#but like i never thought of a proper email

[meamiki]

[reverse entry au]

oh to ask a question and immediately get hit with email puns instead ASFASDA

[n-x-black]

doing adult things like sending emails

[welcometogrouchland]

mm. Fear

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[natalievoncatte]

On Krypton, vows had meaning. Proclamations were not made lightly, and promises were not given casually. Kara’s peers wouldn’t throw one out as a reassurance, or to settle an argument. They were a logical people. They didn’t deceive, didn’t speak words they didn’t know to be true, and didn’t give opinions that were not informed. Society was ordered and regimented, and everyone put the greater good before themselves. So if you made a promise, no matter how great or how small, you would do it.

Kara learned, later in life, that a lot of her birth culture was, to use an English word that had no equivalent in her language, bullshit. Kryptonians would, she thought, claim that they had no use for such a vulgar term for cavalier prevarication because they did not practice it. That would had been a lie.

Her parents bullshitted her. They bullshitted her about the society she was growing up in. Her world wasn’t a real of perfect logic and order, it was a hidebound, decaying ex-empire that put tradition so irrationally high on a pedestal that they let their world be destroyed and all but a handful of their people wiped out because tradition said that her uncle was wrong about the planetary core going unstable.

Nevertheless, when Kara made a promise, she meant it. When she said she’d vowed to protect her adoptive home with her life, she meant it. Those words all but signed her life away in service to the cause. She was this way in everything, from saving the world down to brining Cat Grant a precisely prepared cup of coffee. Her promises meant something.

That was why she filled herself with dread the instant a promise, given unthinkingly in the heat of the moment, tumbled out of her mouth.

I will always be your friend, and I will always protect you.

She’d dishonored herself with the promise, one broken as it was made. She held Lena tight, speaking with conviction, and promised to be a friend even as she lied, swore to protect even as she deceived. It was a promise that couldn’t be kept no matter what she did.

Kara had become human in so many ways, and it gnawed at her. Another English word that had no exact Kryptonian equivalent was freedom. A proper Kryptonian would be horrified at ideas that boiled down to “I can do what I want”; I can choose my career, my partner, my life. I can put fulfillment ahead of the role chosen for me by those who know better. Yet Kara had embraced it full throated, making choices whenever she could.

The one thing she would never give up was the value of an oath.

She was over the Pacific, thinking. She would come out here from time to time to think and clear her head when the city soundscape became overwhelming, and just let herself drift in the air. There were no texts to agonize over, no emails from Snapper, nothing but herself and the lapping of waves and the distant rumble of storms over the open ocean.

She’d been coming out here more and more of late, not to think but to avoid thinking.

Because Lena knew, and Kara knew something was wrong. She could be dense about human behavior sometimes, but she was no fool… and she had super senses. She could read Lena’s pulse and see infrared flush of her skin and spot micro-movements of her eyes. Kara wanted desperately to believe that nothing was wrong but her instincts said otherwise.

When Kara told her, Lena had gone stock still and stared at her with what Kara thought was hatred, bringing tears. She’d tried to tell her how sorry she was, but Lena had just walked right past her and only later returned to her usual self.

Almost.

Kara had thrown herself into it, going on a campaign of what Alex had called ‘peacocking’ for some reason, all but burying Lena with super-stunts like fetching fresh pastries from French patissiers. Lena had smiled and thanked her but there was something flat and distant in it, and Kara ignored it and insisted that all was well.

Out here, with just the storms and her secrets, she knew it wasn’t.

Kara fingered the crest on her chest, worrying her thumb over the crimson fabric of the El rune. This meant something. It meant both ‘hope’ and ‘stronger together’; the two ideas were inextricably linked but her cousin only understood one of the meanings, because Kryptonian pictographic language was complex, and he was not Kryptonian in any way that mattered.

That was another great failing, a promise that Kara made but didn’t keep. By her people’s standards, there was no shame in that; one did not bear the responsibility of a promise made under duress, or a promise that others demanded knowing that it couldn’t be kept.

The only one she’d kept Kryptonian was herself, deep in a secret corner of her soul that meant it if she said she’d be at your birthday party or bring you a donut. The part that treated promises like promises.

There was only one way to cleanse herself, and remove her shame. She knew what it was, but she was afraid. Kara had battled monsters and gods, faced death more than once, lost more than any person should have to lose in a dozen lifetimes, but there was one thing she feared above all others.

She feared that first honest look on Lena’s shocked face more than she feared an eternity without stars. She could live in the void between realities; a void without Lena would kill her more surely than any green poison.

Now. She had to do it now, before she lost her nerve. She flew back to the city, flew hard, slowing only to land on Lena’s balcony, softly. As she raised her hand to knock on the glass of the door, she hesitated, nearly turned back.

Lena opened it, and Kara let out a slow breath. Lena was wearing only a loose, flowing floral robe, with clearly nothing beneath it. Terror made her listen- if Lena had a guest in that state, Kara might just fling herself into the sun and be done with it.

She was alone. Lena shifted on her feet.

“Why are you all wet?”

Kara’s hair was damp with sea spray and she’d flown through a few clouds on her way back.

“I like to fly over the ocean and think.”

“Well, come in here already. Let me get you a towel. Do you want something to change into?”

Kara swallowed hard. No. She wanted the honor of her family on her chest right now. She needed it to make her brave, like her father said it would when he sent her into the void. She did take the towel.

Lena had been enjoying her tea and sad breakfast -toast with jam- before Kara arrived. She left it on the counter and sat on her couch, leaving Kara to pace.

“I can tell you’re upset,” said Lena. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” said Kara. “I have a lot to say and I don’t know how to say it. I haven’t told you the full truth and I have to. I need to. It’s eating me alive inside.”

Lena swallowed hard, her heart racing.

“Please don’t tell me you’re Batman, too.”

“Lena, this is serious.”

Kara swept across the room and knelt in front of her, and Lena’s eyes shot open wide in surprise. Kara looked at the carpet in front of her, unable to look Lena in the eye.

“A long time ago, I promised you I’d always take care of you, and I didn’t. I was lying to you when I said it and I lied to you for years after.”

“Kara…”

“Please,” desperation choked her voice, “let me finish. I owe you the full truth. I promised, and promises are sacred to Kryptonians. My soul will be stained forever unless I fulfill the oath I made.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yes it was,” said Kara. “It was to me. It was everything to me. Please.”

Lena cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“I told you I lied to you to protect you. That was another lie. That’s not why I did it. I lied because I was weak and I put my own feelings ahead of doing what was right. I was scared. I was scared that if you knew it would change how you saw me and it would change our relationship. You were the only person I could almost be myself with and I didn’t want that to change. You were a safe person I could go to without having to be Supergirl.”

Lena was studying her, a soft hint of skepticism in her expression.

Kara stood up and paced.

“I don’t know how to do this, Lena. I may act human and look human but I’m not. I grew up on another planet with another culture and so many things about this world are just totally different from how I was raised.”

Kara took a deep breath.

“On Krypton we didn’t have queerness. People didn’t value freedom of choice. You did what society told you to do. You joined the guild you were pledge to at birth and married the person you were told to marry and had the offspring you were told to have and raised them to do the same thing. The same fucking thing.”

Lena sat up at Kara’s sudden, vehement profanity.

“I didn’t know the word freedom until I arrived here. I had no concept of it. I had no idea how fragile and precious it is. Sure, I talked about it and wrote essays about it in school, but I didn’t get it. Not until I met you.”

Kara looked at Lena.

“You are my freedom. You’re the first thing I’ve ever chosen, really chosen, in my life, besides being Supergirl. It was you that made me look Cat Grant and Alex both in the eyes and say ‘no, this is what I want, this is how it’s going to be for me and it’s my choice, not yours.’ Back home I never, ever would have even thought what I’m about to say now.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid it would change our relationship. I was afraid you’d hate me because I kept the secret too long, but I was also afraid of what has to come after confessing my identity to you, Lena. The next part is even harder.”

“Kara,” Lena began.

“I have feelings for you.”

Lena went still, her eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“I want to be myself with you. My whole self, my real self. Not the person I think I have to be to please someone else. I want to tell you everything you want to know about my home and my people and my life and I want to know everything about you. I want to hear you laugh for me and see the look in your eyes when you’re happy to see me. I want to care for you when you’re sick and hold you when you’re sad and be the person that matters to you like you matter to me.”

Kara sucked in a deep breath.

“I used to think I was happy just being Kara with you. Not being Kara Danvers or Kara Zoe-El, just me… but I’m not me without both of those pieces and being without them isn’t good enough. I want you to know the real me. The girl from Krypton who went to high school in California.”

Lena stood up slowly, clearly forcing her breathing even. She adjusted her robe around herself, and looked at Kara for too long a time, silent.

“I hurt you when I promised I’d protect you and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“What do you want from me? To tell you it’s okay?” said Lena. “Is that what you want? Because it’s fucking not.”

Kara flinched. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Lena had given her this courtesy and she’d give it in return.

“It wasn’t just you, Kara. I built my whole life around you and your friends and they became my friends. You gave me a normal world. I got to be a regular girl when I was with you and the others. Do you have any idea what that means to me? What you did to me when you ripped it away? Do you have any idea how you’ve torn me to shreds?”

Kara choked a little, and tried to hold back the tears, and failed.

“I killed Lex. I killed him and I hid his body, myself. I killed my brother for you. And the worst part is I’d do it again. If it was him or you I’d kill him again.”

Cold dread flooded through her.

“That was my fault. That was exactly the kind of thing that I should have protected you from, and I failed you." Kara's breath hitched as she bit back a sob. "I should go."

Lena moved quickly and grabbed her arm tight. "Don't you fucking dare leave. You can't just say those things to me and leave."

Kara's nostrils flared as she sucked in a big breath.

"Lex told me who you were as he was dying. He showed me."

Kara looked at her. "Oh."

"I started to hate you. I started to believe the things he said about you. And what happened then? You told me! You just blurted it out!"

Lena choked down a sob of her own, and something in Kara shattered. Tentatively, carefully, Kara pulled her into a gentle hug, and Lena let her.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Lena whispered into Kara's chest. "I've lost everything."

Kara held her closer, breathing the soft scent of her shower-damp hair.

"I don't know what to do either," Kara admitted. "I just knew I couldn't bear to lie to you again, even by omission. I'll go if you want."

"You're not leaving," said Lena. "I don't want you to go. Promise you won't leave me."

Kara shivered. "Lena…"

"Promise."

"I promise," Kara whispered.

[koenigami]

nothing hurts like you. tags : angst/fluff, fem!reader, manager!reader, mentions of cheating, insecurities, bad communication, suggestive wc : 1,6k synopsis : after your last argument with shidou, pictures of him appear that make you question the past weeks you've spent with him.

One meeting after the other, too many unnecessary video calls, endless emails from sponsors that you still had to answer. And still, with all the work that was supposed to keep you busy and distracted, your mind wouldn’t stop drifting off to blond hair and piercing pinkish eyes. 

“Stupid.” you muttered and frustratedly slammed your laptop shut, only for you to inspect it a second later with panic in your eyes, making sure that you had not damaged anything. Apologetically, you slid your hand over the device, and the movement made you think about blond strands of hair that had felt so soft as you slid your finger through them. 

You were definitely losing your mind. 

And the current ache in your chest? Just another byproduct of your stupidity. Or insanity? Because to be honest, there weren’t many people who’d voluntarily and genuinely fall for someone like Shidou Ryusei. 

Of course, you weren’t proud of it, but some things simply could not be willingly chosen. Like the person one fell in love with. Love? 

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. As much as you tried not to think about him, it was futile. Your thoughts were overflowing with him and his stupidly handsome face. The way his gaze made you feel so very much seen, his hands on your body so warm, and his rough voice in your ears like a sweet lullaby. 

“What’s making my pretty doll pull such a face, huh?” Shidou’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he stepped into your office, not bothering to knock first. Think of the devil, and he appears. 

You watched him as he threw his jacket over one of the armchairs in front of your desk while taking a seat in the other one as if he owned the entire place. No matter where he went, with whom, or at what time, Shidou Ryusei’s presence was overwhelming. Once he stepped into a room, it always seemed as if everyone’s glances would magnetically drift towards him, whether that happened out of amazement or annoyance, he didn’t care. 

And then there was you. “Fake it ‘til you make it.” was what made people believe that Japan’s national football team manager was a great inspiration for many people, especially women. It was what had landed you your current position in the first place. Yet, you hated taking up room. Or maybe you didn’t hate it, you simply never learned how to do so without feeling like an impostor.

