#he had better things to do but he was the only one

[dissapointu]

Arcane characters with a reader (S/O) who helps them release pent-up energy

Jinx

Jinx paced back and forth, eyes wild, her hands twitching with an urge to break something. She was wound so tightly, it was almost a physical thing. “Can’t think straight,” she muttered, agitated.

You stepped forward, gently cupping her face, guiding her focus to you. “I can help with that.”

Without another word, you pulled her into a heated kiss, her breath catching. It was everything she needed—chaotic and consuming, as your lips crushed against hers. She moaned into the kiss, her hands grabbing at your clothes. She didn’t hold back, letting go of everything in the rush of the moment, her body pressed against yours, losing herself in the intensity. Afterward, she collapsed against you, breathless, but the wildness in her eyes had softened.

“Better,” she whispered, a grin tugging at her lips, “Let’s do it again.”

Vi

Vi’s knuckles were sore from the long day of punching through the thickest of walls, the anger and tension in her muscles refusing to leave. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to show weakness, but you knew her better than that. You reached for her gloves, gently pulling them off.

“Vi, come here,” you said softly, guiding her toward you.

She hesitated for a moment before giving in, wrapping her arms around you in a firm embrace. “You really think you can fix me?”

You smirked, “I’m not fixing anything. Just giving you a way to unwind.”

With that, you kissed her roughly, your hands working on removing the layers between you. She didn’t hold back, her hands gripping your body, as if your touch was the only thing that could make her forget the stress of the day. The intensity was palpable, her frustration melted away with every kiss, every touch. As you collapsed beside her afterward, she sighed, her head resting on your chest.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” she mumbled with a soft smile.

Sevika

Sevika was always cool and collected, but there were times when the weight of everything she carried became too much. You could see the tension in her jaw, the sharpness in her gaze as she stormed into the room. Without a word, you met her, gently pulling her into your arms.

“Bad day?” you murmured, your hands gently massaging her shoulders.

She exhaled, her tense muscles slowly relaxing beneath your touch. “You could say that.”

Before she could stop herself, her lips found yours, hungrily kissing you, eager for release. You matched her intensity, each touch sparking a fire. The power she held outside melted away under your hands, and soon enough, all that was left was heat and closeness. Afterward, she gazed down at you with a rare softness in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she whispered, before pulling you back in for one last kiss.

Silco

Silco had been pacing for hours, his mind never at rest. His ambition, his vision for Zaun, it consumed him. But tonight, he didn’t want to think about it. He just needed release.

You approached him quietly, your hand on his arm, pulling him to face you. “You’ve been working too hard,” you said with a knowing smile.

His eyes darkened, and before you could say another word, he claimed your lips with a desperation that was unlike him. His kisses were fiery, urgent, as though he was trying to burn away all the tension that had built up in him. His hands were rough as they roamed, pulling you close. When he finally let go, his body relaxed against yours, the storm in his mind silenced for just a moment.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

Vander

Vander was always the rock of the group, stoic and steady, but even he had his limits. After a long day of keeping the peace in the underbelly of Zaun, he was more than ready to unwind. He came home to you, his shoulders tight with unspoken tension.

Without a word, you reached for him, guiding him to the bed. You kissed him softly, your hands tracing the scars on his broad chest. He let out a low growl, the weight of his day releasing as your touches became more insistent. The heat between you grew, and soon, the only thing that mattered was the way you helped him forget the burdens he carried.

When it was over, he held you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You always know how to make everything right,” he murmured.

Ekko

Ekko was constantly on the move, always tinkering with his tech or working to improve the world around him. The stress from his never-ending work had started to build, and when he came to you, it was clear he needed a break.

“Got a lot on your mind?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, something like that.”

You leaned in, kissing him slowly at first, then deeper. His hands found their way to your waist as he pulled you closer, finally able to release all the pent-up energy. Afterward, he lay beside you, catching his breath, the weight lifting off his shoulders.

