#and assess my understanding of the conditions

[gumy-shark]

girl who loves analyzing fighting styles and characters power levels vs mob psycho 100, an anime which doesn’t focus on the mechanics of its power system at all

[qiu-yan]

stupid idea for a MDZS fanmade visual novel:

you play as jin zixuan. after a long series of various events and misunderstandings, you come to understand that your acquaintance jiang yanli, who you once wrote off as average, is in fact a perfect soul who you desperately want to marry. the only problem now is that she 1. is still convinced that you hate her, 2. probably hates your loser ass too, and 3. is surrounded by men and women who are far more qualified to date her than you are. #1 and #2 can hopefully be resolved eventually with enough time, effort, and apologies.....but #3 seems to render that impossible, since if you're not careful any one of these "more qualified" bachelor/ettes might snap her up first!!!!!

you immediately identifies wei wuxian as your biggest threat, because from your (jin zixuan's) pov, wei wuxian is jiang yanli's male childhood friend who she super dotes on. after seeing how close they are, you are initially almost ready to give up - except then you find out that lan wangji is gay and in love with wei wuxian, and thus realize that you can eliminate wei wuxian as a threat if wangxian get together. 

you then realize that this also applies to everyone else you see as a romantic threat. so, because you are a problem solver, you come up with a solution: before any of jiang yanli's friends can make a move on her, you will find a way to pair them all off with each other. that way, they will all be too busy dating each other and your path to yanli's heart will be (relatively) clear. 

so instead of being a dating sim, the objective of the visual novel is to help all the various side couples involving yanli's friends get together, so none of them can threaten xuanli. 

ideally, the game will let you freely choose which couples to push together, so there will be a wide variety of routes and endings.

("jiang yanli's friends" in this game is just the set that includes all the mdzs characters more commonly shipped with each other. jiang cheng is there, but he's yanli's brother so he's not a threat. so zixuan's strategy for him is just to keep him available on the side, so he can be paired up with whoever's left over after all the other matches have been made but is still a high enough threat.)

jin zixuan's threat assessments (accuracy not guaranteed):

extremely high:

wei wuxian

high:

nie mingjue (bc of his muscles)

lan xichen (bc he's popular)

wen qing (bc even straight girls would go lesbian for her)

medium:

wen ning (he seems too timid for dating)

nie huaisang (he seems more interested in hookups than dating)

jin guangyao (my own half-brother wouldnt betray me....right?)

low:

mianmian (she's my friend so she wouldn't betray me. also she seems interested in someone else (mr. mianmian))

lan wangji (gay, uninterested in women)

su minshan (too much of a hater)

jiang cheng (brother) 

conditions for victory:

wei wuxian must be paired with someone.

everyone from the high-risk group is paired off.

a maximum of 1 person from the medium-risk group is left unpaired; everyone else from the medium-risk group is paired off.

yanli approval score (explained below) is above a certain threshold.

you do not need to pair up anyone from the low-risk group in order to win; the low-risk group is there purely to help you. pairing off people in the high- and medium-risk group is necessary not because they are actually a threat to xuanli, but rather because jin zixuan will only feel secure enough to confess once almost all of his perceived romantic rivals have been removed.

some game notes:

throuples are allowed.

while wangxian is the most straightforward way to eliminate wei wuxian as a threat, the game also allows for other wei wuxian pairings. in other words, you as the player can betray lan wangji by pairing wei wuxian up with someone else instead - in which case the game is still winnable (ie. jin zixuan can still get together with jiang yanli, which is the victory condition), but you also unlock a special CG of lan wangji crying.

the achievement of the victory condition is decided not just by whether or not you successfully pair everyone else up, but also by a hidden metric called the yanli approval score. this is calculated by your interactions with wei wuxian, jiang cheng, and jiang yanli herself as the game continues: if you are kind to them, then the score goes up, and if you are rude to them, then the score goes down. if your yanli approval score is low enough upon the game's end, then yanli will still refuse to date zixuan even if you've successfully paired everyone else off.

notably, attempting to pair jiang cheng up with someone and then failing nets you a severe yanli approval score demerit, while successfully pairing up jiang cheng with someone nets you a high yanli approval score increase. interestingly, pairing chengxian together nets you the highest increase in yanli approval score.

if you get nielan together and then do not pair up jin guangyao with anyone, then the game gives you the option of putting in the hard work to help him network. it is highly recommended that you take this option, as if you do not, jin guangyao will expose to jiang yanli everything you as jin zixuan have done in the least flattering terms possible, which will make yanli unwilling to date zixuan and will net you a game over.

if you get xiyao together and then do not pair up nie mingjue with anyone, then the game gives you the option of putting in the hard work to find him a hobby. it is highly recommended that you take this option, as if you do not, nie huaisang will push jin zixuan into the traffic and you will get a game over.

if you intend on pairing up jiang cheng with anyone other than wei wuxian himself, then wei wuxian will run interference against you; a successful strategy therefore must include anti-wei-wuxian measures. this remains true even if you previously helped wangxian get together, because wei wuxian is an ungrateful bastard.

if you intend on pairing up jiang cheng with lan xichen, then both wei wuxian and lan wangji will run interference. because of this, the xicheng route is probably the hardest route involving jiang cheng in the entire game; to compensate for this, the xicheng route also has the second-most CGs (after wangxian).

if you get jin guangyao together with someone, then he will offer his assistance to you for the rest of the game. this translates into additional stats, intel, and information on who likes who the most, which will make the rest of your run easier.

if you get nie mingjue together with someone, then nie huaisang will offer his assistance to you for the rest of the game as well. nie huaisang offers the same assistance as jin guangyao above, but he also includes his own commentary and opinions.

you (as jin zixuan) cannot date anyone else. sorry zixuan x other shippers, this is a xuanli game.

[blythesarchives]

Masterpiece. | B.B

summary: You show Bucky some love in Wakanda.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Wakanda!Bucky | Fem!reader | Insecure Bucky | Soft & emotional sex | P in V | Unprotected sex

a/n: I had this idea for a really long time but finally finished it after having it in my drafts for months. A little shorter, so it was a quick little thing. I have some WS!Bucky fics in the works too, so hopefully those will be out soon! I made Bucky's time in cryo about a year and a half, between the release of Civil War and Black Panther. Idk if that's accurate or not, but for this fic it is. ;; wc: 3.6k

You stuck around. Honestly, nothing could tear you from his side.

T'Challa had arranged for you to have private accommodations within the medical wing where Bucky's cryogenic chamber was, ensuring you could maintain a constant vigil over him. The aftermath of the confrontation between Steve and Tony in Siberia had left you deeply shaken - when you discovered the extent of Bucky's injuries, including his violently dismembered metal arm - you had been horrified and it took a lot to calm you down. It was more than just the physical dismemberment, but the repeat amputation and the weight of the emotional turmoil for him and you was a lot to handle at once. Upon finally reuniting with him, you couldn't help but frantically check over his wounds, your hands trembling as you assessed the damage.

His body covered in various injuries, dried blood caking his skin, and his once-powerful metal arm now completely destroyed from Tony's repulsor blast, the metal once white hot now blackened as the circuits and wiring were completely melted and fried. The intensity of your concern was completely justified given his condition, though Bucky repeatedly tried to ease your fears with gentle reassurances. Steve also attempted to comfort you, though he mostly let you and Bucky have the time you needed.

When you arrived in Wakanda, Bucky's anxiety about potential discovery had been eating him - the fear of being found and captured again weighing heavily on his mind. The peace you had in Romania felt like it would never come again, it wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Steve stepped in, promising that Wakanda's advanced defenses and T'Challa's protection would keep him safely hidden from those who wished him harm.

While T'Challa approached the situation with grace and hospitality, you couldn't help but maintain a defensive posture around him initially. The memory of his vendetta against Bucky was still fresh - his determined pursuit with the intent to kill still dominating your thoughts. As he approached your group for the first time without his panther suit, your protective instincts remained heightened, positioning yourself slightly closer to Bucky's side.

"I assure you, my hunt for Sergeant Barnes is over, though I understand your hesitation," T'Challa’s deep voice carried a gentle tone meant to soothe and reassure you. His eyes held sincerity as he continued, "I was foolishly deceived and have seen the error in my previous pursuit and regret my actions. We offer both him and yourself sanctuary here in Wakanda, where you will find peace and protection. I give you my word as both a king and a warrior that no one will be permitted to threaten your safety. He will be free to stay as long as he desires."

You exchanged a meaningful look with Bucky, unable to fully mask the lingering hesitation that flickered across your features. When he met your gaze with quiet reassurance, you mentally scolded yourself for being so overtly cautious, though you couldn't quite shake the protective instinct. You felt like you were being unnecessarily paranoid, but after everything that had transpired - the chase, the fighting, the constant looking over your shoulders - you felt justified in harboring some anxiety about the situation.

Despite Bucky's outward display of calm acceptance, you could sense the underlying tension radiating off of him in waves, even as he maintained a brave face for your benefit. His stoic demeanor couldn't completely hide the wariness that years on the run had instilled in him.

You stood before him in the sterile medical bay as the team of doctors prepared the cryochamber. His warm hand gently cupped your cheek, those familiar eyes gazing at you with an endless depth of affection. "It won't be too long..." He spoke softly, his gentle words attempting to calm the storm of anxiety that swirled within you.

"Maybe not for you." Your voice trembled despite your best efforts to keep it steady, barely rising above a whisper to match his tender tone. "You're gonna be frozen in there, suspended in time - just a blink of an eye for you, while the rest of us watch the world keep turning."

He chuckled softly, the corners of his lips curving upward in that familiar way that always made your heart skip. "Yeah...well, Shuri seems to be pretty smart - probably the smartest person I've ever met, so hopefully she figures something out, so I won't be in there for too long." His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek, a silent gesture of comfort.

Your hand drifted up to cover his, fingers intertwining as you squeezed gently, seeking anchor in his touch. "We'll get through this..." The words escaped as barely more than a breath, a quiet promise meant more to convince yourself than him.

The doctors signaled the chamber’s preparation and you began your gentle goodbyes. “You could always come in with me.” He hummed against your ear as his arm wrapped around your body, holding you close. You smiled against his white tank top, sighing shakily.

“I don’t think my body is enhanced enough for that,” You muffled against him, “But I’ll be waiting.”

He continued to comfort you, his whispered promises of return that hung in the air like morning mist. When he finally stepped into the cryochamber Shuri had engineered, your eyes never left his face. You watched, heart aching, as his eyes fluttered closed and the chamber activated, crystalline ice slowly creeping across the glass, gradually obscuring your view of his rare, peaceful expression.

Through countless days and endless nights, through seasons changing and the world moving forward, you remained by his side until the day finally came when the ice melted away and those eyes opened once more.

It took quite a bit of adjusting, but life in Wakanda was gradually becoming more manageable. The climate was intense, with the relentless African sun beating down mercilessly throughout the day, making even simple tasks feel more challenging. Thankfully, the pristine lake situated just steps away from your shared cozy hut provided a welcome respite, offering an escape from the sweltering heat whenever you needed to cool down.

Bucky's adjustment period, however, had little to do with the weather. The recent removal of his prosthetic arm left him feeling deeply unbalanced, both physically and emotionally. The titanium appendage had been a significant part of his body weight distribution, and after decades of having it surgically integrated into his body, learning to function without it was proving to be a considerable challenge. The sudden absence of the familiar weight threw off his center of gravity, leading to a persistent sense of insecurity and mounting anxiety about his capabilities.

Doing things one handed was difficult.

Bucky's stubborn nature only complicated matters further, as he refused any offers of assistance, no matter how simple or necessary. Whether it was moving heavy objects around their living space, managing his increasingly long hair that now required more maintenance, or handling basic daily tasks - he remained determined to maintain his independence.

You backed off, knowing that he needed space to process and work through things independently. While your nurturing instincts urged you to do more, you consciously resisted the urge to be overly protective or maternal. He was undoubtedly capable of handling himself, yet you couldn't entirely suppress your natural inclination to provide support where possible.

You focused on offering practical assistance - preparing meals when needed, keeping the living space tidy and organized, ensuring his sleeping area was comfortable with fresh linens and proper cushioning if he’d allow it, and providing help with daily tasks like dressing when his mobility was limited.

Small gestures of support.

Though Bucky was grateful for your help, there were moments when the frustration of his situation manifested in terse responses or visible tension. He would become a little snappy at you or too moody when you spoke, but you kept reminding yourself that this was hard for him. The psychological impact of being without his arm for the first time in literal decades, regardless of its origins, was something you knew was incredibly difficult. To try to subtly ease this behavior, you made conscious efforts to help redirect his thoughts from dwelling too heavily.

Your days took on a gentle rhythm - spending time with the playful goats that roamed the area, playing with the curious children who would gather around the hut. But with every day came night, and as the sun's light faded and dusk settled in, accompanied by the persistent chorus of cicadas echoing through the trees, you saw how raw Bucky's psychological well-being was being affected.

