled your ears. Spencer suddenly let out a bitter chuckle. "It was a love letter. As deep as an eighteen-year-old can get. Maybe...maybe it's better you never got it. I’d be so, so embarrassed by it now…"

"You liked me?" you interrupted him.

You had been enchanted by him for years, not even realizing it for most of that time. Spencer, however, was a complicated teenager, both close and distant at the same time. He was reserved when it came to emotions, impenetrable. Sometimes he’d blush, but never once made a move, never.

He shrugged.

"Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now," he replied. He tried to smile, attempting to wipe away a certain sorrow that still lingered beneath the surface of his expression. "Back then, it didn't really matter much either. But...maybe it's good that you know now. You have...the full picture."

You laughed in a way that was almost tearful, surprising him. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out what he had done wrong to provoke such a reaction from you.

"I think we should talk," you finally said, nervously nodding toward your house. "Maybe...maybe you could come in?"

With held breath, you waited for his response. You felt the suggestion was a bit silly. No conversation could change the course of the last few years, force its direction or undo what had already been set in motion. But you no longer cared about changing anything that had happened between you two. What was in the past was probably already irrelevant. What you wanted now was honesty. The full picture, as he had said. You wanted both of you to have it.

"I don't think so," he replied, taking an unsure step back. A nervous laugh escaped him, probably to loosen himself up. "I mean... I don’t even remember what was in that letter anymore, if you're still curious. It doesn't matter at all... we don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to feel like you should…”

"I liked you too" 

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his hands slipping out of his pockets where he had been nervously hiding them.

"I really think we should talk a little more," you added.

It turned out that those hours spent talking in the bar, just the two of you, hadn’t been enough.

You watched as his chest rose and fell, his head nodding slowly. He agreed.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

[shifteruncensored]

how to shift explained by karma

(since people keep requesting this + sorry for the wait)

also before i start, keep in mind this is just how i perceive how to shift. you may be different which is why i recommend outsourcing & forming your own biases as well as formulating your own personal approach that aligns with your preferences.

this is my take. i'm not saying this is the one true way™ or whatever…….. and if something else works for you?? AMAZING pls do that. maybe it helps. maybe it's just another way to look at it. idk. just take whatever resonates and leave the rest.

ok now continue reading ↓↓↓

okay so like… it's not about like. "doing" something the right way. it's not about the technique or the script or laying a certain way or counting to 100 or whateverrrrr. like those things are cool but that's not what gets you there.

what makes i think makes it work is ….becoming aware. i know. you want to slap me rn. but stay with me. straying away the idea that you’re “trying” to shift !!!!!!!!!!

shifting is literally just becoming aware of another reality right? and how do you become aware of something? you stop looking at what isn't there.

it’s literally detaching from your current reality and attaching to your desired one. like. THAT’S IT.. that’s what every method is trying to help you do. it’s like changing the dial on a radio…..you’re not “running” somewhere, you’re tuning into what’s already there.

and yeah okay. that sounds simple. so like why is it so HARD??

i think this is bcs shifting is suuuper personal. like REALLY personal. it's related to so many aspects of you, what you feel at ease with, what your hopes and fears are… it's like a fingerprint. no one else can do it all for you or paste it onto you.

what that means is some ppl might need approach it differently, some might need to confront internal wounds / fears first, you get the gist.

that's why there isn't a "one size fits all" method or key for the lack of a better word. it's an internal process. tools (scripts, visualizations, affs) are there to help you align w/ the reality you want to experience.

so why the fuck is it so difficult to let go? bcs your whole life you’ve been taught to trust only what you see. what is acceptable in society. even when you wanna leave, the conditioned part of your brain brain freaks out like “wait, what if it’s not safe? what if i’m crazy?” and boom your focus is here.

instead allow yourself to become aware of the reality you desire. not just daydream of it. but feel you are there. what would you think about, care about, or feel? people tackle this aspect in many ways. through visualization. affs. but the core remains the same. you immerse yourself in that reality internally.

it's not about seeing it. it's about deciding.

you can do this at any time (awake, falling asleep, whatever) a huge known way to trick your brain into detaching is releasing focus of this reality, this body, this version of self. that’s also why people always are pushing for the void state method or shifting when drowsy. it’s easier to detach that way.

detach from cr: stop clinging to this reality like it's the sole truth. release thoughts that ground you here. that is what meditation, counting, & deep breathing usually do. quiet the internal noise.

attach to dr: shift your attention into where you want to become aware of. feel it. think it. that's what affirmations, and visualization do for you….they let you immerse yourself there before you "see" it.

ok that’s how i view it. keep in mind i’m not a guru or something. i just got this request many times.