“Guess I needed that,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

Jayce

Jayce was always the one to push himself further, striving for perfection in everything he did. But the constant pressure left him tightly wound. When you noticed the look in his eyes, the one he got when he was overworked and tense, you knew what he needed.

You moved closer, your hand gently resting on his chest. “Let me help you relax.”

He didn’t need any more convincing. The kiss was fierce, filled with the frustration he’d been holding back. His hands grasped you with an intensity that matched his drive. As the moments passed, his usual composed demeanor broke down, leaving only the raw connection between the two of you.

Afterward, he lay there, breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling. “You’re… amazing,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

Viktor

Viktor’s mind was constantly racing with ideas, calculations, and the desire to change the world. But even someone as brilliant as him could burn out from all the stress. When you noticed how worn out he was, you gently pulled him into your embrace, offering him a moment of peace.

“Long day?” you asked, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

He closed his eyes, nodding, and then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he kissed you with a quiet intensity. His hands moved with purpose, but there was a tenderness to them that betrayed his usual composed nature. When it was over, Viktor rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“That… that was just what I needed,” he murmured, a rare, soft smile on his lips.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn had been running herself ragged with her duties as a sheriff, always upholding justice and order. The pressure weighed heavily on her shoulders, and you knew just how to help her release that built-up energy.

You caught her in one of her rare, vulnerable moments. “You need a break,” you said softly.

Her blue eyes locked with yours, and without a word, she pulled you into a kiss. Her hands were gentle at first, but as the tension melted away, so did her usual restraint. The kiss turned heated, her body pressed against yours as she let go of everything she’d been holding in. Afterward, she rested her head on your chest, her breath steady.

“That was… exactly what I needed,” Caitlyn whispered, a small, contented smile on her face.

Each of these drabbles explores how the characters from Arcane cope with pent-up energy and stress in their own unique ways, with the reader (S/O) helping them release that tension, sometimes tender, sometimes spicy, and always with a deep connection.

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Prologue

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?)

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel had always liked Starfall. 

Even he could enjoy one night a year where they danced and were merry…where they pretended that everything was just fine. 

Just that this year…he couldn’t quite manage it. 

Feyre had invited Lucien. 

A year after that catastrophic Winter Solstice. 

And for the very first time, Elain…Elain seemed not just willing but genuinely happy to converse with her mate.

*Keep away from her,* Rhys had repeated his order that morning, making it very clear what he wanted his spymaster to do. And Azriel…well, he had acquiesced. 

Of course, he did. 

Nobody had even noticed when he had slipped away…Nobody had wanted to notice. Why should they? They were all content...they were all happy.

Mor's mating bond with Emerie had snapped just weeks before and that had...everybody was so very pleased for her.

*You are not going to ruin this for Mor,* Rhys had snapped into his mind. *She has been through enough.*

Azriel wasn't going to ruin it. 

So he pretended that everything was normal. And then he disappeared silently, and launched himself off the balcony and went flying. He didn't need to think when he did that. Even the shadows kept silent.

The night sky was a velvety black, speckled with countless glittering stars. 

Azriel loved to fly, loved the rush of the wind buffeting his body, the exhilarating feeling of power and freedom. He soared high into the sky, basking in the cool breeze on his face.

At least he had this .

As a child it was all he had wanted. And now...now it was...now it was seemingly the one thing that gave him something close to peace. The last few green sparkling streaks on the sky...Skyfall was nearly over, once again.

He basked in it for a little while. Until he felt the scratch of Rhys' mental claws against his walls.

*Azriel,* Rhys' voice was harsh, sharp, demanding. *Where are you?*

* Out. * Azriel answered simply. * Flying. *

*Come back,* Rhys ordered with a sigh. *Look, I get it. You are angry at me.*

Azriel didn't even bother answering to that, swooping lower and then pushing higher again, revelling in the cold night air.

*Elain and Lucien are figuring things out,* Rhys continued.

* Good for them, * Azriel replied, his tone still bland. * Is there anything else? *

Rhys let out an exasperated breath.

