#but is that actually going to ever happen

[mossy-paws]

I have OCD, I’m unfortunately not diagnosed (as getting diagnosed for a milder version of OCD with less of the “compulsive” part is practically impossible) but both me and my parents have known for YEARS.

Because of this, I suffer from DEBILITATING “intrusive” thoughts, these thoughts can be about anything, and generally are more “what if so and so thing happened and how would I react to it?” For me they usually appear in incredibly violet, inappropriate, religious, terrifying, and upsetting thoughts that can trigger pretty bad depressive episodes/make me afraid of myself/and just generally sick to my stomach. It’s impossible for me to shut them out, and obviously no medication exists that can cause me to stop having them, luckily now as I’m older I’ve learned how to cope with them but when I was younger It would often cause me pretty bad meltdowns and episodes that we originally just blamed on “kids being kids!” (For instance, there was one time where I “what if’d” my brother dying, this caused me to freak out so bad that I BELIEVED it and that I had to BEG my mom to check up on him).

It’s so hard trying to tell people about this sort of stuff, because I genuinely can’t control it and it’s just a regular thing that happens to me, and hell even going to a professional about it is a terrifying thought because, well, what if I say too much about said thoughts and they have to call someone about it? Intrusive thoughts, especially ones attached to OCD, are awful, and almost always no one can help thinking them. Insulting one over these thoughts when it’s not their fault is an incredibly cruel and mean thing to do all around

For this Disability Pride Month, I saw a post that was shittybad and it made me angry. So have this

[scented-morker]

When you catch the bouquet at a wedding !

Inspired by pooks @luvyeni … this was so easy for me to write for some reason. 1.1k words, FLUFF, pet names and a couple smooches, fem!reader, mentions of an older sister in won’s part

Heeseung

He might be more excited about it than you were

Actually crazy because the other girls were shoving each other and jumping and it just happened to fall into your hands 😇

You look at the bundle of flowers in shock while all the guys at your table start nudging and elbowing your boyfriend

“You know what that means~”

When you come back over to the table you still look vaguely surprised, but you just set the bouquet down and go to take your seat like nothing happened

Meanwhile hee has spent the last five minutes planning your wedding

He pulls you into his lap before you can even sit in your own seat and whispers in your ear

“So we’re getting married huh?”

Now you’re both blushing messes 🤭

Jay

Bro has been ready to marry you since about the day you met

He’s the one that tells you to go with the other girls when they announce the bouquet toss in the first place

So when you actually catch it he just lights up

The proudest, most lovesick smile on his face

While the other girls fawn over you he turns to the guys at his table

“Guess who’s getting married!!”

The boys jump up and down with him and shout

“Do you even have a ring?”

They all shush sunghoon bc that doesn’t even matter 🙄

You’re flushed when you make your way back to him, fresh off of being mercilessly teased by your own friends

“So what size ring do you wear?”

“WHAT?”

Jake

He hypes you up before the toss, rubbing your shoulders like you’re a boxer about to go in the ring and not a bridesmaid trying to catch a bouquet

“Go get them baby!” He yells as you walk over, placing a light tap on your bottom while you roll your eyes and try to pretend you don’t know him

But he really really wants you to catch the flowers, so who are you to disappoint your man 🤨

Some girl almost knocks you down, but you catch those flowers !!

You can’t even bask in your success because Jake is running to the dance floor to pick you up and spin you around 🥹

“The wedding gods have spoken! You have to marry me!!”

You’re laughing like a maniac because he’s still spinning you and he’s so happy

“In what world would I ever say no?”

Hoon

He’s lost it

Like they called all the girls up to the floor for the toss and he was so confused when you winked at him before running up 😭

He asks Jake what you’re even doing before being told that whoever catches the bouquet is the person to get married next

His eyes get so wide as he watches the giant group of girls wrestle for the bundle of flowers

“They take this seriously huh?”

The boys let out actual cackles when the crowd disperses and you’re standing there with the flowers in your hand 😇

“Wait so that means-?”

He gets nothing but nudges and teases in response

“Hoon I caught it!!” You yell excitedly when you rejoin him at the table

His ears are pink, but he sends you the prettiest smile

He slides one of his rings off and slips it gently onto your hand

“Good job baby.”

Sunoo

“You have to catch that bouquet!!” He tells you excitedly. “It’s fate ok! Catch it!!”

You laugh as you join the other bridesmaids on the dance floor where the bride is

It’s silly, you know you’re gonna marry him anyway, but if he tells you to catch the bouquet then you’re gonna catch that bouquet 🙂‍↕️

Sorry to the girl you accidentally elbowed… this ain’t about her

The first thing you do when you catch it is turn to look at your boyfriend

While normally the guys look slightly embarrassed or shy, your boyfriend is jumping up and down and cheering

“That’s my girl!! Look she caught the bouquet!! We’re gonna get married!!”

You laugh at his reaction and run over to join him

“We’re gonna get married!” You join in with him

He takes the bouquet from you and kisses your lips

“Dang right we are.”

Jungwon

“You’re gonna go?” He asks when you stand up to participate in the bouquet toss

His ears are already red, and you let out a soft laugh

“Won there’s like fifty girls, I’m not gonna catch it. It’s just tradition!”

It’s your sisters wedding and she’d actually murder you if you didn’t participate, which Jungwon realizes is a valid point

“Ok, well have fun! Don’t get knocked out!”

You roll your eyes and stand on the outside of the crowd, not that interested in catching it

You swear your sister does it on purpose because explain how the bouquet is flying straight at you, completely away from every other girl on the dance floor 🤨

You barely have time to grasp it before she’s running over to you

“Oh it’s fate!! You’re next little sis!!”

You hug her with the flowers and turn to find your boyfriend, expecting him to be hiding his face or not paying attention

Instead he’s got the biggest smile on his face, deep dimples poking into his red cheeks while the other guys wolf whistle

He walks up to you and gives you a kiss

“I guess we can’t argue with fate.”

Riki

He’s laughing at you

“I hope that mean bridesmaid trips you when you try to catch it.”

“Shut up!” You smack his arm before walking away, sticking your tongue out when the mean bridesmaid he mentioned walks straight past you and to the front of the group

You didn’t care that much about catching the bouquet, you just wanted to annoy your boyfriend 😁

So when it actually lands right in your hands (knocked off its original course by the mean bridesmaid who hit it so hard it almost hit you in the face) you are SHOCKED

People immediately start cheering, and you don’t even have to look to know it’s coming from the table your boyfriend is still standing at

When you finally spare a glance to him, he’s gone entirely red and is being jostled by the rest of the guys at your table

You set the bouquet down nonchalantly on your table, pressing a kiss to his cheek before whispering “I wear a size 6 ring baby.” And then running to the bathroom to touch up your makeup

He will never recover (and is secretly making a Pinterest board of every size 6 ring he finds)

[inklessletter]

Of bows and ducks 🐤

Patreon | Bluesky | Instagram

(Ficlet 👇🏻👇🏻 👇🏻)

[W: 1.6k - Rated M: Chrissy's POV, angst, eating disorder, abusive household]

Chrissy Cunningham wears bright eyeshadows because it distracts people’s attention from her crooked teeth.

Chrissy Cunningham wakes up half an hour before to curl her ponytail to create the impression that she has more hair than she actually has.

Chrissy Cunningham wears oversized clothes because it creates the illusion that she’s smaller.

Chrissy Cunningham has been shaving her legs since she was eight years old.

All of Chrissy Cunningham’s underwear is cotton white, and her mother cuts all the decorative little bows off.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t slept more than five hours at night in years, because perfection takes time.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t finished any meal since she was eleven, because it makes her look exemplary to her parents’ friends when she says she’s full before finishing, even if she's still hungry.

Chrissy Cunningham’s mother taught her all of this.

So, it’s safe to say that every morning, when she wakes up from yet another short sleep, Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t know who Chrissy Cunningham is. She feels like her own skin isn’t hers, it’s just some character that her mother has carefully created, and it’s a role she can’t break free from. 

Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t exist, not really.

Her friends don’t talk about this. They occasionally whine about the food or their body size, but they always take a few minutes to look at themselves in the mirror of the school restroom to style out their hair, or to put some make up on that they have to hide from their parents. 

Chrissy hates mirrors, because she always has the supernatural feeling that her reflection is someone else’s, but it was starting to get suspicious that she didn’t even put lip gloss, so she bought one last summer at Starcourt mall. 

She liked the mall. It was one of the few places she was allowed to go with her friends without her mother’s scrutinizing eye on her at all times. She used to side eye that one lingerie shop, wondering if she would ever wear one of the lacey black panties.

Well, not actually those, but something that is not white. Hell, if she was honest to herself, she would settle for just keeping the little bows. She’d settle for her mother not manipulating her intimate clothes.

She thought of stealing a pair of hot pink panties, but she’s too much of a coward. 

There’s something Chrissy’s friend used to do every time after shopping, though, and it would later keep her awake at night out of pure guilt. They would go to the ice cream parlor. She couldn’t buy an ice cream, actually, because her mother always counted the money and made her give it all back, then asked for the receipts, and she couldn’t just see one of an ice cream because that’d mean that she won’t have dinner for the following week (unfinished meals every night are better than no meal at all).

But she would go there, anyway, and let her friends engage with the Harrington boy so they could get a discount from him, and she’d glance more than once at the display of several flavors behind the glass, fantasizing how many scoops she’d have, or which ones she would choose, and then, with no fail, the other cashier, Robin Buckley, from school band, would come to ask which one she wants to try. It makes Chrissy feel naughty, she always picks a different one, but buys nothing. 

That happens several times. She tries not to think how sad it is that this little thing is actually thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she still exists.