Most of his tears flowed from deep-seated anger - anger that burned within himself for seeing weakness in his own reflection, for feeling unable to maintain his composure despite all the hell he had gone through already. In his mind, he was stronger than this moment of vulnerability, he was better than this; the act of crying over the loss of his limb felt almost juvenile and shameful to him, even though in reality it was obviously not - it was a natural, human response.

But he was still used to being human after spending a lifetime as a machine.

You were silent beside him, supporting his trembling form as the tears fell, holding him close against you as you offered what comfort you could through gentle touches and steady presence. Your heart ached to see his pain in the endless stream of tears, but there was a small measure of relief in knowing he felt safe enough to break down in your presence rather than bottling everything up until it inevitably erupted in a more destructive manner.

"I...just can't...handle this anymore." He hiccupped against your chest, his fingers desperately clutching at your top as if it were an anchor, grounding himself from everything that threatened to drag him under. You carefully considered your response, walking the line between wanting to comfort him and needing to help him face reality without pushing him further into distress.

"It's okay to feel this way...I know this is hard for you," you soothed while you rubbed comforting circles across his back. "I'm here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it. You don't have to worry about asking for help or showing your feelings..."

He let out a trembling breath, slowly shifting his position until he wasn’t so crunched up against you. His face was flushed and tear-stained, cheeks mottled with emotion, so you reached out to brush away the wetness with your thumbs. "There you are...handsome man," you cooed, your lips curving into a soft, nurturing smile that reached your eyes. It was a familiar look he loved, no matter how he was feeling.

"...I don't feel handsome," he muttered back, his voice barely above a whisper as he deliberately avoided your gaze. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the intricate patterns of the weathered rug beneath you both, while the sturdy walls of the hut sheltered you from the biting night air that whistled outside. His words were heavy with self-doubt, pierced straight through your heart like shards of ice. Every fiber of your being ached to chase away his demons, to somehow make him see himself through your adoring eyes, to help him understand just how perfect and whole he was.

But this wasn't about your feelings.

You focused on soothing his wounded spirit, placing his needs above all else. "You are handsome, Buck Buck," you assured him, your voice steady and warm. "Nothing could ever change that. Not the loss of a limb, not the absence of your prosthetic, not a single thing in this world. You are everything to me, absolutely everything, and I want nothing more than to show you just how true that is. Would you let me?"

He finally lifted his gaze, his watery eyes meeting your steady ones. "I don't think...you want to right now. I just...I don't feel whole anymore. Not like this."

"Let me try?" Your voice was hushed, gentle as morning light basking over his skin as you carefully guided him back until he was seated more comfortably against the cushions scattered on the floor. He obliged with visible hesitation, his eyes a mixture of trust and lingering anxiety. You began to pull the silken cloths away from his body, revealing the strong planes of his muscular chest. His breathing quickened noticeably, an edge of nervousness creeping in as your hand drifted towards the delicate silk that kept his amputated arm hidden from the world's prying gaze.

His remaining hand caught your wrist, stopping you with an urgent touch. Your eyes immediately found his face, offering wordless comfort and reassurance. "It's okay..." You whispered, keeping your movements completely still to honor his hesitation.

"They had to take the rest of it...there's...not much left there anymore. I don't even...have a shoulder anymore. It's just...empty space where something should be..."

"Hey...shh. It's alright...we can stop right here if you need to. Know that whether you have something there or not...I'll have you either way. Every piece of you, exactly as you are. That doesn't matter to me - it never has, and it never will. I promise you that..."

He swallowed thickly, his throat constricting as a heavy lump forced its way down. Gradually, his racing heartbeat steadied and his breathing evened out enough to allow you to continue. In all his years, through all his struggles, you had become the only one he truly trusted to see him like this - vulnerable, exposed, and completely himself. It took patience and time, but you remained steadfast by his side and proved you were worthy of seeing all of him.

His fingers loosened their grip around your wrist, slowly releasing you as if reluctant to let go. With the silent permission, you carefully pulled away the silk fabric. His eyes squeezed shut instinctively, the familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over him as he actively avoided looking at himself. But those tightly closed eyes flew open in surprise when your soft lips pressed against the jagged landscape of scars around the area. His body jerked away reflexively at first, the unfamiliar sensation sending tingles across his skin. The touch still felt foreign to him, but just as quickly as he had flinched, his muscles began to unwind and relax beneath your tender attention.

"There we go...just let me love you. You are so perfect." Your words drifted between tender kisses, each one a gentle reassurance as you traced a path up his neck and along his jaw. Your hands moved up and around his body, touching and caressing him as if memorizing every inch. Your touch wandered a deliberate path from his hips, ghosting up along his sides until finally reaching his face, where you cupped his cheeks and drew him close, keeping him anchored to this moment. "Look at you...so gorgeous...you couldn't be more perfect to me. You know that? Every single part of you."

Your kisses continued, dotting across his face during your gentle peppering. The attention made his nose scrunching slightly as a shy, almost boyish smile spread across his features, transforming his entire expression. "You're just saying that..." He murmured, but your earnest words had already worked their magic, warming his ears and cheeks until they glowed pink, each sweet affirmation making his stomach flip.

"Oh no, I mean it, Bucky..." You hummed with such conviction that he couldn't help but meet your gaze. Your eyes held his, full of nothing but pure adoration as you whispered, "I mean every single word, every single time."

You continued to warm him up with tender kisses and gentle touches, taking your time as you massaged his body while you lovingly peppered soft kisses all over him. Your lips traced a path down his sternum and across his stomach, your fingers dancing lightly as they rubbed soothing circles over the sensitive skin by his hips, occasionally mixing in playful little nips that made him shiver. Gradually, you felt his body responding to your attention, his desire evident as it pressed urgently against you through the remaining clothes he still wore on his lower half.

"Are you sure you want to be with me like...this?" He asked once more, that deep insecurity still festering inside him like an old wound. He kept his gaze averted from the loss of his limb, unable to bear witnessing the damage that marked him. The phantom pains that plagued him were already more than he could stand - they seemed to intensify tenfold whenever his eyes fell upon the empty space where something should have been. His mind played such cruel tricks on him, tormenting him with sensations from a limb that was no longer there, an endless reminder of what he had lost.

"I'm positive..." You captured his lips in yours, pouring all your emotion into the sweetest, most tender kiss you could possibly give, wanting him to feel just how completely and utterly you adored every part of him.

When you were both fully undressed, you straddled him once more, beginning a slow and sensual rhythm as you moved your hips up and down, grinding yourself against his length. Your breath caught in your throat as you spoke, your voice thick with emotion, "Y-you...you're so incredibly beautiful...every single mark, every scar on you...none of it bothers me the way you think it does. I can see all that fear in your eyes...hear the doubt in your voice…but I promise you, I swear to you...it doesn’t. I love you. Every single part of you. All of you, exactly as you are."

You sunk down on him before he could respond with words, his voice strained as he moaned loudly, his strong hand instinctively finding its way to your hip as you moved against him with passionate intensity. His deep, resonant moans drove you forward, fueled your desires, and you maintained your rhythmic bouncing. Your own satisfaction was the furthest thing from your mind - all you wanted in this moment was to show him just how much your love for him was through every careful motion. You channeled all your attention into performing every little movement you knew brought him pleasure, carefully swirling your hips in tight circles, rolling your body in waves, varying the tempo and pressure while you recalled previous nights of passion and how much he liked every individual change.

"I love you so much baby, you know that right? You know how completely I adore you, what an absolutely perfect, precious boy you are..." You moaned back breathlessly, your eyes meeting his for a fleeting but intense moment. In that brief connection, you made sure every word flowed directly from the depths of your heart, knowing he deserved endless reassurance and affirmation of your devotion.

"You are a masterpiece," you urged, your voice carrying both fierce determination and infinite tenderness. "And you are all mine to cherish and admire every single day."

Crystal tears began flowing freely down his flushed cheeks, nearly causing you to pause in concern. Your lips parted instinctively to ask if something was wrong, but he spoke first, his voice thick with emotion. "I-I love you so much, sweetheart, y-you've always been there for me, through everything. You've shown me nothing but love and patience...even when I was struggling and being an asshole...”

His breath hitched as he took in a sharp breath, steadying himself to continue. “You were my warmth when I was stuck in nothing but darkness and cold...when I had no one else to turn to...when I had nothing left." His movements synchronized perfectly with yours, his body rising to meet each careful swivel and roll of your hips in an intimate dance of shared passion.

“You are my world.”

He throbbed inside you, burying his face in your chest as he tried to hold himself back from finishing but couldn't. He cried out into you, muffling his tears into your chest as he came - shooting thick ropes of hot fluid deep into your cervix and warming you from the inside.

Bucky remained still afterwards, seeming hesitant and uncertain, his body tense with what could only be embarrassment at finishing so quickly without ensuring your pleasure first. But that thought couldn't have been further from your mind - his vulnerability in these moments only made your heart swell with even more affection.

You guided his face away from where he'd buried it against your strong sternum, immediately capturing his lips in a deep, reassuring kiss before he could voice the apology you could see forming.

"Hush now...don't you dare apologize, Barnes.” Your tone playfully firm with the use of his last name, “I need you to understand...I love you. So deeply, so completely...whatever you think you're lacking doesn't matter to me at all. I will spend every moment showing you exactly how cherished and adored you are through my eyes until you finally see yourself the way I do." You pressed another lingering kiss to his slightly swollen lips, letting it stretch on for several long seconds before slowly pulling back. "And I'll keep doing it for as long as it takes."

"For as long as it takes, huh?" He echoed softly, a hint of playfulness creeping into his voice though you could hear the genuine concern underneath. "What if I need that every single day?" The question held a weight to it - you could tell he worried about being too needy, too demanding of your patience and reassurance. But your expression remained unwavering, eyebrows drawing together with fierce determination.

"Every single damn day, Buck Buck...until my lungs have lost their breath."

Thanks for reading - 💙

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[ms-demeanor]

fully understand and agree about reiki and prayer and herbs and the rest of that bullshit, but i'm a little confused as to how chiropractic care got lumped in with those

Chiropractors are quacks, full stop.

There is nothing that a chiropractor can do for you that a physical therapist couldn't do better or that a massage therapist wouldn't be able to assist with.

There are specific conditions that can cause joint subluxation, but unless you have one of them, your joints are probably perfectly fine where they are and if they are not that is something that would be better (and more safely) assessed by someone who is actually qualified to provide some variety of medical care (which chiropractors are not, they are licensed to provide chiropractic care, which is pseudoscience on your spine, which is a bad place to do pseudoscience). And if you do have those conditions you shouldn't let a chiropractor touch you with a ten foot pole because you are at even *more* risk of harm from spinal manipulation than the general population is.

When I was in college and didn't have health insurance and was working at a coffee shop I couldn't afford $150 out of pocket to go see a doctor, but I could afford $45 to see a chiropractor.

What the chiropractor didn't know - because she wasn't a doctor and didn't have the diagnostic tools for this kind of thing - was that I didn't have back pain because my spine was out of place, I had back pain because I had a bone tumor in my spine, and her adjustment fractured one of my lumbar vertebrae.

When I did get insurance I finally figured out what was wrong (after using a cane and dealing with excruciating back pain from my cracked spine I had to quit my job at the coffee shop because I couldn't reliable stand on shift) when I got an MRI. The pain was treated with muscle relaxants, oral steroids, and physical therapy, none of which would have broken my fucking back.

Chiropractic, even when practiced "competently" by an expert with the most modern and most rigorous scientific training available, is still more dangerous and less effective than other interventions. All of which is aside from the fact that there are a shitload of chiropractors out there who will claim to treat asthma and autism, which they can't do and are shitty for claiming to be able to do.

Top to bottom, all through its history, chiropractic is a scam that hurts more people than it helps and because of our fucked up medical care in the US specifically has been largely predatory on people who can't afford real treatment for their illnesses and injuries.

Also, if you are ever going to see a chiropractor - though i wish you wouldn't - never, ever, ever, EVER let them manipulate your neck. Chiropractic spinal manipulation of the neck can lead to severing the arteries in your neck, causing a stroke. This HAS killed people, and as long as chiropractors keep doing it, it will kill more people.

Fuck - and I cannot emphasize this enough - chiropractic.

[22ayla21]

Since you already have you mind set on the family men (I am not eyeing phainon) what if their children got hurt? (Like not a normal kids fight, like an actual spar)

Injury

The reaction of the Amphoreus men to their children being injured during sparring.

Unlike his wife, who might immediately rush to the children with anxiety, Mydei first assesses the situation. How serious is the injury? Can they get up on their own? Should they call a doctor? If these are ordinary bruises and contusions, he will just chuckle, but if something more serious, his gaze instantly becomes heavy.

On the outside, he remains collected and unperturbed, but inside, anxiety is burning. Especially if the children do not immediately respond or look too pale. He quickly checks their condition, examines the wounds and only then allows himself to relax (if there is nothing critical).

