#but those are the main three in this category that i know of

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?” 

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble. 

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered. 

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—” 

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ‘lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him���his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary. 

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you. 

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew. 

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking. 

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen. 

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles. 

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom. 

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.” 

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick. 

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines.  His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command. 

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline. 

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror. 

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.” 

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud. 

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A. 

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing. 

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control. 

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting. 

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?” 

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly. 

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession. 

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think… maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

PART THREE

---

taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

[reidmarieprentiss]

Turning Tables

Summary: The team finds you and Spencer, you come back to work after recovering, things are tense. Spencer realizes he messed up, but you're not so quick to forgive.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content (16+), mentions of hookup culture, talks of cases, reader is heavily assaulted by unsub, broken bones, dumb man Spencer, missed signals, bad communication

Word count: 6.9k

a/n: hiii there will be a part three!!

main masterlist part one part three

The team finally found the two of you in the abandoned warehouse, but the sight they came upon was brutal. Spencer had a black eye and a split lip from being hit, his face bruised and bloodied, but you— you had taken the worst of it. The unsub had unleashed relentless violence on you. You’d been slapped, punched, kicked, spit on, cut, and thrown around like a ragdoll. The unsub’s twisted plan was clear: break Spencer by hurting you, the "weaker" hostage, using your suffering to force him into talking. But you both knew that wasn’t an option. Spencer couldn’t give the unsub what he wanted, no matter how much it tore him apart to watch you take those blows.

Every hit that landed on you felt like it was striking Spencer himself. He watched, helpless, feeling the pain of every blow as though it was his own flesh being torn and bruised. Yet he remained silent, knowing that any begging or pleading from him would only make the unsub escalate. He couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t put you through more than what you were already enduring, though it felt like it was killing him inside to watch.

When the team finally stormed in, you were unconscious, your body battered and limp as they carted you away on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Hotch approached Spencer, his voice calm but filled with concern as he asked, "What happened to Y/N?"

Spencer, sitting in the back of another ambulance, stared blankly ahead. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down by the guilt and horror of what had transpired. His voice was quiet, flat. “She was the target.”

Hotch took in Spencer's empty gaze, the exhaustion and anguish etched into every line of his face, and knew better than to press for more. They’d have to wait until you woke up to understand the full scope of what happened in that warehouse. But even then, Hotch feared that some wounds might never truly heal.

—

You eventually did wake up, groggy but relieved to find that, despite the brutality you endured, you had very little internal damage. The doctors assured you that your body just needed time to heal. Two weeks of paid leave were granted as you recovered, a rare gesture of empathy from Chief Strauss, who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

As the painkillers faded and your mind cleared, the questions from your team began. You sat with them, still feeling tender but able to think straight, recounting everything you remembered from that night. You and Spencer had been investigating a house, following up on an anonymous tip. It seemed routine until the moment you two split up to check different rooms. That’s when it happened—ambushed from behind, a cloth drenched in chloroform shoved over your mouth. After that, everything went black.

"I only remember waking up inside the warehouse with Spencer," you explained, your voice steady but laced with tension. The memories still fresh, the pain still vivid. "The unsub wanted me. I was the real target. They said I was more of a challenge than any of their other victims."

JJ, sitting beside you, asked softly, her voice gentle and careful. “Why did they take Spencer?”

You heaved a breath, feeling the weight of the answer on your chest. “They thought if they took him too, they could find out where the rest of the team was. They wanted Spencer to tell you all it was a dead end, to send you off on a different trail.” You paused, your breath shaking as you continued. “They said if Spencer did that, they’d release him. But they made it clear… they just wanted me.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of your words hanging in the air. Your team exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They didn’t need to. You all understood what it meant—that the unsub was willing to let Spencer go, but you were never supposed to walk out of that warehouse alive.

—

When you returned to work after your leave, the atmosphere shifted. The entire team was happy to have you back, and there were warm smiles all around. Spencer, however, seemed unsure how to approach you now. Still, he smiled as you passed by, his voice tentative yet sincere as he said, “I’m really glad you’re back and feeling better.”

You returned the smile, a brief and polite response escaping your lips. “Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.” The exchange was short, almost too brief, and you both seemed to sense the unspoken tension lingering between you. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by JJ, who had grown close to you since the incident. She had been your rock, someone you confided in more and more. 

When she found a quiet moment alone with you, JJ slipped into the conversation with ease. “Hey, how’s your first day back?” she asked with her trademark smile, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone.

You shrugged lightly, trying to mask any unease. “Same as usual, I guess. It feels good to be working again, though. I was getting restless at home.”

JJ laughed knowingly, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean.” Then, her voice dropped, softer now, as she leaned in slightly. “Did something happen between you and Spence?”

The question caught you off guard, your brows knitting in surprise. Did Spencer say something to her? You quickly tried to brush it off with a joke. “Other than, you know, getting kidnapped together? Not that I know of.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced. She made a face like she wasn’t buying your casual response. “Are you sure? You two haven’t really been talking much. I guess I just assumed something like that would have brought you closer… in a weird, awful sort of way.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to deflect again. “Yeah… we didn’t get the trauma bonding memo, I guess.”

JJ still looked skeptical, her eyes scanning your face for cracks in your armor. “Okay, well… just, if you need to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Her offer was genuine, and the sincerity in her voice made you pause. You smiled back at her, feeling a small but comforting warmth settle in. “Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate that.”

Across the bullpen, Spencer had been listening to the conversation from his desk, his heart aching at what JJ was implying. He’d been mulling over the same thought—that the trauma you both went through should have drawn you closer. Shared experiences like that often created a bond, an unspoken connection forged in survival. But instead, he could feel the distance between you growing wider, and it tore him up inside.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how hard this must be for you, how you were facing it all alone. You were still relatively new to the team, and as far as Spencer knew, this was your first time being kidnapped. After his first time, he had shut everyone out. Granted, he’d been addicted to drugs back then, but that isolation still hadn’t been the right path. It had only deepened the pain, and he feared you might be doing the same thing.

He could only hope you were receiving the support you needed—support he wasn’t sure he could give you anymore.

—

Later that week, you found yourself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the sharp ache in your side as you reached for a mug to make tea. The pain in your ribs flared up with every stretch, the broken bones protesting loudly. As your arm extended toward the cupboard, the burning sensation became unbearable, and you yelped, clutching your side in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern as he walked into the room just in time to see you wince in pain. He was by your side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how far he could go. “Are you okay?”

You grunted, trying to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, just... need a mug.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod before stepping in to help. He reached up with ease, grabbing the mug he knew was your favorite—the one you always used for your tea. “Here,” he said softly, placing it on the counter in front of you. “Making tea?”

A small flutter stirred in your chest at the realization that he remembered both your favorite mug and your preference for tea. It was such a small detail, but it felt significant in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond that still lingered between you despite everything.

—

You laughed as you watched Spencer pour himself yet another cup of coffee. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spencer! Who drinks coffee this late?”

Spencer chuckled along with you, lifting his cup with a playful grin. “Me! Obviously!” he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug with a mock sense of pride.

You bumped his hip with yours, gently nudging him out of the way as you reached for the kettle. “Well, some of us actually like to sleep,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

What you didn’t notice was the way Spencer had stared at you after that, a soft, affectionate gaze lingering on your face, the kind of look that held more meaning than words could express.

—

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, knowing you needed the help but still feeling a little self-conscious about it.

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your favorite tea from the cupboard and began steeping it for you, his movements calm and precise. He didn’t ask if you needed more assistance—he just did it, like he knew exactly what you needed in that moment. It was a silent kindness, one that reminded you of the Spencer you knew before everything had gotten so complicated.

As the tea steeped, you leaned back slightly, watching him with gratitude and lingering uncertainty. The simplicity of the moment, of him helping you with something as mundane as making tea, felt like a brief return to the way things used to be between you.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Spencer asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in front of him rather than meeting your eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something tense beneath it, something unspoken that lingered between the two of you.

You frowned, feeling a bit of confusion and then a flicker of annoyance rising up. Was he only doing this out of guilt? You straightened up slightly, crossing your arms over your chest despite the ache in your ribs.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to suck up to me because of what happened,” you said, your words sharper than you intended. You regretted it immediately, but the frustration had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now—how careful everyone was being around you, how things with Spencer had grown so strange and distant since the kidnapping.

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand still resting on the counter as he absorbed your words. His jaw tightened, and for a second, he didn’t move or say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m not… sucking up to you.”

You huffed, unsure where this conversation was heading but feeling the tension building between you. “Then what is this? You’ve barely said two words to me since I came back, and now suddenly you’re… what? Trying to make up for it by being overly nice?”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned to face you, his expression guarded. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice measured, like he was trying not to let his own emotions show. “I know things are… different now. But I didn’t want to push you into talking or pretending everything’s okay if it’s not. That’s all.”

The frustration in you wavered, your annoyance softening as you realized he wasn’t trying to guilt-trip or coddle you. He was as lost in this new dynamic as you were, both of you navigating the aftermath of something you hadn’t fully processed. His hesitation wasn’t about sucking up—it was about not knowing how to be around you anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to fix this, or me.”

Spencer's eyes softened slightly as he watched you, his own uncertainty flickering across his face. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, almost a whisper now. “I just… don’t want to make things worse.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and suddenly the air felt heavy, filled with everything you both hadn’t said since the warehouse.

“Worse, right,” you scoffed, the bitterness lacing your voice before you could stop it. “Sorry I started an awful chain of events.” You could feel the hurt bubbling up again, the weight of rejection you’d been carrying ever since that day in the warehouse. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional bruise left behind, the wound that hadn’t healed.

Spencer looked at you, his expression faltering. He opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, unsure of how to mend what had already spiraled so far out of control. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his words stumbling out in a rush. “We were under a lot of stress… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, searching for comfort.”

You felt your heart drop at his words. He thought it was just a fleeting moment, something you’d said out of desperation. That stung worse than anything. You blinked back the frustration and the tears that were threatening to spill over, the pain in your side flaring as you tried to catch your breath.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, the door to the break room slamming behind you with a sharp, echoing crack.

Spencer stood there, stunned, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in the silence. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. He didn’t realize until it was too late that you hadn’t just left the conversation—you had left the room entirely, and maybe… left something between you both behind.

He clenched his hands into fists, a knot tightening in his stomach. He didn’t know how to make this right, how to undo the damage that had already been done. All he knew was that you had walked away and it felt as if he was losing you for good.

—

Things on the team settled into a new rhythm, even if it wasn’t quite the same. Everyone seemed to accept that you and Spencer were no longer as close as you had once been, though there was an undercurrent of tension. The two of you weren’t assigned together anymore, and that seemed to smooth things out for the most part. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Spencer kept a quiet distance, while you partnered up with Derek in the field.

Spencer couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept in when he saw you with Derek. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch had reassigned you because he thought Spencer couldn’t protect you, that you needed someone strong like Derek to keep you safe. The thought left him feeling sour, inadequate, like he’d somehow failed. But then, just as quickly, he’d get mad at himself for even thinking that way. You didn’t need protecting. You were more than capable of handling yourself in the field. You had survived worse than most, even if he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

What gnawed at him most, though, was how happy you seemed with Derek. The way you laughed and joked with him, talking easily like you once did with Spencer. It stirred something ugly inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t deny that Derek was the kind of man who seemed perfect—strong, confident, and charming. A man who could sweep anyone off their feet. He hated that it bothered him, but he’d never allow himself to admit that he was afraid you’d fall for Derek. That kind of jealousy was too much to confront.

You, on the other hand, were content with your new partnership. Derek was easygoing and didn’t pry into your personal life. He let you manage things on your own terms, only asking questions when you willingly brought something up. It was a refreshing change, especially after everything that had happened with Spencer. You didn’t want to talk about what had gone wrong. You were too embarrassed, too ashamed of how vulnerable you had felt. It was easier to leave it behind, buried where no one could see the cracks.

But despite the professional ease, there was still a part of you that missed what you and Spencer once had, even if you’d never admit that either.

—

On one particular case, you and Derek celebrated the capture of an unsub with a big, triumphant hug. In the heat of the moment, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as the rest of the team cheered. It had been the two of you who made the breakthrough that led to the unsub’s hideout, and everyone was thrilled. You were beaming, caught up in the excitement of the team.

But Spencer, standing on the sidelines, was stewing. His mind kept replaying the mistake he had made, the detail he had missed that Derek had caught. And now, it was Derek who had caught you, too. Watching the two of you laughing, hugging, and celebrating felt like a punch to his gut. His insecurities gnawed at him, building into a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

The rest of the team, however, smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you so joyful and healed enough to engage in lighthearted horseplay with Derek. The dark cloud that had followed you since the kidnapping seemed to have lifted, and it was a relief to everyone.

When the team returned to Quantico, Penelope was quick to corral everyone for celebratory drinks at the local bar. You stuck close to JJ and Penelope, grateful for their company as the night went on. After a few drinks, they pulled you out onto the dance floor, laughter bubbling up between the three of you as the music played. You let yourself go, dancing with JJ and Penelope, the worries of the past few months fading in the glow of the evening.

But it wasn’t until Derek joined you girls on the dance floor that something shifted. Spencer, sitting at the bar, felt a surge of jealousy flood through him. Derek was there again, touching your arm, laughing with you, spinning you around as the girls cheered. Spencer’s vision blurred with red-hot anger, the insecurities and feelings he had been burying for weeks now boiling over.

Before he could think twice, Spencer stormed over, grabbing Derek by the arm and pulling him outside the bar. The sudden outburst left Derek confused, glancing at Spencer with genuine concern. “What the hell, Reid?” Derek asked, his voice sharp with confusion but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

Spencer was breathing heavily, steam practically pouring out of his ears as he glared at Derek. “Do you like her?” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.

Derek blinked, taken aback. “Who? Like who, Reid?”

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted, his voice louder than he intended. “You keep touching her, and dancing with her, and laughing like—like you’re trying to be with her!”