Robin’s in uniform but she manages to own it. Her shoes are scribbled all over, she wears a lot of trinkets, little chains, silver (her mother doesn’t let her wear silver, just gold), her hair is cut unevenly, and looks like she tried to make highlights at home with cleaning bleach, and her smudge eyeshadow seems to be done with her finger.

Chrissy likes that so very much. Robin shows through the uniform. She slips through the cracks, like yelling at the world that Robin exists, that Robin is.

It’s not nice to compare, but she looks at her group of friends and thinks that they all… they all kind of look the same. And they worry about the same silly stuff that seems ordinary but is out of Chrissy’s reach, like parents not going for a weekend so they can sneak their boyfriends in.

They all share that they won't see Chrissy, either. Not really.

Not ever.

Because they are all the same person.

That’s an unkind thought.

Maybe Chrissy is unkind.

Then the Starcourt mall burns down and it feels like a divine intervention for how secretly petty she is when she’s there.

It happens in July, and since Chrissy’s mother won’t let her go to any parties, she starts training near the school for when the cheerleading season begins again, and that’s when she meets Jason Carver. 

He’s on the basketball court and she’s running laps. They steal glances and that’s exciting, because the boy is beautiful. His smile looks like  the prologue of a tragedy and she falls in love with that feeling. They exchange more than glances and smiles and she wants things she never wanted before. It all fades into the blur of a far away memory right when school begins and they trade hot kisses and love bites for holding hands in the hallway. 

She feels nothing for him when Chrissy realizes Jason loves the curated version that her mother has made out of her, not actually her. He loves that she’s girly, and perfectionist with her looks, that she’s fit and petite, that unnatural lovely hair swirl, that she wears cute colors on her eyelids and that she always leaves fries for him whenever they go to a diner. 

Nothing.

And what’s about her to love, anyway? Who is Chrissy Cunningham? She’s just—

She is just gone.

Maybe she was never there to begin with, inside this tight suit of skin and heavy bones she wears everywhere.

She keeps avoiding the stranger in the mirror when she realizes she only can see what her mother sees wrong in her, or she can only hear the comments of Jason about her bony hips that one time they were at the backseat of his car. Chrissy knows how to do her makeup without using the cursed mirror, she knows how to style her hair without it, and it’s weird, that’s why she always helps the coach to store all the stuff they used, coming into the dressing room after her team, and fakes to take more time in the shower after practice, to be the last one to leave. To dress herself with the profaned underwear without looking at it, to reconstruct the image she hates so much and not having to put a smile upon her face while she fades away one day more.

That time she’s not alone when she comes in, all sweaty in her uniform.

There’s the ice cream girl, Robin. They had band practice and she was the only one who actually took it seriously about practicing with the stiff jacket of the uniform for an upcoming rally. She heard the rehearsal from the gym.

Robin hasn’t seen her yet, and Chrissy just can’t move. Robin is listening to something that she’s humming to in her walkman, that she stops with a loud click and puts away, unbuttoning her shirt.

Something is happening inside Chrissy when she sees Robin’s ducky bra.

A ducky bra.

Sky blue background and a god damned yellow ducky pattern.

Chrissy has never in her life seen something like that. That looks… Okay, that doesn’t even look the right size. Maybe it’s from past years and she still uses it. It looks comfortable, though, even if a little old.

It has the little, bright orange bow between her breasts.

She gasps audibly, and Robin spots her.

They lock gazes and Robin actually looks like a deer caught in headlights. Pink cheeks, big, blue eyes focused on her.

She’s so gorgeous without even trying. She always has been.

Chrissy is in a strange chokehold. It has to be nice to be someone, she thinks to herself, and not being afraid to exist.

They talk, but Chrissy’s not even paying attention to what she is saying. She’s only looking at Robin, and Chrissy must have said something funny because Robin laughs. She can’t look away, notice Robin’s cheeks growing darker, her hand accommodating her hair behind her own ears, the low conversation taking place in an empty space.

She does remember asking Robin if she could kiss her, though.

She does remember standing there in silence before their mouths meet halfway, experimental and new, soft and wet.

Chrissy hears herself whine in Robin’s lips, and dares to ask for more. Begs Robin to touch her and she’s feeling Robin’s cold fingers around her waist, lips locking, mouth opening, tongue curling around hers.

Robin is chatty, but Chrissy doesn’t mind. She spares a few words here and there in between kisses, and then Robin whispers to her ear, over, and over again, “I saw you. At the mall, I saw you. Every time.”

Chrissy gasps and kisses her again, grabs her hair, puts her body against her, skin touching skin, they fall to the floor and keep kissing until her lips are sore and someone opens the door of the locker room and they both hid from that uninvited person to keep kissing in silence, which was rather hard, but ultimately thrilling and funny. 

It’s hours later, under the safe covers of her bed when she realizes that for a little while she actually felt her skin as her own. And that’s new, that’s fresh. 

Thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she actually exists.

Maybe Chrissy wasn’t gone after all.

Maybe Chrissy Cunningham actually exists.

[unfortunatelyphoenix]

Since I noticed a couple Ghost Prince Danny things I decided to make my own, even if I don't know much about the series.

Vlad being the ever stupid fruitloop he is decided to try and steal Pariah's things again and woke him up again. Wanting a rematch he immediately stormed back to Amity Park, but before he dragged it back into the Infinite Realms for round 2 he overheard Danny talking to his friends about how he got summoned by the Justice League and through some hilarious misunderstandings on their part now think that Phantom is Pariah Dark's son and in turn the Ghost Prince.

Pariah, who surprisingly is ALSO a little shit at times (and is pretty much being called a little baby ghost's dad), immediately jumps at the idea of actually doing this hilarious prank and steals the group for sometime and manage to strike a deal that as long as he doesn't do anything horrible he won't be stuffed back into his coffin and they can do the bit. This ends up leading to Pariah Dark acting like Phantom's less than good of a person dad who actually starts to reform because he's too committed to the bit. This ends up leading to him, and everyone else, discovering he has surprisingly good parental instincts, having caused everyone to stop and look at him in confusion the first few (hundred) times he instinctively did a good parent thing.

Eventually though, something happens where Danny needs help but can't go to his friends or family, he can't go to the JL for help since he doesn't trust them and he's made it instinct to never go to Vlad, so he goes to the one ghost he does trust with this, Pariah Dark. It's at this point that Pariah realizes that it's no longer a bit and that he's become the closest thing Danny has to an actual parent, because let's be honest here, even if Jack and Maddie are good here they're still severely neglective of Danny and there's only so much Jazz can do while being 2-3 years older than him, and all the other ghosts who help him are more like mentors than actual parental figures.

Usually a ghost would have their parents to teach them if they're there as well, but Danny doesn't have good human parents and he died before they did, pretty much leaving him an orphaned baby, and no Justice League, JL Dark, or GIW will stop Pariah Dark from being the parent Danny desperately needs.

[nohriantomatoes]

Not to mention, the fact OP said "if you live in your head convinced you'll only ever hurt people bc you don't forgive yourself, you will complete the self-fulfilling prophecy"

Everyone disagreeing with OP needs to take a step back and actually evaluate what is being said in this post and what society would look like if everyone learned not only how to do better (aka not be an abuser) but how to move on from their bad past (also a huge part of not continuing the cycle of abuse). Everyone has something they think us wrong with them and everyone needs to learn how to handle that feeling.

the thing is, if your younger self was a bigot or an abuser, u can't make people forgive you. but you still gotta forgive yourself, like that's non-negotiable, dude. that happens before u can even ask the question of earning forgiveness from anyone lese

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[anhedoniawrites]

it’s not a date, we just kinda fuck around.

gif by @reidgif

june baby - victoria canal

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader.

summary: the two youngest BAU agents go on a first date

genre: fluff💌

word count: 8.5k

warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, none! (this is all foreplay for the smut that’s coming)

masterlist!

You never thought Spencer Reid would actually work up the courage to ask you out. Yet here you were, standing in your apartment with only ten minutes to spare, staring at your closet like it held the answer to life itself. Nothing seemed good enough, and you still had no idea what to wear. If you’d had even the slightest inkling that this day would come, you would have pre-planned outfits for every possible scenario—a casual coffee shop, a romantic dinner, even an impromptu museum date. But you hadn’t, because as much as you’d daydreamed about it, you never thought it would happen.

Spencer Reid had always been a harmless work crush. Brilliant, kind, and charming in his uniquely awkward way, he was the type of man you admired from a distance, assuming he was far too shy—or uninterested—to make a move. Yet somehow, against all odds, you were, nervously getting ready to go on a date with him.

The memory of how it all unfolded still made you smile. You’d been in the work kitchen, fixing your usual afternoon coffee, when Spencer had wandered in with his signature blend of distracted focus and nervous energy. You glanced up as he approached, expecting nothing more than a quick hello and maybe some small talk about the latest case. Instead, he surprised you.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. He stood a little too close to the coffee pot, fiddling with the lid as if it held the courage he needed.

“Hey, Spencer,” you replied, smiling warmly.

They chatted about nothing in particular—books, coffee, the endless intricacies of caffeine preferences—until, without warning, he blurted out the question.

“Would you, um… would you ever want to get coffee together? Like, outside of work?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a sweeping declaration, but it was undeniably Spencer—quiet, earnest, and completely endearing. You’d barely managed to contain your excitement as you said yes, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again.

Now, standing in your room, you glanced at the clock. Seven minutes. You grabbed a dress—something simple yet flattering—and slipped it on, your mind racing. You’d been waiting for this moment since the day you joined the team, and now that it was yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how the evening would go. Would he be his usual awkward self? Would he surprise you again with something bold and unexpected?

Whatever happened, you knew one thing: Spencer Reid had already managed to surprise you once.