Mydei will not coddle, but he will not leave them without support. He will sternly say that sparring is not only about strength, but also about the ability to avoid unnecessary injuries. He can lightly nudge his son in the shoulder: "Be more careful next time," and say something like "A good fight, but the technique needs to be improved."

If a child can't stand up or has a broken bone, their calm will turn to icy fury. Especially if the injury could have been prevented. The doctor will arrive before anyone can realize what happened. And if someone was to blame for the injury (even the child himself, due to arrogance), he will draw conclusions.

If the children do not complain and endure pain, he is proud inside. Even if on the outside he chuckles: “You are definitely my child.” However, he will make it clear that he respects their strength, but reminds them that wounds need to be treated, not ignored.

Once they are well, he can arrange for them to spar with himself, to show them how to avoid such mistakes. But perhaps he will add something that he will not say out loud - give in a little, allowing them to feel their strength.

Later, when no one is looking, he can discreetly adjust the blanket on their sleeping body or leave something useful next to them - bruise ointment or hot tea. And if his wife notices, he will grumpily say: “It doesn’t mean anything.”

On the outside, he remains collected and cool, but on the inside, he is worried and irritated – not at the children, but at the situation itself. He instantly assesses the extent of the injury and decides how to proceed.

He will bandage the wound himself, treat it, and if the case is serious, he will immediately take his daughter to the doctors. Despite his strict approach, there is always care in his actions.

After he makes sure that everything is okay with his daughters, he will point out their mistakes without unnecessary emotion. He will not grumble or pity them, but will clearly explain what exactly they did wrong so that it does not happen again. He may darken a little and say something like: “Fighting is not fun. A mistake can cost more than just a wound.” His words are harsh, but there is no malice in them – only a desire for them to understand the cost of their actions.

He does not stop believing in them. He will remind them that mistakes are part of learning, but if they want to inherit his fighting style, they must learn to respect their weapons and their bodies. Despite the seriousness of the situation, deep down he is proud that his daughters are trying, following in his footsteps, and developing their skills. He will not say it out loud, but perhaps later he will pat them on the back or briefly say, “Next time, don’t make that mistake.”

After the incident, he will monitor their training more closely, perhaps even change the approach to minimize the risk of injury, but he will not forbid them from continuing training. He will not let the incident break their confidence, but perhaps suggest new training methods to avoid similar situations in the future. After all, mistakes are not a reason to give up, but an opportunity to become stronger.

Despite his confidence in the strength and resilience of his children, Phainon never lost his head in such situations. When one of his sons was injured, his face instantly became serious, and he rushed to him without hesitation. Phainon's gaze became intense, and his actions were quick and precise, checking his son's condition. First, he always paid attention to safety and the rapid elimination of possible damage.

His children knew that he could be strict and demanding, but in such moments Phainon tried to hide his anxiety. He did not want to show his sons that their injury could frighten him. He spoke confidently, in a calm voice, even if inside he was filled with anxiety: "Are you okay? Do not worry, we will solve everything soon."

Phainon never left his children without proper care. If the injury was serious, he did not hesitate to send one of the servants or assistants for medical help. He stayed with his son, keeping him calm and promising that everything would be fine. Even if it was a minor injury, he did not allow his son to relax, monitoring his condition.

After the injury was treated, Phaenon never lowered his children to the point of making them think of themselves as weak or helpless. Instead, he tried to teach them resilience, as well as the importance of being careful and careful. If the son was at fault for getting injured due to hasty or thoughtless actions, he would explain how to avoid such mistakes in the future, but without irritation or anger.

At the same time, despite his stern appearance, he was incredibly proud of how his sons handled difficulties. When his son recovered, he often showed his pride through quiet words of encouragement, such as: "You did well, son. You are strong."

[grison-in-space]

Listening to Artificial Condition again, it strikes me how much Murderbot uses empathy reflexively as a survival skill. Look at this bit.

Upon meeting it, ART allows it on board and then announces that it knows that Murderbot is rogue. Then ART threatens to destroy it if it hacks ART's own systems. Murderbot is immediately terrified and shuts down all inputs, gives serious thought to spending the entire three month journey unconscious, and then considers the potential avenues of damage from ART's drones. ART, not realizing why Murderbot had suddenly gone silent, tells it to quit sulking, which understandably pisses off the still-terrified Murderbot. It dumps a bunch of memories of coercive treatment into ART's feed, and ART goes silent.

Then this happens:

Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. Okay, well. If you think I trusted that apology, you don’t know Murderbot. Most likely it was playing a game with me. I said, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to ride to your next destination.” I’d explained that earlier, before it opened the hatch for me, but it was worth repeating. I felt it withdraw back behind its wall. I waited, and let my circulatory system purge the fear-generated chemicals. More time crawled by, and I started to get bored. Sitting here like this was too much like waiting in a cubicle after I’d been activated, waiting for the new clients to take delivery, for the next boring contract. If it was going to destroy me, at least I could get some media in before that happened. I started the new show again, but I was still too upset to enjoy it, so I stopped it and started rewatching an old episode of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. After three episodes, I was calmer and reluctantly beginning to see the transport’s perspective. A SecUnit could cause it a lot of internal damage if it wasn’t careful, and rogue SecUnits were not exactly known for lying low and avoiding trouble. I hadn’t hurt the last transport I had taken a ride on, but it didn’t know that. I didn’t understand why it had let me aboard, if it really didn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was a transport. Maybe it was like me, and it had taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted.

The thing about Murderbot's survival is that it clearly involves quite a bit of negotiating with other constructs and bots. That's how it talks its way onto cargo hauler bots in the first place. It uses empathy--envisioning the emotional and cognitive context of the individuals it encounters--to work out what different kinds of people want, so that it can offer them fair trades. It also uses empathy to consider what humans might be looking for, so it can practice blending in and hide.

Murderbot would never have survived so long if it wasn't capable of assessing the individual desires of the people--human, bot, and construct--around it. It thinks about ART's probable fears and motivations so that it can consider whether ART is inherently an ongoing threat or a potential ally.

When your survival depends on evading detection, you get really good at assessing perceptual biases so that you can shape yourself to fit into them. People talk about murderbot being radically empathetic as a choice it makes, or as a feature of its personality that makes it a good person. But I think murderbot would be the the first person to tell you that this empathy is part of its threat assessment suite, a skill that was developed out of necessity in order to allow you to survive.

It is also a trait that makes murderbot a good person, of course: it chooses very carefully to try to survive by doing as little harm as possible and by offering things, like media, that buy it access to things it needs. But it started as a survival skill. It's part of hypervigilance.

I think one of the strengths of this series is that so many of the things we love about SecUnit are traits developed for survival in an inherently threatening world. The shape of its mind and heart have been changed by the trauma of its origin--but they don't make murderbot less good for being altered, even if that skill was developed in a traumatic context.

I like that.

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

[margecouture]

reacting vs. responding

do you sometimes tend to react out of anger or emotion but then later wish you would have handled things differently?

well, thankfully knowing the difference between reacting vs. responding can help you, not just in heated situations but in all situations and conversations. it'll show that you're a person of elegance, thoughtfulness, and maturity. so, here's an explanation of both and a guide on how to apply this to your life effectively:

·˚ ༘ "When you react, you let others control you. When you respond, you are in control." - Bohdi Sanders ·˚ ༘

REACTING:

an immediate & emotional reply

instincts and conditioned behavior take over

no second thought for whether the reaction will have a negative or positive outcome

comes from a place of defense and possibly fear

ᡣ𐭩 reacting is instant and often driven by emotion, it's like a reflex. reactions don't involve much thought, like snapping at someone when you're upset. reacting tends to lead to escalated situations which leads to unintended consequences.

so next time you're stuck in traffic or there's a long line at the store you really wanted to buy something from, pause and acknowledge your emotions. say to yourself "this is not in my control but i will do what is in my control". and this could involve calmly finding a new route to take to avoid heavy traffic or just deciding to order online from that desired store. think logically! 😊

RESPONDING:

you evaluate the situation and slow down

you can identify and become aware of unpleasant emotions

weighs long term effects

comes from a place of love and respect

shows you are mindful and have self control

ᡣ𐭩 responding, on the other hand, involves pausing, assessing and choosing the logic/right course of action. it shows that you are secure within yourself and thoughtful. RESPONDING = UNDERSTANDING

so next time someone criticizes you or you get into a disagreement, always PAUSE FIRST, acknowledge that whoever is criticizing you is coming from a place of anger and insecurity, then calmly respond by saying "i'm sorry that you are frustrated, could you explain your concerns further?" and go from there. a simple understanding goes a long way. it doesn't only help the situation but it leaves you with a good self conscious.

another great way of responding is to simply walk away!

choosing to respond empowers growth, strengthens connection and helps you to stand out in a world full of overly sensitive people. remember, every situation is an opportunity to practice this skill and grow. happy living and au revoir!😊

[kisakis-boyfriend]

May I get head canons of Kaveh, Bennett, and Freminet getting hit with some sorta sex pollen so reader blows their backs out to save their lives? Big Fuck-or-Die Vibes

You sure can! Reader is a dom/top male as usual~

All characters are depicted as 20+ as well~

-

Kaveh

Just my luck, he thinks as a blast of pollen hits him directly in the face. Nothing good ever comes from touching strange plants...

The effects come on quickly, sending tingles throughout his entire body, the feeling is especially noticeable in the area between his legs

Kaveh calls out your name, stumbling towards you and clinging onto your arms for stability. You're understandably worried and reach out to cup his face when he suddenly drops to his knees, humping at your leg desperately

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching him whimper as he clutches your pants tightly, begging for you to fuck him

Kaveh cries until you finally do just that, not even bothering to fully remove either of your articles of clothing. Instead, you simply pull his pants down so that you have access to his hole, and pull your own down far enough to shove your cock into him

His legs tremble as you ram into him relentlessly, overtaken by some unfathomable pleasure coursing through his veins

The only thoughts floating around in that pretty little head are “need cock” and “needtocumneedtocumneedtocum!! ”

You end up fucking him for a while as the effects of the mysterious pollen persist for hours. Just pounding his wet hole over and over, making his pretty back arch so far off of the ground, cumming again and again as he cries and moans loud enough to lose his voice that night

Kaveh is so incredibly embarrassed about it the next day...he doesn't fully understand what came over him and apologizes profusely 😞

Bennett

He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, he's used to things like this happening, well aware of his terrible luck

But he quickly realizes that something is wrong. A little bit of pollen shouldn't cause him to think of being railed by your thick cock out of nowhere...

Bennett tries to hold it together, not wanting to bother you with something so lewd all of a sudden, but he soon gives in and tells you about his thoughts

You're a bit concerned about why this happened and what kind of plant could do such a thing, but you save those thoughts for later, swiftly pinning Bennett to the wall of some ruins and removing his shorts

If you don't want to get caught by some poor adventurer passing by, you'll have to cover Bennett's mouth or create a makeshift gag because he is LOUD

He's wet literally everywhere. Drool running down his chin, cum dripping down his dick from multiple orgasms, his ass is wet and messy because you've been drilling into him for over an hour now, tears are probably running down his pretty cheeks as he's so overstimulated too

But he insists that you don't stop, clawing at the back of your shirt and screaming “yesyesyesyesyes—!! ” as you pound into him harder

Also embarrassed about it when he finally comes back to his senses. Your reassuring smile does ease his mind a little though 🧡

Freminet

You swam away for only a second, taking a picture of some pretty seashells before returning to your diving partner...only to find him swatting away some sort of goo? Spores? You weren't really sure, more concerned with helping Freminet to the surface

Quickly ascending to the surface world, the two of you found a secluded place to sit so that you could assess his condition

By that time though, the substance had already begun to work its magic. Freminet breathed heavily as his dick brushed against the fabric of his pants

You reached out a hand with the intent to feel his forehead, seeing as his cheeks were a deep crimson, but Freminet grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand down to his bulge. Immediately moaning and humping against your hand

Apologies spilled from his lips, simultaneously begging you to fuck him in the same breath. You were concerned, but quickly connected the dots

After finding a soft spot in the grass, you removed his clothing, slipping your pants off and pushing your cock into his ass

Freminet's hands dig into your arms as you force your length deeper inside of him, broken moans falling out of him as tears spill down his cheeks

He begs for you to go faster, fuck him harder, cum in him again, please? Just don't stop or he'll cry harder

His small body bounces with every thrust, surely there will be dark purple bruises covering his waist due to the vice grip you have on him

He'll be incredibly sore for the rest of the day, walking with a limp because of how hard you fucked him, probably still apologizing for asking you to do that so suddenly...

Freminet will also need tons of aftercare and reassurance, just be extra gentle with him for a few days 💙

[michanvalentine]

I was mentioned in a pro-Ascendant Astarion post with this quote: "Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess." This is the post it’s taken from: click me!

No problem at all—it's public, and I don’t see why anyone shouldn’t reference it. Naturally, the post was in opposition to that statement—generally speaking, I mean—but that’s fine too. Everyone has their own opinion and is free to express it. That’s not the point of my upcoming ramble! xD

It’s just that rereading my own words got me thinking more deeply about the topic and made me want to explore it further.