Derek’s face softened in realization, and he held up his hands defensively, trying to calm Spencer down. “Whoa, whoa, kid,” Derek said slowly, his tone measured. “You think something’s going on with me and Y/N?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he struggled to control the emotions that had been brewing for so long. “I… I don’t know. I just—every time I see you with her, I can’t help but think you’re—”

Derek cut him off gently, shaking his head. “Spencer, man, it’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”

But Spencer wasn’t ready to accept it. “Then why do you keep acting like that with her? I see it, Derek! You’re always laughing with her, touching her, like you’re… like you’re taking my place.”

Derek sighed, finally starting to understand what was bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, Reid. What’s going on? ‘Taking your place’? You know Hotch was the one who reassigned us all. It’s just work, man.”

Spencer huffed in frustration, his foot kicking at the loose gravel beneath him. His mind raced, emotions swirling, but he couldn’t seem to piece together a coherent response. He felt like a rubber band stretched too far, about to snap, and it wasn’t just about work. He knew that much.

Derek watched him closely, reading the tension in Spencer’s body, the unease in his eyes. “That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Derek questioned carefully, his tone soft but pressing for the truth.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed even further, his head dipping slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky with frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront what was really bothering him. But he also couldn’t stand feeling like this—watching from the sidelines, seeing you with Derek, seeing you laugh and smile like he wasn’t even part of your life anymore.

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Spencer could hear. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, but he wasn’t accusing. He was just trying to get Spencer to open up, to confront whatever it was that had him spiraling.

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the ground as his heart pounded. “I… I didn’t mean for there to be,” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “It’s just… I don’t know how to be around her anymore. Everything’s different, and I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You care about her. More than you’re letting on.”

Spencer’s silence was answer enough. He cared about you deeply—more than he had ever allowed himself to admit, even to himself. And now, watching you get closer to Derek while he kept his distance, it felt like he was losing you, piece by piece.

“I don’t know what happened in that warehouse," Derek began, his voice steady and understanding. "I read the report, but I’m sure there were some forgotten details… stuff that can’t be put into words.” He paused for a moment, giving Spencer a chance to process what he was saying. “If there’s something you need to tell her, just do it, Reid. Y/N isn’t the type to laugh at you or shut you out.”

Spencer sniffled, the tears coming against his will, his emotions too raw to hold back any longer. “I... I know that,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. He wiped at his eyes, feeling small and overwhelmed. “I just want to go back to how things were,” he complained softly, his words sounding almost petulant, like a child wanting to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Derek’s heart softened at Spencer’s admission. He had seen this kind of pain before, knew how trauma could twist things, how it could fracture even the strongest of bonds. “That’s not gonna happen, kid,” Derek said with sympathy, shaking his head gently. “What happened to the two of you… that changes people. It changes the way you see the world, and it changes how you see each other.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words sink in. He knew Derek was right. He knew things had changed, that he had changed, and so had you. But hearing it made the ache in his chest sharper, more real.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild together,” Derek added, his voice hopeful. “It’s not about going back to how things were, Spencer. It’s about moving forward—together. You’ve both been through hell, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. You still have a chance.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Derek shook his head, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only too late if you give up on her. Don’t wait until you lose her for good before you try to fix things. You care about her, Reid. She needs to hear that from you.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding slightly, though the fear still gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he was ready, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. He had to find the courage to face you, to face what had changed, and to see if there was still a chance to rebuild the connection he had feared was lost forever.

After their tense conversation outside the bar, Spencer headed home, deciding it was best not to linger. He didn’t want to ruin your night by bringing up anything uncomfortable, and the idea of watching you dance with Derek—or worse, with other men—was too much for him. The weight of jealousy and regret was already suffocating, and he needed space to figure out what he was really feeling.

It turned out to be a good thing he left when he did. After Spencer and Derek stepped outside, you were approached by a very handsome, very suave man. He had an easy charm about him, the kind that made conversation flow effortlessly. His flirtatious smile and smooth lines quickly caught your attention, and for the first time in a while, you felt yourself relax, enjoying the moment without overthinking it.

One drink turned into two, and before you knew it, the night had slipped away. The man offered to take you home, and in the haze of alcohol and the desire to forget the complicated feelings with Spencer, you agreed. You didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid, about the tension between you and Spencer, or how much everything had changed.

That night, you went home with the charming stranger, eager to escape the weight of the unresolved emotions that had been building for weeks. But in the back of your mind, even as you tried to lose yourself in someone new, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another way of avoiding what you were really feeling.

—

That one night started a fire inside you, one that you hadn’t realized had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long. The realization that—even if it was just for a fleeting moment—you were wanted, desired, was intoxicating. After everything that had happened with Spencer, after feeling rejected and unsure of yourself, it was refreshing to be wanted without complications or emotional baggage.

The feeling of being desired, even if only for one night at a time, ignited something within you. It gave you a sense of control, of freedom, and it felt good—so good—to be seen as someone worth chasing. So you leaned into it. You found your place in the hookup culture, where the rules were simple and the emotional weight was nonexistent. One night, one person, no strings attached.

And it was fun. The thrill of meeting someone new, the brief connection that didn’t require anything more than mutual attraction, gave you a rush. Sure, the expense of condoms and the constant reminder to stay on top of frequent STD testing was a minor annoyance, but it was worth it for the feeling of power and liberation that came with it.

You felt like you were finally getting your fix, like the hole that had been left after your complicated feelings with Spencer was being filled—albeit temporarily. It wasn’t about love or deep connection anymore. It was about reclaiming something for yourself, something you hadn’t realized you were missing. You had found an escape, and for now, that was enough.

But then, one day, you made a mistake—a slip of the tongue in the office. You weren’t necessarily trying to keep your new lifestyle a secret, but you hadn’t planned on making it common knowledge either. Your friends and coworkers didn’t need to know every detail of how you were trying to get over Spencer, how you had buried your hurt in casual flings to escape the complicated feelings lingering from the rejection.

It happened when Penelope asked about your weekend plans in the bullpen. You casually mentioned that you were busy, but the response sparked curiosity.

"Busy? With what?" JJ asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. As your close friend, she felt like she would have known if you had something going on. She sensed something was off.

You laughed awkwardly, realizing you had stepped into dangerous territory. "Uh, just... seeing a man."

Penelope's face lit up with excitement. "You have a date?" she asked, her glee impossible to hide.

"Not exactly..." you trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, but you should’ve known better.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Little miss thing, do you have a scheduled booty call?" he asked, his tone filled with mischief.

Your face flushed fiercely, the blush creeping up your neck. The small, involuntary smile on your lips gave you away instantly, and before you could protest, Penelope squealed with delight, while JJ chuckled in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Penelope exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "You minx! Why didn’t you tell us?"

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I mean, it’s nothing serious. Just… you know… having some fun."

But what you didn’t notice was Spencer, who had overheard the entire conversation from across the bullpen. His face paled, and his heart sank as the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. You were seeing other people. You were sleeping with other men, and it was painfully clear—you were trying to get over him.

The girl he had always wanted—you—had wanted him back. That truth crashed into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for, and the weight of it left him standing frozen, unable to process how much he had lost. Spencer felt the deep ache of regret, gnawing at him with every word you spoke to your friends. You had moved on—or at least, you were trying to. And it was all because of him, because he had pushed you away when you had been vulnerable, honest, and open with him.

At that moment, Spencer couldn’t deny it any longer. He finally admitted it to himself—he wants you. He likes you. Maybe he even loves you. He always has. 

The realization of what he had been running from all this time hit him harder than any unsub ever could. He had been too scared to face it, too afraid of messing things up between you, too unsure of how to handle his own feelings. But now, watching you laugh awkwardly with your coworkers about casual hookups and hearing how you were slipping further and further away from him, it became painfully clear—he had already messed things up. 

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd been denying for so long. He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you laughed with, the one you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be more than your friend, more than someone you used to be close to. He wanted you in his life, in every possible way.

—

Spencer had always been on your speed dial—back when things were simpler, back when you called him almost every day, your friendship close and easy. So when his phone buzzed after 11 p.m. on a Saturday, his first instinct wasn’t concern. But after everything that had happened between the two of you lately, the timing made him uneasy. This wasn’t normal anymore. He hadn’t heard from you in weeks, not like this, and certainly not at this hour.

His heart pounded as he grappled for the phone, his mind racing. If you were calling him this late, something had to be wrong. He didn’t hesitate for a second, fumbling to answer as quickly as possible, already imagining the worst. “Y/N?” he called out into the phone, his voice tense with worry. “Y/N, are you okay?”

But instead of your voice answering, what he heard stopped him cold.

It was faint at first, a muffled noise, but as he strained to listen, the unmistakable sounds of… pain? groaning? It left him on edge, his panic rising. His mind raced, thinking the worst—had you been hurt? Were you in danger? He called your name again, louder, more frantic this time. “*Y/N!*”

But still, no response from you. Just the sounds, growing clearer, louder.

And then, it hit him like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of sounds on the other end, he heard a man’s voice, moaning your name.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as realization dawned painfully, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t called him on purpose. You had buttdialled him during a hookup. The groans, the noises that he had thought were of pain—they weren’t what he had feared. They were… something entirely different.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone, the pit in his stomach growing. He could hear everything, the intimacy, the passion—things that weren’t meant for him, things he should never have been privy to. The knowledge of what was happening, of who was with you right now, left him reeling.

He hung up, the phone slipping from his grasp onto the bed. Spencer sat there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. It was the harshest reminder of what he had lost, of what he had pushed away. You were moving on. You were finding comfort in someone else. And here he was, on the other end of a phone call that was never meant to be made.

For the first time, Spencer felt the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed you away, too scared to face his own feelings, and now he was watching—no, hearing—you slip further away from him. The girl he had always wanted, the one who had wanted him, was now with someone else. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, with the sharp, bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue.

—

You were blissfully unaware that you had called Spencer the night before. After a fun, carefree night with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember, you woke up feeling satisfied and content. It wasn’t until the next day, when you went to call Penelope, that your heart stopped. Staring at your call log, your eyes widened in horror as you saw the call to Spencer. A call that had lasted for several minutes. 

You quickly checked the time. It had definitely been when you and what’s his name were together. Oh god. A pit formed in your stomach as the realization hit you—did Spencer hear anything? Your mind raced, mortified by the idea. You hadn’t spoken to him much lately, and now, this? It was beyond awkward.

By Monday morning, you were terrified to face Spencer. The embarrassment gnawed at you, and the thought of seeing him after that accidental call made your stomach churn. When you arrived at the office, you tried to keep your head down, praying the situation would somehow blow over. But as soon as you made it to your desk, Spencer stormed over, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his voice tense, “a word.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You nodded silently, following Spencer into the hall, the weight of what you feared was coming making it hard to breathe.

Before he could speak, you blurted out, “Listen, Spencer, I’m sorry—” You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was grappling with something—whether to be angry, hurt, or simply frustrated. “You called me,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I heard... a lot.”

Your heart sank even further. He did hear. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you said quickly, desperate to explain. “It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Just…” Spencer interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. His voice was quieter now, but the tension between you was palpable. “Please don’t do that again. It was horribly uncomfortable.”

You winced, guilt washing over you. The last thing you had ever wanted was to make Spencer feel that way. “I’m really sorry, Spencer,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t realize I had called you. If I had known...”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “I know. It’s just… hearing that, knowing what was happening, it was…” He trailed off, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

"It was what?" you pressed, sensing that Spencer was leaving something unsaid, something important.

Spencer glanced away, his expression tense, and then, as if the weight of his feelings could no longer be held back, he blurted it out. "I was jealous, okay?"

You blinked in disbelief. “Jealous?” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, confusion swirling in your mind. How could he be jealous after everything that had happened between you two?

“Yeah, Y/N,” he sighed, finally meeting your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze clear now. “I was jealous.”

You shook your head, still baffled by his confession. “Spencer, you rejected me,” you reminded him, your voice sharper than you intended. The hurt from that moment still stung, and hearing him say he was jealous felt like a twisted irony.

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I did, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what you said or what I was feeling, and I pushed you away. But hearing you with someone else, knowing you’ve moved on… it hit me harder than I expected.”

You stood there, staring at him, processing his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much his rejection had hurt you. But another part of you, the part that had always cared for Spencer, softened at the sight of him so open, so raw with his emotions.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentler now, “you don’t get to be jealous. Not after everything. You made your choice.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes full of regret. “And it was the wrong choice. I didn’t realize how much I wanted you—until it was too late.”

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between you.

“Well, I’m sorry it took you so long to realize it,” you said, the hurt still lingering in your voice despite the calm exterior you tried to maintain.

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression full of regret. “Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say before, the weight of his hesitation clear now that the truth was out.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the hurt and confusion swirling around inside your chest. This was what you had wanted once—to hear Spencer admit that he had made a mistake. But now that it was happening, it didn’t feel as satisfying as you thought it would.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was no quick fix for what had happened between you. His apology was genuine, but the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know what to say, Spencer,” you admitted. “I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t hurt, or that everything can just go back to how it was.”

“I understand,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. And that I’m sorry.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that. But this doesn’t change everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours once more. “But maybe… maybe it’s not too late to figure it out. If you’re willing.”

You hesitated, the rawness of the conversation still fresh. You didn’t know if you could open that door again—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

“We’ll see, Spencer,” you said softly. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the conversation hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

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

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[axxa-the-allikatt]

Requested by an anonymous anon 😂👍. Here’s a Michel Kaiser fic for y’all! Lmk if you like it :>

P.s. I was actually pretty nervous to write about him because the polarity of Michael Kaiser fans scares me. The bllk fandom can either be the funniest place or could give you permanent emotional trauma. I’ve experienced both 🙂🫠.

***

Michael Kaiser X Male Reader

***

Michael Kaiser was nothing if not confident. He was confident about his soccer skills. He was confident that he could adapt to any situation on the field. He was confident that he was the best on the field and that’s what led him to where he is. He was confident about himself and who he was.

Until a few weeks ago, he was also confident that he was either straight or asexual. Now, seeing you for most of the day, almost everyday, he, for the first time in a long, long while, was questioning life.

He did not know what it was that made him so fixated on you. There were plenty of special cases around him. There were geniuses, there were extremely quick adapters, there were plenty of suitable admirers.