Seven agonising minutes—each second stretched out like an eternity. The silence was suffocating, gnawing at you from the inside out, until the sudden knock at the door broke the tension. Your heart leapt in your chest. He was here. Spencer was finally here, and your nerves threatened to spill over.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before opening the door with a forced smile. The sight of him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously, only made your own anxiety rise. He looked just as uneasy, maybe even more so. His usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding yours for a moment before he met your gaze.

“Hey, Spence,” you greeted, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Hey, I- um…” Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft, uncertain. He stepped forward, pulling a bouquet of lilies from behind his figure. The delicate white flowers were a perfect match for your taste, and you couldn’t help but smile, your nerves easing just a little. “These are for you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, your smile widening. “Spence, you shouldn’t have,” you said, reaching out to take the bouquet, feeling a warmth in your fingertips as you touched the smooth, delicate petals. The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in the fragrance.

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to say. “I, uh… I thought you’d like them.”

You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You thought right. Come in, Spence.”

He followed you into your apartment, his presence oddly comforting despite the tension still hanging between them. You quickly moved toward the kitchen, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the storm of emotions churning inside you.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. The apartment was far from pristine. The cluttered coffee table, the dishes piled up in the sink—it wasn’t the welcoming space you’d imagined showing him. “I’m so sorry the place is a mess,” you said, your cheeks warming with self-consciousness. You carefully set the lilies down on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you arranged them.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he glanced around, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine,” he reassured you, his voice gentle. “You should see my place.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and nervous. As you filled a vase with water, you thought back to the little things he had taught you, like how to properly cut the stems of flowers to help them last longer. You carefully angled the scissors and snipped each stem at a diagonal, the sound of the cut echoing in the quiet kitchen. You remembered him telling you that the angled cut would help the flowers drink better, and you did it now without thinking. The thought of him lingered in your mind as you worked, a smile playing on your lips.

The bouquet was finally settled in the vase, its elegant white petals standing out against the cool glass. You stepped back, admiring the flowers, but it was Spencer’s presence in the room that made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

“Much better. Thank you, Spence,” you said, your voice soft with appreciation as you glanced at the flowers on the kitchen counter. Their vibrant white petals stood out against the cool, clear glass of the vase, the room suddenly feeling a little warmer, a little brighter. You grabbed your bag from the chair, the familiar weight of it grounding you. You turned to face him, your nerves still fluttering, but your excitement growing as the moment approached.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light but with an undercurrent of anticipation.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor for a split second. He wasn’t sure if he was ever truly ready, especially not when it came to dates. His stomach twisted in knots, but that nervous energy was overshadowed by the excitement of being with you, of sharing a moment like this.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he replied, a nervous but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

With that, they were out the door, stepping into the crisp air of Washington. The city felt alive around them, the hum of the streets, the distant chatter of people, the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. They strolled side by side, both holding their coffee cups, yours an iced concoction with a splash of cream, his steaming hot with a swirl of cinnamon. He wasn’t usually one for aimless wandering, but as he looked over at you, he realized that this moment was worth it.

Your face, illuminated by the golden afternoon sun, was pure contentment. Your eyes sparkled as they took in the world around you, lighting up at every little thing. Whether it was a street performer, a stray cat lazily sunning itself, or the way the city skyline framed the horizon, you had a way of making the mundane seem magical. And he, well, he would do anything to keep seeing that smile on your face, to be the reason your eyes shone with that infectious joy.

As they passed a little street corner, your gaze drifted across the road, and your eyes lit up once again. There, nestled between a café and a bookstore, was a small record store with a neon sign flashing softly in the window.

“Can we go in?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement, your fingers already tugging gently at his sleeve.

Spencer followed your gaze, his heart doing a little flip at the eagerness in your voice. You had that effect on him—the way you made even the simplest moments feel special. “Of course,” he said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere. “Lead the way.”

And just like that, they crossed the street together, the world outside fading into the background as they stepped into the warmth of the record store. The air smelled faintly of old vinyl and coffee, and the soft hum of music played in the background, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to lose themselves in.

“Smell that?” you asked, your nose lifting to the air as you inhaled deeply, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That’s the smell of the best way to listen to music.” The scent of aged vinyl, dust, and nostalgia filled the space, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. You laughed at yourself, a light, airy sound that seemed to match the atmosphere of the record store perfectly. Spencer couldn’t help but join in, his laugh a little quieter but no less genuine, his eyes softening as he watched you.

“You spend too much time with Rossi,” Spencer teased, his fingers flicking through the rows of records, his gaze scanning the colourful covers. He was looking for something—anything—that caught his attention, but his mind was more on the way you lit up in places like this, surrounded by things you loved.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence as you met his gaze, your hand pausing mid-air over a stack of albums. “I am offended by your words, Dr. Reid,” you replied, your tone playful, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge.

Spencer smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up into something warmer as he continued flipping through the records, pretending to be serious. “You should be. That’s a direct quote from Rossi himself,” he said, holding up a record sleeve and giving it a quick glance before setting it back down.

Your laugh filled the space again, bright and free. You pulled another record from the shelf, this one with a faded cover you recognised from years ago. “Well, if I spend too much time with Rossi, then I guess I’m doomed to become a vinyl snob,” you joked, flipping the record over to check the tracklist. You ran your fingers over the edges of the sleeve, feeling the familiar grooves of the cover, the little imperfections that only came with time.

You glanced over at Spencer, watching him for a moment as he flipped through his own stack. There was something so easy about being with him here, in this small, dimly lit shop filled with memories and melodies. “I mean, how else are you supposed to listen to music?” you asked, raising an eyebrow dramatically as you glanced down at the album in your hands. Then, with a theatrical flair, you placed your free hand on your hip and tilted your head back, doing your best (and rather exaggerated) impersonation of Rossi. “It’s the only way to really appreciate it. The crackle, the warmth… it’s like you can feel the music,” you said, making a show of puffing out an imaginary cigar and letting the smoke trail into the air.

Spencer’s laughter was immediate, loud, and genuine, as he looked over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh my God,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are way too good at that.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “I’ve been practicing,” you said, striking a mock pose, your hand still poised as if holding the cigar, before you finally broke into another fit of laughter. Spencer couldn’t help but join you, his smile wide and full of affection. “Rossi would be proud,” he teased, his voice light, but there was a fondness in the way he looked at you.

You winked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, if I’m ever in need of a new career, I think I’ve got this down.”

By the time you reached the end of your long search through the endless rows of records, you had carefully chosen a couple you were willing to splurge on. Cradling the records against your chest, you joined the line at the register, the buzz of the store humming around you.

When your turn came, you placed the records on the counter, chatting casually with the cashier as you fied through your bag for your wallet. Your voice was light, a touch distracted as your fingers rifled through your belongings.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had stepped closer, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. Without a word, he slipped his card onto the reader. The machine beeped, signalling the completed transaction just as you finally found your wallet and looked up.

Confused, your gaze darted between the cashier and Spencer, who was already sliding his card back into his wallet with an air of nonchalance.

“Spencer!” you gasped, stepping out of line with him as they headed toward the exit. You gave him that look—the one that said he didn’t have to do what he just did. Your lips parted to speak, but he beat you to it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, your voice laced with both gratitude and protest. Your hazel eyes darted to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him, catching the warm, self-assured look in his own. You didn’t like people spending money on you when you had plenty of your own. The records weren’t cheap, either.

Spencer, however, shrugged it off with a quiet confidence that surprised even himself. “I wanted to,” he replied simply. His voice was calm but firm, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a gentle smile. “I asked you to come out with me, didn’t I?”

You sighed, your protest melting into a small, affectionate smile as they stepped out into the crisp air. It was such a Spencer thing to do—thoughtful and kind, but completely unnecessary. Yet, as they walked side by side, you couldn’t deny the warmth his gesture left in your chest.

You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with a playful edge as you broke the silence. “You’re lucky I agreed,” you teased, a grin tugging at your lips.

Spencer chuckled softly, glancing down at you. “Oh, I know,” he said, his voice low but filled with humor. “Trust me, I’m very lucky.”

They continued to walk aimlessly, the crisp evening air brushing against their faces as they strolled. Spencer was mid-thought, caught up in some internal musing when your voice broke through.

“Oh my God, Chinatown, Spencer!” you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement, like a child spotting a candy store.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on the colourful archway marking the entrance to Chinatown. You couldn’t quite explain it, but Chinatowns had always been your favourite places to visit. Maybe it was the vibrant atmosphere, the intricate details of the buildings, or the way everyone seemed to know one another, creating a sense of community that felt warm and welcoming. You loved every bit of it.

Without realizing it, you grabbed Spencer’s hand and tugged him along with you, your excitement bubbling over. Your grip was firm but warm, and Spencer—despite the suddenness—didn’t resist. In fact, he found himself smiling as you led him toward the bustling street.

Your face glowed brighter than he’d ever seen as you took in the sight of the ornately decorated gate ahead, its vivid reds and golds shining under the string lights that crisscrossed above the street. He didn’t know if it was your enthusiasm or the way your joy seemed to radiate outward, but he was utterly mesmerized, trailing behind you like he was under a spell.

“We should get noodles—if you’re okay with that?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you with a soft, almost dreamy expression. The way you looked at him then—like he was the best person in the world just for being here with you—made his heart skip.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. Without thinking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

Your cheeks flushed at the small gesture, and Spencer caught the faintest flicker of a smile as they continued walking hand in hand. The streets were alive with energy, from the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting from carts to the hum of chatter in the air.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a quaint bakery that led to an underground noodle bar tucked just below it. The combination was irresistible. As they waited for a table, your eyes lit up when you spotted cheese-filled mooncakes in the bakery display.

“I have to try one of these,” you said eagerly, placing your order while Spencer watched you with quiet amusement.