While people shot wary glances towards Shidou for being too much, you have always been praised for being so calm, so down to earth, so easy to get along with. So invisible. 

“What do you want, Shidou?” The cold undertone of your voice disguised your actual bitterness as you packed your bag, avoiding to look at him at all cost. The last thing you needed was to get wrapped around his little finger, and seeing him and his handsome smirk would only make it harder for you to resist. “I didn’t have a proper break today, and want to get home as quickly as possible. Say what you have to say, I don’t have time.” 

The low whistle and cackle he let out made your face heat up as you got up, putting your coat on with a little more aggression in your movements than usual. Was he laughing at you? Were you that big of a joke to him? 

“Shidou, huh? Is that how it is now? What happened to Ryu’? Or handsome? Or dad-” 

You slammed the top drawer where you kept your wallet and keys too hard, startling yourself and maybe even Shidou a little in the process. “I don’t know what you mean.” You sighed, exhaustion and fake annoyance lacing your voice as you stepped around your desk and finally looked at the man invading your office. Damnit, he was invading your entire life. 

“You’re hurting my feelings over here, manager-chan.” Shidou gritted through his teeth and got up from your chair. Something akin to hope bloomed in your chest when you noticed that his tight smile and stiff tall stature were nothing but a façade which was about to crumble. Hope because maybe you weren’t the only one affected by this entire ordeal. 

Yet, he could see it happen instantly. The way the little flicker of light in your eyes faded as the reminder of something crossed your mind, and instead made them glaze over with unshed tears. 

“Well, you obviously weren’t thinking of mine while you were screwing other women behind my back.” 

One argument. It had taken one silly little argument for him to storm out of your apartment to what you initially had thought was to get some fresh air and cool off. You had, however, never expected for things to come the way they did. 

His tongue slid over his front teeth as he nodded understandingly. So you had read the newest articles about him. Pictures of him at a bar, him leaving said bar with people you had never seen before and entering a club with a random woman on his arm. More pictures of Shidou with strangers, mostly women, surrounding him as they all drank to their heart's content. What must have happened after all those scenes didn’t leave much up to the imagination. Titles like “JPN’s Womanizer on Adventure” or “Tokyo’s number one bachelor spotted in restrooms with fans?” didn’t really help his case. 

“My, my, manager-chan. I didn’t take you for such a naive little girl.” You hadn’t realised how close Shidou had gotten until your back touched the wall behind you.

Whatever you and him once had, both of you had tried to keep it as private as possible. Would it have helped to go public with your so called relationship? No, it would have only stalled the inevitable. You wondered if all those weeks he thought this to be some silly cat and mouse game, in which he could chase you and let you go whenever he wanted, however he wanted. 

You smiled at him, so sweetly, so bitterly, and when the single tears slid down your cheek, paired with your next words, Shidou felt like a goddamn knife was being twisted into his heart. Twice. 

“Yeah, guess I was naive, wasn’t I?”

The little step that he silently took back was your cue to leave, yet as you were about to grab the handle of the office door, your vision completely blurred with tears, you halted when he spoke again. 

“I didn’t.” He spoke earnestly, no stupid smile, no teasing sarcasm.

“What?” You whispered. 

“Last night. I didn’t fu- I didn’t sleep with anyone else.” The sound of his thick boots hitting the carpeted floor grew louder as he slowly stepped closer with his hands in his pockets. He was so close, you could smell his cologne. You knew if you took only one step back, you’d slam into his chest. And it was so so tantalising knowing that his embrace and touch were only a breath away.

“I’ve stopped fucking around for a while now. Ever since that night, if you want to know.” 

That night. The night you took a slightly wasted Shidou home when he appeared to have had a glass or two too many at the after game party, only for him to fake his tipsiness all the way up to his apartment. There, he all of a sudden could walk easily, was able to unlock his front door without any struggle, and managed to charm his way into your heart as well as into your pants. 

“I don’t drink, doll. M’ mind’s already fucked up as it is, and at certain moments I prefer to keep my mind straight. Sometimes you gotta make sure you make the right decisions, right?” You remembered his words from that time, the way his hands roamed your body and undressed you piece by piece, before his first finger plunged inside you. “Shit- can’t risk a blackout. Don’t wanna forget a single moment of this.” 

You didn’t know what part of that memory had made you turn around and sob pathetically right into his chest, though what you knew was that something about it felt right. He could laugh at you all he wanted for it, but the sigh of relief he let out at the same time once he held you in his arms was too obvious for you not to catch it. “Idiot.” He mumbled softly into your hair, as he held the back of your head and pressed you further against him. “When have paparazzi ever been a trustworthy source, hm?”

The slap against his chest was anything but painful, and you despised him for having the audacity to be so damn cocky after all that just happened. You despised him for looking at you as if you hung the moon and stars, even though you looked like a panda with tear stained cheeks, red eyes, and snot running down your nose. “Well, you should start being better at communicating instead of running to the next club and partying your relationship stress away?!”

He cooed at the way you sniffled and wiped your face with the sleeves of your blazer, and when he showed you that stupidly handsome toothy grin, you tried to slap him again. However, you didn’t pull away when he engulfed you back in his arms despite your whines about getting snot all over him. 

“Want me to lick it off your face?” 

“Ryu’, what the hell, no?!”

[timeslugarts]

Vox with a very sleepy reader. I forget the proper medical term for it but reader is just always tired and sleeping. With a silly twist of reader always waking up when Vox moves away, having to follow him to his next destination and immediately clocking out again for the cycle to begin again.

-🎉

Heyoooo!!! I did it, woohoo!! I hope you enjoy it. I had no idea where to go with this, but I think it ended up cute :)

VOX X SLEEPY READER 🎉

His phone beeped somewhere on the other side of the room and Vox sighed. You were tucked delicately into his side, arms wrapped around his torso snoring away. Not a care in the world even though his phone kept beeping.

You looked so peaceful, but he had to answer the damn phone or it would just continue to ring. Slowly, he swung one leg out of the bed, and then the other. Making sure to disturb the bed as little as he possibly could. Next came the hard part, he gently gripped your hand and slithered himself out of your grasp.

You groaned. Vox froze. He didn't even breathe for fear of waking you up. He knew as soon as you'd open your eyes he couldn't possibly say no and have to tuck himself back into bed with you.

You stopped moving though, breath evening out, and so he continued his journey. The phone was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles with the pace he was moving.

Vox tiptoed across the cold floor and made his way over to his desk. Spinning his chair around he sat, eyes still cautiously on you. Waiting.

He answered his phone as quietly as he could, whispering the whole time as Val yelled on the other end. Something about how he needed more whores for his next production and how he needed Vox's help to send out applications for the hiring process.

Vox's eyes never left your figure. It wasn't until the phone call ended that he let out a breath, he made it, he's in the clear. You're out cold.

He swiveled around in his chair and began working on Val's demands and anything else he was behind on. Fingers clicking away on the keyboard, he was about halfway through the email when a groggy voice could be heard.

"Voxxy?" It couldn't have been more than 5 minutes but here you were needing him so you could keep sleeping.

"I'm right here doll, come on." He patted his thigh as you padded across the floor still wrapped in the comforter. You climbed nimbly into his lap, curling yourself around him and swiftly falling right back asleep.

Vox chuckled as he watched you pass back out immediately. At least he could get some work done, he thought idly stroking your hair.

[snowwybear]

𝗣𝗢𝗩: 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿

warnings: slight angst, fluff

It's hard, between his work and your work it was hard to keep the relationship alive. Always filming, sometimes even in another part of the world, then there was press tours and red-carpet premiers. Even when you were home it was checking emails, recording audition tapes or rehearsing lines. Then there was Vinnie, either off doing modelling shoots, away for whatever fashion week was currently on and of course Twitch streams. It was hard, exhausting work both of you had to do - but you loved it, there was nothing you'd rather be doing.

"When are you back home?" Vinnie asked over the phone.

"Soon" You yawn as a response. "We have a few more weeks of press then I'm back. When do you leave for London?"

"2 weeks, so we might miss each other again".

The silence on the other end of the phone stretched for a few beats too long, the weight of it settling heavily between you both. This was how it always went—quick check-ins, same questions, same answers, the same longing neither of you could properly voice.

"Maybe we’ll figure something out," you said, trying to inject some hope into your voice, but even you could hear how tired you sounded.

Vinnie let out a soft sigh, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, that familiar crease forming between his brows. "Yeah, maybe."

You pulled the covers tighter around yourself, staring blankly at the hotel room ceiling. You loved your job—loved the chaos, the constant whirlwind of activity—but right now, it felt suffocating. You were on the verge of something great in your career, and so was Vinnie, but at what cost?

"Do you ever feel like…" you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to say it. Vinnie’s always been the optimist between the two of you, the one who kept things light, who filled the gaps with his infectious energy and easy laughter. But even he sounded tired lately, worn down by the distance.

"Like what?" he asked softly.

"Like we’re slipping away from each other."

Another pause, this one heavier, more loaded. You held your breath, waiting for his answer, a part of you scared of what he might say.

"I don’t want that," Vinnie finally responded, his voice firm. "I don’t want to lose you, us. But I don't know how to fix it either."

The admission hit you harder than you expected. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding in until that moment, how much you’d been pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

"Me neither," you whispered. "But I don’t want to lose us either."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, and then Vinnie’s voice, softer now, but determined. "Okay, then we won’t."

You smiled faintly despite yourself. "That easy, huh?"

Vinnie chuckled, a low, comforting sound that made your heart ache with how much you missed him. "Maybe not easy, but we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Look, let’s make a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding a little more like himself now. "I don’t care where you are or where I am. Next time we both have a free day, no matter what, we’re seeing each other. I’ll fly to wherever you are, or you can come to me. Doesn’t matter. We’ll make it happen."

You thought about it for a second, picturing the ridiculousness of Vinnie showing up at some far-flung location, just for a day or two. But then again, wasn't that what made you fall for him in the first place? His spontaneity, the way he never let things feel impossible, no matter how busy or chaotic life got.

"Deal," you agreed, feeling a flicker of hope stir inside you. "Next free day, no matter where we are."

"Good," he said, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice. "And maybe next time we’ll actually plan a proper vacation or something. Somewhere with no Wi-Fi, no work, just you, me, and whatever beach we end up on."

You laughed softly at the thought. "That sounds perfect."

For the first time in weeks, the exhaustion weighing on you felt a little lighter. Maybe the timing was never right, and maybe things were messy and unpredictable, but you’d figure it out. After all, if there was one thing you and Vinnie were good at, it was finding your way back to each other—no matter how far apart you were.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

HAIII :3 I absolutely loveddd the love quirk fic you wrote for Hawks and I was wondering if you could make part two but it's Hawks that gets hit this time🗣️

Enjoy 🫡

I’d never mind

Pairing: Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Language, slight smut/suggestive, Hawks gets supperrrr clingy

Word Count: 3.5k

Click click click

The keyboard chirped as your fingers glided over its surface, lowering themselves just slightly every so often on a specific key. Almost like magic, the letters appeared on the screen, each one following the other in tandem as they melded together and formed the sentences you desired. 

Click click click

You paused, eyes grazing over the screen in contemplation, your thumb slowly finding its way to your pointer finger to fidget in the short spout of reprieve.

Writing emails had never been very interesting, especially since most of them consisted of you attempting to come up with the most creatively professional ways of conveying ‘screw off.’

Although not unusual, the shady paparazzi sending in emails for a much too personal interview always left your boss annoyed. He had actually given you the go ahead to tell them to mind their own business, an opportunity that had unfortunately bothered your well-mannered temperament far too much, so you were left to do the proper tweaking. 

After years of schooling, you would have been perfectly content to avoid writing anything longer than a paragraph all together. Regardless, the unusually high pay tethered to the application for the number two’s secretary was much too alluring to pass up.

Working for Hawks had been surprisingly enjoyable, although you did have to get used to the smell of fried chicken wafting through the lobby every afternoon. 

And the quiet attraction you held for him gnawing at your conscience.

Without mentioning his level of physical appeal, which was most definitely high, he had been quite friendly and kind to you, a far cry from what you had to endure from previous employers.

Seeing as you had found yourself working predominantly in the customer service industry, though, maybe that wasn’t so impressive. 

Each flirtatious remark he shot your way left you craving more, although you were determined not to let it get to your head, especially with all the tabloids going on and on about his playboy lifestyle. 

It wasn’t like it made you important.

With a sigh, you pressed the ‘period’ key, sitting back to inspect your work with a thoughtful eye.

After taking a moment, you found yourself fairly satisfied with the contents, clicking send and slouching into your chair with another breath. 