You didn’t fall into any of those categories. Yes, you were quite knowledgeable when it came to the field. Yes, you could take a trained player down in a one vs one. Yes, you had the softest looking hair with matching twinkling eyes, and lips that were set in a perpetual grin.

But he knew for a fact that it wasn’t any of these things in particular that had caught his attention. It was something else, something in the way you carried yourself, just on the right side of self-confident but also serving.

It was also the way you threw a cheesy pick up line at him the moment you met him, but he decided to shove that thought along with the feeling that accompanied it into the bottom shelf.

“-r?…are you alright?” Michael snapped out of his annoyed mumbling as the boy in front of him looked at him with slight concern. He cleared his throat. “What did you need Caelus?” He replied, trying to get his bearings.

“Umm, actually, (M/n) dropped this off today morning and asked me to give it to you.” The younger male replied, handing him a brown paper bag. He took the package, sighing as his thoughts returned to you. “Thank you.” He nodded before walking over to the rooms where most members of the team were staying. Making his way into his room, he tore the tape off the paper bag, checking its contents.

Inside the bag were a few packs of aspirin and a box of lemons. His lips twitched into a smile. He was slightly surprised you remembered. Last afternoon, you had bumped into him in the corridor, and you had almost immediately noticed something was off.

He had admitted that he had been having a horrible headache for the past two days, which led him to have a disrupted sleep schedule. You had patted his shoulder and told him you would look for some medicine, but he had assumed you were just offhandedly saying that. After all, you were the coach of the junior team. You had several other things you had to deal with.

Sighing to himself, Michael popped an aspirin out of its pack and swallowed it, taking a sip of water from his bottle which sat on the table. His thoughts slipped back into the jumbled mess it usually was when he was alone. But, like the past few days, his thoughts made their way back to you.

He had tried convincing himself that his mind was just bored from the long time (three weeks) lack of playing a real match, but even he knew it was a white lie. Sighing for the millionth time, then sighing again as he realised this, he flopped onto the couch, throwing a hand over his face to block the evening light. Seconds passed into minutes.

Why were you doing this to him? It wasn’t like there was anything too special about you, but somehow each time he saw you, your signature grin, the way you subconsciously ran your hand through your hair every once in a while, he swore he could see a hazy glow around you, like you were a source of warmth that wasn’t the main source, but he was drawn to it regardless.

Years ago, he had been blinded by his ego and goals to really focus on much else. Not that he was any less egotistical or determined now. Oh no, it was just, now that he had actually achieved an important place in the world of soccer, he had time to try out different things. Things which he’d left for the sake of his dream.

He had attended plenty of parties and had left most of them with a woman at one arm, but they were never anything serious. He did not remember any of their names, come to think of it.

His thoughts trailed off to a scenario of him meeting you at the bar and you leaving the party with him at your side. His thoughts were almost going north when there was a knock at his door.

Shaking his head to get the blush off that he was sure was there, he walked over to the door, clicking the latch open. He almost smacked himself when his blood rushed from his head down, as he saw you standing there, in all your sweaty, handsome glory.

“Kaiser.” You grinned sheepishly. “(M/n)? Was there something you needed?” He questioned, eyes shamelessly looking you up and down. Of course you noticed this, but why would you ruin him a good show? “Ahh. The thing is… do you mind if I use your shower?” You smiled, tilting your head pleadingly.

He gave you a suspicious side eye. You were good at acting all pretty and innocent when you needed something done. That’s how most of the members in the team, both the national and the juniors had come to admire you as a kind hearted coach and helper. But he was well versed in mind games, seeing as to how it did somehow get him where he is today.

But nonetheless, if it was you, what harm is there in falling for a little charm? He mentally groaned at what state his thinking was in. “Your room is right there, (M/n).” He murmured, pointing towards the other end of the hall. “Why would you need to use mine?.. Not that I mind.” The last bit was murmured but you knew he’d meant for you to hear it.

“Well I… accidentally broke my shower handle?” You replied, and he stared at you in surprise as you showed him the mentioned handle. Well it was broken alright. “How the fuck did you- you know what? I won’t even ask. Get in.” He shook his head as he stood aside to let you in.

You skipped inside, making your way over to the bathroom. The rooms in the building were similar in structure so you knew your way. You waited patiently, sitting on the bathroom counter as Kaiser left to get you a towel. You placed the extra clothes you’d brought beside you and looked around.

The structure of the room was the same as yours but there were way more items in the shelves compared to yours. Most of them seemed to be hair and skin care products, which you honestly would not have expected of him. Now you knew why he looked so drop dead gorgeous all the time. Ahem.

You grinned to yourself as Kaiser peaked into the room, handing you a towel with a barely there blush on his face. “Take your time. I don’t have to go anywhere soon.” He informed. “Oh?” You chuckled. A beat passed before his cheeks turned red at what he’d just said. Rolling his eyes, he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Left to yourself, you quickly undressed, sighing at finally having a chance to stand under the cold water after a hot day. As you ran the shower, making sure not to accidentally break the tap this time, your eyes landed on the hair care products and your thoughts wandered to Kaiser.

The first time you’d met him, you’d thrown a pick up line at him right off the bat, and had been amused when he’d replied to you in kind, shamelessly checking you out. The first thing you’d noticed about his entire unusual get up was his red eyeliner. How he managed to pull that off was a miracle, you were speaking from experience.

The second thing you noticed was his rat tail. You had seen him in pictures even during his earlier debut into the team, and his hair had grown longer since then. He kept the rest of his hair shoulder length but let the rat tail grow longer. It now reached past the middle of his back, and you always had the urge to tug at it every time you saw him. He would probably rip your hair out if you tried something like that, so you kept your impulsive thoughts to yourself.

You sighed as the cold water washed away all the sweat and grime. Your thoughts moved to the conversation you had with Ness that morning. It was usual for you and him to run into each other during breakfast and you often ended up having a chat over food before going over to practice. As usual, your conversation this morning centred around soccer.

But mid conversation Ness had casually mentioned how Kaiser had been having trouble sleeping, which reminded you to send some medicine. But after that he had jokingly mentioned how it was probably because Kaiser had been too busy thinking about you.

You were sure you had turned cherry red, because he had immediately said something about how Kaiser totally hadn’t told him that and that he was just kidding. That was what made you decide to do something about it.

No, you hadn’t broken your shower handle just so you could shower in Kaiser’s room. No, you weren’t that creepy. But when it had accidentally broken, you had initially decided to go over to the common bathroom in the training grounds, but then decided this would be a good excuse to drop by and talk with Kaiser.

Seeing as to how he wasn’t completely annoyed at you having disturbed what little free time he had, and even seeming a little flustered, you could safely assume that you were in his good graces.

You flinched as you accidentally breathed in some water, shaking your head and turning off the shower. Drying yourself off, you began wearing your clothes. You froze as realised you hadn’t brought a shirt. Then you grinned. What a perfect excuse to fluster Mr. Pretty Boy some more.

Wrapping the sweaty clothes in the used towel, you decided to wash it and return it to him later. Fixing your hair in front of the mirror, you made your way out of the bathroom. Kaiser was not to be found in the hall. You dropped your clothes on the table, making your way over to the kitchen where you could hear clinking of metal cups.

You found Kaiser busy preparing some cold chocolate milk. “Hey beautiful.” You greeted. He had his back to you, but you were sure he would be rolling his eyes at you. “Do you want some-“.

Fortunately empty, metal cups dropped to the tiled floor, clanking as he cut himself short, looking at you in surprise, with a red flush on his cheeks. “What the fuck?” He asked, recovering quickly, choosing to hide his face by picking up the cups and turning back to the counter. You chuckled to yourself.

“Sorry, I think I dropped my shirt in my room. If you’re uncomfortable, I could maybe borrow one of your shirts.” You suggested, amused at how he was reacting to seeing you shirtless, even though he usually showered with the team after a match. “No, I don’t mind!-“ he began. You raised an eyebrow. “oh?”. “I meant, my shirt probably won’t fit you.” He corrected himself, still refusing to look at you.

You decided to tease him a little bit. Well, a little bit more. Making your way behind him, you placed your arms on either side of him, essentially trapping him. You could hear his breath hitch. “If i didn’t know any better, I’d think you like seeing me shirtless.” You murmured, placing your head on his shoulder. “… You-“ he swallowed, then took a breath.

“But you do know better, don’t you?” He questioned, regaining his senses as he turned around in place. You looked down at him, grinning. “Do I?” You could see him struggling to decide where to place his hands. Just as he was about to do something that would probably have flustered both of you, there was a ring of the door bell.

You both froze for a second before he slipped past you, rushing over to the door. You stood there for a minute as you heard him unlock the door before going after him, mentally smacking yourself at the faint heat you felt on your face. You were met with the sight of Isagi, with an irk on his face, glaring at Kaiser.

“Like I said, I’m not here to argue with you. Noa asked me to fetch (M/n) and he wasn’t in his room, so I came to ask you whether you’ve- oh (M/n)!” He sounded surprised. “Noa called for me?” “Yeah, something about the upcoming U-20 match.” He replied. “Ah. Let’s go then. Thanks for coming all the way over here. Also, I wanted to congratulate you on that interview you snatched last week. You slayed it!” You grinned giving him a thumbs up.

You were about to grab your clothes and head out, when you were pulled back. “He’ll be down in a minute. You go ahead.” Kaiser said, still glaring at Isagi. The latter raised an eyebrow at you, and you nodded, grinning to yourself. Kaiser slammed the door after he left. “Is there something you needed from me?” You asked, putting your hands up as he sent a glare your way.

“Finish your cold chocolate. I can’t drink all that myself.” You paused, then broke into a grin. “Aye aye, your highness.” You saluted, following behind him into the kitchen. “And.. don’t just go around the hall shirtless. Have some shame.” He handed you your drink, sipping at his, while making a point of not looking at you.

Your cheeks were hurting from trying not to smile. “Sure thing. It’s exclusively for your eyes only.” Kaiser choked on his drink. “Wh-what?!” You gulped down your drink, sighing at the cold sensation. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, pretty boy.” You replied.

Then, deciding to drop the shoe, you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his, licking off the drink that was dripping from his lips. Before you could run away, you felt him throw an arm around your neck, pressing up against you.

Impulsively, your free hand grabbed onto his rat tail, gently tugging at it to deepen the kiss. You half expected him to bite you, but you almost lost it at the whine it dragged out of him. Just to test him, you gently tugged at it again. This time, you felt him gasp into the kiss, clawing at your shoulder.

As much as you could do this for the next few hours, you had important matters to discuss with Noa. You were also sure that Kaiser probably needed some time to collect himself. Reluctantly pulling away, you chuckled as Kaiser leaned towards you. “Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been summoned by the big boss.” You said, pecking his lips before stepping away from him. He humphed before busying himself with washing the cups, acting like he hadn’t all but begged you to keep kissing him. You smiled.

“…I like taking a cold shower before going off to bed.” You said before walking out of the kitchen. Kaiser paused for a second, not understanding why you would tell him that, out of all the things you could have said before kissing him stupid and running away. Then, as it hit him, he dropped to the floor, hiding his face in his hands.

“Fuck.” He muttered, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

***

I know anon asked for a fic preferably centring around Kaiser being jealous of Isagi but I already had this fic going in my drafts so I hope you don’t mind TwT.

Thanks for the request :>

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Gaze

Secret Garden

Part II

Category: Drabble

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Warning: None really

The GIF does not belong to me; credit to the original owner.

Unedited

The place is grand. All glitter and gold, clinking glasses and trays floating around with formally dressed staff offering appetisers and drinks to everyone. This ‘party’, if one can call it that, is beautiful to you like a classic piece hanging on the wall of a reputed art museum. You can admire it all you want, but from afar. Admiring the technique and beauty with your limited knowledge about art would be futile, though you can come up with a story .

You are technically a guest because you are accompanying your friend, who is seeking to expand the reach of his art gallery. His collection has caught the eye of a man well-known in the circle, and so came the invitation.

You glance at your friend speaking to... well, you don’t remember. From above, you can see every individual walking into the main hall, mostly with a ‘plus one’. And only a few, alone. You count the people entering out of sheer boredom-

One

Three

Five

Seven

Nine

Eleven

Twelve

Thi—

You stop midway, just looking.

Because this is the first guest who has looked up, directly meeting your gaze. He is handsome, no doubt, but not more than the magazine-worthy faces you have seen today. Yet he stands out somehow. Dressed in all black, ebony, chin-length hair and a maintained patchy beard that calls for your fingers to run over them, he could have easily become one with the crowd. But he does not. 

There is just something about him that strikes out in a way that you straighten up, as if something primal is bringing you to alertness. It’s pure instinct, something years of evolution could not suppress, or perhaps had nurtured. You don’t know, but you stand slightly straighter, more alert, and you look into his. 

Ah, yes. It is his eyes. A strange and alluring studio of softness and steel with a tinge of melancholy that one can miss if they do not look for long. They are observing and assessing you. And you just know that he already knows that you do not belong here, that you are bored, and a silly part of your brain goes the extra mile to be afraid that he can read your thoughts. 

Yet something about his gaze is electric and awakening. What has awakened within you? The sharp heat that takes your spine and your abdomen before warming your cheeks? Or the realisation that you might be somewhere you should not be. His gaze is disarming—not like those giggly romance novels; it is disarming like a dark surrender. As if you know what ever you do, wherever you go, you are powerless here; there is no other option but to surrender.

You want to look away. At least a part of you does, but you simply cannot, you feel compelled to keep looking, drinking in everything his gaze has to offer–dark, soulful eyes—hypnotic, electric gaze, and you are caught, butterfly in a jar.

With sheer will, you manage to drop your gaze to your drink and turn around, baffled and flustered. Maybe it is about time you get laid; hopefully, those eyes will not haunt you the way they have imprinted themselves in your mind at the moment. Every time you close your eyes, you see his them.

Maybe you will find him again.

Maybe he is a stranger to you, but to him, you are not.

Maybe you will never find out that your friend has been explicitly instructed to bring you along in exchange for his gallery’s expansion.

He will only look for now, as he has been doing for so long.

****

Thanks to @johnwickb1tsch's Donaka bots, I got the idea of involving an art gallery. Whew! It has been a while since I wrote a John Wick drabble.