Moments later, you held the warm pastry in your hands, your face glowing with anticipation. “This is going to be the best cheese pull you’ve ever seen,” you declared, laughing with a childlike excitement that made Spencer’s chest tighten.

You took a bite, and as you pulled back, the melted cheese stretched from your mouth to the mooncake, just as you had promised. Your eyes widened with delight, and your laughter rang out, light and contagious.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head in amazement. You were like a child in the best possible way, unguarded and full of joy.

“You were right,” he said, still chuckling. “That’s definitely the best cheese pull I’ve ever seen.”

Your grin widened, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the bustling streets around them. All he could see was your—glowing, carefree, and absolutely captivating.

The waiter called out, “Sī bīn sài Ruì dé?” his tone polite and slightly accented as he scanned the small crowd in the restaurant’s waiting area. Spencer Reid’s head lifted, recognizing the sound of his name rendered in Mandarin. He gave a small, sheepish smile, adjusting his scarf as he turned to look at you.

You arched an amused brow, gesturing toward the waiter with a tilt of your head. “That’s you, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded, his hand lightly brushing against your lower back as he led the way down the narrow staircase into the cozy, warmly lit restaurant below. The rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil wafted through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of diners enjoying their meals.

The waiter guided them to a private booth tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wooden walls offering a sense of intimacy. Spencer gestured for you to slide in first, always the gentleman, before settling across from you.

The two opened their menus, the glossy pages filled with enticing photos and descriptions of diyous written in both Mandarin and English. Spencer scanned the list with the precision of someone cataloging data, while you took a more casual approach, letting your eyes linger on the pictures.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Spencer asked, glancing up at you. His hazel eyes held a mix of curiosity and hesitation, likely calculating the probabilities of making the wrong choice in an unfamiliar culinary landscape.

You smiled, leaning slightly over the menu to point at the dishes you had your eye on. “I was thinking Beef Noodle Soup and maybe a fried rice platter. If you wanted to share?”

Your suggestion was casual, but you knew Spencer well enough to recognise that sharing food might not be his first choice. The germaphobic tendencies you’d seen surface in the past made your offer feel like a gamble. If he declined, you’d simply adjust your order—no harm, no foul.

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the menu. “Sharing…” he began, his tone thoughtful. “It’s not usually my preference, but—” He paused, studying your face as though weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of his comfort zone. “I think I could make an exception. Just… no double-dipping,” he added with a faint smile, his attempt at humour not lost on you.

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Deal. I’ll even promise to use the serving spoon if it helps.”

His smile widened, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “That would be appreciated.”

As the waiter returned to take their order, Spencer let you take the lead, quietly observing your interactions. The way you spoke with ease, your smile lighting up the space between them, was something he never grew tired of.

After the waiter left, the two settled into conversation, the hum of the restaurant serving as a comforting backdrop. You caught him glancing at you from time to time, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Two Beef Noodle Soup and fried rice,” he mused after a moment. “Good choices. Did you know Beef Noodle Soup is considered a national dish in Taiwan? There’s even an annual festival where chefs compete to create the best version of it.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest. “I didn’t know that. How do you even know things like that off the top of your head?”

Spencer shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I read a lot.”

You laughed, leaning forward slightly. “Of course you do. But that’s one of the things I love about you, you know. You always have the most random, fascinating facts tucked away in that big brain of yours.”

His blush deepened, and he ducked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.

Their food arrived not long after, the diyous steaming and fragrant, the aroma instantly making your stomach rumble. You reached for your chopsticks, but before you could start serving yourself, Spencer gently took the plate from your side.

“Allow me,” he said, his tone soft but resolute, as though he had been planning this move.

You blinked in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all. I was starting to wonder.”

Spencer shot you a mock-offended look as he carefully portioned out some of the sizzling stir-fry onto your plate. “Hey, I can be chivalrous. I just… don’t get much practice. Sharing food isn’t exactly in my top five skills.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You don’t say. Should I feel honoured or concerned?”

“Definitely honoured,” he replied, finishing your plate with an exaggerated flourish. “This is a rare occurrence. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely documenting this,” you teased, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick photo of him mid-serve. “The great Dr. Spencer Reid, putting others first. What’s next, you’re going to offer me the last bite?”

Spencer smirked as he served himself. “Let’s not get carried away.”

As they began eating, you picked up a particularly long noodle with your chopsticks and dangled it in front of your face. “Do you think this could double as a jump rope for ants?”

Spencer nearly choked on his bite of rice, laughing. “That is… an incredibly specific visual. Why ants? Why not, I don’t know, mice?”

“Too predictable,” you replied, twirling the noodle like you were considering its durability. “Ants have more finesse. They’d appreciate the artistry.”

“Ah, yes, the ant gymnast community,” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses and leaning forward as though about to deliver a lecture. “You know, ants can actually carry up to fifty times their body weight, so a noodle would be the perfect workout tool.”

You grinned, using your chopsticks to make the noodles “jump” across your plate. “You’re making my case for me. Ant Olympics, here we come.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” you said brightly, slurping the noodle up with a playful flourish.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and then, without a word, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious. “If I were an ant, this would be like carrying a wrecking ball.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your chopsticks. “You’re so weird!”

“Only because you bring it out of me,” he replied, popping the dumpling into his mouth with a small, triumphant smile.

They continued their meal, each taking turns to make the other laugh with increasingly absurd food-related jokes. Spencer even attempted to balance a broccoli floret on his nose, which ended with you snorting and him losing the floret mid-laugh.

By the time they finished, your sides ached from laughing, and Spencer looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in weeks. As he reached for the bill, you caught his hand and grinned.

“See? Sharing isn’t so bad,” you teased.

He smiled back, his eyes warm. “Only with you.”

Once they left Chinatown, the streets of Washington, D.C. buzzed with life, but Spencer and you were lost in their own little world, laughing uncontrollably over the events of the day. Every inside joke and playful jab sent them spiraling into fits of laughter, their shared energy a bright spot in the bustling city. For Spencer, the date had already been perfect, but he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. He had one last plan to cap off the evening, though it wouldn’t come into play for hours. Until then, he just needed to keep you distracted.

You nudged him playfully as they strolled along. “Alright, something you never got to do as a kid but always wanted to,” you said, your tone suddenly serious despite the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes.

Spencer hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. “I don’t know,” he began, his voice soft. “I’ve always liked reading books and spending time with my mom.” He glanced at you, embarrassed by how ordinary his answer sounded.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “That’s sweet, Spence,” you said softly. “But come on, there’s gotta be something.”

He exhaled a small laugh, his gaze shifting to the pavement as he admitted, “Well, I always wanted to play Laser Tag.”

You stopped in your tracks, your hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait. You’ve never played Laser Tag?”

Spencer shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “I mean, no, not really. It just never came up.”

You were already shaking your head in mock horror. “That’s unacceptable. We’re fixing this right now.”

“It’s fine. We don’t have to—”

But you were already tugging him along with determined speed. “Nope. This is happening. You’re about to experience the childhood you missed out on, and it’s going to be amazing.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm, your energy was contagious. Before he knew it, they were standing at the counter of a nearby arcade, you grinning ear to ear as you requested two tickets for Laser Tag.

Spencer tried one last time to protest. “Really, you don’t have to do this—”

“Consider it my treat,” you interrupted, handing over your card to the cashier. “A thank-you for the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

The sincerity in your voice silenced his objections, and he felt his heart swell. As the cashier handed them their gear, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, strapping on your vest. “Let’s see if all that genius-level intellect helps you out on the battlefield.”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to regret this. I may not have played before, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to win.”

“Bold of you to assume,” you shot back with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the arena.

As they stepped into the dimly lit room filled with neon lights and fog machines, Spencer felt an unexpected rush of excitement. You turned to him, your face illuminated by the glowing lights, and he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he’d been missing out, but with you by his side, he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

The neon lights flickered, casting an otherworldly glow over the Laser Tag arena. Fog swirled around Spencer and you as they ducked behind barriers and navigated the maze-like layout. The sound of distant footsteps and laser beams zipping through the air made it feel like they’d stepped into a sci-fi movie.

Spencer crouched low, trying to strategize his next move, but your sudden battle cry made him jump. You darted out from behind a glowing pillar, your laughter echoing through the arena as you fired your laser, landing a direct hit on his vest.

“Gotcha!” you shouted triumphantly, your grin wide and uncontainable.

Spencer stumbled back in mock defeat, his hands raised. “Okay, okay, truce! I’m still learning!”

You rolled your eyes, playfully wagging a finger at him. “No mercy, Reid. You’re my bitch now.”

You turned to sprint away, but Spencer surprised you by diving behind a barrier and quickly firing back. The red lights on your vest lit up, signalling a hit.

“Ha! Who’s the genius now?” he teased, standing up with a victorious smirk.

You clutched your chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded. “Betrayed… by my own date!” you gasped, collapsing onto a nearby barrier.

Spencer burst into laughter, his usually reserved demeanor completely melting away. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he helped your back up.

“And you love it,” you quipped, sticking your tongue out before taking off into the maze again.

The game continued, a back-and-forth of sneak attacks, exaggerated reactions, and endless laughter. Every hit was met with playful banter, and every moment felt like peeling back the layers of their guarded hearts. Spencer, who had always been so serious and calculated, found himself letting go, caught up in the pure, childlike joy of the moment.

At one point, they both ended up crouched behind the same barrier, breathless and laughing so hard their sides hurt. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your face flushed from running. “Okay, I admit it,” you said between giggles. “You’re pretty good for a first-timer.”

Spencer glanced at you, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I had a good teacher,” he replied softly.

For a moment, the chaos around them faded. They were just two people, sitting side by side, finding solace in each other’s company.