A peaceful silence echoed through the agencies entryway, wrapping its arms around your mind and weighing down your eyelids with a gentle pull. 

It was nice, tranquil.

The doors burst open. 

You stood, fully expecting blood or a broken bone to come along with the gaggle of yelling. There had been a few times where an upcoming pro had entered through the door with battle injuries, and if this was one of those instances, you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Today, though, everyone seemed fine.

Hawks, along with the small group of heroes behind him, appeared to be absolutely unharmed.

Hands in his pockets, he walked backwards, words geared towards the long, white eared woman yelling from behind him. “-worries too much.”

“Uh,” you cleared your throat. “Is everything okay?”

Mirko scoffed. “Yep. I just work with an idiot.”

It hadn’t taken long to adjust to the woman’s straightforward attitude, especially since most insults weren’t directed at you. Surprisingly, the hero seemed to have taken a liking to you, something strikingly close to what you may have defined as friendship, so you were content to sit back and watch her quarrel with Hawks instead.

The man in question threw his coworker a vulgar gesture before turning around to face you, freezing as his eyes met yours.

You shuffled your feet, becoming self conscious as his full attention seemed to pierce through you.

“Are you oka-”

Pushing off the balls of his feet, Hawks shot forward, clearing the large expanse of the lobby within seconds.

The action barely registered in your mind before he reached you, hands sliding underneath your back and knees as he pulled your body into his, lifting the two of you in the air.

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, tightening as your stomach dropped.

It wasn’t until your shoes touched the marble that you loosened your grasp. The one Hawks held on you didn’t seem to waver, however, his biceps pressing you into his chest.

He pulled back enough to face you, sporting an exceedingly charming grin that had your heart thumping. “Fine, just missed you is all.”

You paused.

“Huh?”

Somewhere in the background, Mirko let out a sigh, the sound fuming with a mix of relief and pride. “I fucking called it.”

“I’m sorry?” You called, attempting to withdrawal out of Hawks’ hold, your strength doing barely anything against his.

“Nothing.” The pro lifted a hand to her mouth, concealing what you could’ve sworn was a laugh. “He got hit with a love quirk.”

“He what?”

“I’m fine.” Hawks waved her off, golden irises still locked on you.

“He was helping some civilian out of a car accident and go hit with it,” Mirko replied, itching the back of her elongated ear. “They said he should be fine by tomorrow, and since it hadn’t taken effect yet, we figured it be fine if he brought him here.”

She bent at the waist, inspecting the way you were still attempting to wriggle from his clutches before continuing. “Maybe not.”

“So… what am I supposed to do with him?”

She sighed. “Not sure. Good luck, though, I have to go write some reports.”

And with a small wave from Mirko, you were left alone, regardless of the pleas that followed her down the hall.

Surprisingly, it had taken a mere polite request from you to get Hawks to detach himself. He definitely wasn’t as compliant when you pulled a spare chair next to yours before attempting to finish your work for the day.

He watched you, face contorted in thought for a few moments before a grin fell over his features.

You hadn’t noticed what he was doing until his arms snaked under yours, lifting you up as he slid into your spot and plopped down. Next, he grabbed your waist, pulling you forward into a sitting position, thighs straddling his.

Warmth blossomed in your face as you tried to slide off, the hands pressed firmly on your hips easily denying you the escape.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. You don’t have to be shy,” he chided, nuzzling his face into your shoulder.

“It’s just, uh…” you craned your neck to the side, trying to take a look at the front door. “Anyone could walk in, ya know?”

“So?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Whoever doesn’t know you’re mine yet is an idiot.”

You remained silent, heart jumping at his words, but continued to wait for any moment that his grip would loosen, giving you a chance to slip away.

Still, you had no doubt he would be quick enough to catch you again.

Not that you would particularly mind.

At some point you gave up, shuffling the chair around and starting your work once more, pretending to ignore the way your body fit into his, or the soft, affectionate way he was playing with a strand of your hair.

The two of you fell into a quiet lull, the sound of your fingers against the keyboard the only noise. Thankfully, the back of your chair was short enough for you to see your computer, making for a surprisingly straightforward setup.

“Do you like someone else?”

His works made you pause, hands hovering above your desk. “What?”

“I’ve liked you for months and you barely give me any attention,” Hawks huffed. “Is it that dumbass pro from the next town over?”

“No, that’s because I-” The words made you pause, words faltering as your mental gears began to turn.

Months.

That doesn’t make any sense.

The quirk made him like you, sure, but was it messing with his memories as well?

You glanced down at him, ignoring the small laugh bubbling up your stomach at how dejected he looked, a far cry from the usually cocky attitude you had come to know and enjoy.

Still, the statement led to far too many things not adding up, the dissonance boggling your train of thought until the rest of your productive workday became impossible.

“I need to go talk to Mirko." You pushed the chair away from your desk, pleasantly surprised when Hawks agreed to let you go.

Regardless, it didn’t take long for him to lace your fingers through yours, guiding the both of you to the first floor elevator.

You entertained him for the ride up, the skin of your palm tingling against his.

It was when you arrived to the doorway of Mirko’s office, however, that you had a problem.

Bringing your pointer and middle finger to your temple, you massaged the skin in exasperation. Hawks had become quite adamant on not leaving your side, despite your exasperating protests. “Can you just wait out here for a few minutes? Please?”

It took a few moments but the look of distress slowly morphed into one of wicked glee, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine. But you have to give me something first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Okay… and what would that be.”

“I think you can guess.” His eyes flicked down to your lips.

Oh shit

You swallowed, almost fearful if you opened your mouth to speak, he would hear your heart beating up through your throat.

It’s just a kiss, right? No harm done?

The words seemed useless amidst the power of your nerves, the best course of action fighting its way to the forefront of your mind.

No way no way no way no way

Lifting up your heels, you took a sharp breath, pressing your lips against his for a mere moment before pulling away, scurrying past the doors to Mirko’s office and shutting them with a slam.

The woman looked up from a stack of paperwork, eyes shining in excitement at the distraction, and probable drama you were bringing. “What can I do for ya?”

There were a few seconds of silence, those in which you used to collect yourself, before you answered. "I was wondering if the civilian, the one with the love-quirk, I mean, told you anything else about it? Besides how Hawks will be better tomorrow and stuff."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well," you hesitated, taking a moment to remind yourself that it was alright to tell her, a woman who had become dangerously close to your friend, despite the warnings that came along with close relationships with heroes. "He said that he's liked me for months and that just doesn't make sense, especially if the quirk only really affected him a few hours ago, right?"

“I was just…” you sighed, taking a moment to compose your words before continuing. “Did you ask the quirk user if his memories would be influenced at all? Like would they be different than what’s really true?”

“Nope.” The lack of knowledge left your chest heavy, pulling your face downwards to focus on your wringing hands. “They did say that Hawks would only be affected if he looked at someone he had feelings for, though.”

Your eyes shot up. “Huh?”

Miraculously unbothered, she was now inspecting her nails, currently painted a soft gray and shaped into points that you couldn't imagine would be practical. "Uh-huh."

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I figured it would be best to let him tell you himself, even though I only really had a half guess that he liked you,” she replied in amusement. “And since he technically did tell you, I’m off the hook. Figured I’d let you two weirdos work it out.”

She propped her left foot on the edge of her desk, using the momentum to push her chair backward before standing. With a wave of swagger, she made her way over to you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders before spinning your body around and prompting you towards the exit.

Squirming away didn't seem to make a difference, especially considering that her left bicep seemed to be about the size of a tree trunk.

"Wait-"

"Have fun!"

Opening the door, she pushed you out before locking her office, leaving you to glare at the foggy glass.

Are all heroes this manhandle-y?

An arm snaked around your waist, the sudden contact making you jump. "How'd it go? Figure out what you needed?"

Taking a moment to slow your heart, you turned around to face Hawks. "I, uh... yeah, I did."

Looking up at him now was an oddity you weren't sure you were ready for. You were almost sure he didn't reciprocate your feelings, the actual possibility being something you had pushed away in fear of rejection, the concept becoming foreign to you.

Now, it was hard to believe you weren't dreaming, almost as if the soft smile and longing glance he was giving you would slip through your fingers if you didn't hold on tight enough.

The thoughts infiltrating your mind had you distracted, a soft sting of embarrassment hitting you when you realized you both were dangerously close to one another in the middle of the main office floor.

Regardless, when you glanced around, you were met with a quiet destitution, a stark difference to the usual business the agency saw on a Friday afternoon.

"Um, where is everyone?"

He cocked his head to the side, a small chuckle erupting from his lips as he took your chin between two fingers and pushing it slightly toward the left. At first, you weren't sure why, but the clock sporting a 7:27 fell into your line of sight. "Only the workaholics stay this late and we don't have many of those here."

Guess I was going through emails for longer than I thought "Oh. I suppose I should be going home too, then."

"Can I come?"

You almost laughed at his question, the thought of someone of his social standing, and economic one, asking to come to the small apartment on the edge of the city you called home. "You definitely wouldn't want to."

"Then why don't you come back to my place?"

The request made you pause, drawing a feeling of unease into your system despite the lightheartedness it was delivered with. At this point, you knew he liked you, but the idea of going to his house left you anxious.

As far as you were aware, he was an individual of solitude, not even Mirko, whom you perceived to be a fairly close friend, had been to his abode.

For some odd reason, the idea made you feel icky. You sure as hell wouldn’t want to wake up surprised to someone sleeping next to you in your home, someone who you had unknowingly let in while under the effects of a quirk no less.

Seemingly able to notice your hesitation, Hawks offered you his hand. "Follow me."

He didn't exactly wait for a response, lacing your fingers through his and tugging you towards the elevator with a gentleness you wouldn't have believed to be possible with him.

With each button lit, a floor fell beneath your feet, every ding bringing you closer to what you were sure was his office.

It was quite large, the metal doors opening directly into the fully windowed room. White and gold furniture lay atop the marbled floor, polished to a shine.

The birch desk and swivel chair took of most of the space, but he had some other things laying about, such as the mini-fridge and air fryer to your right.

You were almost positive what went on there.

An ivory couch, just about the same width as a twin sized bed lay along the left wall, its creamy pillows and a lusciously looking soft blanket thrown on the side.

A moment passed before you understood what was happening. "Are you… are you sure that's even big enough for both of us?"

"Don't worry about it, songbird." He shrugged his jacket over his shoulders, grasping your arm and pulling you towards the sofa. With exhausted grace, he fell over it, tugging you with him until your body lay over his.

Fuck

With the outer layer off, the fabric of his shirt was just thin enough to feel the ripple of his muscles between your fingers. The soft heat radiating off his skin was nothing short of addictive, the warmth something you were tempted to bask in forever.

And the thing was, you were sure he would let you, if he asked.

The thought was sweet, but it didn’t take long for your mind to wander, to imagine what else he would do for you; would do to you.

"Are you turned on?"

That sure broke the peaceful daze. "What?"

He sat up, golden irises burning in excitement. "If you wanted to do something, you could've just asked."

"I'm not." The words came out exceedingly more nervous than you anticipated.

"Liar." A wicked grin laced his features. "I can tell, ya know, when you're in the mood."

Heart dropping to your stomach, you blinked up at him. "You... you what?"

"Mhm." Hawks placed a hand on your chest, fingers toying with the top of your shirt. "Your heart speeds up just so. I can hear it.”

“You’re bullshitting me.” Somehow, you suspected he wasn’t. The details of his quirk were unknown to you, but you had heard of the heightened senses tethered to those feathers he possessed.

“Ouch, so vulgar,” he waved off the assumption, using his left hand to draw gentle circles on the skin of your stomach. “But keep telling yourself that. I can be patient.”

Your brain filled in the blanks.

I'll wait until you’re begging for it

You tried desperately to ignore the thought, to quiet your frenzied mind and think of something, anything else. Curiosity, it seemed, was your saving grace, another question blossoming in your mind. "So, if you knew about... ya know, why didn't you say something.”

"Liking someone and being horny for them are two different things, gorgeous." He flashed you another grin, identical to the ones on the tabloid covers that inspired thirst tweets and tumblr stories. "Besides, I’ve heard it isn’t very hard to want me in bed, figured my sweet little receptionist wouldn’t be any different."

You snorted. "You're an idiot."

"But you don't mind, right?"

The question came across as playful, but there were wisps of insecure longing strewn amidst his tone.

"No, I definitely don't."

Your affirmation seemed to meet his standards, the man burying his face in your shoulder and pulling you back down onto the couch. Golden locks tickled your cheek, the soft hum of the air conditioner lulling your eyes to a close.