[apas-95]

Have you read Faggotization and The Extant Gender Ternary (https://thesizhensystem.substack.com/p/faggotization-and-the-extant-gender)? I'd like to know your thoughts on it

I have, and I think it's not a useful or consistent model of gender. I have three main issues with it.

Firstly, it fails to justify itself. It does not demonstrate the necessity and actuality of the terms it presents; it fails to demonstrate that there exists a division between so-called "legible" and "illegible" genders; and it fails to even discuss the division of labour in its supposed class structure. What relations give rise to gender? In the Marxist view, put forth by Engels, Kollontai, Zetkin, etc., the gendered division of labour is quite straightforward - as the first class division in ancient society, it separated between those people who were made to perform reproductive labour (that is to say, labour that reproduces the conditions of labour, such as cleaning, feeding, clothing, etc) and those that were not. The Marxist view also describes the breakdown of these gender relations, as capitalism does away with the domestic sphere of labour, and reproductive labour is increasingly socialised among the proletariat. In the supposedly "extant" gender ternary, what is the division? "Power" - power to do what? In this regard, the model of gender presented is vague and abstract, and lumps together various types of oppression through simplification.

Secondly, it is not a useful model in practice. The vagueness aforementioned does not lend itself to use in describing and critiquing oppression in concrete situations. Whether a trans man is the same 'gender-class' as cis women, or as trans women (and certain gay men, and sex workers) could be argued either way in the framework depending on the trans man in question. It has the problem of many 'theories of everything' - for instance, describing both the oppression of trans women and of sex workers with the same mechanism ends up weakening both. How are the categories of "faggot-subaltern", "not-power", and so on useful when organising? How do these direct practice, rally people towards doing away with these systems? The analytical model of transmisogyny, that which posits that trans women are oppressed because they are women, and because they are transgender, is straightforward and useful in practice. It is immediately clear where common interests lie, and with whom.

Thirdly, it represents a regressive trend in transgender theory. There is, at this point, a longstanding precedent in bourgeois academia of 'third-gendering' trans women. Generally, it is directed at the global south: a bourgeois academic notes the existence of trans women in a global south nation, notes that they are treated differently than both cisgender women and men, and declares that they are a 'third gender', which they name whatever the local equivalent of 'faggot' is. The newer development is opposition to this process - of transgender women in the global south rejecting the colonial claim that they are a third gender, and asserting themselves as women. While the supposed impetus behind the "extant gender ternary" is Marxism-Leninism, the 'class' system posited is almost anarchist in character; and, in its existence as applying imperialist sociology to the imperial core, it could easily, if inflammatorily, be described as approaching some sort of 'gender fascism'.

Overall, I do not think it is an accurate theory, nor do I think it is a useful model. I understand it is intended to be rudimentary, but its central issue is that it is working in the wrong direction, not that it doesn't go far enough.

[mareastrorum]

Hello! I’ve been looking at your blog after Critical Role episodes for a couple of weeks now and I have to agree with you wholeheartedly about pretty much all of it. I wanted to ask you your opinion on the idea that a majority of us are calling Bells Hells the bad guys because all they’re doing is ‘wanting to dismantle the oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people’. I’m having trouble understanding what oppressive force that is?

Thanks for the ask! There's two parts to this, so I'm going to address them separately.

First, there is no "oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people." Like, the only group that came close to that in this campaign was the Weave Mind and the Imperium, which intended to take over Exandria in its entirety and subject the entire population to hivemind slavery--but Bell's Hells did little to oppose them. Vox Machina (backed up by an army) demolished the Imperium's main forces at the Exandrian base of the bloody bridge. The Mighty Nein killed the Weave Mind and then started mopping up their allies that remained on Ruidus. Bell's Hells did nothing to support that rebellion other than assist on a scouting/sabotage mission and then flee.

Otherwise, there is no force aiming to destroy society. Ludinus wanted Predathos out so it could eat the gods, and there was no intent about anything other than that. He did not care one way or the other about collateral damage. Predathos doesn't either, but it wants to eat, and we do not know what level of divinity is too small for it to prioritize. And let's be serious, unless a god flees and lures it away, there's no reason for Predathos not to look at a planet full of life and think, "Hmmm, it might not taste good, but I am so fucking hungry."

A good while ago, when the Hells had initially reached Vasselheim, I saw discussion of whether Vasselheim and other Exandrian forces intended to wipe out all Reilorans and other Ruidus-based species. I think Evoroa's plea and assistance made directly to the leadership of Vasselheim has already prevented that potential result. Of course, the Exandrians are working together as a collective of dozens of factions, and each of those has untold numbers of individuals working for them. It's possible some of them will insist on war anyway, but given the actions of the three campaign parties, I don't see that happening on an organized scale. Regardless, Bell's Hells aren't focusing on that right now, and nothing they could/would do with Predathos would affect that either.

The only other faction that comes close to that idea is the Betrayer Gods, but they don't care about society. They want genocide. They want to murder every single mortal in existence, and then torment their immortal souls for all eternity. I literally cannot overstate the disdain the Betrayers have for mortals. They are Exandrians' ultimate enemy. The Divine Gate is the only thing protecting mortals from the Betrayers, and it requires every god to unanimously agree to drop it. That is phenomenal protection. There's been no serious threat to it since its creation.

In particular, I want to highlight that "the gods" as a category of entity are not a united faction. The gods don't rule anything on Exandria--not even Vasselheim. That's a purely mortal project! Mortals decided to build a city dedicated to the gods, and given that it's filled with their followers, the gods have historically spent particular attention to protecting it. That makes perfect sense, and it doesn't mean the gods are in charge of it.

Obviously, there will be other factions across Exandria that could fit that bill, but Bell's Hells hasn't had to deal with them in this campaign. Like, chaotic evil factions exist, they're just not in this story right now.

Next, whether Bell's Hells are villains, bad guys, etc.

I've written up how I assess villains in my pinned post. That's my general approach to any type of story, whether it's interactive, written, oral, etc. It's a very broad overview of when is a villain an effective narrative device? I am rather harsh in my criticism of villains: if they didn't improve the story, they should not have been included at all.

We could cherrypick through the various episodes to come up with an argument that Bell's Hells are the bad guys, but my problem with them is that they aren't effective villains. A villain's primary purpose is to highlight a theme in the negative: what is the wrong thing to do in these circumstances, and why is that? The reason they aren't effective is that they don't have a motivating purpose.

Bell's Hells are a chaotic faction that consistently deviates from whatever is requested of them. They claim to be for the people, then denigrate and oppose every faction they've encountered. They claim to have changed their minds about some of the gods (the Matron and the Arch Heart in particular), then repeatedly ignore or contradict the plain statements told to them, but they still seek out the gods' instructions regardless. This carelessness or apathy makes it impossible to map a philosophy onto the PCs other than "I felt like doing it in the moment."

None of them have been able to articulate a reason that they chose this path. Maybe the players will come up with some hamfisted excuse next episode, but it's still going to be unsatisfying from a narrative viewpoint. This stream had hundreds of hours to show that and instead needs someone to say it in the last episode. It's terrible storytelling, and none of them could claim that it was impossible to see this confrontation coming. We've known it was coming since Ludinus successfully bridged Exandria and Ruidus. There was time, and it was not spent wisely.

Going beyond dialogue, there's no consistency to Bell's Hells's actions except the desire to kill Ludinus. That muddled any potential message that could be conveyed about them as villains in a story except "kill Ludinus in particular." We can't even say they oppose any existing hegemony because none has been established in Exandria. There's no racial, economic, social, religious, etc. group dominating the world. Again, as said above, the gods don't rule anything, and they're stuck behind the gate.

Any potential to build Bell's Hells into worthwhile villains was squandered. Everyone but Orym had an explicit, tailor-made opportunity to lean into their darker personality traits, and every one of them chickened out--except Ashton, who gave into his desire to be special and have power to lash out at people standing over him. Unfortunately, Ashton's attempt to absorb another shard of a primordial would have also broken the game on a D&D level, so that got reversed and reworked into a character moment that also had no lasting impact on his character arc. Ashton hasn't bothered exploring it since. That's really the core problem: every time the PCs had the option to pursue a villainous path, they ran the fuck in the opposite direction, then dithered about what to do.

Without conviction, villains are merely bullies. They're just here to be mean, stop other people from getting what they want, and jeer at others when they get their way. We saw that in this latest episode. There's nothing Bell's Hells wants. They don't even want to be involved. They're just doing it because they can't even commit to going home--because they're player characters in a D&D game, and the players didn't want to switch to new characters.

That makes for a terrible villain story. Like, once we see the final episode and all the PCs have had an opportunity to take action and speak on their own behalf, we'd be able to revisit this with more definitive statements. Unfortunately, I can't think of a single way this could go that would correct the flaws I've already listed. It's far too late to correct the characters' lack of direction to develop a coherent villain arc for any of Bell's Hells.

[dronningreid]

The shadow that haunts our hallways

↳ After the traumatic experience in prison, Spencer and Reader try to return to their lives, but the consequences torment both causing a disagreement between them; staying or leaving the BAU, something that could destroy their relationship.

main masterlist | my previous fanfic

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader category: angst, fluff and hurt comfort. warnings/tags: Arguments, disagreements, post-prison reid, mention of dilaudid, mention of Cat Adams and Peter Lewis, multiple mentions of Reid's prison arc, special appearance by Emily Prentiss, mention of kidnapping and death. English isn't my first language. word count: 5.9K a/n: Hey! I hope you like this, I didn't realize I hadn't posted anything in so long and I'm truly sorry. I wanted to write something fluffy but it seems angst is my specialty and well this was my most advanced draft because when I finished this I was sick and I really wanted to post something in honor of Spencer's return (I AM SO HAPPY). Oh to write this I was inspired by 2x5 when Spencer goes to Elle's hotel room (I miss her) Finally I think this is the first time I've written post-prison Reid.

Three months.

You'd dare say those had been the worst three months of your life. The angst, the uncertainty, the fear... it was the worst cocktail of emotions you'd ever had to drink.

Especially waking up in a huge bed with imaginary discomforts, the ones that weren't there when Spencer placed a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, "Goodnight, darling.”

But for three months, all you got in return were cold sheets and sleepless nights, wrapped in stormy unknowns like, would Spencer ever get the chance to see another sunrise? Or if, when you and the team managed to break the chains, would he be the same Spencer? who looked at you with that heartbreaking panic in those beautiful, innocent brown eyes before the police took him away to a federal prison. Of both unknowns, you were only sure of one. The Spencer Reid who entered Millburn wouldn't be the same one who left.

You and Penelope stood outside the correctional center, waiting for JJ, Luke, and Spencer to come out. It was the longest few minutes of your life, but it all ended when he walked out of that horrible place. He looked different, you didn't know exactly why, besides noticing the new length of his hair and his stubble. The only thing that anchored you to the comfortable past was the suit he was wearing, the same one he wore the last time you saw him.

Before greeting you, he approached Penelope. They hugged immediately, and when they finally separated, he approached slowly, stopping right in front of you. For a moment, you wanted to yell at him. You hated when Emily told you that Spencer didn't want you to visit him, you, the most important person in his life, maybe second only to Diana, but at least he wanted to see her.

But when you saw that lack of something you couldn't name in his eyes, you knew you couldn't stay angry with him, at least not forever, and much less now that you knew you could lose him at any moment.

You tentatively approached him, intending to hug him, though he took your action as consent that he could touch you. He placed his calloused hands on your cheeks, his thumbs caressing your soft skin as he gazed into your eyes for a few slow seconds before finally breaking down the barriers he'd built up and pressing his lips against yours. You sighed at the sweetness of his lips, your body relaxing almost immediately, and your eyes drifting closed at the familiarity you'd been missing.

Spencer was never the type to show affection in public, but after having absolutely nothing from you for three months, all he longed for was to have you as close as possible, and honestly, you too, so that you could protect him from anything that might hurt him.

Spencer finally broke the kiss to take a breath, which didn't bother you too much, since you had needed him so much that you would’ve been happy to drown in his kisses.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered meaninglessly, because you had truly forgiven him the moment you saw him in front of you, that’s how weak you were in Spencer Reid’s presence.

In response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I missed you.” You whispered against his neck.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around your waist and even pulled you closer, needing your closeness like he needed air. “And I missed you too…”

You would’ve liked to say that after the whole prison thing, Spencer got a decent meal and rest, but Mr. Scratch had other plans for the entire team.

At least the FBI gave them a break, but in your opinion you needed at least a year to recover from the recent events that had hit you like a tsunami (for lack of a better metaphor)

Spencer held the apartment door open for you to enter. “I didn't know Stephen very well, but he seemed like a good man.” Silence reigned; there wasn't much one could say in these situations anyway. “He visited me in prison. He probably had more important things to do, and yet he still took the time to be there for me even though he barely knew me.” He added after closing the door behind him. “How are you?”

You quickly wiped your tears away. At the slightest mention of Stephen, you could remember his wife; Monica, weeping inconsolably over his loss. You could've been her... "I only think about his family." You whispered weakly. "He didn't deserve that. He was a good person, a great profiler who ended up losing everything, even his life, for getting involved in the chaotic affairs of the BAU." Fresh tears trickled down your cheeks.

Spencer quickly approached, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your tears while rubbing slow circles on your back. “This is beyond Stephen, isn’t it?” He dared to ask.

Your eyes met his. “Until when?”

He frowned at your half question. “Until when what?”

“When will our learning end? Hotch lost Haley, Morgan almost lost Savannah.” <<I almost lost you>> “And don’t even get me started on the things you’ve lost or were about to lose because of this job.” Your voice was filled with a bitterness you hadn’t realized until now, a bitterness that grew day by day as an agent in the BAU.

Spencer had so many reasons to tell you why his job was worth it, but given recent events, it was only natural that the positive would be overshadowed by the thick, dark cloud hanging over you.

In the absence of a comment from your boyfriend, you decided to say what had been on your mind, no matter how controversial it might be. "Maybe it's time we tried our luck outside the BAU.”

Reid’s eyebrows rose at your suggestion, he couldn’t believe what had just come out of your mouth. “I don’t think you’re thinking this through clearly, sweetheart. We’ve been through a lot lately, which is why we can’t make any decisions now, not when all the emotions are running high.”