Now, I’m not a psychologist, but I did study psychology. I took several exams at university and I actually did pretty well, lol. I didn’t complete my studies because life took me elsewhere—most importantly, my daughter was born—but the general knowledge I gained from psychology still follows me in everything I do every day.

So it’s second nature for me to analyze characters from the media I consume through that lens—Astarion included. Of course, this is just my perspective; I can’t say for certain whether the developers intended this for his character or whether they did specific research into his psychological development.

That said, today I feel like going off on a little tangent about this beautiful science. Still in reference to that heart-stealing vampire spawn that I’m aaaaabsolutely not obsessed with.

Let me also add a disclaimer. The concepts mentioned are just examples and cannot be applied literally, as every person is different and reacts differently to situations and stimuli. Likewise, the brain is plastic—neural connections change and adapt, and there is almost never a fixed or definitive condition. Above all, I’m not making any kind of diagnosis! That’s not within my competence! Keep these ideas well in mind!

So, why do I say that Astarion doesn’t have a well-developed sense of self? Let’s take it step by step and talk a little about the concept of the "self". I'm copy-pasting something from another post, lol. Rewriting it from scratch is too much work! xP

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador.

There are lines of dialogue within the game that highlight this in a painful and terrifying way. For example, when Tav/Durge directly confronts Cazador, or when Cazador ends up on his knees in front of Astarion after one of his brothers or sisters dies during the ritual. Cazador says: “He [Astarion] is afraid. He’s afraid because all he has ever knows is you and me. And without us, he is nothing.” Or: “And then? What will you be without me? A shade? A specrte in the shadows, devoid of all purpose.”

It’s a terrible thing, but it’s true. Cazador represents everything—Astarion’s entire world—and when he dies, he leaves behind a void that’s even more frightening. And let’s not forget that, in the real world, it takes very little to completely erase a person—and two hundred years in the hands of an abuser is an overwhelming amount of time, a detail that too often gets underestimated or completely forgotten.

The whole matter becomes even more disturbing and painful when Cazador suggests that without Tav/Durge, Astarion would have come crawling back to him with his tail between his legs. To his fucking tormentor. And sadly, it's a painful concept because it really happens in real life—when you have nothing and no one, when you have no means of your own and are completely dependent on another person, no matter how terrifying they are. Cazador is certain that Astarion will return to him, even if it means dying. And it's a concept with a devastating impact.

So Cazador was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

Good Lord, he thinks that in order to receive support, he has to sell himself to Tav/Durge and offer his sexual services—otherwise, he has no hope of survival! And that’s why I say he doesn’t possess all the skills of a well-adjusted adult. Other glaring examples of this—so glaring they hit you like a punch in the eye—are his inability to say no and to recognize his own limits. And shall we talk about the infamous question: What do you want? The first time, he deflects, and essentially gives the answer the player wants to hear. The second time, he states it plainly: he doesn't know. He doesn't know how to make decisions, he hasn’t done it in 200 years, and the very idea terrifies him to his core. These are all skills that a well-balanced person possesses—let’s not kid ourselves.

Like any mature and well-balanced adult, one knows how to recognize their feelings, define them, communicate them, and most importantly, not fear them. Astarion, on the other hand, is unable—after 200 years of pure shit—to understand what he feels for Tav/Durge, and he won’t be able to until the end of the Pale Elf’s quest. “I don’t know—but isn’t it nice, not to know? You’re not a target, nor a victim, not just one night it's better to forget. But then... whatever in the world could you be?”

So, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc.

And let’s not forget that when the fateful confrontation with Cazador is brought up, Astarion explicitly asks Tav/Durge for help. “I need to take the fight to him. And I need you to help me,” he says. How to help him—whether to ascend or not—is up to the player and how they choose to play. But the fact remains: Astarion needs support.

Meanwhile let’s take a look at some of the consequences of low self-esteem:

Difficulty opening up in social settings and communicating one's emotions and needs

Extreme self-criticism

Devaluing or ignoring one’s own qualities

Tendency to constantly apologize and feel guilty for things that are not actually one's responsibility

Tendency to appease others due to perceiving oneself as inferior to one’s peers

Use of negative words to describe oneself

Difficulty making decisions and maintaining personal goals over time

Negative and self-blaming internal dialogue

Belief that success is due to luck, with difficulty attributing accomplishments to oneself

Not believing compliments that are given to them

And now, let’s look at the most common causes for the development of low self-esteem:

Being raised by extremely critical and demanding parents

Being heavily devalued by parents or other authority figures

Being ignored or ridiculed during childhood

Being a victim of physical, sexual, or psychological abuse

Achieving poor academic results

Experiencing episodes of bullying or mistreatment in the workplace

Suffering a financial collapse or a significant breakup

Being subjected to a prolonged period of stress

Suffering from a chronic and persistent medical condition

Suffering from psychological disorders (e.g., anxiety or depression)

Does this remind you of something? Or maybe someone in particular? Does that person, by any chance, have red eyes and pointed teeth?

Naturally, these are just examples, and everything varies depending on the individual, but I believe these points still manage to convey the concept.

They especially give the idea of how much events—and especially the context in which we live—impact our psyche. For example, thanks to neuroscience and increasingly detailed brain imaging, we know that brain areas change according to the factors mentioned above; they train like muscles, so to speak, becoming larger and more reactive every time they are activated.

So, if someone is subjected to chronic stress, the brain areas responsible for managing it will become easily activated, bringing with them a whole series of consequences that affect performance, behavior, perception, thinking, and so on.

Likewise, the more the “right” areas of the brain are activated, the more the brain itself will develop in a healthy and balanced way, forming neural connections that support the tools (perception, thinking, etc) mentioned above.

Meanwhile, other areas—such as those related to stress responses—will remain small and more difficult to activate. (Obviously, brain areas don’t literally “grow” or “shrink” in size, but the connections between neurons (synapses) are strengthened or weakened depending on how much they’re used. This is a principle known as “neural plasticity”: what you use becomes reinforced, what you neglect becomes weaker.)

A curiosity: even our mood influences how we perceive people and the world around us—and consequently, our thoughts and impressions too! xD

This image is heartbreaking, because these brains belong to two three-year-old children—and the differences are significant.

The brain on the right is missing key areas that are present in the one on the left. These missing parts impact the abilities of the child with the smaller brain:

this child will likely be less intelligent as an adult compared to the one with the larger brain,

will be less capable of empathizing with others,

and will be at higher risk of becoming addicted to drugs and involved in violent crimes.

Additionally, the child with the smaller brain is more likely to remain unemployed and dependent on social services, and may develop mental health issues or other serious health problems.

The large difference in size and development between these two brains is not due to illness or injury, but rather to how the two children were treated by their mothers.

The child with the larger, more developed brain was loved by their mother, who was consistently present and attentive to their needs. The child with the smaller brain, on the other hand, was neglected and abused. It is precisely this difference in treatment that explains why one child's brain developed fully while the other’s did not.

Of course, our favorite vampire spawn isn’t a developing child—but the point is that certain environments and experiences have a profound impact and shape many aspects of our lives, making us more or less equipped to face challenges.

At this point, I’d like to focus a bit on the reasoning process in general. It’s easy to believe that when humans think, make decisions, and reflect on a problem or task, they do so in the most rational way possible. And that’s where we go wrong! First of all, the cerebral cortex — the part of the brain responsible for complex cognitive functions such as thinking, awareness, memory, attention, and language — is located in the upper region of the brain. Most stimuli, in order to reach the cortex, must pass through all the lower areas of the brain, which often trigger behavioral responses even before the stimulus reaches rational thought. For example, the activation of the sympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for danger responses. A silly example: how many times have we jumped out of our skin before realizing that the loud, scary noise was just a window slamming shut? First comes the fear response, then the evaluation of the stimulus follows.

As if that weren’t enough, the brain plays other little tricks on us — without us even being aware of it — because that sneaky thing does a whole lot on its own, especially when it comes to thinking and making decisions.

So... Astarion has a very limited perspective—mostly the one offered by Cazador. As we said earlier, the world is divided into those who have power and those who suffer it. Period. But we all know that in between there are infinite shades of gray, and that can’t be denied. In the same way, Astarion believes that Tav/Durge is the exception to the rule—the only kind person in the world, the one and only for him. But as much as it flatters our ego to hear that, we know very well that no one is that special. It’s always Astarion’s perspective that’s extremely limited. And in fact, here too, Tav/Durge has the opportunity to broaden his view, to point out that the world is full of kind people who would care for him if only he opened himself up and showed kindness in return. This narrow way of thinking and seeing things, this resistance to noticing alternatives, fits perfectly into the category of cognitive biases.

Let’s start with the premise that the human brain needs to be both effective and efficient. That means reaching a result in the shortest time and using the fewest resources. Therefore: when we think and make decisions, we don’t always do so rationally. We use heuristics—mental shortcuts—often following patterns we've used before. A silly example: if I have to cook a dish I’ve made a hundred times, I don’t sit down to rethink how and why I should cook it—I just switch off my brain and do it the way I’ve always done. Many heuristics are good and useful—others, not so much. And when they fall into the latter category, they become biases.

There are many types, but let’s look at one that we all, even us Astarion fans, share. xD Confirmation Bias!

Confirmation bias manifests when we tend to search for, interpret, or remember information that supports our pre-existing beliefs, ignoring anything that contradicts them or isn’t completely aligned.

Once a certain mental imprint forms, new experiences only deepen that groove, without any willingness to explore other interpretative modes—in fact, they tend to further crystallize internal beliefs.

We can say that the person is cherry-picking—in a complex set of data and information, they pick out only what resonates with a belief they already hold, which, in some way, is convenient for them.

The reason is easy to see: if I don’t challenge a belief—even if it’s irrational—I’ll save time, create less friction, and reduce internal and external resistance to a given situation.

Because confirmation bias shows up when a person selects only the evidence that supports their point of view, it easily becomes a self-sustaining system, keeping them locked in an interpretive and experiential microcosm that risks becoming increasingly stifling—a self-built prison.

Astarion is stuck on tracks he’s known inside and out for centuries, forcibly carved into his mind—and for him, it’s all too easy to filter everything through that lens. And this cuts him off from a myriad of possibilities, in a completely unconscious way. It’s like throwing a wrench in your own gears. So Tav/Durge represents an opening to a different value system, one that could replace or at least expand our vampire spawn’s worldview. Not without resistance, of course—those brain connections will get you!

So, to conclude, let’s go back to the beginning and to the statement in question.

"Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess."

Yes, maybe out of context it might sound bad. I certainly don’t see Astarion as half a man, incapable of thinking or choosing for himself. But I do recognize that he has serious vulnerabilities that need to be treated with care and taken into account. Not when we're playing—when we play, we do what we like and have fun—but when we analyze him as a character. When Astarion, at the end of the Pale Elf quest, in the good ending, thanks us for saving him from himself, what he means, in my opinion, is exactly this: thank you for supporting me when my vulnerabilities, my fears, my blind spots, and my narrow perspective were getting the best of me. Because, let’s be honest, Astarion’s story is also about this—about rediscovery, about learning to live again, about changing, improving, growing, developing relationships, new abilities and skills. Not as a rogue or as a vampire, or within game mechanics—but as a person.

The point is: Astarion has come out of a horrific situation, one that has to have left marks, wounds, infected pus festering beneath the skin. A situation that never allowed him to understand what he liked, what he wanted, who he really was—simply because he couldn’t express himself, couldn’t think about his own needs, couldn’t say no. Couldn’t develop his sense of self in peace and safety.

A situation that left him unable to face the world and the people in it in a healthy way, unable to identify and express his own feelings, unable to say that damn "no" or to make choices. To decide, yes. And in fact, every time he’s asked what he wants to do, his answers are vague—or he says he doesn’t know, or admits that he’s afraid of those damn choices. He’s afraid of freedom, of consequences, and of everything else beyond the four things he knows—the four fucking things Cazador drilled into him, all around power and control.

And I’m really supposed to believe that the one choice he’s absolutely sure about is Ascension? Hell no. Just like he's not sure he doesn't want to ascend!

References

Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist's View of Psychotherapy. Houghton Mifflin. → A foundational text on the concept of the self, self-actualization, and congruence between real and ideal self.

Winnicott, D. W. (1964). The Child, the Family, and the Outside World. Penguin Books. → Explores the importance of a safe environment in the healthy development of the self.

Bowlby, J. (1969–1980). Attachment and Loss (Vols. 1–3). Basic Books. → Describes how early attachment figures shape our internal working models and sense of security.

Erikson, E. H. (1950). Childhood and Society. W. W. Norton & Company. → Introduces the theory of psychosocial development across the lifespan.

Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books. → Explains complex trauma, victim-perpetrator dynamics, and the long-term effects of abuse.

van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking. → Offers neuroscientific insight into how trauma reshapes the brain and affects emotional regulation.