Minutes passed before the two of you fell asleep, surprising seeing that you were usually quite the night owl. Regardless, the way his wings enfolded around the both of you, blocking out the remnants of the evening sunset and any other distractions made you feel disturbingly safe. You would have been content to die here, his arms wrapped around your torso, shielded from the rest of the world within the scarlet plumage.

Chests moving in tandem, each breath undisturbed and hushed as the hours ticked by.

Upon waking, the first thought that entered your mind was how cold it was. That plush blanket you had been eyeing earlier was wrapped snugly around your form, but the fabric seemed to pale in comparison to what you had enjoyed last night.

Your eyes flickered open, straining under the sun streaking past the windowed walls. It took a moment for them to adjust under the harsh lighting, but you jumped when you glanced around to see two golden irises staring back at you.

Hawk's head was propped up on his arms, each balancing on the side of the couch, a few centimeters away from you. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lip at your reaction. "Good morning."

"What the hell are you doing?" You groaned.

An unbothered shrug tugged his shoulders upward. "You look pretty when you're sleeping."

Sitting up, you rolled your joints, stretching the rest of the tiredness away. "Hasn't anyone ever told you watching people while they sleep is creepy?"

"I've never found anyone else as good looking to feel the need to do so." He tilted his head to the side, flashing a boyish grin. "Besides, I thought you ladies liked that sort of thing. Isn't there a movie about that or something?"

You rolled your eyes, sitting up with a yawn. “So… uh, I’m guessing you’re back to normal then?”

"Yup," he replied, popping the 'p' at the end. “Why? Miss me hanging off your shoulder twenty-four seven?"

Yes.

“Shut up.”

He grinned, seemingly unaffected by your fatigued harshness. “So, are you gonna let me take you out today or what?”

“You still want to?”

“Well obviously,” Amusement laced his tone, a quiet ardor brewing among his features. “Unless you’d just like to skip all that and fuck.”

The thought had heat blooming in your cheeks, “You’re so vulgar.”

“And you love it.”

“Maybe.”

You did.

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late

(Professor Logan Howlett x F! Student Mutant Reader)

Click here for chapter index

Chapter Summary: The President of the University hears you out about Logan's behavior.

(A/N): yay!! this chapter took me FOREVER!! i'm so sorry about the wait, i just wanted to make sure i got everything perfect. i mentioned in the notes for the last chapter that i might recommend a song for each chapter and i think i will start that this chapter!! so for this chapter i'd recommend listening to sailor song by gigi perez. enjoy!

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI!!, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f! receiving, dirty talk, swearing, overstimulation lowkey

Word Count: 7,055

Chapter 5

Time passes painfully slow outside of the president’s office. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your blouse, trying not to get yourself too worked up with feverish anger as you organize your thoughts. You can’t let the president know how charged and complicated your feelings towards Logan truly are, no, all he needs to know is what Logan did wrong. You’ve never had a meeting like this before. You don’t have problems with people, you don’t argue with professors, you don’t report people. In all your years of academia, you’ve never had to do anything like this before. And you’re nervous. The president’s assistant calling your name pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to look up at her eagerly.

“He’s ready for you, ma’am,” she smiles politely, gesturing to the office door to her right. You thank her as you stand, smoothing your skirt down with your clammy hands. You open the door gently to find Dr. Charles Xavier sat behind a grand oak desk, scribbling on an array of papers. He’s a thin, older man, completely bald. You didn’t know much about him before this meeting, other than the fact that he’s paralyzed from the waist down and can often be seen traversing campus on his motorized wheelchair. He looks up from his work as he hears you come in, smiling politely as he confirms your name.

“Yes, sir, thank you for meeting with me,” you say, approaching the desk to shake his hand before sitting in a cushioned chair situated in front of him.

“I’m more than happy to accommodate you, my dear. Now, what can I do for you?” he asks, his voice seemingly coated in a genuine concern as he folds his hands in front of him.

“Yes, sir. Um, I’m not sure how much of my email your assistant disclosed,” you start sheepishly, clearing your throat in nervousness. “But, uh, I’ve been having some problems with my American Civil War professor—“

“Logan Howlett,” he cuts you off, a look of understanding washing over his face, like he’s used to hearing his name be brought up often.

“Yes, him,” you confirm, an awkward smile turning the corners of your mouth up. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“Logan can be quite difficult, at times. I’ve heard my fair share of stories from student and faculty alike,” he remarks, very matter of factly, not bleeding too much emotion into his words. Which makes it difficult for you to know which side he’s on: Logan’s or yours. “Now, tell me, what troubles you, child?”

“I—uh, I don’t really know where to start,” you admit, embarrassed as every ounce of preparation has left your mind. 

“Just tell me everything, starting from the beginning,” he advises, his voice soothing you in a way you can’t quite explain. So you start from the beginning, obviously leaving out the part about your repetitive, lewd sex dreams. You try your best to remain as polite as possible when you talk about the things you and Logan said to each other in the heat of an argument, omitting some of the more colorful language in an attempt to maintain Dr. Xavier’s respect. Once you finish detailing the past week’s events, you exhale a sigh of relief, Dr. Xavier offering you a sympathetic look.

“I see, I’m sorry to hear about all of those experiences and how they troubled you,” he offers sympathetically, “I will have a meeting with Logan and see to it personally he gets the proper discipline for his actions and the clear harm they’ve caused you.”

You sigh in relief, releasing tension from your shoulders you didn’t even know you were holding there.

“Thank you, Dr. Xavier, you have no idea how much that means to me,” you beam.

“Please, call me Charles, and I am always here if you need anything, my dear,” he consoles, a kind smile reaching his eyes in sincerity, “We must learn to take care of each other, in these trying times.”

“Yes, sir, of course, thank you again,” you reach across the desk to shake his hand, he accepts generously, using both his hands to encase yours.

His words put you at such ease, you haven’t felt this kind of relief in ages. It’s like you’ve just finished a productive therapy session. Like your mind has been tucked in and put to bed. You gather your things, and head to the door of Charles’ office. He calls your name, causing you to whip your head back around to look at him.

“Everything will work itself out, rest assured,” he remarks with a warm smile. You nod, believing in what he says wholeheartedly. For the first time in a week, you don’t feel plagued with overwhelming feelings for Logan. You often found yourself looking for him in places that you might run into him, in stores, on campus, at red lights. But you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. As you drive to work, passing by the bar, you don’t even think to see if his truck might be there like you’ve done the past few days. As you stock shelves in the store, you stop hoping that he might walk through the door to buy cigars and a case of beer again. You’ve effectively exiled him from your thoughts and feelings. He could be fired tomorrow for what he did, and it wouldn’t matter to you. There’s a warm bed waiting for you at home, and, for once, you do not wish for Logan to be there waiting for you too. 

…

You’re greeted in the morning to the sound of your alarm, no wet dreams this time that jerk you awake. This morning, you wake up by yourself. You make breakfast for yourself. You get dressed for yourself. The only thing you do for Logan, is print out your essay. You drive to class, not a worry or care in the world for him or his opinions. After your talk with Charles, you know Logan cannot, at the very least, pull another stunt like he did Monday. You didn’t see him on Wednesday, as you were in your meeting with Charles then and cared more about that than being in his class with his “bullshit lectures,” as Logan himself put it.

Yet here you are, sitting down in his class, ready to listen to another bullshit lecture. He looks almost sullen today, like something heavy weighs on his shoulders. Maybe Charles has met with him and he’s sulking now as a result of being slapped on the wrist. Maybe this is his last day. Maybe they’re putting him on a forced sabbatical and replacing him with someone who isn’t an asshole for the rest of the semester. Logan clears his throat, preparing to give his lecture to the class. He holds everyone’s attention now, the scattered murmurs of friendly conversations coming to a halt as notebooks open and pens are clicked.

“Westward expansion, manifest destiny, whatever the hell you want to call it, was the topic of your essay,” he starts, “A lot of people say that it was a cause of the Civil War. I’d be inclined to agree. Some people would say that it helped unify the nation after the war. But I disagree,” Logan states, speaking from a place you haven’t heard him speak from before. “I wat—I read about natives being killed in cold blood, kids bein’ beat in schools so bad they forget where they’re from, mountains of dead buffalo rotting to waste just so they can watch these native people die off. You can’t unify a country by hatin’ people. You can’t win a war against slavery then turn around and still treat people like vermin. You hear of these things now, you think shit like this doesn’t happen—won’t happen anymore. We all think we’re immune. Til’ one day you wake up and all of a sudden there’s a target on your back. Maybe you wake up tomorrow and they wanna put you in a school,” he points to someone in the class for emphasis, “Make you forget everything you’ve ever known, rip your child away from you like you’re cattle. It doesn’t take a lot to convince the world you’re less human than everyone else. You’re not guaranteed shit in this country. Not freedom. Not liberty. Not independence. We’re all one bad president away from becoming nazis. Don’t forget that. And don’t get comfortable.”

The room is dead quiet, almost like a collective shock has washed over everyone. Logan has never been this candid in class before. He just regurgitates facts from the textbook without much opinion or thought to what he’s saying. You barely know what to make of that, as well as the potential source of his rant. No one else dares to speak, to question, to think. Logan’s gaze flits to you briefly, you make eye contact. To anyone else, this wouldn’t be anything more than a passing glance. To you, that meant something. You don’t know what, but there was something underlying there. Jesus, what did Charles say to him, you think to yourself. And then, like nothing happened, Logan cracks open his textbook to carry on with his lecture, causing everyone to rush back to their notebooks to take their notes. You somehow bring your focus back to the curriculum, choosing to ignore his impromptu monologue and carry on with your day.

Yes, he surprised you. But you don’t care. Charles probably just knocked some sense into him so he’d stop acting like an immature prick and start caring about his job. But never mind with that, you still have a whole afternoon ahead of you, full of classes and work and not thinking about Logan. In fact, you really don’t think about him at all the rest of the day. You had too much classwork to really allow your mind to drift, the convenience store was busy with a shipment that you had to take inventory of, and you have a pint of ice cream calling your name at home.

The storm outside contrasts your state of mind as you drive home from work. You don’t feel clouded, angered, passionate—you feel quiet. But not the forced quiet you’ve put out into the world as a means of protection, no, there’s a tranquility to you now. There’s nothing to fear, as your feelings for Logan no longer threaten to reveal your powers. You can live the life of anonymity you’ve always wanted to. 

As you pull into your driveway, your stomach drops at the sight of a truck parked in front of your house. Logan’s truck. What the fuck is he doing here, you think to yourself, how does he know where I live? You put your car in park, stepping out into the pouring rain, you try to beeline for your front door, really not wanting to see or speak to him. Logan steps out of his truck and starts calling your name, you do your best to ignore him as you approach your door. Just as you think you’ve made it, he slides in front of you, stopping you from putting your key in and unlocking it.

“Logan, you need to leave,” you say calmly, avoiding eye contact with him, fixing your gaze to the ground.

“I can’t,” he says breathlessly. You look up to meet his gaze, his eyes look needy and earnest, like a puppy melting into its owner’s lap. His chest rises and falls as he pants heavily. “I have to...” He trails off, seemingly struggling to find the words. You don’t have time for this, you don’t want him here. You scoff in frustration and shove him away from you, he steps off your porch and into the pouring rain. You begin to unlock your door, despite Logan pleading your name. Your door creaks open, his pleading grows incessant, the rain pounds against your roof with intensity. You whip around to face him, throwing your things into your house before you charge towards him. 

“Goddamn you, I can’t do this anymore!” you bark, allowing the rain to soak you as you advance towards Logan further and further, watching as he backs away. “Just when I thought I was done with you, when I thought I’d never have to spend an extra second thinking about you again, you show up here, and for what? Why did you come here, huh? To beg for my forgiveness?”

Logan’s jaw tenses, like he’s unable to find the answer himself, looking like a wreck as he gets soaked by the rain without a care. Does he even know why he came here? You scoff in disbelief, almost laughing.

“Do you even know why you came here?” you ask, flicking wet hair from your eyes as you stare him down. He just looks at you. That’s all he does. God, does he have nothing to say? Nothing? “Well, if it’s forgiveness you want, you’re not getting it. I don’t owe you anything.”

You turn around, stomping to your door until Logan’s hand grasps your arm and spins you back around to face him.

“You owe me everything, damn it,” he utters passionately, his voice intense and low but full of sadness. His eyes almost look glassy, but you can’t tell if the tears in his eyes are real or a result of the rain that’s hit his face. His breath is heavy, like he desperately needs to convey something, his grip on your arm tightening slightly, “You owe me. In more ways than you know. For every time you’re in my head—in my dreams. You owe me. And you don’t even know it.”