“This isn't an idea that came out of nowhere. I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I’d like to admit.” You confessed.

Spencer's expression began to harden. "How long? Why are you only telling me now?" His questions sounded almost like a complaint, and rightly so. He never believed you would keep something as big as that from him for who knows how long.

“I don't know exactly how long ago it was,” you exclaimed defensively before taking a deep breath. “Well, it's obvious why I'm telling you this now. You've been shot, you've been kidnapped, but this thing in prison was something completely different. I've never seen you like this before…” You stared into his eyes, emphasizing that special something that was conspicuously absent.

Spencer ran a hand over his face. “My love, listen, I don’t want to talk about that right now, and I don’t want to talk about quitting our jobs either.” His tone softened. “We just got back from a funeral, I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted. Can we just go to bed and talk tomorrow when we’re clear-headed?” You relented only when you saw the tiredness etched in his eyes.

But days passed, then weeks, and neither of you dared to broach the subject, at least not directly. You didn't, mainly because you were having such a good time with Spencer, and a difficult conversation like that would've its consequences. Plus, just thinking about it felt like someone was squeezing your heart.

Your days off were running out, your return to the BAU was imminent, and you still had the option of never returning. But for that, you'd have to sit down with Spencer and have a difficult conversation, because you couldn't sweep your problems under the rug forever.

Spencer wasn't home. Since he got out of prison, he'd tried to spend as much time with you as possible, but lately, and increasingly, he'd been going out alone, telling you he was going for a walk, getting coffee, or visiting Henry and Michael. His excuse today was that he was going to visit Diana, but his lies were about to crumble at your feet when the phone rang.

“Reid Residence.” You answered the phone as you had said so many times in the past. Perhaps it was silly, but saying Spencer’s last name gave you a certain comfort, especially during his stay in Millburn.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Emily added after saying your name.

“It’s not like that, I was just watching TV.” You replied, absentmindedly playing with the phone cord. Spencer was probably one of the few people in the world who still had a phone like that in his house or rather, it was your house, too. You still hadn’t gotten used to living with him, since you’d only been living together for a few days when he was arrested in Mexico.

“Oh, me too! I got obsessed with a show and-” Emily cut herself off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, could you please tell Reid the results of his psych evaluation are in?”

“Psychological evaluation?” Emily couldn't see it but your brow is furrowed.

“Yes, don't worry, I checked it myself. Everything's fine, considering everything that's happened.” You froze, Emily's words only served to confirm what your mind didn't want to fully accept, even though the suspicion was always there.

It was one thing to seek reassignment to the FBI, and another to lie to you,that had crossed the fragile line on which your patience hung.

“I brought blackberry pie.” Spencer exclaimed happily, announcing his return home.

You didn't bother to say goodbye properly to Emily; you just hung up the phone and stood there with your arms crossed, staring at him in annoyance.

Spencer's smile faded the instant he noticed your body language and your proximity to the phone, but he didn't say anything, waiting for you to break the growing tension in the air.

You didn't want to give in you needed him to say something, anything. But the silence was killing you, so you gave in, though not completely. "Emily called." Your words hung in the air.

You could see it in his eyes; he clearly knew what you were referring to, but from what he said next, it seemed like he just wanted to upset you. "Is that so?" He murmured casually. "What did she say to you?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Spencer Reid.” You exploded. He tended to be sassy at times, but this crossed every line for the man you shared a bed with.

Spencer sighed and took three steps in front of you, making sure to leave an appropriate distance. “I never meant for you to find out like this.”

“Your intention was to keep me from ever finding out.” You kept your tone high. “How did you expect to keep this from me? I’m a profiler, we work in the same unit.”

“There’s no need to scream.” He murmured in a controlled voice, perhaps too controlled. Perhaps he was afraid, afraid of exploding like he had in that interrogation room with Catherine Adams. No, he would never hurt you, at least not physically, because lying by omission was also harm.

“I’m not yelling!” Okay, that time you did it, so you forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice took on a controlled tone.

“Why?” He spat out, almost as if it were a joke, a very bitter one. “For the past few weeks, you’ve been making insinuations and comments about leaving the BAU. Fine! Resign if that’s what you want, but don’t drag me down with you.” He said firmly.

Your expression gave way to surprise before it took on a tinge of anger. “I will! I will leave the damn BAU, which has done nothing but cause me pain.” Your words were filled with bitterness.

Reid's firmness wavered at your comment. “That's where you met me…” He whispered. “Am I pain to you too?” For the first time in weeks, he allowed you to see his vulnerability.

You quickly shook your head. “Of course not.” You sighed in frustration. “Listen, I didn’t realize I hated my job until you went to prison.” Your heart ached this was still a sensitive topic. “Tell me something, Spencer. Why would you want to go back to the FBI? Especially when they turned their backs on you.”

“You had your reasons for believing he was guil-” You didn’t let him finish his justification.

“Of course not!” Actually, yes, but love makes us blind. And they didn’t know Spencer well, not like you or Emily, JJ, Penelope, Dave… “If we’d had the FBI’s backing, you wouldn’t have spent three damn months in that horrible place, and you’d still be you…”

Spencer frowned, his expression darkening with anticipation of what might come out of your lips. “Still be me?” A trick question that would be difficult to dodge.

“You've changed.” You limited your response. The fish dies by the mouth, isn't that what they say?

“Well, after three months in federal prison, I'd be worried if that experience hadn't changed me.” He crossed his arms.

“Experience? Is that what you call it?” Your expression reflected your annoyance. “Of course, it would be stupid to expect you to be the same, but a lot of things have changed. You didn’t even let me visit you.” Your words sounded almost like a reproach, and maybe they were.

“Oh, wow.” Spencer threw his hands in the air. “It took you a while to bring that up.” His words were laced with venom.

“How did you expect me to react?” You raised your voice again, Reid’s jaw tightening. “Everyone else had the right to see you, except me, your girlfriend…” You hated when your voice broke.

Spencer's expression softened slightly. "I didn't want you to see me like that." He explained.

"Battered? Miserable? Different?" You blurted out, waiting for the answers that had been tormenting you.

“Why do you insist I’m different?” He raised his voice as well. “I’m the same man.” He insisted almost desperately, trying to make the idea fit not only your mind, but also in his own.

“Why are you!” You exclaimed firmly. “You carry a second gun holster.” You pointed.

“It’s a precaution.” He excused himself.

“No, that’s paranoia." You countered. “And that’s the least of it. I can no longer see that innocence in your eyes, the faith that this isn’t such a bad world.” You sighed. “On the surface, it’s not a huge change, but I notice it. I noticed it when that sweet, somewhat innocent man I fell in love with slammed a pregnant woman against a wall and muttered that he was going to kill her.”

Your words were a sentence, and for a long time they tormented you, as you replayed the scene over and over again.

An old friend settled in Spencer's eyes: guilt. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I shouldn't have…" His voice broke as he sank onto the couch. "I'm not like that. I was… I don't know…”

You wanted him to be aware of his change, but you regretted it when you saw the pain and guilt in his eyes, in his expression, radiating from his entire being. If that was the price, you weren't willing to pay it. You would never do anything that could hurt him, not even something that would cause the slightest scratch.

You followed him to the couch, resting your hand on his knee. “I know that’s not the kind of person you are, and I really want to believe it was just a one-time thing, caused by all the emotions you were going through, that you still go through every second.” He stared down at the carpet, but you knew he was listening. “I’ve known you for years, Spence. You’re so kind, too good for this world. You don’t usually resort to such extremes because that’s not you, and then comes the regret and eternal guilt.” From the expression in his eyes, you knew those two were already manifesting. “Seeing you there, like that, destroyed me in ways I never anticipated,” you whispered.

“I’m not so kind or a saint, I’m not as good as you think I am.” He said, his gaze still as lost as his. “What happens next? Will I actually kill someone? I… I’m afraid this is who I am now.” His voice broke, his curls covering his eyes, but you could bet tears were gathering at the corners.

You immediately wrapped him in a hug, and he clung to your arms. “No, no, no. You're still you, with a few changes, but you're still you…” You cling to that idea, not the despicable facts.

“But for how much longer?” He murmured against your shirt, this time you could feel the wet drops on the fabric of your shirt.

“I don't know,” you whispered. “But if you stay in that job, it'll probably keep taking pieces of you away, until what's left is little or nothing…” It wasn't the right time, but you had to say it, make him understand, a last ditch effort to keep from losing him…

Spencer pulled away from the hug. “You can’t know.” He still had tears on his cheeks.

"You joined the FBI very young, a different person than you are now. Have you ever wondered what your life would be like? Without gunshot wounds, without kidnappings, without Dilaudid, without deaths..." The answer to that question was many times, but he didn't say anything, preferring to ponder everything in silence.

“I won't force you to leave the BAU, but I will because I can't stand being there anymore, no matter how much I once loved it.” Your voice cracked. “And I really wish you would come with me because I can't lose you, Spencer. I couldn't bear it…”

Spencer stood up from the couch, dusted off his clothes, and hurried to wipe the evidence of his vulnerability off his face. “I’d love to give you what you want, but the BAU is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t think I can really leave it, no matter how many pieces of me it takes in the process.” And with that, he headed into the bedroom, not even waiting for a syllable to leave your lips.

The following days were filled with something different in the air, something that made everything more complicated and everything got even worse when Spencer was reassigned to the FBI, although not completely according to him and although he resented his days off you were secretly happy even though your relationship wasn't at its best.

You decided that once that case was over, you'd announce your departure from the FBI. Matt Simmons had joined the team, after all, which gave you some peace of mind. Although those were the kinds of decisions you made with Spencer, and doing it alone felt even more wrong…

You stopped by the Naples, Florida, police department. Honestly, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You knew you were supposedly working, but the status of your relationship with Spencer had you worried, to say the least.

You had to fix this no matter what, so you swallowed your pride and headed to where you knew Spencer and Emily were.

Along the way, you rehearsed how you would tell Spencer that you supported him, that if his decision was to stay at the BAU, you respected and supported him because that's what a couple does. You mentally rehearsed your speech, perhaps a bit too cheesy, so you limited everything you felt for him to just "I love you.”

The door was half closed, you were about to burst in but you were friends with Penelope Garcia so you stayed behind the door listening to the conversation between Emily and Spencer.

“Because I wanted to kill Scratch.” Reid's words caught you off guard, but honestly, everyone at the BAU has had that same thought at some point.

“Standing room only on that bus.” Emily replied.

“No, I mean it literally. After what he did to you, if I had found him, I would have killed him. And… I would have slept well.” His words were like having a glass of ice water thrown over your head in winter.

It was one thing to think about killing someone, with someone like Peter Lewis, there was a kind of justification, but you're supposed to be the embodiment of justice. You wouldn't have cared if someone had said that. But you knew Spencer or at least you thought you did, because your Spencer, the awkward boy who trembled when he asked you to be his girlfriend, that guy couldn't sleep well if there was blood on his hands, no matter the reasons, he'd be tormented by guilt until his last breath. This new man, on the other hand, admitted he was okay with it; it was more than you could bear.

You carefully turned around, discarding the reason you were there in the first place. You told yourself you weren't running away, but honestly, you were. But you weren't running away from your beloved; you were running away from what he had become.

Arriving at the hotel at night after a long day's work, you approached Emily, asking to be put in a different room from Reid. The hotel had enough rooms, but Emily looked at you with some confusion.

“Is everything okay?” Emily asked, only the two of you were in the lobby, the rest had gone to their rooms.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah, I just want the bed to myself.” The version of you from several months ago wouldn't have been able to stand being even two inches away from Spencer.

Emily was more respectful of privacy, so she gave you the space you needed without further questions. But she still got involved by giving you the key to the room across the hall from Spencer's.

Spencer was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. When he didn't see you walk through the door, he went out to look for you in the lobby. He didn't find you, so he asked at the hotel reception where they told him your room number. It wasn't the same as his, and you were just across the hall, but the distance felt like more than that. It had been feeling that way for a while, for both, actually.

Spencer sighed heavily, running his hands over his face. Part of him wanted to give you the space you forced upon him, but he'd been locked away for three months without anything from you… And finally, there was that proud part of him that refused to seek you out without you doing it first.

That's how it was lately, someone had to give in and neither of them was willing to do it.

But if no one did something soon, everything he had built would crumble at his feet… The mere thought of losing you made Spencer quickly get out of bed and head out the door.

You were lying in bed, tossing and turning, when your phone suddenly rang. You answered it without noticing who it was. “Can we talk?” You swore Spencer’s voice on the other end of the line made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s late, and I was about to fall asleep.” That’s what you wanted to come out of your lips, but instead it was… “Sure.” You hated the urgency evident in your tone.

Then the door rang. You pushed back the covers before getting out of bed and then opened it. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting in case you said yes.” Spencer still had the phone to his ear when you opened the door. His voice was so soft it almost made you forget everything that had been different about him lately.

You both put away your phones, and a smile inevitably formed on your lips. “Your room is across the hall.” Remembering the troubles surrounding you, your smile slowly faded, until only a ghost of what was left remained, just like you and him.

Spencer stared at you, as if your eyes could give him all the answers he was looking for. “Why aren't you sleeping with me?” He asked cautiously. “Is it because I kicked you the other night? Because I already apologized for that.”

His attempt to lighten the mood drew a small laugh from you, and for a moment you could see him again, your dear and beloved Spencer Reid. “No, it’s not that.” You shook your head.

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles but his eyes fixed on you. “So tell me why, sweetheart, why aren't you next to me in bed?”

His eyes were so intense, so intense they triggered the truth. “Because I needed space.”

Spencer looked almost hurt. He stopped wiggling his thumbs but continued to hold your hands. “Do you want space now?” He asked tentatively, hoping the answer was no.

“I don’t know…” You whispered.

Spencer sighed and finally let go of your hands. “It’s been like this between us lately, hasn’t it? We let it build up and then you push me away like a bad habit. I honestly didn’t expect I’d have to sleep alone tonight, and the worst part is, I don’t even know why.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re in trouble, that’s obvious, but we’re still holding onto this, and I thought a better way to deal with it was to give me a break.” You explained.