You nudged him gently. “See? Childhood dream fulfilled. What’s next on your list?”

He chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glowing floor. “Honestly? I think this might be enough for one night.”

“Enough?” you teased. “We’ve barely scratched the surface! Next time, we’re doing bumper cars.”

Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’m going to need a lot of next times with you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll make that happen,” you promised.

As the game timer buzzed, signalling the end of their session, Spencer and you made their way out of the arena, still laughing and teasing each other. A leaderboard lit up on the screen near the exit, and Spencer froze, his eyes widening.

“No way,” he murmured, stepping closer to the display.

You leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw his name at the top of the list. “You won?!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm and shaking it excitedly. “Spencer Reid, first-time Laser Tag champion! I’m so proud of you!”

He turned to you, his grin almost bashful but undeniably proud. “Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face lighting up with genuine excitement. “You crushed it out there! I mean, I’m a little salty that you beat me, but still—you’re officially a Laser Tag legend.”

Spencer laughed, the sound bubbling out of him with pure joy. “A legend, huh? I’ll take it.”

You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. “You better. This is a big deal! You’ve got bragging rights now.”

As they stepped out of the arcade into the cool night air, you looped your arm through his, your energy still electric. “Okay, next time we’re teaming up. Imagine what we could do together!”

Spencer looked down at you, his heart warm and full. “I think we’d be unstoppable,” he said, his voice soft but confident.

As they walked down the busy streets, still laughing and recounting the best moments of the game, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he’d won more than just Laser Tag. With you by his side, he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing—a piece of joy, of freedom, of connection that made him feel whole again.

As they continued down the lively streets of D.C., Spencer’s smile lingered, a quiet sense of contentment radiating from him. You were still buzzing from the Laser Tag victory, your hand resting comfortably in his as they walked.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you said playfully, looking up at him. “What’s next on this magical mystery tour of a date? Because if it’s as fun as Laser Tag, I might actually burst from happiness.”

Spencer chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Well,” he began, his voice soft but teasing, “I do have one more thing planned. But it’s a surprise.”

Your eyes widened with curiosity. “A surprise? Spencer Reid, you’re full of secrets tonight. What is it?”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

“Always,” you said with a grin, letting him guide you down a quieter street.

The hum of the city faded as they walked, replaced by a peaceful stillness. You tilted your head, trying to guess where he was taking you, but Spencer kept quiet, his excitement barely contained. Finally, they rounded a corner, and your breath caught as the grand façade of the National Gallery of Art came into view, illuminated beautifully against the night sky.

“Spencer,” you whispered, awe in your voice. “The art museum? It’s closed right now.”

He smiled, his fingers lacing tighter with yours. “Not for us.”

As if on cue, a side door to the museum opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped out, waving at Spencer.

“Dr. Reid!” the man called warmly. “Right on time.”

“Thanks, Jacob,” Spencer said, his voice full of gratitude. He turned to you, his expression soft. “Jacob’s a curator here. He agreed to stay late and let us in. Just us.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked between Spencer and Jacob. “You’re kidding. We get the whole museum to ourselves?”

Spencer nodded, his heart fluttering at the pure joy on your face. “I thought you might like it. I know how much you love art, and, well… I wanted to do something special for you.”

You blinked back a sudden wave of emotion, your chest tightening with affection. “Spencer, this is… this is incredible. Thank you.”

He smiled, a little shyly. “You’re worth it.”

Jacob opened the door wider, gesturing them inside. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

As they stepped into the museum, the quiet echoed around them, amplifying the beauty of the vast, empty halls. The dim lighting highlighted the paintings and sculptures, making it feel like they’d stepped into another world.

You turned to Spencer, your eyes shining. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to give you something memorable. Something… magical.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “You’ve done more than that, Spence. This is perfect.”

He smiled, his heart swelling at your words. “Come on,” he said softly, leading you toward the first exhibit. “Let’s explore.”

And together, hand in hand, they wandered through the museum, the art and the quiet intimacy of the moment weaving a memory neither of them would ever forget.

The museum was humour, the kind of quiet that invited reverence and reflection. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved through the halls, pausing here and there to admire a painting or sculpture. Spencer’s hand lingered at your lower back, a subtle gesture to guide you but also to stay close, as if the intimacy of the space demanded it.

They came to a room filled with sculptures, the soft lighting casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Your attention was immediately drawn to a particular piece—a sculpture of two women, one older, one younger, the younger standing on the shoulders of the older as if reaching for something just out of sight.

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching slightly. Spencer noticed your stillness and took a step back, letting your take in the piece without interruption. Your expression shifted, your usual brightness giving way to something quieter, deeper.

After a few moments, he couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice soft so as not to disturb the moment. “How does it make you feel?”

You didn’t turn to him right away. Your eyes remained fixed on the sculpture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of your thoughts.

“Seen,” you said simply, then paused as if to find the right words. “In a weird way. I don’t think I’d be who I am without my mother, and this piece proves it in a way. It makes me feel less alone too, like I’m not the only one who sees myself this way.”

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze flickering between you and the sculpture. He could see it now—the younger woman’s outstretched hands, the older one’s steadying stance. The balance between them spoke volumes about trust, sacrifice, and love.

“You feel like you’re standing on your shoulders,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You nodded, finally glancing at him. “Yeah. Every step I’ve taken has been because you let me stand on your foundation. Even when things weren’t perfect, you were still there, holding me up.” You smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of your lips. “It’s nice to see it represented like this, you know? It’s like… someone else understands.”

Spencer took a small step closer, his voice gentle. “You’d be proud of you. I don’t think anyone could look at what you’ve built for yourself and feel anything less.”

You turned fully to face him now, your hazel eyes soft but shining. “Thank you, Spence. That means a lot.”

He gave you a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he glanced back at the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Just like the way you see the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a small chuckle, “but I mean it.”

For a while longer, they stayed there, side by side, letting the sculpture’s quiet power wash over them. In that moment, it wasn’t just art—it was a connection, a shared understanding that went deeper.

The weight of the moment lifted as they moved on, wandering into another section of the museum. The air between them felt lighter now, a quiet understanding still lingering but giving way to the playful energy they always seemed to share.

It started with a chuckle from you, your hand covering your mouth as you stopped in front of a sculpture of a stern-looking man with an exaggeratedly large nose. “Okay, tell me that doesn’t look like Hotch when he’s annoyed,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

Spencer glanced at the sculpture and bit back a laugh. “It’s the eyebrows,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You gasped, pointing. “The eyebrows! Yes! It’s like he’s about to say, ‘Reid, stop overexplaining.’"

Spencer laughed, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. “Okay, okay, but look at this one,” he said, leading you to a nearby bust of a man whose face was frozen in a hilariously exaggerated scowl. “Tell me that’s not Rossi after someone forgets to bring him coffee.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” you managed between giggles.

They moved from sculpture to sculpture, pointing out ridiculous expressions and coming up with stories for each one. Spencer, ever the genius, concocted elaborate backstories for the pieces, each one more absurd than the last.

“This one,” he said, gesturing to a marble figure of a man dramatically clutching his chest, “was probably just told that his favorite gelato shop ran out of pistachio.”

You doubled over laughing, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. “Stop, you’re going to get us kicked out!” you said, though your laughter made it clear you didn’t mean it.

“You’re the one who started it,” he teased, his grin wide and unrestrained.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a statue of a cherub with a particularly mischievous expression. Spencer tilted his head. “This one’s definitely plotting something. Probably planning to steal cookies from the other cherubs.”

You wiped a tear from your eyes, still laughing. “You’re too good at this. Have you been secretly practicing?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

As they continued exploring, their laughter echoed softly through the empty halls, their joy filling the quiet space. For a little while, they let themselves be kids again—carefree, silly, and completely immersed in the moment.

Spencer, usually so reserved and composed, felt freer than he had in years. And you, watching him let loose, felt your heart swell with happiness. It wasn’t just about the art or the laughter—it was about being together, sharing a moment that was uniquely theirs.

When they finally paused to catch their breath, leaning against a wall in between fits of giggles, Spencer looked at you with a soft smile. “This might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a museum.”

You grinned, your eyes shining. “I told you, you just needed the right partner in crime.”

He nodded, his expression warm. “I think I found them.”

And with that, they set off again, hand in hand, ready to see what other treasures—and laughs—the museum had to offer.

As they wandered back toward the grand central hall of the museum, the playful energy between them began to settle into something softer, quieter. The warm lighting of the space casts a golden glow over the room, highlighting the details of the sculptures and paintings around them. You paused by a large marble statue of a couple intertwined in an eternal embrace, your gaze lingering on the delicate way the sculptor had captured the curve of their hands and the tilt of their heads.

Spencer stopped beside you, his eyes following yours to the statue. He said nothing, but the air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The laughter from earlier seemed to hang in the distance, replaced by a gentle stillness.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression soft, your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Spencer’s gaze flickered from the statue to you, his heart stuttering as he caught the way the golden light played on your features.

Neityour of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Spencer’s hand reached out, slow and hesitant, his fingertips brushing against yours. The touch was featyour-light, but it sent a ripple through both of them, grounding them in the moment.

Your eyes searched his, questioning, yet trusting. He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his face hovered close to yours. The world around them seemed to blur, the art and the quiet fading into the background as the only thing that mattered was him—his eyes, his presence, the warmth of him so close.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. You gave him the faintest nod, your lips curving into a soft, encouraging smile.

It was painfully slow, the kind of moment that stretched on forever, but neither of them rushed it. Their foreheads brushed first, a tentative, intimate touch that sent shivers down your spine. His nose bumped yours lightly, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

And then, finally, achingly, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, and unhurried, a perfect balance of tenderness and curiosity. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished You leaned into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself as your heart soared.