[impishjesters]

Insecurities

Ship: Jax x Reader, Ragatha x Pomni (background) CW(s): insecurities, vulnerable Jax, hurt no comfort(?), angst/reality check, cliff hanger, Zooble is briefly an ass and regrets it A/N: Apparently, I started writing this back when this account first started. It was quickly abandoned for whatever reason, and with no clue what its direction was, I simply left it as a cliffhanger because I'm evil. Not my best work.

Today was the day Pomni finally confessed to Ragatha.

After months of the two nearly attached at the hip, Pomni finally caved and came to you and Gangle for help, wanting to do something special. The poor girl was filled with so many emotions that it took the two of you countless reassurances that Ragatha returned her feelings

Pomni wanted to do something for just the two of them, mumbling that it’d be less embarrassing if Ragatha turned her down with no one else around. Mainly so Jax couldn’t use it as blackmail—even after you told her that you wouldn’t let that happen.

That said, she made you hide nearby, out of sight from Ragatha’s view, but still somewhere she could see to give her the confidence to confess. And it was a sight to behold.

Pomni was a mess. Her confession was all over the place, but even without seeing Ragatha’s expression, you could tell she was flustered as well. The moment Ragatha returned her feelings, you shot the two a silent “congrats”. Pomni made brief eye contact with you while they hugged, and you mouthed “I’m proud of you” before leaving the two lovebirds alone.

It wasn’t your place to spread the news; they’d come out when they wanted to. With that task done, you slipped off to find your mischievous boyfriend. Which didn’t take long if the cries of poor Gangle were anything to go by.

Hours passed since the confession, and Jax had taken off to do whatever questionable thing he was going to do, leaving you alone in your room to fend for the boredom on your own. When nothing felt right or entertaining, you settled on the bed, the lights dimmed as if lying down for a nap.

Your eyes closed, but sleep never came. What did come was the muffled sound of a door opening and then slamming shut, and not long after, your bedroom door flew open and slammed shut behind the individual storming inside.

The blanket fell to your lap as you bolted upright to see that your sudden guest was Jax. That slam must’ve been him going to his room to see you weren’t there before heading over here. But why was he slamming—ooookay, screw that question.

“Jax, what’s wrong?”

Jax stormed over to your bed and climbed up until he was over you, pushed you down, and dropped himself on top, burying his face into your chest. His only response was a muffled groan into the fabric. He wanted to tell you, but his brain was still reeling, and his emotions weren’t in check.

You didn’t press him for a response, and he gave his silent thanks. One of the things he loved about you was that you never pressured him into saying anything. You waited until he was comfortable, even if it took days.

The tips of your fingers gently rubbed and scratched at the top and back of his head. It was funny, really, how he was a rabbit but didn’t have an ounce of fur on him. No, his skin was an odd mix of some sort of squishy silicone, and despite the smooth shine, it had more of a matte-like finish. It definitely felt like an odd combination of things to touch on a person, but you’ve long since grown accustomed to his odd flesh, just like he undoubtedly had grown used to your own.

Occasionally, the tips of your fingers would scratch around the base of an ear and gently ghost the shell of said ear, and every time, Jax nearly shuddered. The repetitive motion, along with the silence, gave him the time needed to formulate his thoughts and figure out his feelings.

And of course, it was an unfamiliar feeling, a bitter one that made him want to lash out and do something more impulsive than normal. A feeling he couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Ragatha and Pomni are dating,” he sighed, turning his head slightly.

You hum, it’s old news to you by this point, but this wasn’t about that. “Oh yeah? I’m glad, those two are cute together.”

“Hmm..” The gentle scratches never stopped, and it had him wanting to return the act somehow. His arms crept up the bed to your waist, and he gently palmed the flesh. Not enough to tickle, but enough to give a gentle squeeze, an almost kneading-like gesture. “How long do you think it’ll last?”