“A break from me?” His expression said it all, that hard mask firmly covering the pain, the pain that what he had could end and he hadn’t even realized it.

You closed your eyes for a moment, regretting your choice of words and his interpretation of them. “A break from what you are now.” You corrected your words, but not for better.

He sighed in frustration, hating your constant reminder of what he was and what he is. “Oh, so now I'm some kind of monster you must escape?” His tone was filled with bitterness.

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” You clenched your jaw, keeping yourself from yelling and starting an argument in the hallway. “I would never refer to you as a monster.”

“So what do you mean?” He asked sharply. “Uhm? What word would you use to describe what I am now? What seem to despise to you.” After that, he said your name with a certain chilling undertone.

“A stranger.” You blurted out, and from the expression on his face, you knew the word stranger stung more than monster. “That’s how I see you, and excuse me, but it’s hard to see my sweet boyfriend as anything more than a stranger when I hear him say he would’ve killed a man without remorse and slept well afterward.”

Spencer looked up from the floor, realizing you'd overheard his conversation with Emily. “So that's why you've been avoiding me all day? That's why you sent me to the dog house?”

You frowned. “You seem to be downplaying it.”

Spencer sighed heavily. “It’s not like that, but it’s hard to believe my words affected you when Scratch doesn’t deserve any courtesy, not after what he did to our team, our family.” His words came out firmly.

“Peter Lewis is dead!” Maybe shouting the reminder would bring him to his senses. “We’re supposed to be on the side of justice, and beyond that, you’re not like that. When you first killed someone, you couldn’t sleep, the guilt ate at you, no matter how bad that man was.” You responded with the same firmness as him.

Spencer remained silent, you hit the nail on the head because he usually had a lot to say.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, you’re going through a lot and honestly, I can see the resentment building up in your eyes. This is going to destroy you, Spencer, and I'm not willing to see it happen.” You whispered.

A flicker of fear crossed Spencer's eyes. "What are you trying to say?" He asked tentatively.

You swallowed, trying to ease the weight of your words that made a lump in your throat. “I’m trying to say that I need some time away from this, Spencer, away from you. And permanently some time away from the BAU. This is my last case.”

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You should admit. Spencer had done a great job on this case, even though his personal life was crumbling around him especially with the things you'd said to him.

The jet ride was silent, except for the small talk between Luke, JJ, and Spencer. Everything else was peaceful, normal…

Your initial plan was to announce your departure on the jet, but you decided to postpone it until you arrived at the BAU so you could say a more appropriate goodbye to Penelope. You couldn't give a half-hearted goodbye to the sweetest woman on earth.

You never liked goodbyes, and honestly, who does?

You could still feel a ghostly trace of the hugs you received from your friends and now ex colleagues. Their farewell speeches haunt your mind, and for a moment you wished that saying goodbye to something that was once a home didn't feel so bitter, like escaping through the emergency exit.

There were dried tears on your cheeks, the physical reminder of the goodbye that was rekindled when the cool night air hit your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Spencer chivalrously offered to drive you to the hotel where you were going to stay until you found a place or until you decided to come back to him, which would be unlikely if neither of you were willing to give in.

“So I guess this is goodbye, although I hope it won't.” He said honestly as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“We’ll see where life leads us.” You replied, though you didn’t really want to go where the tide took you. You wanted to choose for yourself, but you didn’t have the strength to swim against the current.

Spencer handed you your bag, holding back the words. “I hope it leads you back to me.” He gave you what looked like the ghost of a smile before you opened the car door.

But before you could get out of the car, Spencer said your name in that way only he could make your heart skip a beat. You turned around almost immediately, searching for what he had to say. “What you said was true?” You frowned, needing more information, because you had said a lot, especially to him. “About how resentment is going to destroy me…” He finished it.

You nodded slowly before looking away. This was more difficult than either of you could have anticipated. “It's like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die.”

Spencer just nodded silently, but you knew he was reflecting on your words, as you knew every one of his expressions perfectly, some of which you had even adopted.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” You mumbled before finally getting out of the car. A cowardly goodbye, because if you stayed any longer, you'd probably jump into his arms.

You headed to the hotel reception, you searched your bag for your wallet to pay for the room but then you found something else, Spencer's credentials in your bag, he was going to quit…

You ran out of the hotel, but Spencer and the car were no longer where you'd left them. So you frantically flagged down a taxi.

When you reached your old building, you ran up the stairs. You finally arrived in front of the door to the apartment you'd once shared with Spencer and knocked, knowing that using the keys you hadn't yet returned would be invasive.

When Spencer opened the door, you didn't expect to see the surprise etched on his face. You wanted to tell him so many things; your heart was racing, really racing, from him, or rather, from running. But then, before you could give a grand speech, you crushed your lips against his.

He didn't even hesitate for a second, his hands wrapped around your waist, his eyes closed and his soft sigh caressed your lips during the kiss.

After a few seconds, you pulled away, breathing as rapidly as he did. “I thought you might need more time.” Spencer was the first to break the silence, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I needed it, I did, but you left something in my bag. I don't know if it's a mistake or-” He interrupted you as you spoke hurriedly.

“I'm going to quit.” He replied with conviction.

You looked at him intently, still believing this was too unreal. “We have a lot of things to sort out, and I don’t want you to feel pressured. You shouldn’t leave your job just because of me. I know what I said before, but I love you, and if you love your job at the BAU, I accept it. Just please don’t become a stranger. I know it’s difficult, but hold on to the real Spencer Reid, the sweet, innocent, and clumsy man I fell in love with.” Your voice and your eyes were full of pleading.

Spencer took your face in his hands. “I promise I won’t become a stranger. I really don’t want to become someone I’m not. And if the price to pay is leaving the BAU, I’ll accept it because I can’t lose myself, and I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You rested your face in his hands. “You really don’t have to quit your job. You don’t have to sacrifice anything to be with me. I would never ask that of you.” You had, but now it was different. You couldn’t do that to Spencer. You could never do anything that would hurt him, not him.

“I know.” He continued to caress your face. “We’ve had difficult times for this job, because it’s about sacrifice, and I don’t know how I was so blinded before. But I won’t let my job cost me my relationship with you, much less myself.” He replied with a hint of sadness.

“But I don’t want you to rush into a decision, so what if we make a pros and cons list or something?” You looked at him.

Spencer let out a soft laugh. “I already told Emily.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, one that wasn’t enough to ease your doubts. “Hey, it’s okay. I have three PhDs to fall back on, remember?”

“It’s not that… I just don’t want the years to go by and you blame me for forcing you to leave your job.”

Spencer stroked your hair. “Hey. I would never blame you, because this is only my decision.” His response put you at ease. “Besides, I'd been thinking about it for a while, but I didn't want to admit it because the BAU is all I've ever known.” He admitted.

You raised your head to look at him. “Surely in a few years you won’t hate me for that?” You asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Of course not, although it would be a good idea to attend couples therapy, maybe to strengthen communication.”

You nodded slowly; the idea actually sounded pretty good. For a moment that day, you'd felt like you'd lost everything, and now it seemed like everything was going to be resolved. That lifted a huge burden off your shoulders.

“You know I love you, right?” Spencer caressed your face again.

You leaned down to kiss his palm. “I love you, too.”

[liketolaugh-writes]

So, lore in the Good GIW AU:

A good amount of my Danny Phantom ghost hunter lore - in all my fics, not just this one - is rooted in the assumption that pre-portal, all the Fentons and the GIW (and all other researchers) had to work from was a slightly more concrete version of the stories we have in the real world. They don't know about Nocturne and Vortex and Pariah Dark; they know about the Bell Witch and Alcatraz and Mary King's Close, and some historical journals/records that they believe are ghost sightings.

(Ignore all debunking that's happened in the real world, let's not be pedantic here.)

'Guardian spirit' is an obsession category; we'll elaborate on this later. There are multiple subcategories, but the GIW hasn't finalized those yet because of their vaguely inadequate sample size. (Ghosts don't use subcategories but the original obsession categories come from them.) (We'll actually see this either next week or the week after in The Life and Death of Danny Phantom.)

'Death-bound' is the term for a couple that died together and whose main obsession is to be together forever.

Newly dead ghosts (usually five years or less) retain their human appearance. They start to shift to a more ghostly one after that, and that can take another five to ten years.

Angel's Ambrosia is, unbeknownst to Danny, a god-tier offering. You could give three of these to Pariah Dark and he would consider it an acceptable gift. At some point, the GIW managed to get one of these by sheer happenstance and cultivated it into a fruiting tree with an elaborate setup of ecto-projectors and filters.

The main reason they're so valuable is because they grow only in areas with a very low ghost population, making their ecto very 'pure.' If a ghost goes to pick one, their aura sullies the taste, and if lots do it, the tree dies. Their best bet is to hover way, way below and hope a fruit falls off, or maybe throw something.

'Liminal' here is a term used by spiritualists, while the ectology term is the standard 'ectocontaminated.' Ghosts don't have an equivalent term because they don't care about ecto-infected humans lmfao.

Summoners get one warning and after that they need a license to summon anything.

I spent way too much time on this.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I noticed that people keep saying that Kalim, Silver, and Rook, use light magic (which i know is because they are based on good guys), and the others use dark magic (because they are based on villains). I'm..confused on what exactly that means. It doesn't mean the magic the villain based characters use is evil, right? I'm asking because the story states that Azul's UM is seen as "taboo" so I at first thought that "taboo" magic was considered dark magic. You would've thought that something like Ruggie's or Jamil's UM would be considered "dark" or "taboo" but I feel like that's another can of worms. I just have some questions, and I'm not sure if there are canon answers, but I would love to know what you think. What exactly is considered dark magic? How do people learn to use light or dark magic? Are people who use this "dark magic" more likely to overblot?

“Light” and “dark” magic refer to the fandom-given (not official) classifications for the Null/Cosmic spells the playable versions of the boys produce. (Those are the grey colored spells!)

Kalim, Rook, and Silver are the only three characters that uses “light” (yellow) Null/Cosmic attacks in battle.

Everyone else uses “dark” (purple) Null/Cosmic attacks:

Again, these “light” and “dark” magic classifications come from Twst fandom and are not actually used or acknowledged in-universe or in official Twst materials. The fact that it’s the three “good” or “non-villainous” NRC characters that have light Null/Cosmic spells is also from fandom.

Another variant of this theory suggests that the so-called “Light Trio” enrolled at NRC in atypical ways, but this is only true for Kalim. He transferred into NRC a few months in and with financial help from his dad. Silver and Rook were enrolled via normal means as far as we know, although Rook did transfer dorms later.

So 😅 there technically is no official meaning for what “light” vs “dark” magic means. These are unofficial terms and only have meaning and relevance within fandom and its theories.

In-universe, light magic is not treated like something exclusive to Kalim, Silver, and/or Rook. It's a simple spell that the common mage can use. For example, Jamil uses magic to light the way in darkness, despite his Cosmic/Null affinity being the purple-colored/"darkness" magic in battles. There are also multiple instances of NRC students like Malleus and Ace making fireworks or achieving a similar effect using magic.

Magic in the Twst world is NOT classified into “good” or “bad” categories. Night Raven College (+ the other arcane academies), other institutions, and individuals do not teach or learn “good” and “bad” magic. Whether magic is “good” or “bad” depends largely on how it is used and the intent of the mage casting the spell. For example, positive/negative intent is what determines if bestowed magic is a “blessing” or a “curse”.

As examples, Idia and Malleus both reframe their perspective on their own magic. In book 6, Idia refers to the power to burn blot (passed down in his Shroud blood) as a “curse”. However, he later calls this power a “blessing”, as it allows him to endlessly cast magic, since his body basically burns it away instantaneously. Malleus, conversely, calls his immense magical power a “curse” that isolates him and forbids him from openly expressing emotions (otherwise this could change the weather and endanger people). Early in book 7, he uses his UM to grant his classmates a “blessing” in an effort to prevent his loved ones from leaving.

Leona does refer to Azul’s UM as “taboo”, though it’s not certain what aspect of the magic is “taboo”. If Leona means that it’s “taboo” to take away someone’s power or to suck out their power, then how come Ace’s UM—which allows him to swap magic with someone else—or Rollo’s actions with the fire lotuses are not labelled the same thing? Maybe this was careless wording on the part of the early main story writing.

In Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes, he uses a spell typically cast on items to teleport his fellow dorm leaders to him. The others indicate that this is highly rude, as Malleus is treating them less like peers and more like objects.

This doesn’t appear to be the same as so-called “taboo” magic; the issue here is how the spell is used, not that the spell exists at all. It implies there is etiquette around spells and that some require consent so as to not be considered rude.

It’s strange to consider that apparently taking magic from someone else is considered “taboo”, but spells which involve control over others or removing an individual’s autonomy aren’t viewed that way. Instead, the most we get is the lore that mind manipulation takes a high degree of skill and magical ability.

The presentation makes it sound as though it’s an incredible feat to be in awe at, not something to be scorned or banned when… shouldn’t you very obviously regulate that in case it leads to mages with this power (few as they are) abusing it? This is especially odd given that the main story points out to us that Azul and Jamil’s UMs demand similar amounts of skills and power to pull off. What makes Azul’s magic “taboo” but Jamil’s not?

Transformation potions and magical medicines/potions are regulated by the government. I’m sure as to why it seems like “taboo” magic like Azul’s or potentially dangerous magic like Jamil’s or Ruggie’s are not also regulated. It really feels like they should be.

As for the impact on blot accumulation 💦 again, there is no true “light”/“dark” (good/bad) magic dichotomy in canon. Blot accumulation is based on the individual mage, their abilities, and their limits. It’s not based on whether their spells are arbitrarily labelled as “good” or “bad”. For example, Kalim’s UM allows him to summon a lot of water for only a little bit of magic. For another mage, it could take significantly more magic to summon the same amount of water. In this case, the other mage could accumulate more blot, regardless of their reasons for summoning that large amount of water.

I know that wad s lot of information, but I hope this all made sense ^^ Let me know if you would like any clarification!