Siegel, D. J. (2010). The Mindful Brain: Reflection and Attunement in the Cultivation of Well-Being. W. W. Norton & Company. → Discusses neuroplasticity, integration, and the development of a coherent sense of self.

Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, Fast and Slow. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. → A deep dive into heuristics, decision-making, and cognitive biases like confirmation bias.

Malaguti, E., & Morganti, P. (2014). Psychotraumatology: An Integrated Model for Trauma Treatment. (Translated from the Italian). FrancoAngeli. → Addresses the psychological and neurological consequences of prolonged trauma.

[honeytonedhottie]

how to stop being toxic⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⭐️

the point of this post in general is a reminder to be self aware so that then u can become an individual that u are proud of ✨

SELF AWARENESS ;

everyone has traits in themselves that they aren't necessarily proud of and thats okay. its only natural bcuz we are humans. whats important is that u are able to acknowledge it and work on it.

toxic traits and behaviors stem from things like our own insecurities, conditioning, our egos and a multitude of other things. when we aren't toxic we free ourselves up for better people and experiences.

SELF ASSESSMENT ACTIVITY ;

do some shadow work, dig deeper and do some journalling to rly assess some of ur personality traits whether u classify them as a negative or a positive trait. some examples of traits include

having trouble taking accountability (shifting blame)

once you've classified that trait, write a sentence that explains why that particular trait is/isnt toxic. so for this particular trait ur sentence could look something like

trouble with taking accountability for myself and my actions is a toxic trait because it displays my inability to be responsible for myself/admit fault. this can jeopardize relationships and opportunities for me, it can also hinder my growth as an individual.

just because you notice toxic behaviors within yourself, it doesn't mean that u are a bad person. in fact, since u can acknowledge it and wanna improve it, that shows that u are a good person.

HOW TO ACTUALLY STOP ;

look for the source of toxic behaviors that u display. some ways that can help u to identify what makes u act in that way is by seeing a therapist who can help u to dissect and understand urself, intentional journalling etc.

when u find urself in situations in which u think that ur being toxic, u can practice mindfulness and nip it in the bud. the more that u practice doing this the easier and more natural it'll feel.

be a good listener

show urself compassion

start journalling/going to therapy

listen to feedback

listen to feedback from others from an impartial view. dont take criticism or negative feedback personally. take the feedback that u get and apply it cuz thats one of the many ways u can grow.

[prettieinpink]

Being that girl once again- back to school!

It’s back to school season everyone, and my favourite times of the year. In this post im going to give you stuff to do for back to school + advice in specific areas of your school life! I hope everyone can take away something from this post <3 

THINGS TO DO BEFORE BACK TO SCHOOL <3

Revise your past term content in your core subjects, ensure there’s nothing you do not understand(it’s better to understand now than have to understand later)

Review what you are going to be learning for this current term in your core subject, you don’t have to study it, just familiarise yourself. 

Catch up with your friends- hang out, call or text before the new school term. My favourite thing is to create predictions of drama, couples etc in the upcoming term w my girlies!

Create SMART goals for you to achieve that term, in any aspect you want. I say; 1 goal for academics, 1 goal for social and 1 goal for extracurriculars/sports. 

Clean your room !! do a deep clean and declutter. E.g wipe down all surfaces, hover pillows, vacuum floor, clean mirrors, take out any clothes you dislike

Do an everything shower + face masks!!

ACADEMICALLY

Everyday afterschool, revise everything that you’ve learnt today + the things that you struggle on

Anytime you get homework, complete it as soon as possible. Most of the time, it’s easy and non time consuming. 

Create study guides for exams/tests while actually learning instead of when the assessments are actually coming up. It saves you a lot of time, which you can use for studying effectively.

If you don’t already, have a specific learning/studying style that works for you. E.g flashcards, blurting, mind map, spaced repetition, the feynman technique. (ofc you can have multiple). Just know the pros and cons of each studying technique. 

Or, what I do is that I assign specific studying techniques to different subjects e.g science - blurting, HASS - flashcards, maths - the feynman technique. This may be different to what you have the most success learning.

Have a place, time every day or at least most days, where you can study without distractions. I like to study at the library afterschool, it’s chill and literally void of any distractions.

The only advice in which i’ll say is not optional– do practise questions under the said test conditions. Stop using websites, listening to music, being on your phone etc. Get in the zone and transfer the environment. 

SOCIALLY

Make an effort to say hi or goodbye to some people, even if you do not know them that well. If you’re up for it, ask them how they are going or how their day has been.

Start remembering names and birthdays. This will literally make people like you so much more, it’s so simple but people swoon over this. Process names in your mind and write down birthdays in your calendar. 

Don’t be afraid to talk to others. Most people do not care if you talk to them, and some are glad that you talk to them. This is how people become well-known or well-liked. 

Watch videos on how to converse with people you do not know well effectively and become close with them. TED x has a lot of videos on this, and are usually helpful. 

Don’t try to fit in with the crowd. It’s so draining, and even if you think they do, they most likely dislike you(sorry!) . Instead, find/be with your people. 

Join a club/extracurricular. You meet so many like-minded people this way, while still developing your own skills. I say everyone should at least have one solid extracurricular. 

If you are in a talking stage, three weeks is enough time for him or you to decide if you’re willing to date them. It’s not the 1920s anymore, we have imessages, facetime, skype and others to communicate and get to know each other without contact

Call out your friends if you notice them doing something toxic or generally anything they shouldn’t do. E.g gossiping, getting mad at others, bullying someone. If they continue, it will influence you in the long run.

MENTALLY 

Reframe your mindset. I know most of us do not favour school, but do not dwell on negativity and find ways to be positive/neutral about your circumstances. You’ll feel so much better.

Detach. Detachment is literally essential in highschool, there’s so much drama and most likely you will somehow get tied up in it. Stop absorbing what happens and let it influence you, observe what happens and learn from it. I have a post on this here. 

Start saying affirmations everyday. I know affs are usually viewed as a manifestation thing, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be a simple one minute way to cultivate a neutral/positive perspective of yourself. 

Journal. Things will happen, so journaling is a great way to discuss your circumstances, feelings, trauma, relationships etc and develop a sense of identity at the same time. I have a post on this here. 

Meditate. It can be go-go-go constantly, but just take a break and gain some mental clarity and see how much better you feel decluttering your mind. 

Embrace a change and growth mindset, especially in an environment where we are constantly required to adapt. 

PHYSICALLY

Start stretching.. seriously. You sit at a desk for like 5 hours a day excluding lunch and recess, everyday, which is of course going to do a number on your body. It can relieve pain in many different areas.

Have at least 1 form of exercise you do everyday. I know being students, we have to sit at a desk constantly. But, do not give up on practising good exercise habits. Not only can it help with results, it’s good for you.

Get the recommended sleep of 6-8 hours per night, which is good quality sleep without disruptions. It helps with long term memory and you’ll feel better. 

Start packing healthy but tasty lunches to school instead of buying. You’ll save so much money in the long run, and it’s better for your body. 

BEAUTY 

Get your uniforms tailored just a bit. Not too noticeable, but enough that it fits better on your body. Especially for button formal shirts, as they make you look 10 times as bulky than what you actually are. 

Buy new jewellery, earrings, necklaces or whatever you’re allowed. Subtle but noticeable jewellery makes girls look so pretty.

Learn new hairstyles!! Don’t just wear the same hair everyday, mix it up, it’s fun and makes you look attractive. 

Get a good eyebrow gel + clear mascara. Legit life changer, I look so much better everyday because I look put together without make up.

apply  vaseline on areas you would apply highlight, but avoid your eye area. 

Have a good skincare regime!! Being a student is stressful, getting pimples is a sign of stress. 

Okay that's it. Happy back to school everyone! Here’s an affirmation for you <3

I am intelligent and capable. I am skilled and confident in my abilities. I am perceived well by others. I am healthy. I am wealthy. I am looking for this term to be full of good grades, vibes, friends, growth and fun. 

[megalony]

Make It Stop- Part 2

Here is the follow up for my Eddie Diaz imagine, I'm so pleased you all liked the first part and I hope you will like this one too. Any feedback is always lovely.

I have been having a slow day with writing today, wanting to write but not feeling the mood for any particular idea. But all the requests keep me going and make me excited so keep them coming.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: Eddie is married to Bobby's daughter, and things take a bad turn when they have to take her to the hospital in the middle of the night. And the doctors can't find out why.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A smile graced Eddie's lips as he walked round the front of the jeep over to where Bobby and Athena were stood. He bounced his youngest on his hip, feeling Mavis scrunch her hand up in his shirt as she clung to him and began drooling on his shoulder.

"Hey cutie," Bobby held his hands out expectingly until his granddaughter was carefully eased into his arms. He lifted her up so he could kiss her cheek before he settled her down on his chest and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

Eddie stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched fondly as Mavis cuddled into Bobby's chest and showed off a toothy smile when Athena kissed the back of her hand.

It felt strange just having one of the kids with him. But both Chris and Iris were in school and Eddie didn't want to part with Mavis and ask Carla to look after her. He wanted Mavis to be with him and he knew it would cheer (Y/n) up to have one of the kids here to see her.

"You brought visitors." Eddie managed a smile when he looked behind Bobby and noticed Hen and Evan stood to the side.

All the team had been nervous for the last three days. It had been so strange for them to be at work with Hen as active captain while Bobby and Eddie both took the rest of the week off. They needed to be with (Y/n), especially when they didn't know what was causing her illnesses and her sudden bouts of agony and pain.

They were all taking turns watching the kids and being at the hospital with (Y/n). She didn't like being in the hospital, especially not alone and if they left her, they had a feeling she would try and discharge herself.

The five of them slowly walked through the main entrance and headed down the hall towards the stairs. Eddie wasn't sure if the staff would be happy to find (Y/n)'s room cramped with all these visitors, but it would only be for a few hours and they wouldn't be any trouble.

"How is she?" Hen weaved behind Athena and moved over to stand on Eddie's other side. They were both medics, they had a bit more understanding of health conditions and complications than Evan or either of (Y/n)'s parents.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders high as she assessed Eddie.

He had one hand tangled in his hair, loosening the knots that gathered between his fingers. Dark purple ringlets hung beneath his crackling, brown orbs and his skin looked very pale, verging on grey. He looked like he hadn't eaten anything during the last three days since she had seen him at his house with (Y/n).

"Random granulomas in her lungs and liver, and then a haemorrhage in her bladder, and they don't know why. But the meds are working, she's so much better today."

Seeing (Y/n) more like herself didn't do anything to calm Eddie down, if anything, it put him more on edge. He didn't understand why she had the granulomas in her lungs to begin with, or why they moved into her liver. And the bleed in her bladder was so sudden and unexpected, and there was no reason for it. The doctors couldn't explain any of it.

But yesterday, (Y/n) had seemed much more like herself. She was eating and drinking, she was sitting up and talking and she could breathe properly without gasping or feeling a tightening in her chest.

Eddie knew the doctors were thinking about sending her home soon, but he didn't want her home until they knew why she was ill and could ensure it didn't happen again.

"And there's nothing wrong with her blood?" Hen pondered as they advanced up to the second floor.

"Not that they can find."

"I'm sure they'll come up with something." Hen didn't voice it, but she knew the doctors were likely to come up with an explanation soon. They had Eddie breathing down their necks and the whole fire department waiting for answers, they weren't likely to rest until they got the answers they needed.

Athena moved ahead and pushed open the stairwell door, keeping it open for everyone to filter through. But her eyes lingered on Evan who was leaning over Bobby's shoulder to try and interact with Mavis.

"You never said Eddie was related to you. Why didn't you say you had grandkids?" Evan looked between Bobby and Athena while he smiled at the little girl who was drooling and making small noises into Bobby's shirt.

He had never once heard Bobby talk about having a daughter. He scarcely opened up about losing his wife and son in the apartment fire back in Minnesota.

Learning Bobby did indeed have a daughter and three grandkids was a big surprise to the team. It was even more of a surprise to learn Eddie was his son in law and was in fact very close to him. They had been more than professional at work. Neither of them had given away this little fact or let on that they were closer than just Captain and teammate.

"It never came up," Bobby shrugged and turned to the right when Athena held out her hands and gently took their youngest grandchild from his arms and into her own.

"I'm pretty sure it should have when we talked about bringing families to the summer party. You could have mentioned Eddie's practically your son."

Evan wouldn't voice it, but he felt a little irritated at not learning this sooner. He felt close to Bobby, he often thought of Bobby and Athena as his surrogate parents. It hurt to realise they were more like Eddie's parents and were in fact related to him than Evan.

"And have you go in a mood or say I'm getting preferential treatment? No thanks." It wasn't so much Evan or Hen, as the rest of the team that Eddie had been wary of.

He didn't want anyone saying Bobby went easy on him or was soft or let him get away with things because they were related. If no one knew, no one made a fuss and they all remained friends but with professional boundaries in place. It was easier not to ay anything. Not that it mattered now, anyway.