“Jax, I’m not betting on their relationship…”

“And I’m not asking you to, it’s a serious question.”

His tone is worrying, it’s soft, and as much as you loathe to say it, frail. Part of you wants to outright ask him what’s wrong, but the other part knows that this might be his brain’s way of getting there.

“I don’t know how long it will last,” and it’s the truth, “but I hope they last a long, long time. Those girls deserve happiness, whether it’s being trapped in here or free in the real world.”

Free in the real world? That’s fun to laugh at, there’s no way they’d stay together if that happened. They’re different people out there compared to who they’ve been forced to become in here. Who knows where either of them lives, or how they’d even find each other if that happened? Would they even remember? If names couldn’t be remembered coming in, who’s to say something wouldn’t be forgotten when leaving?

“Yeah, and what about us?”

The question is so quiet you almost miss it. “What about us?”

“How long do you think we’ll be together?”

Oh. Oh.

Your heart aches at the question, at its implications. Jax has been vulnerable with you before, but never this vulnerable, this raw. Your hands find his cheeks, and he reluctantly lets you lift his face, but his eyes look anywhere but at you.

“Jax,” your voice is watery and he hates it, “honey.. I’d never leave you, stuck in this place or free out there. I’d find you.” Your hands start to shake, and he squeezes your sides before pulling back to straddle you, his own hands engulfing your smaller ones.

“It might not be possible,” he exhales, “there’s no proof of what’ll happen. We might not be where we were when we vanished, we might not rem—” His words shake as he speaks until his voice cracks, it fucking cracks.

“I don’t care, this is us in here. Sure, we forgot our names, but I know—I know that when we get out of here we’ll still have these memories.” It’s been a while since you arrived, and the memory is a bit foggy at times, but you remember where you were and what you were doing. It scares you to think one day you won’t remember, maybe that’s why he—oh, he’s been here a lot longer than you have.

Jax has been here long enough that there’s a high possibility that he doesn’t remember…

Your silence worries him enough to finally make eye contact, and he can see you putting the pieces together. He’s been here long enough that his memories of before get fuzzy. He can vaguely remember what he looked like, what his life was like. And if he thinks hard enough, he can remember roughly what his living situation was like. But at this rate, it feels like all of that will vanish in no time at all.

“I won’t leave you.” It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but Jax hears it and leans further into your touch. “I know that I’ll remember you, so even if you forget me, I’ll find you all over again and make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Oh, there’s that word again, the one that makes him feel things. The L word.

He’s crying and he hates it, hates feeling this vulnerable, hates the wet trickle on his cheeks before it vanishes into your hands. You don’t comment on it. You’re not doing much better after all, he can see your own unshed tears.

At this moment, you are stronger than him in his mind, and he’s silently grateful he’s not having to do this alone.

“What if you don’t like who I am out there?”

“I don’t care what you look like Jax, for fuck sake your a six-foot-two purple rabbit with a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat.” A wet chuckle falls out of him as he sinks down to lean closer to your face.

That’s sweet and all, but it’s not what he meant.

“I meant,” he sighs and stares directly at you, “what if you don’t like who I am?” Sure, you know him now, this rabbit-like avatar he’s stuck in, but he’s different out there—he knows it. His grin isn’t this animated, and his facial expressions are different. He’s even harder to get a read on and—

“What if you don’t like who I am either?”

“Wha—what?”

“You heard me, what if you don’t like who I am out there?”

Now, normally, he’d say he might agree with you, but there’s a gut feeling that he couldn’t find himself hating you. “I don’t think that’s possible…”

“Finally, something we’re in agreement on.” It’s a light-hearted tease, and the two of you share a silent chuckle before he buries his face into your neck, your arms slipping to wrap tightly around him.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy, I doubt Caine has the power to make it easy enough that we just—” you snap your fingers,”—and poof we’re back out there with all our memories intact and go about our day.” As much as you’d wish that were the case, Caine only has so much power in this place. “But I won’t stop until I find you, even if our memories are gone, I’ll know in my heart that something is wrong. And if our memories are left as is, then I’ll find you even sooner.”

It’s mushy, the longer you talk, the more his stomach, heart, and brain are doing this weird thing, and a part of him wishes he had never even spoken up.