[cripplecharacters]

hi, i'm AUDHD myself and i've been trying to figure out if "high functioning" and "low functioning" are appropriate terms to use about autistic people?

i've heard that they're ableist because, well, to be honest it sounds ableist and very inappropriate. i might be wrong, but weren't the terms made by Hans Aspergers?

but then again i've heard/hear autistic people using there terms for *themselves* claiming they are correct terms and help them with their identity but it feels so wrong. maybe i'm misunderstanding? how could someone call another person "low functioning"?

Hello,

They're outdated. For a lot of people in the community, these terms are the ones they were diagnosed with and the ones they self-described with, so they keep using the terms even though new terms have emerged. Some people like these terms, some are neutral to them, some are only okay with them if autistic people are the ones using them like me, and some do not like these terms at all and may even consider them akin to slurs. Functioning labels are seen by many as ableist and dehumanizing, I would air on the side of caution and only use them if you're autistic to self-identify or to describe someone who uses those labels (I do know several people who use functioning labels because they're easier or familiar.)

As for Asperger's, you're right, it was named after a Nazi (Hans Asperger) who created the category for eugenics purposes. It used to be a diagnosis, though, and many people were diagnosed with it and might even still be diagnosed as that in their medical records. Some people are attached to this label because it's how they self-describe and are reclaiming it, but it understandably makes a lot of people very uncomfortable due to it being a label created explicitly for eugenics and due to it being a term coined by a Nazi. It's also named after Hans Asperger who created the divide between "useful" autistics, who could be in the Nazi forces, and "useless" autistics (as the Nazis called them, a "life unworthy of life,") who would be killed. This term is also based on an extremely outdated understanding of autism, which was the belief that autism is a disorder similar to schizophrenia and "psychopathy," which is no longer a valid diagnosis (never really should have been a valid diagnosis to begin with) and largely falls under the diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, when autism is very much its own diagnosis and not part of or defined by schizophrenia or a personality construct. This idea is extremely outdated and has been scientifically proven to be incorrect, similar to female hysteria. This term is really not one someone should be using unless they are autistic and using it to describe themselves, and even then it's still a very loaded term.

(Asperger's is also still a valid diagnosis people are being diagnosed with to this day in other countries that use the ICD-10 rather than the DSMV-5 of the ICD-11. The DSM isn't the main diagnostic criteria in many countries and some countries haven't yet updated to the ICD-11, so make sure to research which text is used in the country your setting is in.)

The modern terms are autism spectrum disorder and support needs labels, which are generally no support needs, light support needs, medium support needs, high support needs, and very substantial support needs. There are also autism levels (levels one, two, and three, one being light or no support needs and three being high or very substantial support needs,) though not everyone likes those.

If someone uses terms that are, medically speaking, outdated when describing themselves, it's fine to use those words in reference to them. But don't force them on people who don't like them. And when writing an autistic character, it is best to use the most up-to-date knowledge possible unless the time of the setting prevents that, because the most up-to-date terms are the ones considered most medically accurate.

(And if your setting is before autism was created as a diagnosis in 1910 by Eugen Bleuler, here is a Wikipedia page that includes other terms used up until the World Health Organization in 1978. It might be best to avoid using the r-slur if at all possible. Lois Lowry in her book "The Silent Boy" did this rather elegantly in her description of an autistic character who lived long before the autism diagnosis was a thing, in which he was referred to as "touched," meaning "touched in the head," or "touched by God," rather than as the r slur. Try to avoid using the r slur, I cannot stress this enough.)

Mod Aaron

[lauren-likes-to-type]

Headcanons

[Inside Out 2] Valentina [Val] Ortiz x Female Reader

Summary: General and romantic headcanons for Val with a female S/O.

Word Count: 1.87k Content + Warnings: None Category: Fluff + Slight Angst || Headcanons + Drabble

[A/N]: Not sure if I'm going to write consistently for her since she got so little screentime and we know very little about her, but I did want to at least share headcanons and a small drabble.

Enjoy!

General

Generally laid back and extremely kind-hearted, Val is usually the one her friends rely on for advice, comfort, and support

She has a cool temper, and it’s hard to get her genuinely worked up over something

She trusts most people easily because they trust her easily

She has a very open personality and welcoming nature, so it’s not hard for people to let their guard down around her once they’ve known her for a short while

On top of being trusting towards other people, she’s also trustworthy herself

Any secrets or issues someone decides to share with her stay with her. They don’t leave her and make it to anyone else unless said person explicitly says it’s okay to share what they’ve said

Val is an extremely patient person, especially when it comes to her friends and family

She tends to keep an open mind about everything and never shames others for the things they enjoy, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else

In regards to those she’s close to, she can be very teasing and often jokes around about the smallest things

Because of how much she trains and competitively plays hockey, I have no doubt that she’s got a bit of muscle

She’s definitely lean, but I’m sure in real life she’d have a decent amount of muscle, especially in her arms and legs

Aside from hockey, I can see her having other aspirations and hobbies

While exercising, she’d probably like to listen to music, specifically old bands she used to like listening to in middle school and the beginning of high school

This interest in old music was sparked to life again after meeting Riley and talking about “Get Up and Glow”

On top of this, I can see her listening to podcasts while studying, especially ones that revolve around her interests – mainly hockey

I also like to think she enjoys video games, even if she’s not the one playing them

There isn’t a specific category of games that she prefers. She enjoys them all

We saw it in the movie: this girl is extremely friendly with others

She likes making sure others feel secure around her, and her Wiki page literally says one of her main dislikes is peer pressure, so she makes an effort to be accepting of almost everyone

It deeply concerns her when she takes notice of people not taking care of themself, so she’s quick to offer any help she can

She’s extroverted, and often encourages other people to try stepping out of their comfort zone when it’s necessary

She’s a kind, confident, caring person who just wants to see the best in others, though she isn’t one to shy away from standing up for other people or herself

Romantic

Love language (receiving) would absolutely be quality time, and likely words of affirmation as well

Love language (giving) would be a mix between three: quality time, words of affirmation, and physical touch

She enjoys getting to spend time with you whenever she can. Whether you’re joining her team during one of their hangouts or not, she wants to be with you

Her favorite thing is seeing you smile or fully brighten up the room when she compliments or encourages you somehow, so she makes sure to do it often

She’s not touch-starved, but does enjoy physical contact and affection, which is clear throughout the movie as she does things such as draping her arm around someone, standing shoulder to shoulder, and bumping people with her shoulders and hands

If you’re someone who loves physical affection, you don’t necessarily have to ask for her to provide it

She can read you like a book, so she’s almost always able to tell when you’re wanting her near you

Need a hug? She’s there

Want to cuddle? Her arms are pulling you to her in an instant

Craving a kiss? She’s leaning in regardless of where you are or who’s around

Even if you aren’t directly asking for her touch, it’ll be there. During hangouts – or even out in the hallways – she’ll have her arm draped around your shoulders or waist, or have her hand resting on the small of your back

If you’re someone who prefers to have your own space most of the time, she’ll respect it 100%, only stepping over that occasionally if she’s genuinely worried something’s wrong. She’ll hold you close to her and try to get you to talk to her about whatever is troubling you, then she’ll let you go once you calm down

She’ll still stay near you, but she’ll give you your space again

If you have a hard time initiating or expressing your want for some kind of touch, she’ll simply ask you or encourage you to either explain what you’re wanting or show her, assuring you that she won’t judge you for it

I can’t decide whether or not she’d have any proper relationship experience considering how devoted she is to hockey, as well as the fact she’s only 17-18, but from how she treats others throughout the film, I think she would be a great partner. She’s shown to be kind, empathetic, and patient with others, and she doesn’t shy away from standing up for people

Gifts from her aren’t necessarily common, but they aren’t rare either. She’ll take her time when picking out a gift for you, wanting it to be meaningful and special

She thanks you plenty of times if you give her a gift because she wants you to know that she truly does appreciate it, even if it’s something small

Arguments aren’t very common with her due to her open-minded nature, but even when they happen, they aren’t harsh and often they’re not over something serious. I can see her having playful arguments with you more than anything, solely because of her more laid back attitude

However, she isn’t one to hesitate to put her foot down if things get aggressive. She’ll defuse the situation or step away from it until you’re both able to think with a clear mind. Her moral and core beliefs are strong, so even while she tends to be open-minded with others, there are certain times where she won’t put up with it

She’s often the one who cheers people up. Because of her protective and caring nature, she often stands as an emotional pillar for others and will happily help them through whatever is troubling them

There’s no exception for this with her partner. She’ll often check in on you, even if you’re having a good day, and will consistently give words of encouragement to help boost your confidence

Regardless of what’s going on in her own life, she’ll always be a shoulder to lean on if you need it

Dates are a weekly thing at the very least. She adores getting to spend time alone with you, and dates are the easiest way to do so

While most of the time she’ll invite you over to stay the night and do simple things such as watching a movie or ranting about whatever comes to mind, other times she’ll take you out to restaurants, arcades, carnivals, libraries, cafes, or anything that she thinks you’d enjoy

Now, during most instances, she isn’t one to show off. She enjoys impressing you, but she often gets too absorbed in what she enjoys to think about showing off – namely hockey

There are times here and there, however, where she might do something slightly flashy during practices, even though she earns teasing from her teammates about it. She always shrugs them off with a smile, though. She knows they like you and mean well

Overall, she’s a patient, kind, and understanding partner, and she’ll do everything she can to make sure you know just how much she loves and cherishes you

Like she did just about every weekend, Val had invited you over to stay the night, and just like you did every weekend, you said yes. You had arrived at her house a few hours prior and were now sitting with her on her bed, rambling on and on about one of your latest obsessions. You hadn’t realized that you weren’t really letting her get a word in, but she didn’t mind. She always enjoyed listening to you talking so passionately about the things you enjoyed, and just looking in her direction confirmed that.

As you waved your hands around with each word, you failed to take notice of how she moved to lie down beside you, head resting in her hand. Soon, after recalling all you had said, you paused and let out a small, sheepish “oh.” You turned to her, ready to apologize for your endless blabbering about your interest. You froze, however, upon seeing the way pure love, care, and admiration filled her eyes as she gazed up at you, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Shyly, you smiled. “Sorry,” you still managed to blurt out. She shook her head and waved your small apology off. “No, don’t be,” she replied just as softly. “I love hearing you talk. Plus, you always have this beautiful little smile when you’re talking about things you like.”

Face reddening with her words, you scratched lightly at the back of your neck. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to annoy you.” She rolled her eyes with a smirk. “You could never annoy me.”

Wordlessly, she patted the spot in front of her, inviting you to lie down as well. You did so and gazed over at her for a while. “So what happened next?” She asked, already settling back against her pillows to relax as she listened to you. Gleefully, you started up again on your rambling, excitedly explaining the things you liked and disliked as she stayed there, studying every little crease in your features as you smiled and laughed and talked.

Regardless of how long you continued to talk, there was no doubt that she was hanging on to every word. She chimed in here and there to solidify the fact she was following along, asking genuine questions and keeping notes of how you reacted to certain details.

As you finally ran out of the things to talk about, you fell silent, expecting to see her asleep beside you. When you turned and rolled back onto your side, you instead found her staring softly back over at you, that small smile gracing her lips never faltering. You grinned back, taking note of how her pupils were blown with love as she focused entirely on you. For her, you were the only thing she cared about in that moment.

She adored the sight of you in front of her.

She adored the feeling of you when she reached out to pull you into her chest.

She adored the almost intoxicating scent that greeted her when your body met hers.

She adored hearing you murmur a few smaller details you had forgotten to mention.

She adored the way your fingers traced out random patterns against her back.

She adored the way you were always there for her, how you never judged her once, how you gave her all your love and trust. She adored you, and only you.

[raayllum]

Immortality & Longevity in TDP

Because season 7 brought up some very interesting Threads to contrast with the series' previous sentiments on immortality / ridiculously long lifespans. So let's go.

Those Who Naturally Live Forever(-ish)

There are three main camps of characters who experience longevity in TDP.

Those who experience it naturally, but can still die (the Archdragons, some elves)

Those who acquire it through dark magic means

Those who cannot permanently die (the First Elves, Aaravos)

I want to talk about the Group Number One first, because it includes the most characters and was the basis for this meta. Besides Lujanne and Akiyu, we don't know too many elves who have lived for hundreds of plus years, although it wouldn't surprise me if Aditi did. Lujanne and Akiyu are both mages as well, with Lujanne living at the most powerful concentration of Moon magic in the world, so that could be part of the reason why she's lived so long, and Tidebound elves (as Finnegrin had Sea Legs' sister for 40+ years) just naturally live much longer than other types of elves (Moonshadow, Sunfire) as far as we know.

The Archdragons themselves also don't talk much about the length of their lives, since it's a species-shared trait and so second nature to them. However, whenever they do talk about it, we get a very clear picture:

It's not exactly... positive. Now, some of this is because of their mental states. Sol Regem lost his beloved mate a thousand years ago, lost his position as the king of the dragons, and been effectively cut off from Xadia's political sphere / the other archdragons for a long time. Rex Igneous is similarly isolated (though it seems more self-inflicted) and we know he had a previous falling out with Avizandum (presumably over Zubeia). We also see Zubeia grow increasingly listless both times she falls ill / almost loses her family (S3, 5x09) so it seems that despite being very rare and accordingly isolationist, Archdragons don't tend to do well alone and without families (understandably).

But the verdict seemingly from at least 2/4ish known archdragons is that

In this way, the Archdragons' view of their quasi-immortality isn't that different from how Aaravos views his literal one:

The stars have never smiled upon their creations. This world was made by cruel, unfeeling hands. It is an instrument of pain, of torment. To exist within this world is to suffer. Even death is no reprieve.

So what about the characters who disagree to the point of doing terrible things so that they can exist forever?

Kpp'ar and Kim'Dael (Crafted Immortality)

Although there's only two characters in the "dark magic induced immortality" category, they paint two such completely different pictures that, in many ways, it shows the full spectrum of just how one can achieve an unnatural immortality.

On the one hand, we have Kim'Dael, who takes dark magic's canonically to its long believed natural conclusion of cannibalism. Kim'Dael takes parts (blood) from magical creatures (in this case, elves) and consumes it to enhance her own abilities and her livelihood. This doesn't always mean fully killing and draining someone, but often can (Bloodmoon Huntress) with multiple individuals / sometimes whole families at a time as she must experience semi-regular rejuvenation; it is unknown if she needs to eat or consume anything else in her day-to-day life.