"Alright, here we-" Eddie bit down on his lip and held back a sigh when he opened the door to (Y/n)'s room and looked inside. "What on Earth are you doing?"

He felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder as he leaned around his son in law to look into the room and see what he was referring to. Evan and Hen crowded behind as Athena and Mavis stood on Eddie's right and leaned gently on his arm to see what (Y/n) was doing. None of them could gather any words when they looked around and locked their eyes on her.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and tried to bite back a sheepish smile when she looked over at the door.

Her arms moved to coil around her waist and she looked down at herself before she glanced back up at her family crowded in the doorway.

She was fed up of wearing the scratchy, uncomfortable hospital gown they had provided her with when she was admitted. And when (Y/n) noticed the bag Athena had dropped off for Eddie with clothes, deodorant and a few essentials from home, she couldn't resist. (Y/n) wanted to feel comfortable and move about.

It had been a little harder than she first thought. She went to the bathroom, dragging the IV pole along with her and stripped from the nuisance gown. She changed into a pair of Eddie's jogging bottoms and the bra she had worn when she was admitted, but the IV was harder to fathom.

(Y/n) couldn't undo the clip properly or remove the wire so she could slip on Eddie's hoodie. The effort, along with a sudden bout of dizziness had landed (Y/n) on the floor.

She was sat in the doorway to the bathroom, hoodie resting over her lap, IV pole behind her and her legs curled beneath her as she sat wearing jogging bottoms and her bra.

"I was sick of wearing that stupid gown." (Y/n) mumbled quietly but when she tilted her head back to look up at them, she could feel the blood draining down to her toes. And her head lolled backwards as her hand planted down on the floor to keep herself sitting upright.

Eddie shook his head, tutting under his breath as he marched into the room and bent down in front of her.

"Then you wait for me to help you. You don't go doing everything yourself."

"Sorry,"

Eddie held his breath when (Y/n) flopped her head to one side and looked at him with those big doe eyes and a lopsided smile that had his heart fluttering like a bird in a cage.

He moved down onto his knees, tutting at her quietly but when (Y/n) leaned over and let her head drop onto his chest, he felt himself deflating. He wasn't angry at her, but he wished she would just wait for help and let them look after her. She always thought she had to do everything herself when all Eddie wanted to do was look after her and make sure she was okay.

He cradled the back of her neck and pressed his lips against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo that was starting to fade. His other arm secured around her waist and he gently shuffled her to the side so she was propped up against the bathroom door.

For a brief moment, he let his eyes wander down to (Y/n)'s exposed stomach. The fading, slashed line across her abdomen beneath her belly button caught his attention; her scar from the C-section she had with Iris. And an inch below that was a fresh incision in her skin with four neat, navy blue stitches sewing the skin back together.

He hated that (Y/n) had needed to go for minor surgery to repair the bleed in her bladder. And Eddie hated that they couldn't find a reason or explanation.

"Come here," He whispered softly and reached out for her right hand so he could drape it across his thigh.

His fingers glided across the back of her hand and he made sure the canula was still inserted in her vein before his touch moved up along the fluid tube. a few centimeters up, Eddie found the cap and the two cut off sections where injections and doses could be administered into the IV line.

He capped off the tube so no more fluids could get in and unscrewed the green plastic, removing the wire free from the canula in her hand.

"Alright, let's get this on you, mi amor."

Eddie reached out for the hoodie on her thighs and he grinned when he realised it was one of his.

A quiet 'oof' left his lips when (Y/n) let him pull the hoodie over her head and then slumped forward into his chest again. She closed her eyes and smiled into Eddie's shirt, breathing in his scent and went floppy like jelly so Eddie could carefully ease her arms through the sleeves. He was particularly careful not to nudge or pull out her canula and he rolled the sleeve up to her elbow to make sure it was in tact.

Once the IV line was reconnected, Eddie patted (Y/n)'s hip and held her waist so he could move around and crouch between her parted thighs.

He looped her legs around his hips and effortlessly lifted her up so she was sat low on his hips with her arms around his neck and her face smothered against his collar bone.

Bobby silently walked over and followed behind them with the IV pole as Eddie went over to the bed and eased (Y/n) down so she was sat in bed again where he expected her to be when they came in.

"Better?" Bobby asked gently and leaned down to kiss her temple while Eddie perched on the side of the bed and Athena moved to sit down in the chair beside the bed.

"Much better."

As soon as Mavis looked around, her arms stretched out and she began whimpering and gurgling until Athena carefully sat her down on the bed.

(Y/n) held her arms out and lifted Mavis up just before she had the chance to flop onto her stomach and hurt her stitches. The whole of (Y/n)'s abdomen was sore and tender and her chest was still aching every now and then, especially when she took deep breaths.

She settled Mavis down tucked under her right arm and let her lean on her upper chest. Three days without the kids felt like a lifetime and (Y/n) couldn't wait until this afternoon when Eddie would bring Chris and Iris down to see her. When she got her arms around them, she wasn't sure she would be able to let them go.

Hopefully in a day or two, she could go home.

***

"Mr Diaz, your wife has reacted well to the medication for the last five days-"

"You think two days without a symptom means she's cured? You can't even find the problem. You're not sending her home."

Eddie clamped his hand down on his hip while his other hand rubbed across his jaw. He leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper here and now, but he couldn't help himself.

"I think your wife is sick of being in observation and all our tests are negative. Unless she has another symptom or relapse, we can send her home and continue tests and routine checks every week."

"No." Eddie pushed off the wall when he noticed his father in law walking down the corridor. He waved his hand out and beckoned him over. "This is her dad. You can explain to the Captain of the 118 firehouse why you want to send his sick daughter home without a diagnosis or anymore treatment."

"You're doing what?"

As soon as Bobby clamped his hands down on his hips and stood tall and stern in front of the doctor, Eddie could feel the man's resolve melting away. He watched with glee in his eyes as Bobby intimidated the other man who had to be about his age.

Bobby wasn't having this. He wasn't letting them discharge (Y/n) when they still didn't know what was wrong with her. What if it happened again? What if she got another unconnected symptom? What if they took her home and she suddenly deteriorated fast and out of nowhere?

As soon as the words "Let's talk in my office," hit Eddie's ears, he turned his back and moved towards (Y/n)'s room. He wasn't going for an argument in this man's office. Bobby was the one he needed to deal with now or else Eddie was going to lose his temper. At least with Bobby they could talk things through calmly and try to come up with a solution.

Whatever was wrong with (Y/n), it wasn't going to just go away and Eddie knew that for a fact. He knew the granulomas hadn't caused the bleeding in (Y/n)'s bladder. There had to be some underlying cause somewhere causing these problems.

"Daddy!"

Eddie spun on his heels and plastered the calmest smile he could manage on his face. His eyes set on all three of his kids and the sight made his heart swell and sent his lungs tightening in his chest.

They would simmer his temper down and make him smile. They would make (Y/n) feel better too. They didn't want to leave her the past two days they had been down to see her. Eddie wanted (Y/n) to come home, he wanted his wife home safe and well with them, but she couldn't come home now when she might still be unwell. It was too risky.

"Hi baby girl, come here." He leaned down and scooped Iris up in his right arm as his left arm secured around Chris who pummelled into him and almost knocked him down. "Are you okay, how was school?"

He looked up and nodded at Athena who was bouncing Mavis on her hip with a tender smile. Athena had barely put Mavis down this last week since she and Bobby had been helping out with the kids.

"Good, can we see mum?" Chris leaned his head back to look up at Eddie while Iris looped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. They had been switching between staying home with Eddie on a night and staying with their grandparents. And although they understood why, it had still been a daunting week for them all.

Everyone wanted things to go back to normal and for (Y/n) to get better.

"Yeah, let's go surprise her." He sat Iris on his hip and kept his other hand on Chris's back, waiting for Athena to walk alongside them before they walked down the corridor.

"Was that the doctor Bobby wandered off with?"

"Yeah." A silent exchange passed between them and Athena pursed her lips, humming and nodding to herself. She could sense in Eddie's silence and the fury in his eyes that her husband was about to be having an argument rather than a civil conversation.

"Eddie! Oh God, Eddie!"

An ungodly tremor surged down Eddie's spine and fizzled his blood down to his toes when (Y/n)'s voice caught his attention.

He turned to look at Athena who went rigid beside him. Something was happening. When Eddie left her room less than twenty minutes ago to go to the toilet and subsequently talk to the doctor, she had been perfectly fine. She looked a little tired and languid but other than that, she had been sat up reading a book.

"Stay with nana." Eddie slumped Iris down to her feet and pushed her and Chris towards athena, stopping his son from trying to rush ahead with him.

He couldn't have any of the kids going into (Y/n)'s room, he didn't know what the problem was or what he would be walking into.

"Eddie!"

(Y/n)'s cry had Eddie's heart hammering away against his chest and each beat made him feel like his heart had become impaled on his ribs. He bolted to the right and barged into the room, slamming the door shut behind him so none of the kids could see or properly hear what was going on in here. He already knew Athena would be on her way to find a doctor and get some help.

"Baby, baby what's wrong?"

Eddie stumbled over to the bed, holding his breath deep in his lungs as he looked around and tried to see what was going on.

She was laid in the middle of the bed, both arms seemingly bound around her stomach and her feet were pressed down into the mattress with her knees pulled up near her stomach. (Y/n) had her shoulders pulled inwards and her body was leant forwards with her head almost touching her knees.

Pressing his knees into the edge of the bed, Eddie carefully wrapped his arms around (Y/n) and tried to be gentle when he reeled her up.

"Baby-"

"I-it hurts… oh it kills! Make it stop! Eddie m-make it stop, please." The words spluttered through gritted teeth and her tone was volatile and high in pitch.

This felt so much worse than the blockage in her liver. It hurt more than the needle Eddie punctured into her lung to relieve the pressure. This was more than painful discomfort in her bladder. And the pain wasn't in any of those places like it had been before.

(Y/n) wasn't sure where the pain was coming from or what the problem was, all she knew was it felt like someone had taken to stabbing her repeatedly. Each heartbeat sent her blood pounding and she could feel her heartbeat vibrating and pulsing off her like heatwaves.

Reaching her hands out, (Y/n) curled her hands around Eddie's bicep, digging her nails into his skin like tallons sinking through to the bone. Her eyes snapped closed and her head pressed into his shoulder. She wanted to double over and see if it would ease the pain, but Eddie wouldn't let her.

His left arm secured around her chest and his right arm looped around her back, keeping her sitting up and imbedding her shoulder into his chest. He pressed his lips against the back of her head and started to shush her as he carefully leaned her back so she sank down into the pillow.

"Okay baby, shh I've got you it's okay."

When she tried to push forward again with a cry resembling a howl, Eddie pushed her back again. "Baby you have to let me look. Shh, let me see what's wrong."

He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt and her frame began to tremble as she sobbed in absolute agony. But if Eddie didn't examine her, he wasn't going to know what the problem was. It was either him or a doctor examining her to find out what was wrong.

Once (Y/n) was laid back, Eddie pushed her knees down to her legs were on the bed and not coiled up near her stomach. He lifted her shirt up towards her bra so he could see her skin and try and find the issue. His hands instantly moved towards her bladder and where her stitches were, thinking she might have an infection or another bleed.

But when Eddie pressed down near her bladder, (Y/n) shook her head. That wasn't where her pain was situated, her bladder was seemingly fine. And he could tell by her voice and her cries that her lungs weren't a problem.

Eddie looked into his wife's eyes and pulled her eyelid back. The whites of her eyes weren't yellow or discoloured, her liver was still in working order too.

Moving his hands around, Eddie pressed down on various areas of (Y/n)'s chest and torso until (Y/n) suddenly jumped beneath him like he had brought her back to life. A scream bounced off her teeth and clawed past her lips as she latched her fingers around his wrist again to either make him stop or get him to do something about the pain.

"It's your spleen, it might have burst." Eddie reached out and hit the emergency button before he sat down and let (Y/n) sit up and burrow into him.

"No… oh no," (Y/n) choked as she pushed herself further into Eddie like his comfort would do something, anything, to make her feel better and relieve her pain. Her cries shivered through to his chest and her tears soaked into his shirt as she cried and gasped.

Why was she now having problems in her spleen? What was happening to affect so many different organs in her body like this without connection?

"Alright baby, I'm here. We'll get this sorted, I promise."

***

(Y/n) slowly peeled her eyes open, taking her time to try and get her vision to focus and adjust so she could find out where she was and what was going on.

She felt battered and bruised.

Her body had been used as a pin cushion, needles punctured into her chest, dozens more into her bladder to infuse medication and remove the bleed. Needles into her liver to take bloods and check function and that it was back working again. Her chest was still swollen and bruised from her respiratory arrest. And now another part of her abdomen was aching and felt like it had been torn apart.

Before her eyes adjusted, (Y/n) reached a shaking hand up and grabbed the oxygen tube that was pushed under her nose. She yanked it out and tossed it off her ears; she didn't want that.