When he’d first heard the girls were dating, he laughed, and made a comment about enjoying it while it lasted because the moment they all get out—if they got out—that relationship is gonna go down the drain. Not that he really thought you guys were getting out, he was just being an asshole like always and stirring the pot.

It was all fun and games to him until Zooble spoke. They used you against him.

“That’s funny coming from you, who’s to say they won’t leave you the second we’re out? I don’t know what they see in you. If you’re this awful in here, I can’t imagine what you’re like out there.”

It was uncalled for, and truthfully, a lot harsher than they meant it. Zooble’s mouth worked faster than their brain did, and it came out with far too much venom. If Jax had that little faith in the girls’ relationship, what did that say about his own relationship? Zooble had always silently worried that you were just being strung along, Jax was the type of person—in their opinion—to toss someone away when they were no longer entertaining.

Jax hadn’t even replied to the comment. He wanted to, but there were too many things that wanted to leave his mouth at once, and his brain was still reeling from the statement. His usual quick-witted self was rendered silent, and that set a few of the others on edge.

“H-hey.. I’m sure Zooble didn’t mean it like that..” Ragatha nervously laughed, rubbing her hands together. “I’m sure the two of you will be together even out there. They really care about you after all.” She still had her doubts and questioned what exactly made you fall for him of all people, but even she could agree that what Zooble said was a bit much.

A response never came. His head, mouth, and chest were too chaotic and static-filled to respond. Instead, he turned away and left, kicking things left and right on the path to his room. Only to find it empty and slam the door shut before storming his way over to your room, which is how he ended up here, an emotionally charged bomb.

[mysillycomics]

Hi everyone! This is Claire. I am writing to let you all know that we did it. We saved Bailey and Tiger Fluff, and we all live together in an apartment in Illinois, my home state. We really, really did it!!!

You can read our thanks, thoughts, and more under the read more :0)

(note: Oliver also goes by Bailey! She has two names.)

There are many important people on this journey that we would like to specifically thank.

First, all of our friends (especially Peregrine, Sophie, and Jackson) who were there on the day Bailey was evicted, who listened to me and helped me figure out what to do when I felt more lost than I’ve ever been. Without them we wouldn’t have been able to act so quickly and efficiently. Because of them, we were able to formulate a plan.

Speaking of Jackson, he and his partner Cherri need to be thanked once again. Jackson drove all the way from his home, Bailey’s motel, and back to get both her and Tiger to a place to stay while we figured out what to do next. They provided a warm, quiet, and safe place for both of them in a time when something like that was so far away. For the first time in a long time, I knew that Bailey was truly somewhere safe. For that, we will be forever grateful.

While we do not have their names, we would like to thank the staff of the airport and airline who helped make this journey objectively possible. They also made Tiger into a little celebrity on the flight, and everyone, including the pilot, went to greet her and congratulate her for being so brave. She really is the bravest little kitty we know.

Next are my very close friends Elle and Callan, who invited Bailey and Tiger to stay at their house not far from mine while we secured a place of our own. They, like Jackson and Cherri, gave both of them the space to simply be. I was able to visit a couple of times, and being with my favorite people made an extremely difficult time so much better. It made me think “this feeling is what we are fighting for”.

Finally, we’d like to thank you.

To all of you who read and shared our story, you helped us to feel seen and heard and not alone. Reading words of support in the comments, quote retweets, and tumblr tags truly made me feel like we could do this with everyone cheering us on.

To everyone who donated, your generosity this financially possible. As of writing, we received $19,381 from the GoFundMe. We are now able to use the rest of funds that have been tucked away in savings for rent, food, and bills. I cannot overstate how grateful we both are. What you did for us will never leave our hearts.

…

While Bailey and Fluffy were at Elle and Callan’s, we found an apartment. It was small, but perfect. We toured. We applied. And we got it.

And on December 9th, 2023, we moved in and started living together! Our goal, our dream, our driving force for so long was achieved. After three years of long distance, we finally made it.

Our home is small, and has some quirks as all homes do, but it’s ours. The love of my life, the best little cat in the word, and I are all together. We are safe, warm, happy, and loved. The future we fought so hard for us now the present. Forgive me for being long-winded. I just have so much to say about all of this! Sometimes I still can’t believe that we actually did it. But we did, we really did!!!

I’m going to keep the GoFundMe up for a little bit, but once things settle more I will close donations.