Your breath hitches when he says that. Did he just say dreams? He has dreams about you?

“Dreams?” you question, trying your best to hide your shock as you push him to clarify, blinking the rain out of your eyes. He lets go of your arm and turns away from you, hands on his hips as he starts pacing. Like he’s considering what he wants to say—how he wants to say it.

“Almost every night since I’ve met you,” he mutters intensely, as he looks at everything but you. “You don’t know what it’s been like—the hell I’ve been through tryna’ get you outta my head.”

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to say. Has he felt this way the whole time? Does he dream the same dreams as you? You’re buzzing with thoughts and feelings, ones you thought you put to bed.

“Logan, what dreams?” you press further as you take two steps closer to him, his back still to you as you search for the answer you’ve been desperately seeking from him. He peeks over at you, rain dripping off the tip of his nose onto his leather-clad shoulder, clearly hesitant to disclose the content of the dreams.

“I—I can’t,” he sputters.

You swallow hard, deciding to take a risk you probably shouldn’t be taking.

“The first dream,” you start, “Was I in your office?”

He immediately turns to face you, looking at you with utter shock painted on his face.

“How did you know that?” 

You don’t answer. You’re locked in place, incapable of speaking. Perhaps you’re too scared to say it. 

“Maybe you owe me too,” you murmur, stitching your brows together, trying to stop your chin from trembling.

He stares at you with a passion that makes you almost crumble to the earth. He walks towards you, a slight hesitation in his step once he’s no more than a few inches away from your face.

“Logan,” you whisper, almost gasp, feeling a surge of fear rise within you. You can’t give in. You can’t let him get too close to you. His hands reach up to cup your face, and you want to shove him off. You want to tell him to stop. But it feels so right when he holds you like this, thumbs attempting to brush the constant flow of rainwater from your cheeks. 

“We can’t,” you mutter, bringing your hands to his wrists, wanting to use them to pull his hands from your face. But you find solace in the way he’s holding you. He looks down to your lips, then back to your eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up into the slightest smile.

“To hell with can’t,” he husks, his voice bleeding gravel and a fervent want. His head dips down, his lips parting as he tries to capture your lips with his. But you push him off, backing away in fear of letting him get close to you. You can’t do it. Because deep down you know that if you let him kiss you, you’ll let him in to every part of yourself. There won’t be a corner of you that won’t be unknown by him. And you can’t let that happen.

“No. Logan, I’m sorry. I can’t,” you declare with a shaky voice, tears welling in your eyes as you take as many steps back as you can. Your retreat almost causing you to slam into the trunk of the oak tree in front of your house.

He utters your name, taking a few steps towards you before continuing, “If you don’t want to do this—if you don’t want me because I’m your teacher…Say the word, and I’ll never speak to you again.”

You gape at him, doe eyes staring up into him as he speaks to you with clarity.

“But if you’re backing away from this because of fear—you don’t wanna let me in,” he continues, practically pinning you to the tree as he steps closer, “Then you’re gonna have to trust me—you gotta let me in.” He brings his hands back to your face, keeping your gaze earnestly. You can’t help the tears that roll down your cheeks now. You could just say it—tell him that you don’t want to be with him because he’s your professor. Just one sentence and you may never have to speak to him again. You’d never have to see him, save for class, you can just forget about all of this. But you can’t. The words feel like poison in your mouth. You look like you’re choking on air trying to form the words.

“Logan,” you manage, “You don’t understand, you can’t—you don’t want to get close to me.” Your cries are growing louder, your words becoming choked by your sobs. Logan soothes your name, bringing his head down to your level, now eye to eye with you. You grip his wrists tightly, keeping his hold on your face firm.

“Well—maybe I do understand. But you won’t know unless you tell me!” he stresses, his voice growing in intensity as he tries to get you to understand. You go back and forth, Logan pleading your name, as you shake your head, yelling ’no’ insistently.

“Logan, I can’t!” you resist, your face twisting into a mixture of heartbreak and sorrow. He growls your name desperately.

“Listen to me, I understand!”

“You don’t!” you wept, pushing him off of you and turning towards your house, being done with this and him. He yells your name, but you stay your course. He yells your name again, you ignore it. From behind you, he lets out a vicious growl of effort before you hear a sharp ‘snikt’ and a slice, causing you to turn around to witness a broad limb begin to fall from above Logan’s head. You panic.

“Logan!” you gasp, reflexively raising your hands and using all your strength to project a large crystalline barrier between the tree’s limb and Logan’s body. You support its full weight before throwing it to an empty patch of grass, your eyes still glowing fuchsia from the use of your powers. Your stomach drops. Panic starts to set in from the reality of what you just did. Then a glint of something metal hits your eyes, drawing your attention to Logan’s balled up fist. Three prongs of metal protrude from his knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. You almost don’t believe it. You blink in disbelief, stepping off the porch as you approach Logan slowly. The rain showers you once again, washing away your uncertainty and your fear. Logan stares at you, chest heaving, claws still bared. Teeth slightly bared, breath hitching when you’re within inches of him under the tree. Your hand reaches down to his wrist, pulling it upwards so you may get a better view of his claws. You stare at them incredulously, still struggling to comprehend how this is possible.

“The whole time?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes flicking between his eyes and the sharp blades.

“These don’t exactly grow overnight, bub,” he smirks, retracting them back into himself, startling you slightly.

“You’re like me?” you question, though it sounds a bit more like a revelation. You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling where the blades once were. He nods gently, bringing his hand to your cheek, your hand staying with his wrist, leaning into his touch.

“I’m like you,” he confirms, bringing his other hand to your forehead, brushing stray wet hairs from your face. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. There’s nothing holding you back now. Standing on your tiptoes, swinging your arms around his neck, you pull yourself up to connect your lips with his in a desperate kiss. He leans into you, eagerly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull your frame into his as firmly as he can. Electricity rushes through your body, almost making you shudder with excitement at the feel of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes gently against your bottom lip, you welcome it into your mouth, meeting his tongue with your own. He swallows you, moving his hands to your face like he can’t let you slip away from him for even a second. You cradle the back of his neck, slipping your fingers through his soaked hair. He deepens the kiss further, sliding his hands down to your waist, dipping you backwards slightly as he grips you tightly there. You moan gently, growing more desperate the longer you kiss him, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, panting heavily, sputtering as rain water attempts to enter your mouth. Logan breathes with you, your nose grazing his, not being able to help the smile on your face. He smiles back.

“Can we get out of the rain?” you chuckle, a chill overtaking your body as the rain’s assault continues. He nods, and without hesitating, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style towards your porch. You yelp gently as he whisks you away, maneuvering through your front door, shutting it with a kick behind him. After he sets you down, the next few moments are a blur—kisses growing sloppy, shoes flying off, hands pulling at jackets. Clumsily, you lead Logan up the stairs, not allowing the kiss to falter. He eventually gets tired of tripping over you, scooping you up by the ass and lifting, which causes you to respond by eagerly wrapping your legs around him. It’s messy, the way he bumps you into furniture, pressing you against the wall, attacking your lips with a feverish desire. One hand glued to your ass for support, the other searching the wall for the threshold to your bedroom, in an effort to maintain the contact of his lips on yours. Eventually, pushing the both of you through to your room before throwing you on your bed, no care for the wet clothes and hair that are soaking your sheets. 

He looms above you, his strong stance making you wonder how you can be in the presence of someone so perfect. In one fell swoop, Logan pulls his white tank top over his head, revealing his chiseled physique to you, a silver chain hanging from his neck. You don’t have time to ask about it before he’s on top of you, swallowing you, your legs wrapped around him as he grinds down into you making you gasp into the kiss. He paws at your shirt, tugging and dragging it up your body until you’re forced to remove your mouth from his to allow him to take it off of you. There’s not a moment wasted with him. His hands need to be on you at all times; whether he’s grasping your breasts, your waist, your face. He explores every inch of you with his hands. A whine escapes your lips when he breaks the kiss, but he’s swift—trailing his mouth down your neck. The kisses there are sloppy, wet, harsh as his teeth nip at your skin. His lips drag down your chest where he playfully bites at your lacy bra making your breath hitch in anticipation.

This is more than you could’ve dreamt, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. He’s real. He’s here. His lips and tongue coating your body is real, his hands pulling down your pants is real, the gaze you see situate between your legs is real. Everything feels heightened, each touch electric and charged. Logan sits up, roughly pulling you down the bed so your hips are hanging off the edge, the floor meeting his knees so he can be eye level with your thinly clothed pussy. He’s savoring you, biting the soft skin of your inner thigh, gripping your waist in an effort to keep you planted. You squirm under his grasp as you grow more and more desperate for his mouth on your aching cunt. 

“Logan,” you rasp, scratching at the sheets beneath you with need. He gazes at you from between your legs, a cocky grin making you melt. 

“Dreamt ‘bout this,” he husks, his hot breath fanning your lace-clad pussy before he plants gentle kisses to the crease between your inner thigh and labia. The occasional dipping of his tongue to the sensitive skin there makes you writhe more under his grasp. Hands glide up your stomach as he continues carefully teasing you, avoiding your core as much as possible with each flick of his tongue and kiss planted. He palms your tits through your bra lazily before bringing his hands back down your body to toy with the waistband of your panties. You can tell that he’s enjoying this immensely, taking his time with such passionate care you almost don’t mind how slowly he pulls down your panties. Lifting your legs to allow him to pull them the rest of the way off your legs and to the floor, you almost want to giggle that you could’ve taken them off this entire time with your powers. But you enjoy this—how carefully he’s taking his time and savoring each swell and curve of your body till you’re spread bare in front of his eyes. 

In any other circumstance, you’d be hiding away sheepishly under such an intense gaze, but Logan’s eyes aren’t boring into you possessively. They’re drinking you, digesting your appearance with such an intensity you’re struggling to comprehend how he’s been able to resist you for so long. You gasp when his tongue flicks your throbbing clit gently, arching your back off of the bed. He’s testing the waters now, priming your arousal so you’re good and ready for him. His tongue moves painfully slow, licking the inside of your lips as you squirm in anticipation. Then he moves more center, running his tongue along the full length of your pussy, causing you to elicit a throaty moan in approval. He groans in appreciation at your neediness for him, taking it as a sign to dive into you completely. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth as his tongue laps at your clit hungrily. The sensitivity sending shockwaves through your body as he applies expert pressure to the sensitive bud. Your hand flings to his still-wet hair, gripping a fistful as you hold him to your pussy. 

He ravishes you. Lapping at your juices noisily as he brings one hand from your waist to dip a finger into your slick core. You groan at the sudden feeling of fullness, quickly adding a second finger to pump in and out of you. His pace is consistent, tongue at your clit, fingers in and out of you, and you can barely take it anymore. His digits stroking the most sensitive parts inside of you while his mouth works expertly at your clit—practically making out with it. God, you don’t know how much longer you’ll last like this, gasping and moaning with each curl of his fingers, Logan growling into your pussy with approval of the lewd noises you make for him. Every synapse is firing inside of you as you become laser-focused on the pleasure he gives you. You’re a mess—sputtering broken moans and words of encouragement as he works you closer and closer to your climax.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I-I’m—“ Your grip on his hair growing more desperate, trying your best to not flail your body too much as he devours you. He doesn’t say anything in response to you, far too focused on your pussy to offer more than moans in approval of your impending orgasm, like he’s egging you on with his groans and grunts. Your arousal swirls inside of you, butterflies fluttering through your bloodstream as you get closer and closer. A taut cord somewhere deep inside of you gets pulled tighter and tighter, till it snaps with white hot pressure. A guttural moan escapes your throat as a flood of pleasure rushes through your entire body, all the way to the bright fuchsia emanating from your eyes. Logan guides you from your orgasm, letting your clenching pussy ride it out on his fingers while your clit throbs on his tongue. Wave after wave hits you, like your body can’t shake the pleasure he’s given you. Back arching off the bed, your body wriggling and twitching from the force of your orgasm. The pace of Logan’s tongue slows and the pressure eases gently. Eyes half-lidded, breath heavy, you’re on cloud nine as you revel in one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. Your bliss shrouded you so much you barely noticed the pace of Logan’s tongue quickening, his fingers gently curling inside of you as he tries to bring you towards another peak. You inhale sharply at the sudden pleasure pulsing from your clit.