"Hm…"

"Hey mi amor, how do you feel?"

Her lips formed a languid, lazy smile and she flopped her hand around until she found Eddie's wrist that was resting near her thigh. She limply tugged on his hand until he started to chuckle and got the hint.

Eddie leaned over her chest and pressed his lips to her temple while his hand brushed across her jaw and neck. He couldn't stop his heart from hammering away in his chest when he tried to lean back but (Y/n) tilted her head and caught his lips in a kiss.

He kissed her lips once, then twice, then a third time until he had to pull back and let (Y/n) catch her breath before she passed out on him. His nose brushed hers and he rested his temple on hers, smiling as her eyes finally seemed to come into focus.

"Hi,"

A grin formed on Eddie's lips and he laughed. "Hi, baby." He kissed her one last time before he slowly sat up. He shuffled his hips back until they touched (Y/n)'s thigh and let her look around her crowded room.

Her dad was sat on the chair on her right with Chris perched on his lap, smiling intently when (Y/n) realised Chris was holding her right hand captive in both of his. And Athena was sat to her left with Mavis and Iris both sat on her knees.

"What happened?" (Y/n) squeezed Chris's hand and kept hold of Eddie's wrist while she felt his fingertips feathering up and down her wrist and arm.

"It was your spleen, it ruptured so they had to remove it."

He watched the way (Y/n)'s smile dampened and her eyes glanced down to her chest as if she could see through the scratchy hospital gown to look at her skin. She didn't dare think what her abdomen and torso would now look like. Puncture wounds from needles, her old C-section scar, the new line of stitches from her bladder surgery. And now another small scar or two to remove her spleen. What would be next?

"Good news though, we can take you home in two days."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the side and looked across at her dad with furrowed brows. Why would they take her home so soon? She had just had her spleen removed for no apparent reason. Surely she would have to stay longer now and wait for another organ to fail or another rupture or blood loss to take effect? What if this happened when she went home, what would she do?

She didn't realise tears were falling down her face until Chris let go of her hand and reached out to brush them away.

"Let's go get your mum a drink, she'll be parched by now." Athena got to her feet and held her hand out to Chris while Mavis settled on her hip and Iris stayed dutifully by her side. She waited for Chris to kiss (Y/n)'s cheek and whisper 'love you mum' in her ear before he took Athena's hand and followed along. Telling her exactly what drink he knew (Y/n) would want to make her feel better.

"Home?" (Y/n) moved both her hands to hold Eddie's arm and tugged until he obliged and held her hips. He carefully sat her up while Bobby moved the pillows behind her so she was upright rather than lying down. "I c- I… if it happens again?"

"Baby it won't-"

"What's next?"

Eddie didn't understand what she meant until one of her hands moved to her chest and she started patting up and down her chest and abdomen. She felt like someone had a map of her body and was ticking off each organ and part of her that they were injuring. Lungs, liver, bladder, spleen, there wasn't a lot left before everything was hit and then where would she be? She would end up dying.

Was she dying? Was that why they were sending her home? Had they finally found out the problem, but it was bad news? Was she going home to die?

It was as if Eddie could see every horrid thought running rapid in her mind because his hands smothered her face in an instant. His thumbs brushed beneath her eyes, his fingers danced across her cheeks and he kissed her lips as his temple pressed against hers.

He felt (Y/n)'s hands shakily grab his wrists and hold tight until her nails were cutting through his skin and she was cutting off his circulation.

"Nothing's next, mi amor, I swear. You're gonna be just fine now, they've found the problem."

(Y/n) tried to catch her breaths that were running away without her and she turned her head to the right to look at her dad. He smiled, doing his best to hide the tears in his eyes and he moved to perch on the bed next to her.

Bobby kissed the side of (Y/n)'s head and wrapped an arm around her middle while his other hand fumbled in his pocket. He found the small plastic container he had been holding onto for the last three hours since (Y/n) came out of surgery. The small vile no bigger than a blood sample tube, which had captured the Captain's attention for the last few hours.

When he held it out for (Y/n) to see, her eyes narrowed and her lips curled. She didn't know what she was looking at.

Her hands stayed bound around Eddie's wrists to keep his hands close even as he dropped them from her face and moved to hold her waist instead.

"W-what is it?"

"It's the splinter they found in your spleen."

She didn't understand. How could she have a splinter in her spleen? How could a splinter have caused all this damage? Her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer to look in the vile. A thin- very thin, almost miniscule piece of wood about the length of her fingernail. Her eyes danced back across to her husband, wanting some sort of explanation.

"It must have been near your intestine, you moved during the night and it moved to your chest and caused the respiratory problems. Then it moved to your liver, causing the granulomas, and then down to your bladder. You were lucky it ruptured your spleen, or they might not have found it."

No one could say for sure where it started or got into (Y/n)'s body, but they knew the route it had taken. It had punctured a lung and caused respiratory arrest which then caused the granulomas, and when it moved to her liver it caused the same problem. The medication cleared up both those issues, but the splinter moved along and went down to her bladder and poked through the lining which caused the bleed.

Travelling to her spleen was a lucky escape. It caused enough damage to rupture the organ and surgery to remove it left the splinter stuck in her spleen and effectively took away the problem.

"How?"

"The doctor said you either ingested it, or if you've had a fall, it could have punctured into your system."

Either it was in any food (Y/n) had been eating or chewing and got ingested into her system. Or when she had been in the garden or playing with the kids or taking them to the woods and had a small accident, it punctured right through her skin. It was so small and sharp that it could have felt like a pin prick, a small discomforting pain like a scratch rather than a horrid pain like the agony it had caused throughout her system.

None of them would have ever thought up this explanation. None of the team were going to believe it when Eddie and Bobby told them what had happened.

If they didn't find it, Eddie wouldn't believe it, and there was no wonder it hadn't shown up in any of the scans (Y/n) had. Wood absorbs water, it would have absorbed the fluids in her body and changed the density so the MRI hadn't picked up its presence.

Turning her head to the right, (Y/n) kissed her dad's cheek before she pushed forward and wrapped both arms tightly around Eddie's neck. She shuffled until she was practically sat on his lap with her face buried in his neck, breathing in his scent as he kissed her temple.

"You're gonna be just fine now, mi amor. I promise."

[hiddenincommand]

Discover Your True Rank in the Hierarchy

This self-assessment will determine your rightful place within the hierarchy. Answer honestly—true clarity comes only from self-awareness.

For each statement, respond with:

✅ Yes = 3 points

🟡 Sometimes = 2 points

❌ No = 1 point

At the end, total your points to reveal your classification.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈: 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 & 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

1. I instinctively follow commands without hesitation.

2. I find deep satisfaction in obedience and structure.

3. Serving and pleasing are my natural state of being.

4. I need authority to give me direction and purpose.

5. Being disciplined and corrected makes me feel secure.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞

6. I recognize that submission is not a choice but my true nature.

7. I do not need personal identity outside of my role.

8. My existence is validated through recognition of my place in the hierarchy.

9. I feel most complete when defined and categorized by another.

10. I do not question my classification—I embrace it fully.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

11. I accept that training and discipline are essential to my development.

12. I welcome refinement and correction to perfect my role.

13. The idea of being conditioned excites me.

14. I understand that I exist to be shaped by a superior force.

15. I strive to internalize obedience to the point that it becomes instinct.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐕: 𝐇𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐲 & 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐤

16. I understand that submission exists in different degrees.

17. I accept that my classification is not about preference but about what I am.

18. I respect and honor those ranked above me.

19. I strive to embody the standards of my designated place in the hierarchy.

20. I am ready to prove my classification whenever required.

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐲

⚪ 0 - 19 Points → Unclassified / Not Yet Defined

You have not yet fully embraced your nature. You may still be resisting or failing to understand where you truly belong. Further training and self-reflection are required before you can be placed within the hierarchy.

🟢 20 - 29 Points → Good Boy

A devoted and eager servant, obedient and well-behaved, but still developing. You crave guidance and thrive under structure.

🔵 30 - 39 Points → Son Good Boy

You have progressed beyond basic obedience, embracing discipline as a core part of your existence. You are becoming a reflection of what is expected of you.

🟣 40 - 49 Points → Son Good Boy Faggot

Your submission is not only deep-rooted but instinctive. You understand that your existence is defined entirely by the hierarchy, and you embrace it fully.

🟡 50 - 54 Points → Good Boy Faggot

You are not just obedient—you have accepted that your identity is fundamentally subservient. You crave being shaped, used, and molded as a possession.

🔴 55 - 60 Points → Faggot

You have reached the highest form of submission. You no longer see yourself as an individual but as an instrument to be used at will. You exist solely for service and validation through obedience.

𝗡𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽𝘀:

📌 Reblog with your classification and reflect on whether it aligns with how you see yourself.

📌 If your score is below 40, consider how you can deepen your commitment to your role.

📌 If you scored 50 or higher, you are already on the correct path—embrace it.

💬 Which rank did you achieve? Do you accept it?

[unabashegirl]

entangled 2 | one shot

Y/N, punished by her gang leader for a failed mission, meets Harry, a rival gang member, at a club. Their encounter turns intense and passionate.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. Here is the second part of entangled as promised. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

warnings: violence, smut, cursing and more

check out my patreon and get full access to more ONE SHOTS and much more :) thank you beforehand!

if you would like to leave or summit your request for the next one shot. do it here :)

word count: 4K

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The men winced as Y/N stood in the middle of the room with Victor. She grunted as she was thrown to the floor.

“Get up!” he yelled, watching her clutch her abdomen in pain. They had just returned from the failed mission Victor had assigned them, and he had heard of her defeat. His fury was palpable.

Victor's eyes blazed with fury as he glared down at Y/N. "You think you can just fail me and walk away unscathed?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the room. The other gang members watched in tense silence, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Y/N gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand despite the pain radiating through her body. She met Victor's gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to show any further weakness.

Victor advanced on her, his expression cold and unrelenting. "You made us look weak, Y/N. You have jeopardized everything we've built." He grabbed her by the collar, lifting her slightly off the ground. "You need to understand the consequences of failure."

With a swift motion, he threw her back to the floor. "Watch closely, all of you!" he shouted to the gathered men and women. "This is what happens when you fail me. When you fail us."

Y/N struggled to her feet once more, the taste of blood in her mouth. She knew Victor was making an example out of her, but she also knew she had to endure it. For her sister, for her people. She wouldn't let this break her.

Victor stepped back, his glare sweeping over the room. "Remember this moment," he warned. "Next time, it could be one of you."

He turned his attention back to Y/N, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Prove to me that you still belong here, or you'll wish you hadn't survived tonight."

Y/N nodded, her resolve hardening. She wouldn't let Victor's brutal lesson go unheeded. She would prove herself again, no matter the cost. The fire of determination burned within her, stronger than ever.

“Let’s get you some help,” Xavier, Y/N’s close friend, said as he helped her to her feet. He had feared for her life; it wouldn’t have been the first time Victor had killed someone using these brutal humiliation tactics.

“That’s the last thing I need,” Y/N muttered, wincing in pain. “I need a drink and a smoke.”

Xavier laughed, despite his worry, and guided her to the medic at the warehouse. Her arm was drenched in blood, the wound gaping and worsening with every movement. “First, let’s get you stitched up,” he said firmly. “Then you can have all the drinks and smokes you want.”

As they reached the small, makeshift infirmary in the corner of the warehouse, the medic looked up from his supplies and quickly assessed Y/N's condition. "Get her on the table," he instructed, already reaching for his tools.

Xavier helped Y/N onto the metal table, his grip gentle but firm. "Just hang in there," he said quietly. "You’ll be patched up in no time."

Y/N gritted her teeth against the pain as the medic began to clean the wound. The sting of the antiseptic was sharp, but she welcomed it, letting the physical pain ground her against the emotional turmoil of the night. She glanced at Xavier, who hovered nearby, his concern evident.

"You worry too much," she said, trying to force a smile through the pain.

Xavier shook his head. "Someone has to. Victor’s gone too far this time. He needs to see that you're valuable, not disposable."

The medic worked quickly, his practiced hands stitching the gash with precision. "She’ll be fine," he said gruffly. "But she needs rest. And try to keep her out of fights for a few days, if that’s possible. She has quite a few broken ribs and that eye and eyebrow need desperate help. Another punch could do some serious damage to her optical nerve”.

Y/N snorted at that. “Not likely,” she muttered.

Xavier frowned but didn’t argue. He knew Y/N too well; once her mind was set, there was no changing it. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful," he said.

Y/N nodded, her expression hardening. “I’ll try my best”

The medic finished the last stitch and wrapped her arm in a clean bandage. "All done. Now get out of here and try not to tear any of those stitches.”

Xavier helped her off the table, his arm steadying her. "Come on, let’s get that drink and smoke you wanted."

Y/N wasn’t sure how they ended up at a club, but there they were.