Thank you!!!!!!!!! 🧸💕

____

Hey everyone Bailey here, I cannot overstate just how grateful I am to every single one of you and how thankful I am that this journey has been able to come into fruition. It was very scary being in that motel not having a plan or knowing what I was gonna do next while everything was crumbling around me. If it wasn't for Claire and our incredibly kind and caring friends I don't know what I'd do. They helped me press on and get through this with Fluff and we finally did.

Finally we're in a place that brings nothing but peace and comfort, my anxiety has dropped and I'm doing things I've never thought possible and building up strengths I never knew I had, I feel whole in a way that I've never felt before and I'm just, happy.

I am so grateful to have Claire, for years she's been so supportive and comforting and has brought this dream we've had into reality and every day I am so thankful to have her, she is the love of my life and my best friend. The life that her, myself and Fluff now share will forever be together and we can finally begin living. 💚💜

Thank you everyone, thank you to our friends who let Fluff and I into their lives to be able to be safe while we get our bearings, thank you to everyone who said such kind and wonderfully compassionate words, cheering us on as we go, every day I was looking at the community post I made on YT and it was just filled with people being so supportive, and thank you everyone who donated and got us into where we are. We could not have done it without all of you. 🐟 ❤️ 🐟 ❤️

[xxsinisterbunniexx]

Hello hope you are doing well :)

Would you be able to do headcanons of the creepy pastas taking care of y/n during their period?

Depending on how comfortable you are with it, maybe with the the y/n being trans/non-binary and their period causes gender dysphoria? If not that’s perfectly okay!

Bye bye!

Okay SO sorry this took me so long! But I’m on spring break starting today so I’m gonna try to get caught up on requests while I’m on break :3

♡ How the creeps take care of the reader when they’re on their period ♡

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, BEN drowned, Eyeless Jack, X Virus, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie

So like I’m ngl…. I like didn’t know what to write for a trans/non-binary reader so I just wrote AFAB. I wasn’t really sure what they could say/do to support you and I asked my friend about it (she’s MTF tho) and she told me it’s more just about listening and being there (in regards to how other people can help with dysphoria). So here are my general thoughts:

I think the creeps would not give a fuck if you were trans. But I mean that in a way of like, they wouldn’t look at you any differently. I think it would be something they wouldn’t really think twice about and they would just accept you as you are. They would listen to your feelings though if you wanted to express them and they wouldn’t judge.

Jeff

☠︎︎ ︎he’s just generally not involved

☠︎︎ like not that he doesn’t care but more like he feels like you know what you need to do and he doesn’t need to intervene

☠︎︎ he would go and get stuff for you at the store but like you’d have to send him specific pictures of what you wanted

☠︎︎ would get you like ibuprofen if you were like seriously writhing in pain

Toby

✘ literally “babe I’m in the pad aisle what pussy size you wear?”

✘he’s just so misguided but he’s trying

✘like you’d send him pictures of the exact tampons/pads you need and he’d still get the wrong ones 😭

✘he also just like doesn’t know how pain feels but he doesn’t like seeing you upset

✘would lay next to you and press his hand on your lower stomach cause it helps the cramps

BEN drowned

⚠︎it’s probably like one of the only times that seeing pain doesn’t please him

⚠︎he wouldn’t really know what to do though

⚠︎like pats you on the back, there there

⚠︎he would get things you needed but only if you asked him to do so

⚠︎otherwise he’s kind of just awkwardly there

Eyeless Jack

𖤐like not only does he give a fuck but he knows exactly what to do

𖤐like gets you midol, a heating pad, the right brand/size of tampon/pad

𖤐the type of fella that puts a pad in your underwear while you’re showering before bed just to get it ready for you

𖤐he would do anything really to make you more comfortable and would never make you feel embarrassed about it

X Virus

☣︎lowkey him and Toby share a brain cell and so they’d both be like “oh why god why did you curse our women?!”