Time seemed to stop entirely. There was no overthinking, no second-guessing—just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

When they finally pulled back, their faces still close, neither of them spoke right away. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “That felt… right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It did,” he agreed, his voice equally quiet.

And as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the museum, they both knew they’d just shared a moment they’d carry with them forever.

Hand in hand, they made their way back toward the main entrance of the museum, their fingers still entwined as they shared quiet smiles and the lingering warmth of the kiss. The halls, now empty of their playful laughter, seemed to hum with the remnants of the night’s magic, a soft kind of peace wrapping around them.

When they reached the front, they were met by Jacob, who was standing by the gift shop, a welcoming grin on his face.

“Did you two enjoy the private tour?” he asked, clearly amused by the soft glow in their expressions.

“It was perfect,” You replied, your voice light with contentment. “We couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

Spencer gave Jacob a small nod of thanks, and they made their way toward the gift shop. Of course, you, ever the curious soul, immediately started scanning the shelves, your eyes lighting up as you spotted a section of artist books and unique prints.

Spencer stood back a little, letting you take it all in. It was clear from the way you were absorbed in the display that you were in your element. Your fingers traced the spines of the books, your eyes lingering on the vibrant art, the words, and the stories behind them. It was a rare thing to see you so lost in admiration, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, appreciating the way you connected with the world through art.

You picked up one of the books, flipping it open to the first page. “Spence,” you called softly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “Which artist was it who made that sculpture of the two women?”

Spencer walked over to you, his gaze following yours to the shelf where the artist’s work was displayed. He didn’t need to think twice. “Julie Rrap,” he replied.

You nodded, your fingers brushing the cover of the book titled Body Double. You seemed almost hesitant at first, as if deciding whether or not to pick it up. But then, with a quiet sense of reverence, you carefully opened the book and placed it in your hands, holding it close to your chest for a moment before glancing back at Spencer.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. There was something in your eyes—something that said this moment meant more to you than you could express.

Spencer smiled warmly, his heart swelling a little. “I’m glad you like it.”

You ran your thumb along the edges of the book, your gaze still soft as you flipped through the pages, your eyes drinking in the art and the words. It was as if the world had slowed down again, and they were both wrapped in the quiet, intimate moment of shared appreciation.

“I think I’m going to get this,” you said, your voice thoughtful, almost to yourself. “It’s… I don’t know. It feels important.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze still on you as you carefully placed the book in your arms, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s yours. You deserve it.”

Spencer reached into his pocket as they approached the counter, his hand finding yours once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He placed the book and a few other items you had picked out onto the counter. Jacob, who had been standing nearby, gave them both a knowing smile as he rang up the items.

“You two seem like you had a good time,” Jacob said, his tone light and friendly.

Spencer smiled, pulling out his wallet. “It was a perfect night, thanks to you.”

You turned to Jacob with a grateful expression, your eyes bright. “Thank you for letting us stay after hours. It really made the evening special.”

Jacob nodded, giving you a small wink. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed it. You two have a good rest of the night.”

After Spencer finished paying, he gathered the items and handed them to you, who accepted them with a soft smile. “Thanks again,” you said, your voice warm.

With a final wave to Jacob, they left the gift shop and stepped into the cool night air. The city was quieter now, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As they walked toward Spencer’s apartment, the evening felt like a perfect bookend to a day full of laughter, art, and unexpected moments of connection.

Spencer, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, pulled you closer as they walked. “So, what do you think? A quiet night in to wrap things up?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

You smiled, your eyes glinting with excitement. “Sounds perfect.”

They continued down the sidewalk, their footsteps in sync, the world around them fading away as they looked forward to whatever came next—together.

thank you for reading!

please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

part two!

masterlist!

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[thewitchblue]

"You know, in the animal kingdom, this rock would be a proposal."

Tim mused as he took it from your hands. Don't ask how he knows penguins and otters give rocks to show affection and also mate for life. He was in a rabbit hole after the first rock you gave him. You said slowly,

"Tim... humans propose with rocks."

Tim gave a distracted hum as he eyed the rock you gave him. You found a rock that you said was "pretty like his eyes." A beautiful blue agate you found near a lake when you went swimming a few days ago.

It didn't even register in his brain what you said. He was too distracted by the rock you gave him. He turned it over in his hand and marvelled at the beautiful shimmer it produced.

"Yeah, but this is a rock rock. Not a diamond."

He said. His eyes turned to you again. You looked incredibly amused. A rock rock? You wanted to laugh. You've been giving him rocks for the entirety of your friendship. It's become your thing to randomly hand him a rock.

You're hoping one day he'll realise that the rock means you are interested in him romantically, but you were starting to doubt it will ever happen, or maybe he's simply ignoring the message.

"Give it back if it's just a rock then."

You knew he wouldn't give you the rock. He hoarded everything you gave him like a squirrel hoarding its nuts for the winter.

"No take backs."

He replied as he held the stone closer to his chest. You laughed at his suddenly very protective stance. It's adorable seeing him turn into a pouty toddler.

"Stop being cute or I'm going to vomit."

Jason said as he passed into the kitchen. He says that as if he doesn't internally smile at the cute duo. He can't help his romantic heart from its love for love, as much as it annoys him.

You were so amused by Tim's fascination. It's like this every time you give him a rock. He has a full rock collection at this point, all gifted from you. He never stopped to think about why you give him all the pretty and rare stones. He accepts every stone with as much love and adoration, even the plain ones that you grabbed while hanging out with him.

Tim smiled as he said,

"I might turn this into a ring."

He really loved your rock giving. He wanted to memorialise your special gift giving. He's grown to love rocks because of you.

"Are you saying you would say yes if I proposed right here, right now?"

You asked. It was a bold move to ask him such a question, but a necessary one at this point.

"Yes."

He said confidently. Jason shook his head and sighed at his oblivious brother. He's stupid not to see how obvious you were. Where is his brain when it comes to personal relationships? Jason started eating the granola bar he stole when Alfred wasn't looking. He wanted to watch the show about to happen.

You shrugged and casually said,

"We're engaged then."

It took Tim a minute to comprehend what you said. Did he hear you correctly? What just happened? Are you skipping straight to marriage without dating him? He was extremely confused.

Jason was also confused, but more about why you decided it would be a good idea to propose, especially so casually. He knew you were smitten, but now is kind of a bad time to randomly propose. You completely skipped the romantic build-up. Tim asked,

"Wait, what?"

You smiled fondly at him. You knew he'd be confused, but you were getting annoyed with him not taking the hint. You repeated,

"We're engaged now."

It took a minute for him to realise how serious you actually were. You stared at each other as his brain tried to catch up with what had just happened.

"You're not joking?"

He said in a mystified tone. You shook your head.

"Nope."

What does he even say to something like that? It came out of nowhere, in his eyes. He stated plainly,

"You skipped dating me."

You shrugged. You've had a crush on him for well over two years. You've done all the couple things aside from kissing. Why not propose? The dating was never going to happen at the rate of which you were going. You said,

"I don't care. Do you?"

He looked at you with a serious expression for a moment. You weren't kidding about this proposal in the slightest. His eyes turned back to the rock. He supposes an agate is a gemstone, which he could definitely turn into a pair of engagement rings.

He decided he didn't care about skipping the dating phase. It saves him the effort of planning a proposal further down the line anyway. He shrugged and said,

"Okay."

Jason didn't know what just happened. Did Tim seriously get engaged before his eyes? And accept? Is the wedding going to be as equally unusual? What did he just witness? His brother is an anomaly. Jason said,

"I'm telling Dick."

It sounded like a threat, but Tim didn't care. He knew the future him was going to care when Dick dramatically announced the engagement, but that's not a problem for now.

You kissed him for the first time and almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. You're engaged! You never thought this would happen!

Jason gagged and left, but you could make out the tiny smile on his face. He was happy for his brother. Finally.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT ENGAGED?!"

Dick screamed when he found out the news. Poor Bruce was trying to take a nap in the background. Tim made it to the doorway before Dick was on him like a shark in the water.

Tim was still holding his engagement rock and cradled the rock closer to his chest. If Dick is going to get mad, he's going down protecting this rock. He said offhandedly,

"Don't make it a big deal. We haven't even turned our rock into rings yet."

Tim and you had both decided to use the agate as your matching rings. It was a large enough gemstone after you both researched how big a rock had to be to become a ring, and Tim found a shop in Gotham who could do it. You were moving fast, sure, but he was certain he wanted to spend forever with you.

Dick was floored. He couldn't believe how casual Tim is about getting engaged. There was seemingly no thought put behind getting engaged. Dick said,

"Don't make it a big deal? Tim, you are about to get married! This is a huge deal!"

Tim smiled fondly. He's going to get married! The reality hit him in that moment. He's excited. He had not even thought you could feel the same way he did despite all the signs. All the rocks, all the hugs, all the times you held his hand and cuddled with him but nobody else. You could not have been more obvious.

"What's this about an engagement?"

Bruce asked groggily. He was used to waking up to screaming, but certainly not to an engagement. Who got engaged? Probably Jason. He definitely would hide a relationship from Bruce and get married before ever showing them.

"Timothy Jackson Drake got engaged without telling anyone! I had to find out through Jason!"

Dick sounded accusatory. He was hurt. Jason found out about it before he did. He's supposed to be the best big brother of all time. Tim quickly defended his actions,

"We've been engaged for an hour!"

Bruce muttered, about to fall asleep again,

"That's nice."

The words set in a moment later. He hesitantly opened his eyes and turned his head to face the bickering duo. He didn't sit up from his position on the couch, however.

"Wait. Tim? Not Jason?"