The club was a sensory overload, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the warehouse. Neon lights pulsed in time with the throbbing bass of the music, casting vibrant hues of pink and blue across the packed room. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol.

The dance floor was a sea of bodies moving in sync with the rhythm, a chaotic yet rhythmic ballet of movement and sound. People shouted to be heard over the pounding beats, their voices blending into a cacophony that filled every corner of the space. The flashing strobe lights cut through the darkness intermittently, illuminating faces twisted in ecstasy and exhaustion.

Y/N and Xavier navigated their way through the crowd, the press of bodies making it difficult to move. The noise was almost overwhelming, but it provided a welcome distraction from the pain and tension of the night. They finally reached the bar, where Xavier signaled for drinks. The bartender, a harried figure behind a cluttered counter, quickly poured their orders.

As Y/N took a deep breath, she allowed herself a moment of respite. The pulsating energy of the club was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating environment of Victor’s warehouse. Here, amid the flashing lights and relentless music, she could temporarily forget the pressures of the gang war.

Xavier handed her a drink, his expression a mix of relief and concern. “You’ve earned this,” he said, raising his glass in a half-hearted toast.

Y/N nodded, taking a long sip of her drink. The alcohol burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat, warming her from the inside. She looked around at the throngs of people, their carefree revelry a reminder of a world that seemed almost foreign to her now.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to be swept up in the rhythm of the night, embracing the fleeting sense of normalcy and freedom.

“Come on!” Xavier called to Y/N, snapping her out of her trance as he grabbed her arm. The sudden jolt brought her back to the present, the music and lights of the club crashing over her senses once more. “A few of my friends are upstairs,” he added, nodding toward the VIP area, which was clearly off-limits to most.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise. “Are you kidding? I don’t have that kind of money!” she shouted over the deafening music, dodging dancers who seemed oblivious to the world outside their own revelry.

Xavier laughed, his grip on her arm firm but reassuring. “Am I asking you for money?” he yelled back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I’m friends with the security!”

He led her through the throng of people, expertly weaving through the chaotic dance floor. The crowd parted briefly, giving Y/N a glimpse of the VIP area: plush seating, subdued lighting, and an air of exclusivity that seemed worlds away from the frenetic energy below. She could see well-dressed patrons lounging with an air of nonchalance, their laughter and conversation barely audible over the pulsating music.

As they approached the velvet rope, a burly security guard stepped forward, his expression stern. But as soon as he saw Xavier, his face broke into a friendly smile. “Hey, Xavier! Long time no see,” he said, unclipping the rope and waving them through.

Y/N followed Xavier up the narrow staircase to the VIP section, her curiosity piqued. The change in atmosphere was immediate. The pounding bass was still present, but it was muted, allowing for easier conversation. The decor was upscale, with sleek furniture and soft, ambient lighting creating an intimate setting.

Xavier led her to a secluded booth where a few of his friends were already gathered, chatting and laughing. They greeted Xavier warmly, their eyes flickering with curiosity as they took in Y/N.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Xavier introduced her with a casual wave. “She’s with me.”

One of Xavier’s friends, a stylish woman with striking features, extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Emily.”

Y/N shook Emily’s hand, feeling a bit out of place but grateful for the warmth of the reception. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Emily said, gesturing to the plush seats. “What can I get you to drink?”

As Y/N settled into the luxurious booth, she scanned the faces of Xavier's friends. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized one of them: Harry. He lounged comfortably, his sharp eyes locking onto hers the moment she saw him. The air between them seemed to crackle with unresolved tension.

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the muted music.

Xavier, noticing her shock, chuckled. “Yeah, I probably should have mentioned that. Harry and I go way back. Long before all this gang nonsense.”

Y/N’s mind raced, struggling to reconcile this unexpected revelation. How could Xavier, her close friend and ally, be friends with her sworn enemy? The man who had nearly killed her not long ago?

Harry leaned forward, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Surprised to see me here, Y/N?”

Xavier, sensing the rising tension, quickly intervened. “Look, I know this is weird. But we try to keep the whole gang thing outside of here. We’re just here to unwind”.

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes remained cold. “A temporary truce, if you will.”

Y/N’s mind was still reeling, but she knew she had to play along for now. She couldn’t afford to cause a scene, not in this setting, and certainly not with Xavier’s connections potentially at risk.

Y/N nodded, a gesture that caught Harry off guard. He had always seen her as a strict rule follower, someone who never defied orders or went against Victor's commands. This unexpected side of her piqued his interest and made him reassess his assumptions.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “What’s your poison?”

Y/N tore her gaze away from Harry, focusing on Emily with a forced smile. “Whiskey, neat.”

As Emily signaled the waiter, Y/N couldn’t help but glance back at Harry. The look in his eyes was a mixture of amusement and challenge. She knew this night had just become far more complicated than she had anticipated.

As the drinks arrived, Xavier leaned in, his voice low. “Just try to relax. We are just people here, trying to forget all the shit we do outside for a few hours.”

The club's music thumped steadily in the background, creating a heavy rhythm that seemed to sync with Y/N's racing heartbeat. Neon lights flashed in sync with the beat, casting alternating shadows and bursts of color across the dance floor. Feeling the need to escape the intensity of her thoughts, Y/N made her way to the center of the crowd and began to dance. Her movements were fluid, confident, and for a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the music, the energy of the club enveloping her.

From his vantage point, Harry watched her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He had never seen this side of her before, and it intrigued him. As she moved, completely absorbed in the rhythm, Harry felt an irresistible pull. He made his way through the throng of people, closing the distance between them.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Harry murmured as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear.

Y/N smirked, not giving him the satisfaction of a straightforward answer. “You don’t know half of it,” she replied, her eyes glittering with challenge.

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Care to enlighten me?”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “And give you more ammunition? I don’t think so, Styles.”

He leaned in even closer, their faces just inches apart. “I don’t need ammunition, Y/N. I know what makes you tick.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of annoyance and undeniable attraction. “Nice try,” she said, her voice steady despite the proximity. “But you’ll have to work harder than that.”

Harry’s lips curved into a sly smile. “I like a challenge.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “You’ve got your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate in her ear. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They sipped their drinks, the moment stretching between them, charged with a tension that was as much about attraction as it was about rivalry. Y/N could feel the heat of Harry’s gaze on her, a weight that was hard to ignore.

“So, tell me,” she said, turning the tables. “What’s it like being the big bad boss now? Enjoying the power trip?”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Too many people to keep in line, too many responsibilities.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, leaning closer to him. “Having second thoughts?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Just stating the facts.”

Y/N leaned even closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Admit it, Styles. You love the control.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh. You have no idea” he smirked. “I bet you enjoy it too”

She laughed, the sound almost lost in the thumping music. “Oh, I don’t need power to make an impression. I can do that just fine without it.”

Harry’s smile widened, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes locked on his. “How are you keeping everyone in line?”

Harry shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Care to share any of those tricks?” she teased, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm.

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “why would I give away my secrets to the enemy?”

“Maybe because the enemy is more fun than you expected,” she shot back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Harry’s gaze softened, the intensity between them growing. “Then I’d rather show you than tell you”.

Harry grabbed Y/N’s hand. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she followed him as he navigated through the dense crowd, leading her toward the back of the club where the bathrooms were located.

The music grew slightly muffled as they moved away from the main floor. Harry glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable, but his grip on her hand was firm and urgent. They reached the bathroom, and without hesitation, he pushed the door open and dragged her inside.

The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting an unflattering glow over the white tiles. The hum of the club was still audible but muted, providing a strange, almost surreal backdrop. Before Y/N could react, he pushed her into one of the stalls and followed, locking the door behind them. The cramped space forced them into close proximity, their breaths mingling in the confined air.

“What the hell, Harry?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.

Without a word, Harry cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, the motion filled with urgency and hunger. His lips moved against hers with a passion that took her breath away, the heat of the moment overwhelming her senses.

For a moment, Y/N was too stunned to respond, but then she gave in, kissing him back with equal fervor. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was a clash of dominance and desire, both of them battling for control even in this moment of vulnerability.

Harry’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him as the kiss deepened. The intensity of their connection was undeniable, a force that neither of them could resist. They broke apart only when the need for air became too great.

She pushed Harry back, catching him off guard. He stumbled slightly, and she guided him to sit on the toilet cover. The starkness of the environment made the moment even more intense.

Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she straddled him, her knees pressing into the hard plastic seat on either side of his thighs. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling as the heat between them became almost unbearable.

Harry’s hands found her waist, gripping tightly as he looked up at her, a mixture of surprise and desire in his eyes. “Keep those eyes on me” His voice was low, almost a growl.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a fierce, urgent kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she moved against him, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt both foreign and inevitable.

Harry responded with equal intensity, his hands roaming over her back, pulling her even closer. The kiss was a clash of tongues and teeth, a battle for dominance that neither was willing to concede. The small confines of the stall faded away, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection between them.

Y/N pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath as Harry's hands moved with a newfound urgency. His fingers worked deftly to pull her t-shirt over her head and unclasp her bra. With the dim light from the flickering bathroom bulb now illuminating her body, Harry’s gaze fell upon the injuries she had tried so hard to hide.

Her torso was marred with bruises, deep and angry against her pale skin, and the fresh stitches were starkly visible against the bruised flesh. The sight of her injuries made Harry’s breath catch in his throat, his expression shifting from intense desire to concern and anger.

He gently placed his hands on her sides, his touch light but filled with an undeniable sense of worry.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. His eyes searched hers, hoping to see something that would reassure him, but all he found was a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Y/N shook her head, a smirk playing at her lips. “You talk too much. How about we put that mouth of yours to better use?”

Harry’s eyes flared with renewed intensity, a spark of desire reigniting within him. He was acutely aware that he hadn't caused the severe injuries she bore—he’d wounded her, but never touched her face or broken any ribs. Despite the lingering concerns, he pushed them aside, driven by an urgent need. He had to have her, and nothing else mattered at that moment.

Harry's lips roamed over her jawline and neck, pressing rough, demanding kisses that left no room for gentleness. Y/N took Harry’s hand and guided it firmly to her throat, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of challenge and submission. She arched her neck slightly, giving him full access, her breath coming in shallow, anticipatory gasps.

Harry leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, “You look even better with my hands around your neck.” He then shifted, pulling himself free and beginning to touch himself, preparing herself for her.

Harry slipped her underwear to the side, exposing her wet self to him that made his mouth water. He didn’t have the time to fulfill all his fantasies, but he vowed this wouldn’t be their first and last encounter. He was determined to have her again.

Harry slammed her down on him. His hand still gripping her throat whilst his right tightened on her hip, anchoring her in place. Y/N hand grabbed the top of the stall, helping her to lift herself off his cock. Harry grunted into her ear, the sensation was too intense.

“Y’are squeezin’ me. S’tight” Harry groaned, pushing her down on him harder. The stall creaked as the rhythm grew faster and more intense. Harry’s grip on her throat tightened, briefly cutting off her air supply.

“Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to” Y/N moaned as Harry’s hand came off her throat and tangled with her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat slicked her hair and back, making her even more irresistible in Harry’s eyes.

“Come on. Cum f’me” Harry grunted feeling himself nearing his orgasm He speed up, pounding into her. Y/N shut down her eyes as her back arched and her hips met with his. Her orgasm sent a wave of great pleasure through her. “Just a good girl” he said to her just as she felt him release himself inside of her.

Y/N allowed herself to rest her shaking body on his as they both recovered. As Harry’s hand caressed her back, he reflected on everything that had just transpired. Y/N sat up slowly, her movements deliberate as she began to dress herself again. Harry watched her intently, his gaze fixed on her every motion. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension.

Harry’s eyes followed Y/N as she dressed, his expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me again,” he said, his tone firm, “who hurt you?”

His gaze was intense, demanding an answer as he awaited her response.

Y/N paused, her fingers hesitating on the buttons of her shirt. The weight of Harry's question hung heavily in the air, mingling with the aftereffects of their encounter. She met his gaze, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes despite the hardened exterior.

“It’s not of your concern” She said quietly, her voice steady but edge with defiance. “I can handle it”.

Harry’s expression didn’t soften. “You are now my concern”.

She finished fastening her shirt, her movements deliberate, and then looked back at him. “You’re not going to get anything out of me,” she said, her tone resolute. “I deal with my own problems.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, frustration evident in his features. “You think I’m going to let this go?” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he watched Y/N silently prepare to leave. “Is it Victor?” he asked, his tone sharp and demanding.

Y/N’s silence was her answer, and Harry’s frustration flared. “If I can’t do anything else,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “then tell him that the next time he touches you, I’ll cut his fucking arm off.”

Before she could respond, Harry pulled her into a bruising kiss, his lips fierce and possessive. The kiss was filled with a raw intensity, leaving no room for doubt about his feelings. He broke away abruptly, his gaze intense and unwavering. “We do terrible things for the people we love”. he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

With that, he turned on his heel and left, the door slamming behind him as Y/N stood there, her heart pounding and her mind reeling from the confrontation.

Part 1