*Azriel...I am sorry,* his brother apologised. *Be angry at me all you like. This would have only ended in heartbreak for you anyway.*

*That should have been my decision to make,* Azriel's voice was cold, curt, brooking no argument.

Rhys sighed. *Not if the political ramifications could have upset an already strained peace,* Rhys snapped. *Be reasonable, Azriel.*

* Are you done? * he asked Rhys drily.

*Azriel... * Rhys' voice was exasperated. *Fine. Be angry with me, if it makes you feel better,* his brother snorted. *If you want to throw a tantrum like a child, be my guest.*

Azriel gritted his teeth. This was not a tantrum. *Great. Thanks.* he shot back at Rhys nonetheless.

*Elain is happy, Azriel,* Rhys said softly. *And you should be happy for her.*

* Fine, * he said, voice toneless. * I am happy for her. What else do you want from me, Rhys? *

*For you to stop sulking,* Rhys replied. *And to come back to the Party.*

*No,* Azriel said simply, making another loop in the sky, feeling the wind rushing past him.

*Azriel,* Rhys growled, his temper shortening. I mean it. 

*I think I'll go to that pleasure hall near the harbour instead,* Azriel said, his voice cold. * After all, if I want to fuck somebody, I should go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, right? *

*Azriel!* his brother snapped, clearly irritated. *That is enough.*

* What? I am just following your orders, High Lord, * Azriel gave back icily.

*You sound like a petulant child.* Rhys snapped.

* Go back to your party, * Azriel said drily. * I'll be just fine. *

Rhys let out a huffing breath. *Fine. Go and pout some more.*

Azriel ignored his brother, closing the connection and feeling his walls snap back into place.He would pout some more. Thank you very much.

Azriel flew higher, ignoring the party, ignoring everything. He pushed his wings faster, harder, revelling in the wind, in the silence, in the stars above him.

The only sound he could hear was his heartbeat, pulsing in his ears, matching the beating of his wings as he flew. He flew and flew and flew, until his muscles ached, until his wings felt heavy.

It was nice. He liked it. He loved it, in fact.

There was a reason he loved flying so much. It was freedom, it was a rush, but most of all it was quiet.

He did go back to the House of Wind…even when he had no plans to go back to that party. He would go to his room and pout some more. Maybe write some more reports.

Do whatever the High Lord expected the Spymaster to do. 

He landed one one of the many, many balconies, recognising the Priestesses’ herb garden with a start. 

"Spymaster."

Azriel froze for a heartbeat, closing his eyes, cursing mentally. He had wanted to come back unnoticed, to slip in silently. But apparently he wasn’t the lucky. 

One of the Priestesses was sitting on the balcony’s ledge. He wasn’t scared that she was going to jup, simply because the balconies were spelled to prevent exactly that. 

Sitting there, wrapped in a thick knitted blanket, with dark brown hair reached her waist was Irena. 

Clotho’s right hand. The one in charge of seemingly all the paperwork that involved the library. All the bureaucracy went over Irena’s desk, all the accounts and acquisitions… 

She was the daughter of one merchant of the midlands, married off to another richer merchant as soon as she had been barely old enough. 

Azriel had met her for the first time two centuries ago. There had been a string of disappearances of young girls in the surrounding areas and his shadows had very quickly found the culprit. 

Azriel had killed her husband…before he could kill Irena. Her husband had had a taste for violence…his young, beautiful wife had been one of his long-suffering victims. 

Azriel had brought her to the library. He hadn’t really thought that she would bloom here as she had…hadn’t thought that a girl raised with a silver spoon in her mouth would be content with in the library. But she was. 

And Irena turned out to be one of those scarily efficient people that could do the job of three people. In two hundred years, she had actually managed to make the House of Wind cost Rhys nearly nothing in upkeep anymore. Thanks to the gardens of the priestesses that kept them in fruits and vegetables and herbs…some of them sold to the vendors in Velaris, some turned into creams and potions in the stillroom, that were also sold…the library was just one thing the priestesses did. Some preferred the stillroom or the gardens or even needle work, knitted sweaters that were handed out to the needy in Velaris.