☣︎on the real though, it’d displease him to see you in pain, and he’d try to formulate a drug that covered all your symptoms

☣︎if you were a proxy and didn’t have access to birth control or other stuff to suppress your periods he’d find a way to get some

☣︎like trust he gets all his crazy chemicals from somewhere, he can defo get his hands on some birth control

Tim/Masky

꩜Tim is generally not super familiar with it at first and doesn’t know what to do

꩜after being with you for a while he gets it down though

꩜makes note of the stuff you need and will make sure you don’t run on supplies

☆Masky does not really care LMAO

☆like he wouldn’t be mean to you or anything he just wouldn’t treat you any differently while you’re on your period

Brian/Hoodie

𖣐Brian tries, but like Toby he’s just a bit misguided

𖣐but he makes an effort to learn

𖣐he’s honestly still not the most comfortable with it

𖣐but he still helps you and would get you stuff you needed

☹ hoodie is so mean 😭

☹ like he honestly would make fun of you sometimes rip

☹ like if you’re pissed off, “are you on your period?”

I am sorry if this was disappointing (ToT)

[psychocitywrites]

Hard Truths

Summary:

Rafe Cameron has everything a man would want. Now he’s looking to settle down. He thinks he’s found the one that checks all the boxes, except she’s not you.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

At twenty-nine years old, Rafe Cameron was the most eligible bachelor in the business world. He was used to women throwing themselves at him, using them, ghosting them, then moving onto the next. And now as he was nearing his thirties, his father was begging him to finally settle down with a respectable woman and start a family.

“Sarah’s married to that pogue boy. Now when are gonna grow up and do something with your life?” Ward said the last time they had talked. Rafe nearly broke his phone after that conversation.

He knew he didn’t have anything left to prove to his father, but hearing Ward compare him to his little sister once again hurt his pride, and he wasn’t going to let that slide. Nope.

He had a plan. He was going to find someone who fit into his world. Someone who would turn heads whenever they walked into a room. Someone who commanded respect and attention. The perfect woman.  

------------------------------

The event was in full swing as Rafe leaned against the balcony, staring down at the people who were invited to the gala. Only the richest, most successful people were invited. If he was looking for his match, she’d be here for sure.

“Dude, what about Charlotte Goldberg? Her parents own like a dozen diamond mines, plus she’s hot.” Topper pointed at pretty girl wearing a sparkly black dress. He’d been trying all night to get Rafe to at least agree with one suggestion.

“Nah man, I’d rather not let my name be associated with blood diamonds” said Rafe unimpressed, “and Kelce went out with her sister. Said their family is starting a reality TV show. I don’t want no one to know my personal shit like that.”

Kelce nodded. “I broke up with her last year. At least they shot on my good side.”

Topper groaned. “What about her? I heard she’s a humanitarian.” He gestured to a woman with short black hair and wearing a long white dress.

“She just divorced her third husband. I’m not lookin’ to be number four.”

Kelce snickered at Rafe’s response. Topper was going to make another suggestion before his date Ruthie called him. “Topper! Where’s my champagne?! You’ve been gone for thirty minutes already!”

That dumbass came with Ruthie? He thought to himself as he saw the girl link her arm with Topper to bring him towards another group of people and leaving him and Kelce alone.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Rafe lifted himself from the balcony and started to walk towards the crowd. If he wanted to find someone who was wife material, it would be better if he looked for himself than to listen to Topper.

Kelce followed behind him. “Dude, don’t you think you’re just being a lil’ hard on yourself? Girls throw themselves at your feet. What more could you want?”   

Rafe inwardly groaned. As he began to formulate his excuse to leave his friend, he heard the crowd quiet down.

He turned around and saw a young blond woman wearing a stunning gold evening gown walk through the entrance. Her flowy blonde hair shined whenever she turned toward the paparazzi and when she smiled, her teeth were as white as pearls Her curves made some women burn with jealousy as they saw their partners ogle at her figure. Her hips swayed as she walked through the crowd. She knew how to make an entrance alright.

“Who is she?” Rafe asked.

“You don’t know who that is!? That’s Heather Hayworth! Her family owns Hayworth Hotels and like a bunch of other businesses around the world.” Kelce said incredulously.

"Is she single?"

"For now. Rumor has it she's trying to find a partner her father approves of so she can take over when he retires next year. Allegedly. She's kinda like you in a way."

All the right things were being said to Rafe as he zeroed in on the blonde bombshell.

Was she beautiful? Check.

Was her family rich? Check.

Was she part of the land development/business world? Check.

If Rafe had paid attention more closely to who walked in, he would have also noticed you.

Next