“Logan,” you rasp, your body barely able to contain your writhing as he pulls you towards another orgasm. He groans into you as he feels you clench around his fingers, quickly approaching another climax. Tongue flat against your clit, lapping at it feverishly, your arousal bubbles up deep inside of your stomach before reaching its boiling point, yet again, and cascading white hot pleasure throughout your body. Your eyes pulsate pink as your moans reverberate around the space. You’ve never had an orgasm induced by another man, let alone two. Chest heaving, you attempt a glance at where Logan is situated between your legs. He’s pulled away from your center now, chin wet with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. He stares at you lustfully, panting as he plants lazy kisses to your inner thigh. Logan gets up off his knees, undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down his legs, his erection visible through his boxers. Your head falls back against the bed as he crawls on top of you, trailing kisses up your stomach to your chest. He stops at your bra-clad chest, his pelvis situated between your legs.

“Sit up,” he instructs huskily. You oblige, sitting up on your elbows to allow his arm behind you so he can unclasp your bra swiftly. The straps release their tension from your shoulders, shrugging the garment off with ease. Logan resumes the kisses to your chest from where he left off, beginning to suckle and bite at the tender flesh of your breasts and leaving marks in his wake. You hum in approval, arching into him, your bare pussy grazing his erection gently—the motion enough to elicit a low growl from his throat. He kisses up your neck, leaving licks to your jaw before capturing your lips in another needy kiss. You moan into his mouth, hips grinding down into yours. You long to feel him completely bare under you, growing desperate as the kiss deepens. Deciding you’ve had enough of his boxers, you take matters into your own hands. A slight flick of your wrist and you’ve unraveled the atomic structure of his boxers, leaving him bare above you. There’s a hesitation in his next kiss, breaking it to look down at his lower half in confusion, then back up at you.

“How’d you do that?” He asks, a mixture of confusion and amusement in his voice. You grab the back of his head, pulling him back down to your face so you can resume the kiss.

“Fuck now…ask later,” you murmur between kisses, to which Logan accepts without protest. Now you can feel the full length of his cock pressed up against your center. And this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, considering you’ve dreamt about this, but he’s big. His size has become so much more real without the dreamy haze that you’re used to clouding it. His hips snap and the tip of his cock slips into your entrance, making you both groan at the contact. Your nails bite his skin, leaving light indentations that are gone almost instantaneously, you take notice but move on quickly when you feel Logan line himself up at your entrance.

“We’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby,” he husks, the dog tags around his neck swinging like a pendulum. You’re sure now that there’s a waterfall between your legs and that the warm up won’t be necessary, but then he presses his tip in further and you gasp suddenly at the sharp pain.

“Good girl,” he drawls, clearly trying to keep his own pleasure in control, “Take some more for me, princess.” He sinks in a few more inches. Tears prick your eyes from the stretch he’s causing to your pussy, but it feels so good. You need him deeper. Your legs hook around him, heels digging into his ass in an effort to spur him on. 

“Deeper, Logan, please,” you whine, lazily and desperately capturing his lips in a kiss.

“You sure, baby?” He asks cautiously, murmured between kisses. You nod eagerly, attempting to drive him further in and before you can even prepare it, he does. Spearing you nearly in half, you break the kiss, a mixture of moans and pained groans emanating from your lips. This is so much harder than you remember it being in your subconscious. The stretch, the fullness, the way he’s reaching your cervix already without even trying. Tears escape your eyes, but despite the strain his dick is putting on your body, it feels so good inside of you. You resume the kiss hastily, bucking your hips slightly in an attempt to get Logan to begin thrusting.

“Fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, groaning when he slides out of you, then back in languidly. You both groan into the kiss, Logan having trouble keeping his mouth on yours while he begins his thrusts. He keeps the pace slow in an attempt to preserve the integrity of your pussy and not tear you in half, but you need more of him. You want to feel him in every corner of you. 

“Logan, I’m not gonna snap, you can fuck me.”

He looks down at you, lips grazing yours, when suddenly his eyes grow darker and more lustful. Clearly planning on doing just that, he readjusts himself slightly for better leverage, and thrusts into you harder than he has all night. Back arching into him, your pained gasp melts into a high pitched moan. Logan quickens his pace now, slamming into you with animalistic intent. His mouth drops to your neck, where he kisses and sucks on the skin, marking his territory with bruised intent. He bites down into your flesh as your heels press into his ass and force him deeper into you. With each thrust he prods your cervix, making you unsure if your moans are from the sharp pain or the immense pleasure from the fullness of his cock and stretch he provides for your pussy.

“So—so tight for me, babygirl,” he growls, skin clapping against skin with a speed you didn’t even know a person could be capable of going. It’s overwhelming, you’re sure that an average person would break in half from the strength of his thrusts, even with your heightened strength you’re sure you’re going to be feeling sore well into next week. His pace doesn’t falter, not even for a second, his pants fan the skin of your neck as your nails dig into his back. You’re not even sure if he’s noticed the marks you’re leaving on his skin, caught up within his own pleasure.

“Fuck, baby—close, so close,” he groans, pulling his face from your neck to lock his lips with yours. His thrusts are so fast that you have a hard time keeping up with the kiss, a part of you growing exhausted from the onslaught on your pussy and ready for him to come inside of you.

“Come for me, please,” you whine breathlessly into the kiss. Logan doesn’t need much more coaxing before his hips stutter. He groans above you, reaching his hands above your head to support himself on the wall as he reaches the peak of his orgasm. You jump slightly at the sound of his claws retracting and stabbing into your drywall, then he unloads inside of you, releasing hot ropes of his seed with a throaty moan. His lips are barely on yours at this point as you try your hardest to maintain the kiss. He slumps over you, his back rising and falling quickly as he comes down from his orgasm. You close your eyes, feeling blissful, your pussy the perfect kind of sore. Logan trails gentle kisses up the length of your neck, peppering them along your jaw before capturing your lips with his. Pulling away, you smile at him, swiping wet hair from his forehead as he returns the smile.

“Dunno about you, princess, but I could go for another round,” he remarks, to which you laugh in response thinking he’s joking. Then suddenly you feel his dick twitch inside of you and realize he’s still hard. You huff in exhaustion, almost blushing. God, you could fuck longer, but you have nothing left in you.

“Logan, I don’t think I got much more in me,” you sigh in defeat, causing Logan to let out a soft hum in thought. He plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Mm, d’you…want it…again?” He murmurs between kisses, the gravel in his voice making you clench involuntarily.

“I do,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a second wind of arousal swirling inside of you. Logan slides out of you, eliciting a groan from him and a quiet whine from you.

“On your stomach,” he directs, on his knees above you now. You oblige, rolling over, arching your back slightly to allow Logan easier access to your pussy. You settle into this position—a lazy doggy-style. Logan lines himself up yet again, sinking into you with a rough groan as his hands plant on your hips. He uses your body as leverage to begin thrusting in and out of you, causing you to moan throatily at the way his dick perfectly hits all the right spots. Every ridge, every spongy part inside of you, Logan glides over expertly. Mewling and moaning in pleasure, each thrust of his hips hitting you perfectly. You’re in heaven, so relaxed, feeling so euphoric as he stretches your pussy and fills you. His hands squeeze at your hips, occasionally gliding down to your ass to give it a good squeeze.

“God, how are you tighter?” Logan groans, his thrusts hard yet languid with each roll of his hips. “Pussy so good—so, so good for me, baby.”

You don’t say anything in response—you can’t, you’re reduced to a puddle of moans and groans of pleasure beneath him. Complete putty in his hands that he can do what he pleases with. You don’t know how you’re still even conscious, exhaustion seeps into every pore of your body, but pleasure is keeping your blood flowing and your heart racing. Your clit throbs between your legs, you attempt to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the pressure, causing Logan to moan above you as you clench.

“Keep doin’ that, princess, I just might come again,” Logan husks. You sneak a flirty glance from over your shoulder and clench your thighs together yet again, Logan clearly struggling to remain upright. Logan’s pace quickens, his thrusts snappier and more desperate. You squeeze again, and again, gyrating your ass gently each time. And that’s all it takes for him, hands flying from your waist, claws unsheathing and stabbing into your mattress as Logan rides out his second orgasm. Growling and moaning as he unloads his hot seed into you yet again. He sits there for a minute, dick twitching inside of you, claws embedded into your mattress, sweat sticking to his heaving chest. Quickly, his strength regains, and his breathing slows. He pulls out of you, still hard, slumping beside your exhausted body. You roll over, wrapping yourself around him, nuzzling into his chest. You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, your hand coming to play with the silver tags that lay on his chest.

There’s so much you don’t know—so much you want to know. But Logan feels so peaceful, this is so peaceful. His arms wrapped around you, his breath steady. He knows who you are, and he quite possibly might be the only person to ever understand you this innately. And, for the first time in your life, you’re excited for someone to see you for who you truly are.

...

(A/N): AHHHHHHHH!!! i'm so happy i got to write this chapter. this slow burn could've been slower but im impatient. the smut took me literal days to write, but im so happy with how it turned out!! i hope you guys are happy with the way i let it all play out, i hope no one feels it was too rushed or that some things don't make sense. there are plenty of things from logan's side that will become fleshed out later on. but if some things dont make sense feel free to ask questions in the comments and i will answer (so long as it doesn't spoil things for future chapters teehee). thank you always for the support, i read every single comment and it really keeps me going🫶🏻

to view on ao3 click here

tags: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss @fictionalmen-dilflover @e-nonsense

[gatheringbones]

[“I told my mother I thought I might be trans in a lengthy and overly apologetic email, which she didn’t quite know how to respond to. From her perspective, my transition had popped up out of nowhere, with no prior warning signs. She was convinced I had been brainwashed into transitioning, and agreed to meet my counsellor for a joint meeting with me, primarily to meet the person she felt had brainwashed her child into transitioning.

My mother describes her first meeting with me presenting as Laura as very difficult for her, due in no small part to her inability to see me as anything but her very traditionally masculine son in a dress. For a while she knew but did not talk to my father, which she found very difficult. She told me years later that she went through a period of mourning, feeling like her child had died, and that she was left with a stranger she did not know. It put a lot of strain on her, and on our relationship as parent and child.

Why the assumption I was brainwashed? Because of autism infantilisation.

Before we talk more about my journey coming out as transgender, we have to rewind a little bit to something else that went on at around the same point in my life: my diagnosis of Asperger’s. By the time my mother attended that appointment and met me as Laura for the first time, I had already been diagnosed with Asperger’s, which was part of the reason she was so worried about me. She was not aware of any statistical link between autism and gender dysphoria, and in her eyes I was a vulnerable young person with an autism spectrum condition who was being manipulated into transition because I was easily swayed, or lacking in ability to assess my feelings on the matter properly for myself. This is depressingly common: an adult’s assumption that having an autism spectrum condition means you’re incapable of proper self-understanding, or that you’re susceptible to being manipulated into believing things about yourself that you did not previously. You’re not trusted as being of sound mind to make choices about your own life, out of fear you’ve been manipulated.

Speaking to my mother years later, now she has somewhat settled down and got used to me going by Laura and female pronouns, she told me that her biggest fear, and the primary reason she agreed to attend that first joint session together, was that, as a youth with Asperger’s, my therapist was influencing me into believing that I was trans. She feared it was some kind of brainwashing that my gullible mind could not resist the allure of, rather than believing my own account of what I was experiencing.

I also faced this same issue with doctors when trying to access medical support through the NHS. I would have general practitioners, mental health doctors and gender specialists alike raise an eyebrow when I acknowledged my Asperger’s diagnosis, and then proceed to take plenty of extra time asking me lengthy questions about how my autism symptoms manifested, to ensure I was of sound enough mind to make permanent choices about my body. Apart from the obvious infantilisation of people with conditions like Asperger’s on display there, I always just explained it as being like the decision to get a tattoo. I am an adult, over the age of 18, who has been deemed sober and mentally sound, and as such I have every right to permanently inject colours into my skin that may never go away. Why should I not be trusted to take slow-acting meds that are somewhat easier to reverse? Still, the fact I had to fight to be believed that I was mentally sound enough to make that choice says a lot about misunderstandings about autism spectrum conditions, but highlights that to assert that transition is unique in the permanent nature of its change to the body is completely inaccurate.”]

laura kate dale, from uncomfortable labels: my life as a gay autistic trans woman

[belladonnadawn]

Skinny Dipping

You wanted Isaac to unwind and rest, he agreed as long as he'd pick how. Isaac x Reader Content Warning: Semi NSFW. Minors dni!

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Isaac confirmed that the case was finally solved.

Those weeks have been particularly harsh for both of you. During those, fatigue was evident on Isaac's; the dark circles under his eyes, his disheveled hair, and his wrinkly suit showed how much the case took a toll on him. He used to hide his exhaustion around you but during that case, he doesn't even bother to do so.