Her magic use was also confirmed to be a form of dark magic in this interview:

the way that she does, is beyond primal magic. She’s found ways through dark magic to extend her primal moon powers. It’s very evil how she is able to do what she does and extend her life

Despite the dragons who don't have to work to be immortal being far more despondent about their long, long lives, it's not hard to think of reasons why Kim'Dael would want to be immortal. Death is a scary unknown, she (like Finnegrin) is out of tune with her primal knowingness on a fundamental level, and she can do so without harm to herself. Like most dark mages we've seen, her dark magic use requires using and taking from the people around her more, accordingly, than it's taking from her. She takes from others to give herself power: dark magic 101.

Kpp'Ar's search for immortality is way fucking weirder, IMO. It's not necessarily that dark mages, or dark magic, never uses the caster's body for spells. It inherently saps energy (hence the white streaks, nosebleeds, collapsing, etc) and drains life from the body; each spell harms the caster in at least a small way. It's also not like we've never seen a dark mage use their own body parts for a spell; Claudia uses and drinks her own blood mixed into the pentapus ink in 5x09, and Viren mutilates his own heart in 6x08 rather than use someone else's.

It's just, that if Kim'Dael has a way to chase immortality that does mean using somebody else's body... why on earth would you use your own?

It seems that before his change of heart, Kpp'Ar was experimenting with one of the darkest of all magics. A way of extending life. Indefinitely. A horrible and strange kind of immortality. The ancient and disturbing practice of self-eating.

Now, some of this may come down to access or skillset. Presumably Kim'Dael could drink human blood and use it for her spells, since the arcanum of the elf she's drinking from doesn't seem to matter. However, even if you can use human blood, Kpp'Ar at this point was older and used a cane (if we assume this was a later in life pursuit, and not over decades); he likely wasn't going to be able to kidnap and haul back anyone but children back to Puzzle House, and while we know he's willing to sacrifice children (6x06) it's not canonically clear if he's willing to use them.

Either way, we know Kpp'Ar was pursuing immortality as well as the location of the Garden of Innocents concurrently. We don't know if this was interrelated, but we do know that unicorns are connected to the Star arcanum, which is presumably what makes First Elves immortal-ish so... maybe? It's not clear why Kpp'Ar would want immortality in general, especially that type of immortality, for himself, but clearly there will be a reason. It could be that he wanted to transfer it to someone else (Soren) and gave up, but that's not fundamentally different than what Kim'Dael does, so... again: why himself?

(Arc 3 come home to me)

Cannot Die

Last but not least, we have Aaravos + the other First Elves in the 'cannot die' category, except when they can (Leola). I've written more before about how... odd the info surrounding what the Cosmic Council can and cannot do and what we may be missing, for lack of a better term. Quick rundown:

The Cosmic Council can execute Startouch elves. Aaravos did not have enough power to stop them. (*At the time of Leola's death, as things may have changed since then)

Aaravos seems to be utterly unconcerned that the Cosmic Council conceivably could, if they became aware of his actions, execute him in the same manner. Aaravos does not seem to care if they notice, given that he asks, "Are you watching?" in 7x08.

When Aaravos' mortal form (like the one Leola had/used on earth) is destroyed in 7x09, there are noticeable visual differences to the destruction of his daughter's.

Aaravos seems to want to bring the First Elves into "this world" as it is an instrument of pain that begets only suffering, and "I want them to suffer."

We also know that Aaravos believes the First Elves don't care about / love their creations at all, so destroying the earth can't be the endgame goal. We also know that something is keeping Aaravos from accessing/attacking them, otherwise he would've done so before being imprisoned.

Presumably, something in the interim has changed with either 1) Aaravos is no longer able to die or 2) He has found a way to be able to kill the other First Elves if they went after him, rather than the other way around. Potentially dark magic is the road to get there, or a form of ancient magic the First Elves tried to keep hidden that became the basis for dark magic.

Either way, we know that the First Elves are able to end an otherwise truly immortal being's existence permanently (at least so far) and that it's a power at one point Aaravos did/does not have. I'll be curious to see what we learn about all of this and self-eating in the future.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part one part two part three part four

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you’d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - There's 3 Good Shows Holding a Ton of BL Cr*p on their Shoulders

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - So darn adorable1 I love the whole shopping trip thing: Mom out with the gay boys is great.

GIVE ME MOAR OF LEE AND HIS PHI. Pretty please?

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - I love the way Thame is basically like, in my head we are totally dating and acts that way with Po. Yet he hasn't actually discussed it with the poor man. Thame is such a pouty babygirl. Jun is a little shit. All in all, this installment was a little slow but I remain charmed. 

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I’m actually quite enjoying this. I really do just wanna spend most of my time with this pair watching them kiss (please don't make Noeul act mmm'kay?). So I’m really glad we’re on episode three and the show seems invested in supplying us with kisses already. Thank goodness.  

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - mostly I just feel sorry for Fadel. boy is so tired of everybody else’s gay drama queening. 

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 13 of 24 - I actually like how they are portraying Yotha’s character in this (with relation to his mother). It’s pretty authentic to that kind of situation and personality type, I enjoy that. I also like that Wa dumped Klao for being too jealous. good healthy decision, should have stayed that way.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - it just keeps moving through absurdist and ridiculous to gratuitously sexual to mind numbingly dull. I never know where I am with this show. At least it’s not boring... until it so much is. Also my cancer danger signaling is going off hard core. Beware.

I'm like one of those dogs that can sense and epileptic fit, only for death in BL.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 1 or 10 - Star hunter is back this time with terrible facial hair. I’m putting it on the no fly list right up there with wigs. Apparently Thailand and fake hair are mutually exclusive. The lead ingenue looks a little bit like Yim, and I think they mean to give him a similar personality to Yim’s usual characters, but frankly I found him insipid, dim, and boring. Literally every other surrounding character and couple-to-be is more interesting than the mains. The linguistic bit was cute tho. 

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - heavy sigh.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 17 end? - supposedly still coming

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2-3 of 10 - I’m enjoying these second 2 eps a lot better than the first ep. It’s leaning into the premise and I like a quazi Cyrano de Bergerac thing. It’s got that chewy Japanese “who knows where this is going?” seasoning. But one thing we can be sure of is Japan can always veer sideways given the right pothole. Or should I say plothole? Anygay, I like the way they’re different with each other via text than in person, I like that we’ve already had some language discussion and negotiation, I like the cool banter between these men. And they are men. I like how very adult this is. I’m interested to see where it’s going. Color me suitably intrigued, in a refined manner.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 7 of 12 - Ooo I love the side couple!!!! They are soooooo cute. Kissing to seal a debt? Adorable. Also, yes please keep Ever 4 shirtless forever. I applaud his design, functionality, ans aesthetic choice. Rah rah rah. More manual labor in BL! Pun intended.

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 3 of 9 - I like the secondary couple a lot more than the primary. Shocker.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 16 of ?? - I bit the bullet and finally watched the 2 parts. It really did not need to occupy that much of my time. I did watch it on 1.5, which is not normally what I do with foreign language shows, but I’ve lost patience with this damn thing. I didn’t actually mind the student teacher side pairing, I didn’t like it either. I thought this was the final episode, and then I saw that there was an 2 part ep 17 announced. So i guess not. Have mercy.

Oh yeah and trigger warning all round.

It's airing but......

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - It’s Chinese, no idea if it will end well or not. But it’s the stepbrothers trope. Still, I’m not gonna watch it until it’s done.

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai) - It's done. Did anyway watch it? Thoughts?

In Case You Missed it

End of year wraps are here!

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Love a lift and kiss. Show me your muscles by picking another boy up and smooching him silly. (Your Sky)

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[network-rail]

Train pageant judging time! (PART 1)

Well, everyone has submitted their favorite (or least favorite, or something else entirely) trains to be judged, so now it's time to begin:

Best livery:

We had lots of submissions for best livery, from operators past and present. Two of them are FirstGroup liveries, so that says something. Personally, we think they look very turn of the century. The winner is the Class 170 in the new Crosscountry livery, with its nice clean lines, sharp contrast, and the general improvement over the old XC livery. We do also like the heritage liveries, but since I submitted those two (well, someone else also submitted the Intercity Swallow livery but still) it would be a bit biased to give them the win; and we do prefer the brighter colors. However, we did say that we'd give a bonus prize for best heritage livery, and that goes to the Intercity Swallow livery (here seen on the Intercity 225).

Most graceful:

For most graceful, the award has to go to the SECR D Class, as the class 97 is perhaps not very graceful while the Parry People Mover is more cute and precious than graceful.

Strongest:

With a whopping 8200 kW of power (according to wikipedia anyway), the Class 99 (Invicta) easily beats out the competition, with not quite double the power of the Class 91 (Intercity 225). Annoyingly, we couldn't find a source for the power output of the BR Standard Class 9F, but needless to say it's probably less than that.

Hottest:

In this category, we have a very wide range of attractive vehicles, from steam trains, to trams, to trains that aren't even out yet – all shapes and sizes of train one could imagine, and we've got the difficult task of deciding which one is the most attractive. This award goes to the APT, for being an extremely attractive train, although the Class 7 Britannia is a close second (and is certainly literally the hottest). A very attractive selection of trains, though, and very different from each other too, so this wasn't an easy decision. DIVERSITY WIN!

Best singer:

We here at Network Rail are biased against diesels, although in the interest of fairness we decided we would give those three a listen before judging. Also, in the case of the tube trains, even though we know the 2009 stock was submitted for the sound its whistle makes, our main perception of the noises they make is the horrendous screeching noises in the tunnels, so they won't win this one.

Having listened to/watched some videos of the various diesels, we have come to the conclusion that perhaps the class 37 ought to have been submitted to the "most flammable" category instead, since it seems to produce rather a lot of smoke. The 323 also makes a rather interesting sound, not one that I've heard an EMU make before. However, this award has to go to the 1995 tube stock, for its iconic motor noises, various beeping sounds, and lower amounts of screeching compared to the 2009 stock.

Most comfortable:

I haven't actually been on either of these (that I can remember anyway) but knowing that the 315's have the more comfortable version of transverse/longitudinal seats (I can never remember which is which, it's the ones where you sit in the direction of travel), which the new Overground trains don't have; I think I'll give the award to the 315 over the Mk4, although the Mk4 does seem like it would be comfortable too (and also you sit in the direction of travel).

Since only thirty images are allowed per post, that's the end of part one of the judging. Stay tuned for part two, where we iron some clothes, catch fire, and visit Thailand!

[get-your-revenge]

hello! please read post <3

welcome!

on this blog you can ask things to any three cheers for sweet revenge and the black parade characters, BUT with a twist! this is based on my au :D

how the au works:

the demolition woman is Illi Mcmillin grown up,

the demolition man is Phillip Lero (inoverse/my au frank iero) grown up

the realm of the black parade is called the paper kingdom and it is an in between of heaven and hell in the afterlife, its a place for people who dont fit into the category of good or bad

when illi died in the gunfight she went to the paper kingdom

Milli went to war with Phillip and died and went to the paper kingdom as well (nvm I scrapped this idea, disregard 💔)

Illi and Milli (inoverse/my au mikey) are both vampires

Phillip is a border collie therian, not entirely important to the au but i love that hc so i put it here <3

helena is the mcmillin siblings mother and also a vampire (duh)

since the members of the black parade (band) are unnamed, i call them by what their place in the band is (ex: gerard = parade leader, vocalist/frontman, ray = lead guitarist, etc)

Illi murdered the devil but you can still ask him stuff

not much changed about the fabulous killjoys in this au other than the existence of a funpoison love child so erm.... *embarrassment* (I FEEL CRINGE OKAY 😭😭😭)

I also added my killjoysona (demolition widow, or just widow) to this for shits and giggles lol, she's an alien from Jupiter that crashed onto earth (coincidentally right in front of the killjoys diner) and decided to live their part time, she also has some time to my hesitant alien au, but I'm not gonna add that here (may change my mind idk)

u can send asks to either the adult killjoys or their teen selves, u can also send asks to adult girlie and rocket queen (oc, TOTALLY not the love child I just mentioned) (this prolly woulda fit better in the next section ↓ but oh well)

how the asks work:

you can ask questions to any specific era of the characters (adult, teen, afterlife, ect. but not childhood bc thats not established in the au) but if you do pls make it clear which one!

you can ask literally anything, im not going to bother with a do not ask list. anything i find i do not want to answer will not be answered

you can also ask things about the au or the characters to mod (which is me!)

characters:

Phillip Lero (inoverse, demo man and paper kingdom au)

Illi Mcmillin (inoverse, demo woman, and paper kingdom au)

Milli Mcmillin (inoverse, adult,and paper kingdom au)

Ray Romance (inoverse and adult au)

the devil (three cheers)

any member of the black parade (the band)

mother war (tbp)

fear and regret (tbp)

the quintuplets of grief (tbp) (my ocs)

pepe/death (tbp)

either or both of the i dont love you lovers (tbp)

helena (three cheers and paper kingdom au) (yes the whole gang went there😭)

the secretary (tbp)

the nurse (tbp)

party poison (danger days)

fun ghoul (danger days)

jet star (danger days)

kobra kid (danger days)

the girl/missle kid/motorbaby (danger days)

Rocket queen/lola (danger days, oc, not hesitant alien lola, funpoison love child, heh)

demolition widow (danger days, my killjoysona :3)

and any other characters i may come up with! (may also add draag when i find out how to fit his stank ass into my au lmao)

tag system:

#get your revenge! / all posts

#asks for *character name* / the character(s) being questioned

#no bitchez lmao / non ask posts

#mod comes out of her cave / mod posts

about the mod!:

u can call me axl, zero, helena, or lo/lolo! u can use any version of those tho lol

my pronouns R she/they he (im genderfluid! ^^)

my main blog is @literallyjonathandavis

there's a little bit of stuff abt my au (s) on this blog @axl-gets-creative so check out my nasterlists for some more details!

if ur confused abt anything pls let me know!

thanks for reading <3