Dick looked at Bruce in pure confusion. Jason isn't even dating anybody. How would he get engaged? Then again, neither was Tim. Tim just skipped straight to marriage.

"Yeah. Tim."

Bruce eyed Tim for a long while. He asked,

"When did you start dating?"

What did he miss? He's Batman. He misses nothing. Dick was the only one freaking out about this engagement. How was Bruce so calm?

"They never dated!"

Bruce sighed. He just wanted to nap in peace. He needed this twenty minute nap. He grumbled,

"Don't make me a grandpa yet. I'm still too young."

Tim blushed. You would be laughing so hard if you were here. You loved making him flustered, and it's even better if it's from family drama.

"You are in SO much trouble, Timothy."

Dick was still fuming. Is it a friends-with-benefits turned lovers situation or what? Everybody with eyes could see the pining, but he never thought Tim would actually get married. Tim immediately threw Jason to the wolves by pointing and saying,

"Jason witnessed it all."

Dick paused his scolding. His gaze turned to Jason, who was rapidly retreating into the kitchen. The kitchen has a back door that he can escape out of if he's fast enough. Dick immediately began chasing him.

"Jason Peter Todd, get back here! I have questions for you!"

Tim slipped out the front door in the midst of the chaos and began his walk to the ring store. Dick will calm down by the time he's back. Probably. Hopefully.

[enbyorge]

I have a Secret^TM Stop Crying Sooner (ish) technique, and I will never tell a single person what it is ever.

Why?

Because the second someone even thinks in my general direction about "gUiDiNg mE" through my own freaking thing, it will never work again.

[Oops, I made a rant]

If I'm crying in public, I'm probably losing my mind and definitely absolutely terrified. The only way other people could possibly help is to stay far enough in front of me that I don't think you might try to touch me (or that I could at least get away if you did make that very bad mistake) and ESPECIALLY not go behind me.

Honestly, if I'm crying in public, there's a huge chance my back was touched, and an even bigger chance I either have heard or will hear "tHeY DiDn'T ToUcH yOu oN pUrPoSe!!1!" Which will instantly make me think of that idiocy every time I think of the person who said it for the rest of my life.

Fact: My amygdala doesn't care in the slightest if you MEANT to make it mistake you for an axe murderer. Say sorry if you must, but never mention the incident again. I'm more likely to forget you were even there the day it happened if you just leave it at one perfunctory "sorry" and pretend nothing happened. It probably wasn't actually your fault beyond a completely human level of not noticing the proximity of my back to your elbow/shoulder/whatever.

These incidents would escalate so much less if people just let me stand with my back pressed firmly into a wall for a few minutes until I can get over it on my own. And if it didn't coincide with physically painful (to me) levels of noise.

TLDR: Don't touch someone when you don't know for absolute certain that you, personally, would be acceptable touch to them, personally, in that exact moment, and don't get defensive at people for not instantly deciding you are the most trustworthy person on the planet. No one owes you trust in a panic attack, meltdown, (I hate that term, but that's a me thing.) Etc.

Trust is earned through good behavior while not expecting trust to be given.

Also, if you don't know someone, don't decide to play doctor with their heads. Panic does not justify white-knighting, and the person panicking does not deserve to be your prop to earn cool points.

Grounding techniques don't really work for me especially in public... "five things I can see" I see a bunch of people pissing me off

[theminecraftbee]

After he's done listening to the Archeologist's story, the Sheriff frowns.

"Well, that's not fair, is it?" Jimmy says.

"Fair?" Pix responds.

"Yeah, fair. It's not--it's not fair at all! You can't just end it with--they try to be friends for, for the first time ever. And the Codfather gets respect and the Count gets more mature. And they shake hands and, and share magic and stuff. But it turns out them being friends causes the end of the world? That's not fair! That's not a good story at all!" Jimmy says.

Pixlriffs shrugs. "I didn't make it up. It's what's been passed down, and the Ancient Capitol corroborates it to some extent. The Rapture was a very real event in the geological record, and what historical records survive from the Twelve Kingdoms era suggests at the very least some kind of symbolic rivalry between cod and salmon. Maybe a religious one? It's really all quite fascinating."

"Well, yes, but it's not really literal, that religion stuff, right?" Jimmy says. "I mean, uh, I don't know much about all this stuff, but it's like--don't tell Sausage, but Santa Pearla, she's not literal, right? She's like, the idea of the cycle of death and life and all that, but--"

"Recent excavations actually suggest that Empress Pearl was a real historical figure," Pixlriffs says excitedly. "I mean, it seems rather unlikely she caused all the fields in the Twelve Kingdoms to remain fertile until the Rapture on her own, but the number of statues and records we've found even today suggest that she was still a real person!"

Jimmy is silent. He crosses his arms and stares at Pixlriffs until, finally, Pix stops talking.

"It's still not fair," Jimmy says.

"It's not about being fair, it's about what actually happened," Pix says.

"Because the story as I told it went that they made friends to try to make the best of the rapture. And though all the rivers had dried up, the Codfather and the Count laid seeds in the desert, until one day we could go and build our towns there safe, because their seeds made a pond. And, er, that's not all literal either, you know? None of this is really--sorta like Joel is not literally a god, that'd be stupid," Jimmy says.

"Right," Pixlriffs says, nodding. "But we don't tell him that."

"But we don't tell him that," Jimmy agrees. "And I'm just saying that--it's not fair, saying that making up their differences is what made the world end. That's like, like if the moral was that we shouldn't bother even trying."

"I think you'll make yourself sad, looking for a moral in ruins," Pixlriffs says.

Jimmy swallows.

"That's stupid," he says. "That's stupid."

"That's life."

"And it's stupid. I'm going to go bother Joel."

"Good luck with that."

The Sheriff rides away. The Archeologist watches after him for a long time before sighing.

"...and good luck ending this one differently," he says, and he goes back to his dig.

[velvetvexations]

Chiming in on the whole "do tmascs/the transandrophobia community actually harass tfems on the scale that is claimed" thing, I've been wondering that for a while too, especially since back when [Popular Trans Blogger] was dealing with The Most Normal CEO Ever I saw literally EVERY SINGLE major voice in transandrophobia circles immediately drop everything, put aside all the harassment and hate they had faced, make it clear that trans people being harmed by cishet society comes before discussing deeper theory, and basically non-stop post about how she didn't deserve that and openly critique tumblr's transphobia and how it hurts tfems despite the fact that that user and her followers had been consistently vile to transmascs. Like they all jumped up to add their voices against the banning, it was so fucking clear they were able to prioritize protecting trans people no matter what, and no one ever really talks about it because they also don't gloat about putting the swords down for the greater good. It's just something they know needs to be done and they won't paint themselves as heroes or martyr for it.

On the other hand, I've never in my entire life seen a big TRF or anyone who travels in those circles ever stick their neck out when tmascs are experiencing harassment and transphobia, not once. Not even when it leads to the same unjust bans that tfems face(which do happen, at similar rates to tfem bloggers like the idea that the trans bans are a tfem only thing is simply not true). Like I've blogs that are constantly posting about how "if you never post anything about supporting trans women then you're probably a secret transmisognist" turn around and respond to people pointing out that they never post anything even vaguely supportive of tmascs(not even talking about discourse just the usual "trans men are valid and deserve support" positivity stuff that goes around) who are on their "side" by saying "um I'm a trans woman and this is my personal blog so I don't have to say nice things about trans men ever and it says absolutely nothing about me that I never have anything kind or nice to say about even the transmascs that are on my side/valid in my opinion and actually it's bigoted for you to demand I say nice things about other trans people fuck you kthxbye" and I just. What??

I know that there have been some cases of tmasc/transandrophobia bloggers harassing a trans woman, but like. It's pretty rare and usually only a couple of people. And that's still bad ofc but the scale is different for sure. In terms of big, influential tumblr users I swear every single time a popular tfem gets deactivated all the transandrophobia bloggers jump to their defense, meanwhile TRFs just gleefully go around attacking every trans guy who so much as breathes in their direction and calls you a transmisognist if you point out that it's fucked of them to have a double standard about trans rights. Or acts like "I said something bigoted and other members of my community got mad" is harassment. Like [Popular Tfem Musician] was def getting Harassed but I watched the whole thing unfold and while there were a few shitty tmascs chiming in, overall the harassment was led by an entirely different group who was mad about something unrelated, they just happened at the same time so everyone figured ALL the harassment was coming from tmascs when it very much was not.

(Also tmasc/transandrophobia bloggers are also constantly adding "if you're a follower and I see you bothering the person I'm talking about I'll report and block you myself" they like care a lot about all trans people and will show tf up for even ones they disagree with or who have directly harmed them when push comes to shove. [Popular MLP Tfem Artist] is still getting accused of harassing other trans women despite her constantly instructing her audience to leave everyone alone. And I have def seen way more transandrophobia bloggers call out any tmascs or other trans people on "their" side get ignored and deplatformed if they prove to be bad actors. I don't see TRFs doing that like. Ever. Like they go "take our the trash in your community" to tmascs but pretend they can't read when someone asks them to denounce people who openly harasses tmascs. Or just makes excuses for them because surely we can't actually harm a trans man, it doesn't count.)

But yeah I fully assume the reason TRFs say no one ever harasses tmascs but that they harass tfems all the time is because they simply do not think harassing trans people is wrong so long as it's directed at the correct target. I mean why would the "trans men don't have real problems" crowd ever actually say anything nice about them or help them when they're being harassed or tell their followers to leave them alone? It's just really sad to watch, big tmasc bloggers are not harassing people the way the TRFs want everyone to think, and they certainly don't harass other trans people the way TRFs do, but they get burdened with the harassment accusations and no one thinks to even check if that's actually what's happening.

10/10, I have nothing to add.