You can't recall when you had a proper sleep or ate on schedule as you both immersed yourself in the case. It was hellish, but once the pay hit your account, you can't help but feel another relief.

It was almost seven o'clock when you began preparing dinner. Isaac walked towards the table with his laptop. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized that he was about to take another case.

“Isaac, what's that?” You asked, trying to confirm your suspicion.

“I was just checking emails, why?”

“I thought we're off for a week. No cases this week, remember?”

“Well, I thought that break was just for you,” He gently closed the laptop as he turned to focus on you.

Walking towards him, you crossed your arms, “Aren't you letting yourself rest?” You scolded him, tired of his neglect towards himself.

“I can handle mysel–”

“Bullshit.” You interjected, causing him to tilt his head out of surprise. “You're a human being, Isaac. You deserve to take a break once in a while, especially after that case.”

Moving closer to him, you sat beside him at the table. “Please, Isaac? Just a little break?” You held his hand, squeezing it and hoping that he'd feel your desperation.

A soft smile appeared on his face as he caved in, unable to resist you. “Alright, in one condition.”

Tilting your head, your curiosity piqued at his statement. “What condition?” You asked, uncertain if this is another one of his schemes or if he'll express his desire to you genuinely.

“I'll choose how.”

You squint your eyes, skeptical on how this will end. You never thought of him as someone who's enthusiastic over not working, and the fact that he's suggesting a method right now is quite unusual to you.

His soft smile turned into a grin as he senses your skepticism, “Come, follow me.” Isaac intertwined his hand with yours, leading you to his idea of having a break.

The water in the pool reflected the lights and along with the soft hum of the night, it felt something out of a fairytale. The place was well maintained even if he's the only one who uses it. It was tranquil and inviting, you can already feel how this can relieve you from stress and fatigue.

“Have you ever thought of skinny dipping?” Isaac spoke, breaking the silence.

Your head turned to him quickly, surprised at his suggestion. “Skinny dipping?” You repeated, trying to confirm what you heard.

He nodded, “I heard it's relaxing and I figured that we should try it.”

You only gave him a small nod, still surprised at his suggestion. The idea of doing something so intimate and exposing with him felt like a fever dream. You glanced at the pool and him, then the pool again; seemingly in deep thought.

“We don't have to do it if you're not comfortable,” Isaac spoke, sensing your trouble.

“Oh, no. It's just– that thing is new to me, I never thought you'd suggest it.” You chuckled awkwardly, trying to compose yourself in front of him.

Skinny dipping with Isaac; the thought of doing it with him is thrilling and new, but not unwelcome. If you were being honest, experiencing it with Isaac seems interesting and exciting. And the fact that he's the one who suggested it amplifies your feelings even more.

He cupped your cheek, looking at you with sincerity, “I understand, but if you want to back out, you can at any moment. I don't want you to do something that you don't want to. Alright?”

You nodded, giving him an assuring smile. He rarely requests for something like this, so you figured to let him have it.

The sounds of your clothes ruffling as you both took them off made you realize that what's about to happen is not just a dream, but a reality. You tried to focus on removing your clothes, but the thought that he's doing the same thing lingered in your mind, drifting you from what is currently happening.

Isaac went in first, his clothes discarded on the floor. He slowly descended down the pool, you could hear his soft sighs as he immersed himself in the water. You can't help but look at him, a small blush crept on your cheeks as you admired him.

Isaac looked heavenly, as if the gods and goddesses decided to mold him to perfection. You can't help but admire his toned physique, his muscled biceps, along with his charming face.

His back turned to you as you continued to undress yourself. Isaac cupped some water on his hands, pouring it all over his body. You almost fainted at the view as the water cascaded from his shoulder blades. Oh god, his shoulder blades— focus!

The cold air hits your naked body, you slowly get in the pool, body shivering as water surrounds you. As you stood in it, Isaac slowly turned to you with a smile, slowly approaching you.

“You're here. I'm glad,” He sighed, closing his eyes. “You look beautiful, (Y/N). You always have this ability to take my breath away,” His voice low and sensual as he admired you.

“Thank you,” Your cheeks pink as you smiled at him.

“No, thank you for joining me,” He chuckled. Your heart swelled seeing him in this state; carefree and relaxed– a contrast to his state a few days ago.

“I'm glad we can do this,” You gave him a small smile, trying to look away from him. It felt unusual to be in this situation. Being naked in front of him is not new, but to engage in this activity where the distortion from the water is the only one keeping you and him from seeing each other completely naked feels vulnerable.

The soft waves from the pool kept reminding you that this is real, that you're skinny dipping with Isaac. You're naked in a pool with him vulnerable as ever, admiring– and getting admired by your own lover.

Isaac seems to sense your feelings, he lifts your chin up so you could look at him, “You're red as a tomato,” he chuckled.

“I just feel quite warm,” You said bashfully, trying to ignore a thousand butterflies in your stomach right now.

“Really? I believe it's quite cold. Why do you feel hot?” His eyebrows quirked, clearly teasing you.

You can't help but feel flustered as he saw through you. There’s no point of hiding it when you're exposed in front of him– literally and figuratively.

He leaned closer, your back hitting the edge of the pool. You felt caged in his arms, and it was the most exhilarating feeling you ever had. Isaac leaned as he gently kissed your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

He pulled away wearing a smirk, “Oh? What's that sound?” You blushed harder as he teased you.

“I-It's nothing!”

Isaac gently grabbed your shoulder, his thumb caressing your skin. A boyish grin plastered on his face as he observes you, “You seem flustered. It's not the first time that I'm seeing you in this state, but seeing that I still have that effect on you awakens something in me.”

He cupped your cheeks, his thumb caressed your lips before tapping it. “You're cute,” A chuckle escaped his lips.

Unable to resist your desire, you pulled him close, lips crashing into his. Isaac let out a soft gasp out of surprise, but he immediately kissed back. His hand on your waist and the other in your neck. The kiss was tender, meant for yearning lovers.

You didn't know how much the case took away that much time from you and Isaac until you felt him again; skin to skin, lips to lips. Eyes closed as you both immersed yourself with a kiss. Soft moans and sighs escaped your lips as his collided with yours in sweet harmony.

Isaac pushed you further at the edge, deepening the kiss. He groaned as you pulled him closer, feeling more of you, hands wandering on his shoulder and neck. The urge to explore each other amplifying every second.

The water crashing on both of you made it more sensual. He gently pulled away, trying to catch his breath. Isaac gazed at you with admiration in his eyes, “I love you and you deserve to know how deep my love can be.”

Divider: Cafekitsune

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet. 

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing. 

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive. 

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings. 

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message. 

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen. 

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

[leanteam43]

I have a criminal minds request! Spencer x Female Reader, where she has a very big crush on him but they coworkers and everyone else knows it but him. She is so scared to admit to him because they are friends and coworkers. But she tries to drop hints and be flirty, but he is too oblivious to know she like him And one day she is just like "I love you, you smart idiot!"

Hot Fudge Pop-Tarts and a Box of Runts

(Spencer Reid One-Shot)

summary : head-over-heels!reader x oblivious!spencer

pronouns : she/her | female!reader

warnings : SLOW BURN LIKE DANG GIRL SPEED IT UPPPP, crappy vending machine facts i googled, mild swearing, reader technically not getting proper nutrients but nothing serious at all, also not proof-read so cope </3

a/n's : i girlbossed gutair is making me a crochet derek morggan - 🌿 | HAPPY VALENTINES DAY (pretend this came out for valentines day - 🌿) - 🎸 | mowmowmowmowmow - 🐇

It was no secret, like...seriously. No secret.

It was bad enough the whole team knew, but once the entire office started catching on...(Y/N) could barely enter the same room as Reid before someone made a teasing comment.

Yet somehow, someway, Spencer Reid still had zero clue that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had the biggest crush on him.

It really did start out as just an innocent crush. The way Spencer constantly seemed to gravitate towards (Y/N)'s cubicle, the way he always seemed to agree with (Y/N)'s profiles or the way Hotch constantly paired the two up when working a case.

So if you really thought about it, it was technically all Hotch's fault.

He had to have known that (Y/N)'s already budding affection for the Spencer would turn into something other than platonic.

It wasn't unjustified of (Y/N) to have a crush, I mean how could someone not have a crush on the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid?

From his charming smile, to that stupidly adorable satchel he carried around...(Y/N) honestly should've quit the first day she saw him if she wanted any chance of making it out alive.

And yet, no matter how many times he walked up to her desk to ask her opinion on a case. The crush only grew stronger.

The team certainly didn't help either.

"He never asks for my opinion on cases." Derek teased, leaning over (Y/N)'s cubicle wall. A cup of joe grasped tightly in his hand.

Before (Y/N) could answer, Emily chimed in. "Me neither!"

Both Derek and Emily looked towards Garcia who was on her way back to her 'BatCave' after dropping some files off on Hotch's desk.

"Nope!" She replied, already knowing the question that was soon to be flung at her.

Well that certainly had to mean something. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel heat rise to her cheeks as she realized just how often Spencer came clambering over to her desk asking about cases and reports.

Derek laughed, patting (Y/N) on the shoulder before returning to the report he'd been dragging his feet on all day.

----

Later that day, as (Y/N)'s workload was down to a few pieces of paperwork and a handful of emails. She found herself waltzing over to Spencer's desk, leaning against the cubicle in an attempt to seem relaxed.

It took a few moments for Reid to realize she was there, but when he did his big brown eyes trailed upwards like a puppy looking to it's owner.

He smiled, opening his mouth to talk but she cut him off beforehand. "Have you had lunch?" She asked boldly, mentally she was screaming at herself because of course Spencer had lunch. The man ran on a schedule.

A schedule she knew like the back of her hand.

"Oh! Yeah! I had leftover pad-thai." He smiles, his pen tapping against the desk rhythmically. (Y/N) let out a small "ohh..", trailing off into thought.

Spencer smiled at her, "...Did you need help on a case?" He asked, "No!" She shouted, before clearing her throat.

"No. I um- I wanted to see...if..." (Y/N) took a deep breath before biting the bullet. She was going to do this because she wanted too, because she wanted to spend time with Spencer. Alone.

"I wanted to see if you would be interested in accompanying me to the vending machine." She said, immediately regretting it when Spencer's brows furrowed and his head tilted.

"It's just down the hall?" He questioned, giving (Y/N) a puzzled look. "I don't like the snacks in that one." (Y/N) lied, she actually only liked the snacks in that one.

That totally wasn't the reason she originally wanted to be in the BAU though.

Spencer thought for a moment before he stood up, grabbing his water bottle on the way before waiting for (Y/N) to lead the way.

----

"Y'know, Derek's jealous." (Y/N) joked as they waited for the elevator to meet the bottom floor. "Jealous? Jealous of who?" He asked, his voice hitching like it always did when he asked a question.

"Of me" (Y/N) mumbled, trying to hide her smirk. "...because you don't ask him for help with cases...only me." (Y/N) added, the context causing Reid to laugh softly.

"Seriously? I thought Derek had a much stronger ego than that." He joked, (Y/N) wrinkled their nose up in laughter as the duo stepped out into the lobby of the building. Now in pursuit of the vending machines.

"I like how you format your reports." Reid commented as they turned a corner, in all honesty (Y/N) had zero clue where she was headed but as long as she pretended to be know where she was going, which she was scarily good at, Spencer would follow along.

"Really? Hotch said Strauss complained about them the first few times." (Y/N) remarked, a sense of pride spreading over her chest. Spencer liked the way she wrote her reports.

"It's easy to follow, but still detailed." He complimented, (Y/N) felt their ears turning a light shade of red.

----

After a lot of dead ends ( (Y/N) had words for the person who designed this building.), the duo had finally found the Lobby-Level vending machine.

"Y'know Florida holds the record for the most vending machines." Spencer noted as (Y/N) searched for what she wanted.

"Really?" She entertained. Unlike most of the team, (Y/N) never actually got tired of hearing Spencer's facts and statistics. In fact, she quite enjoyed them.

"Yeah! Texas and California being close runner-ups." He smiled, excited she'd taken interest in the fact he had spewed. "Don't mess with Texas." (Y/N) joked as she dialed in the correct numbers for the treats she wanted.

"That's all your eating for lunch?" Spencer asked, eyebrow raised. "It's not like we're traveling today, I don't need lots." (Y/N) shrugged. "But that's it? Just hot fudge Pop-Tarts and a box of Runts??" Spencer questioned.