She had done that. Had bloomed and flourished here. 

"Irena," he finally brought out, his voice hoarse.

She turned to face him for the first time. She had just grown more beautiful over the years…with long dark hair and dark doe eyes sat in a delicate face. 

But all of that didn’t matter anymore. The moment their eyes met...suddenly everything changed.

His priorities were rearranged. All he cared about anymore was her. Was the priestess wrapped in her wool blanket sitting on that balcony ledge…

Irena. 

She was his mate .

" Oh ," she breathed, her brown doe eyes widening near comically large.

Azriel just stared at her, feeling as though even the world had stopped breathing.

His mate .

His mate was sitting in front of him. 

Irena .

Irena was his mate.

"Azriel," she whispered,  her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

 They just stared at each other for a long, long time. He stepped closer to her, wanting to touch her, wanting to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers, her soft lips against his. He wanted to pull her close...he wanted...

But Azriel didn't reach out. he didn't want to scare her. Didn't want to corner her. So he simply leant next to the railing a little bit away from her, still staring at her. "I..." he stuttered, trying to come up with he perfect sentence to tell his mate.

"I...I didn't expect that," Irena whispered.

"Me neither," Azriel said quietly, still slightly breathless, the information slowly sinking in.

"But it's not... unwelcome ?" Irena offered next.

"Absolutely not," Azriel said immediately. "I mean..." he said. She looked so small, sitting there on the ledge, wrapped into her blanket. One delicate shoulder poked out of it, only covered by white, near translucent cotton. She must only be wearing her nightdress, he realised suddenly. 

She looked…so young right at that moment. 

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly, still staring at her, a soft, tender feeling spreading through him.

His . She was his .

Irena closed her eyes with a heavy breath, before nodding hesitantly. "I just....this was..." she said slowly, not daring to look at him. "It was unexpected."

"For both of us," Azriel said quietly, trying to read her expression. Was it...was she happy? Was she upset ?

She nodded, and then bit her lip. "I..." she started and his eyes lingered at that small, plump lip of hers, wishing that he would be the one biting it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and he instantly snapped his eyes back up to her face. "Sorry?" he echoed, frowning, because...what was she apologizing for?

"I mean," she continued, her dark brows knitting together as she bit her lip. Oh dear god, Azriel had never wanted to be a lip so much in his life. "I... I don't think I'm what you were expecting ."

Azriel took a breath, ready to assure her that he was positively delighted at the prospect of her being his mate but the words didn't quite leave his lips because...

"Are you dissappointed?" he managed, his hands clenching around the railing. He was scared what her answer would be.

She finally looked at him. Looked into his eyes and Azriel felt the world slow down for a moment, felt his throat tighten as she searched his expression, searching for something.

Whatever she was searching for, she seemed to find it though because she let out a sigh of relief, her lips quirking into a small, self-depreciating smile. "No," she said honestly. Azriel's breath caught at the Genuity on her face. "No, I'm not. But I...I don't know what...if I can ever give you..." Irena said weakly.

He shook his head. "We have time," Azriel promised her fiercely. All the time. They could figure this out at their own pace.

"Time," Irena echoed softly, looking towards the vast, twinkling night sky, the stars reflected in her eyes.

She looked back at him for a moment, and he could see an almost helpless expression in her eyes.

 "I...I don't want to disappoint you,” she said quietly. 

"You couldn’t," Azriel whispered, still staring at her, at the beautiful face of his mate. "Believe me, you never could disappoint me."

She gave him the tiniest smile. She didn't believe him, he knew that. Regardless of how ridiculous it was. She deserved more than him. More than scarred and battered and broken warrior.

"I will never...I will never force you," he promised her softly. "I will never..."

She nodded, but Azriel still saw something like relief flash over her face.

It broke his heart. "You are a good male," she whispered.

"No. I am not," Azriel immediately disagreed, because he knew he wasn't. He couldn't even begin to name all the things he had done, all the horrors he had committed. 