[zero-up]

"Shooters are still A thing. Therefore: no one shouldn't complain when someone kills A CEO. Because making rich people unrelated to the suffering of 6-year-olds is totally good because."

What was the point of killing that CEO? How will it improve the health care system? Doesn't it just make it harder to attack the corporation he was in charge of, which role likely just continue honest though nothing happened anyway? Even if the CEO was completely evil, what was the point? Was it just to make someone you don't like suffer? Did you even know the CEO before this incident?

Gosh, I hate the Luigi apology! Especially when they try to pull the "so we should just sit down and politely ask for rides?". My dude, what will violence accomplish? How will killing anyone illegally make anything better in any way shape or form? What is the process here? How does this work? What is the step 2? Because unless your goal is to literally overthrow the government, I'm not really seeing how killing people can help you accomplish your goals.

You want to know how peace can actually solve the issue? By voting! Your elected officials rely on votes in order to keep power. You're elected officials have to care about their voters, because if they don't: they lose power. And if you do not vote: you do not have power over your elected officials. Doing research and voting sound like work? Fine then, don't vote, I don't either for that very reason. But at least I'm not saying "ViOlEnCe Is ThE oNlY aNsWeR" when I can't even be bother to vote!

And everyone sympathizing for the CEO because they don't want to live in a society that normalizes violence. And trust me: you don't either. You don't want the average person to think it's justified to resort to violence for political reasons. Because long beliefs don't magically have A different effect on one's psychology than true beliefs, and the vast majority of people think they are good, and that people they don't like are guilty.

If you normalize good people killing the guilty, then you also normalize bad people killing the innocent. That's not a slippery slope fallacy, that's A logical consequence of most bad people think their good people.

I generally do not like or trust the cops. If there's no other reason to hate them: let it be for how they conduct interrogations. And I have many problems with the US legal system. But I recognize the benefit of the law is that it forces people to abide by a standard that maximizes the punishment of the guilty and minimizes the punishment of the innocent. We can definitely do way better, but the easiest way to do that is to improving the system we currently have, and trying to ignore it or circumvent it is way more likely to make things incredibly worse than they are to make it better.

And trust me, I could go on, I have at least one extra point I could make right now that's alluded to in a previous point. I actually have A Reddit post draft that I barely started a while ago that I should probably finish at some point. But right now I'm really just venting because this gets me angry every time I see it, and I'm kind of annoyed that someone I followed unironically unironically reposted this, I still they thought it was so obviously correct that they didn't need to worry about backlash. And honestly, the Luigi-simping is just an example of a greater problem where people unironically think political violence is justified without ever putting A single iota of thought into how that would actually work. They come to conclusions based entirely off of what feels right, and then they call others naive when they point out how absurd their conclusions are.

I just want people to critically examine the own beliefs more, or at least honestly listen to what others critiques of theirs more.

[zephyrchama]

(Based on that one scene from B99)

“Lucifer, your wrist looks kind of funny.”

All eyes turned to the Avatar of Pride when Leviathan pointed this out. They were supposed to be organizing the house library, but it was a long and boring task. One that everyone wanted to finish quickly, yet nobody could find the motivation to make any real progress.

“Oh no! What happened?” Asmodeus leaned over a table to try and steal a peek. Lucifer’s wrist was, indeed, bent in an odd manner. He used his non-dominant hand to shuffle some papers in order.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, Asmo!” Mammon jeered. “Back off, leave the guy alone.”

Lucifer ignored his brothers, icy gaze focused on the documents in hand. They were papers that had been misfiled and did not belong in the library. He reminded everyone in the room to “behave yourselves” before disappearing into his office.

Curious eyes followed him until he was truly out of sight. Then, the brothers exchanged fascinated looks. It’s not every day that Lucifer get injured.

“Alright, everybody bring it in. Huddle up.” Mammon ushered everyone to come close with a sweep of his hand. The boys reluctantly formed a loose circle.

“What are you up to now?” Belphegor asked with a sigh. “I want to finish this already.”

Mammon pretended not to hear as he whisper-shouted, “so, he wouldn’t say what happened, which can only mean one thing.”

”He’s in a fight club,” Beelzebub suggested.

“No. He did it doing something he’s embarrassed by.” Satan was quick to catch on to the truth.

Beelzebub followed up with, “oh. Could be a sports injury. I sprained my wrist playing fangol last year.”

“Really? I don’t remember that,” Belphegor said.

Leviathan asked, “you think Lucifer was playing fangol?”

A deep growl suddenly came from the doorway. There was no warning or indication that Lucifer would be back so quickly. Yet, the man in question had returned. His menacing quickly caused the group to shut up.

“I can hear you speculating about the nature and origin of my injury from my office, but I don’t think it’s relevant to your jobs. The jobs you should all be doing right now. Get to work.”

The brothers scattered like roaches back to their respective corners of the library. All except for Satan, who Lucifer beckoned over with his finger. Satan hesitated at first, but it was better to go along with Lucifer when his mood was sour. The two stepped out for a minute, far enough away that no one else would overhear.

“What?” Satan was fed up with this conversation and it hadn’t even started.

“Do you want to know how I actually hurt my wrist?

Satan’s eyebrows flew up and he took several seconds to think about the question. What an odd offer. There was nothing for Lucifer to gain by telling him this, was there? Though, if he spent too long thinking Lucifer might change his mind and leave his little brother wondering what happened forever. With an oddly docile tone of voice, Satan responded, “...Yes.”

While Satan was busy wondering how to respond, Lucifer had taken out his DDD. He was scrolling through a menu in search of something. “I was hula hooping. Diavolo and I attend a class for fitness and for fun.”

“No way.” Satan's true thoughts leaked out. It was so dumb, it couldn’t be true.

Lucifer raised his phone to Satan’s eye level. The proof was there. ”I’ve mastered all the moves. The pizza toss. The tornado. The scorpion, the oopsie doodle.”

With each and every silly name, Lucifer swiped to a new photo on his phone. There he was, doing the pizza toss. Showing Diavolo how to do the scorpion. Performing a flawless oopsie doodle. Satan was stupefied, his mouth ajar.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because no one…” Lucifer selected all of the images. He tapped on a trash can in the corner of the screen. The images, every last one, disappeared. “…will ever believe you.”

“No!” Satan lunged for the phone in vain. “You sick, twisted, son of a-”

“You got your answer," Lucifer told him. "Get back to work."

[thewertsearch]

GT: Man where IS he anyway??? GT: Is he taking one of his legendary infinite showers? TT: What can I say. TT: Dude fancies his ablutions.

We've already had an early-bird Roxy cameo, but Bro's certainly taking his sweet time.

I don't think this is actually the case, but it'd be pretty interesting if the original Kid Bro was already dead, and his AI duplicate was the 'real' Player all along. (He'd wield the Mind Aspect, obviously.)

GT: But seriously that brobot has been the bane of my existence ever since you sent it.

You as in the Responder, or you as in Kid Bro? The former is constantly posing as the latter, so it'd be pretty easy to mix them up. We really do need to get this guy his own account...

TT: I didn't send it. I sent the parts. TT: Or, correction, DS sent them.

...especially since even he's prone to blurring the lines between the two.

The question of whether he 'is' Bro is kind of debatable - but philosophy aside, viewing yourself as a shadow of someone else simply isn't good for your mental health.

GT: When hes pulling punches… GT: And taking it all easy and such… GT: And we start wrestling up a storm and whatnot… GT: Umm. TT: What. GT: Its just that the whole proceeding seems to become… GT: A bit tender for my liking.

Translation: The AR has a crush on Jake, and the only way he can express these feelings is through homoerotic combat. He can't even touch Jake, so he just sends a robot to kick his ass, and tries to live vicariously through the intricate rituals that ensue - but he'll never actually touch his skin.

...damn. This guy's getting very tragic, very fast.

TT: What does the guy have to do, Jake? TT: You want to wrestle. He's fucking game. Just a man, a machine, a secluded tropical island. Sounds like you died and went to fucking heaven, if you ask me. TT: Seriously, what does this simple, loyal brobot have to do to prove his worth to you?

Oh, you are down catastrophic, aren't you?

This... this is a disaster waiting to happen. None of this is going to go anything close to well.

TT: If the brobot's Novice setting makes you uneasy, I'm going to disable it remotely. TT: Done.

What, no!

Don't turn off the gay switch, dude! We can solve this!

Ok if he wants happy hunting you will GIVE him happy hunting. HAPPILY.

I absolutely love this expression - mostly because, despite their shared looks, you could never imagine John giving this energy.

This mood is completely unique to Jake English, and it's great.

[angstbotfic]

this is generally correct, but Dems did not actually lose in a landslide. Trump had one of the smallest popular vote victories since 1960. and that's pretty important for when he starts imposing horrific shit while falsely claiming he has a mandate and the majority are behind him. he didn't even win a majority of the vote.

and Gaza was way, way down the list of important issues.

BUT the fact that Trump started the ban because China and then it got passed on a bipartisan basis is undoubtedly true.

though i'm not sure who exactly got politically outmaneuvered here since TikTok has now gone full Trumpy.

source

i wonder if we'll find out in a few years that a lot of the content on TikTok was designed to get left-leaners to sit out the election, like has happened on other platforms over and over. except that Republicans have been going after academics who study disinformation lately and platforms are shutting down researcher access, so we might not ever find out.

timeline:

- Trump signs unpopular order banning TikTok for being Chinese

- Democrats support the ban because people are supporting a ceasefire on TikTok

- Netanyahu sides with Trump despite Biden’s ass kissing and collaborates with him to delay ceasefire talks

- Dems lose in a landslide because of their deeply unpopular positions

- Trump takes credit for the ceasefire and for TikTok getting unbanned