"I'll be fine, you worry too much." (Y/N) laughed, picking up their treats and tucking them into her purse. Spencer rolled his eyes as he moved his hair away from his face.

As the two made their way back upstairs, (Y/N) couldn't help but stand a bit closer to Spencer. Even if there was nobody else there.

"Y'know Reid, your the only one I consult on cases too." (Y/N) shared, nervously biting the inside of her cheek as Spencer took a moment to reply.

"I know." Spencer replied, a smile evident in his tone. "Of course you know." (Y/N) teased, stepping out of the elevator.

Spencer laughed, beginning to make his way back over to his desk.

----

A few weeks had passed and Spencer hadn't missed a single trip down to the lobby vending machine.

"Y'know, you don't have to come with me." (Y/N) said, feeling bad she'd dragged Spencer away from his paperwork at least once a day.

"I know, but what if the vending machine like...falls on you?" Spencer joked, though the worry had popped up a few times in his mind. "In what world would that ever happen??" (Y/N) asked as she waited for her box of Runts to fall from the spiral.

"37 deaths happened just in the years 1978-1995." Spencer spewed, causing (Y/N) to roll her eyes. "Well, if that happens to me I promise you can sue to FBI and keep the money." She joked, picking up the boxed candy.

Spencer wrinkled his nose, "I don't want money, I want my coworker." He said. (Y/N) felt their heart beat faster. "Really? You'd take me over winning a lawsuit and getting rich?" She asked, eyes meeting his as he leaned against the wall.

"(Y/N), if I wanted to be rich I'd play more poker." He joked, causing (Y/N) to stifle a laugh. "It's still sweet." She mumbled, causing a light pink blush to spread across Spencer's face.

Holy Shit. She'd done it.

After working for him for over three years, after tirelessly trying to flirt with the man. She'd gotten Dr. Spencer Reid to blush.

Spencer blinked a few times before taking a deep breath, "Uh- are you going to Rossi's after work?" He asked, obviously trying to switch the subject.

(Y/N) didn't answer. Still flabbergasted over the fact Spencer Reid blushed because of her.

Spencer waited a reply, switching between glancing over at her and up to check the how many floors until they reached theirs.

"...(Y/N)?" He asked, his tone turning to one of concern.

Maybe it was the fact that (Y/N) had been surviving off of vending machine food for lunch everyday just to spend time with Spencer.

Or maybe it was the fact she'd waited 3+ years to get a blush out of Spencer.

Either way it didn't matter, because (Y/N)'s mouth started speaking before she could determine if what she was saying was a good idea.

"I like you." She said, there was no taking it back now. Not even the butterflies that instantly appeared in her stomach could take away what she'd just said.

Spencer's brow furrowed.

"Three. Years." She breathed. "I have liked you for over three years, Spencer." She said, her voice more confident now.

"(Y/N)-" Spencer's eyes glanced at the electronical sign that told him what floor they were on just for a moment before snapping back to her eyes.

"Over three years, I have...flirted with you, bought you gifts, I learned how to play chess." (Y/N) listed off on her fingers, the butterflies in her stomach turning to wasps.

"You love chess?" He said, tilting his head in confusion.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU CARE ABOUT?" (Y/N) yelled, "I hate chess. It's the most boring board game there is. My favorite board game is CANDYLAND." (Y/N) continued.

"I have put my love life on pause for over three years." (Y/N)'s voiced filled the elevator.

"For, you." She continued.

Her voice was so powerful, so full of frustration and desire that neither of the Agents heard the elevator 'Ding!' nor the door open.

"Spencer Reid you are the smartest idiot I have ever met." She finished, taking a deep breath.

The silence that followed was so thick, it couldn't have been cut with a butter knife.

"...I like you too, (Y/N)." Spencer muttered out, a deep shade of red overtaking his face.

Cheers.

Spencer and (Y/N) whipped their head towards the elevator doors, finally realizing that they'd opened.

There Derek and Garcia stood, cheering. Derek's arm in the way of the doors closing as Garcia excitedly bounced up in down spewing out excited nonsense. "Finally! Finally!" She cheered, her hair bouncing excitedly.

(Y/N)'s face turned hot with embarrassment as she looked between all three of her colleagues. Spencer's face was still red, but it was unclear for what reason.

(Y/N) pushed past both Garcia and Derek. Making a beeline for her desk, grabbing her car keys and rushing to the stairwell because the elevators were still too crowded.

"(Y/N)! Wait!" Spencer called after her, his lanky legs struggling to keep up. Reid didn't think he'd ever seen her run this fast in the field.

(Y/N), of course did not wait.

----

After both Garcia and Emily confirmed that (Y/N) hadn't quit her job out of pure embarrassment, all that was left to do is wait.

Hotch informed Spencer that (Y/N) would be coming back to work after a week, she'd used a whole sick week just to avoid the embarrassment.

Well, a week was up and Spencer was pacing by his desk looking at both the clock on the wall and his watch as if that would make time go by any faster.

Thankfully, the bundle of flowers he picked up from the supermarket yesterday hadn't begun to wilt. The hot fudge Pop-Tarts and box of runts were waiting patiently for (Y/N) to walk out of the elevator any second.

Spencer, however, was not waiting as patiently. "Kid, if you walk in one more circle your gonna tear the carpet." Derek mumbled, not taking his eyes away from the paperwork.

"What if she took another week off? What if she really did quit-"

DING!

Spencer's eyes immediately met yours as soon as you stepped into the bullpen. Then, he watched as your eyes trailed down to the flowers and treats he'd displayed on your desk.

A sweet smile was shared between the two of you. Spencer took initiation (it was only fair, you'd only been leading the way for over three years) and walked over to you, ignoring Derek's whispered encouragement.

"Spence, this is so sweet but...I think if I eat one more Pop-Tart I'm gonna actually need a sick week." (Y/N) said, laughing quietly.

"I KNEW IT!" Spencer yelled, causing her laughs to grow louder.

"You really are the smartest idiot I know." She joked, causing Spencer to roll his eyes.

Spencer smiled, "I uh...there's this place I like to go for lunch if-"

"Oh my god, yes." (Y/N) breathed, excitedly holding onto Spencer's arm. Spencer laughed, nodding.

"It's a date."

[dinodanicus]

you can skip this wall of text its just about the scam this illustration was involved in.

This fairly ordinary illustration of two hands holding was involved in a very weird and convoluted scam. Last month I was commission to illustrate this image for invitations meant to go out for a supposed wedding anniversary coming up in March. The whole commission seemed odd to me I mainly draw dinosaurs and aliens. Not many people know I also draw people but the buyer who called himself Petterson Reid was offering to pay 300 up front and 200 after the work was finished. A nice offer for what was a very simple illustration. I took the job and sent him a very rough sketch of the hands to show him what the final image might look like. He liked the sketch and told me to finish the image after he sent the first payment I went ahead and finished the image that night. I held onto the picture to see if he would really send the 300 dollars first. The buyer wanted to send a check by mail which is weird but I thought he might have been a boomer who didn't understand how to use PayPal. His emails and text seemed like something my grandmother would write very proper and overly polite. I was fairly suspicious of him and waited to see if a check would actually be delivered. To my surprise a check did arrive a week later from Petterson Reid except it was for 2,790 dollars. knowing this was far too much money I asked him if it was a mistake. He said the extra money was for a PayPal invoice to the printers involved in the invitations. He wanted me to use the extra money on the check to pay the printers on his behalf. Again very weird but I chalked it up to an old person who didn't know how to pay online. I cashed the check the next day, since it was from an out of state bank they were putting it on hold for 3 days to see if the funds would clear. I told the buyer about the three day waiting period and asked for the invoice I was suppose to be paying and he went absolutely ape shit. He claimed I was trying to steal his money and was threatening to pursue legal action I was completely shocked by the change in attitude. I had to mute my phone because he kept sending wave after wave of threatening texts. At this point I was 90% sure this was some sort of scam but when I called the bank they said there was nothing to do until the hold expired. I was confident it wouldn't then to my surprise the check cleared and the money was in my account. At this point I had the finished artwork and the money so I wanted to get this crazy asshole on his way so I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. I told him to send the invoice for the printer and I would pay it with the money on the check then I would send the picture and our business would be done. This prick sends some half assed looking invoice with a payable link on PayPal. When I try to pay, it says payment will be held till Feb 7th. Apparently this date is too late for the printers so now that processing payment has been canceled by the printer in favor of a new payment process through Zelle. I was trying to figure out what was going on, if its a scam what is the take the entirety of the check was still in my account it didn't even say it was pending. I go to pay on Zelle and discover the 2,790 dollars has been rescinded by the bank. I call and learn this ass hair had sent a forged check to the bank in an effort to have me pay these fake invoices with my own money. He guessed the bank would deposit the check without fully vetting it for the standard 10 days since I'm a long time member. He knew he had until about five a clock that day before the bank would catch the discrepancy. He was posing as the printer in order to scam 4,740 dollars from me through both attempted payment methods. luckily for me I'm broke as hell right now and didn't have the money in my own account to cover either payment with out the check. everything has been taken care of now I just thought I better share this story since I've never seen a scam like this before. It took an entire month for him to essentially get nothing I really don't know what to think of any of this its such a weird scheme.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Full-Cast Audiobook Imaginations

So with the sequel on the horizon, we’re not that far from a full-cast re-recording of the audiobook, right?

I listen to the audiobook more than I read the book, mostly because I can listen to it while doing other stuff, and no offence to the original narrator, but while it’s good, it’s not the best. I kind of cringe at his British accent for Henry.

So I have a lot of thoughts.

The thing is with an audiobook, we can get both the wonderful vocal performance of the movie cast, and the iconic book lines, the ones that didn’t, and frankly, could never have made it into the movie due to format restrictions:

Sexy explicit sex scenes

Sexy explicit sex lines “For fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night”, “I want you to fuck me”, “I’ve been thinking about your mouth on me all well”

Emails in their entirety

Email openings and endings “Huge Raging Heache Prince Henry of Who Cares”, “First Son of Shirking Responsibilities”, “Horrible Revolting Heir”, “First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege”, “Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft”

Email historical quotes “The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you”, “I meet you in every dream”

Swearing and explicit language “fucking shit” “I fucking love you, okay?”

Internal Struggle

Iconic lines that didn’t make it into the movie for adaptation and story purposes “I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you” “I love him on purpose”, “America, he is my choice”

Like, imagine hearing all of this in Taylor, in Nick, in Sarah and Uma and Ellie and Rachel and Thomas and Aneesh and Cfiton etc etc 's voice. Just imagine it!!!

Another thing to add is that to put it in simple terms, the current version of the audiobook does the dialogue lines closer to theatre acting: more enunciated, more inflection, and slower. Which is fine in its own right (I’m a theatre kid). But with the cast audiobook, hopefully, we can get them to do something closer to film acting, i.e. closer to reality, reading the lines as they would if they were to shoot those scenes.

Which is gonna make big moments like sexy times and confrontations a lot of fun :D

And something really entertaining to think about is now that we also know the cast and their dynamic is thinking about how much fun they would have while recording the book, especially when they have scenes together. And it’s not necessarily just Taynick, it’s group scenes with the whole Super Six, like the karaoke scene in chapter seven, or the Texas Holiday Scenes with Firstprince and Junora.

Like, Imagine it, the actors in the same recording studio, maybe even on the same couch:

Taylor and Nick laughing while reading off the insults from the earlier frienemies days of their relationship

Taylor and Nick squirming and playfully hitting each other when recording lines for sexy scenes like the first night, or the tack room, or Wimbledon

The cast shouting and booing (playfully) whenever someone messes up a line in their group scenes

The chaotic fun that is the LA karaoke scene, everybody’s laughing, Ellie gets to be the singular sober person while everyone else acts drunk, Nick singing Don’t Stop Me Now shittier (Nick has the voice of an angel but book Henry can’t sing for shit),

Taylor and Nick giving each other hugs after screaming at each other for the Kensington confrontation

Nick grinning smugly at every book height difference mention (:<

More of Taylor speaking Spanish!!!

Thomas gets to be a proper asshole villain who later turns into awkward older brother who's trying

Ellie gets to do the pie metaphor grief monologue  

Taylor gets to do another speech (he’s really good at delivering speeches)

 I want to quickly reiterate that I am in no way unhappy with what we got in the end for the movie; I love it to pieces. However, as Matthew and Casey said, there are two “canonical” versions of the story now, and since audiobooks are an option, it would be really nice to connect this aspect of the movie verse with the book verse in some sort of middle ground.

So yeah Audible? Amazon? Get on with it!!!

@almightaylor this was the long post I mentioned, I literally started this in July lol