He had killed her husband. That was just one of the things on his long, long list. “You deserve better than me,” he said weakly. 

"You are my mate," Irena murmured softly. "There is nothing better."

"I...have...killed people," he protested. Killed her husband too. though he did think that that male deserved it.

"You did," she agreed. "You are a warrior. A protector. You were the one that saved me" she said quietly.

Irena took a deep breath, and then, slowly, reached out, touching his scarred fingers, running small, delicate fingertips over the back of his hands, and Azriel froze, completely still, hardly able to breath as she slowly traced the scars on his skin.

Her touch was light, but searing, making his skin tingle.

He slowly turned his hand, catching her fingers between his, squeezing gently as he intertwined their hands.

"I will never force you. I will never lay a finger on you. Whatever we do in the future, is your decision," he swore. 

She stared up at him, the stars reflected in her eyes, her cheeks a faint pink.

Beautiful . Azriel thought, mesmerized and completely enraptured.

"I believe you," she whispered and Azriel's breath caught.

From her...that had been hurt so much...to hear that...it was...

"I will protect you," Azriel promised fiercely and her breath hitched as he lifted her hand, carefully, gently pressing his lips to the tips of her fingers. "I will protect you with my life."

She smiled at him then, a real smile, and Azriel felt as though his heart might stop. He had thought her beautiful before, but now, with her face illuminated in all its delicate beauty by the starry night sky...she was breathtaking .

"I...I will need some time to adjust," Irena said softly. Azriel just nodded dumbly, still a little star struck by her smile. "I...I haven't..." Irena said and she turned her head, looking out into the night sky, her hand still in his.

She hesitated, clearly struggling for words, and Azriel felt his heart seize up in his chest. Had he overwhelmed her? Had he pressured her?

"I haven't been with anyone in a long time." she admitted quietly. Irena didn't look at him, but Azriel was still looking at her, taking in her soft, almost angelic features, the slight blush on her cheeks.

He swallowed."I understand," Azriel whispered, and he did. He understood her hesitation, her uncertainty. And he would be patient...he would wait for as long as she needed.

"But...if you wanted to...you know where to find me," she said softly.

Azriel felt as though he was dreaming. He had found his mate, his beautiful, incredible mate, and she had welcomed him, wanted him even, and

Breathe .  He told himself as he tried to calm the hammering of his heart. Breathe .

And slowly, carefully, he nodded, his fingers still interlaced with hers. "I will come to you," he said, his voice husky. "Whenever you want me too."

She was...a gift. A gift he didn't deserve but would treasure always.

Slowly...and so, so very carefully, Azriel stepped closer to her, still holding her hand, before lowering himself slowly down to sit next to her on the ledge. And this close he could sense just how much smaller she was than him, could feel the heat radiating from her body, smell her scent.

Poppies and something sweet and warm like…apple blossoms maybe?

Azriel wanted...gods, he wanted to kiss her.

But he didn't. He just held her hand, trying to memorize every small detail of hers. The curve of her cheek, the soft blush on her skin, her nose, the full lips.... The tiny flecks of gold in her eyes that reflected the stars above them.

She was breathtakingly beautiful

For a moment Azriel forgot where there were, forgot the cold air around them. For a moment there were only the two of them on this ledge, beneath the stars and a soft night sky. And it was...he felt peaceful .

It wasn't a feeling he had a lot. But here, on the ledge, his hand in hers, he felt at peace. And when Irena slowly rested her head on his shoulder, Azriel could feel nothing but utter contentment.

His heart swelled with affection for her, and he carefully rested his cheek against her head, taking a deep breath.

This was real. She was his mate.

She was truly, truly his.

His .

And nobody knew. Nobody had a clue. He could keep her all to himself.

And selfishly...that felt really good.

Nobody was going to have an opinion about them. Nobody needed to know now.

He wanted to keep her a secret. Gods, he wanted to.

She let out a soft, content sigh, her head still resting on his shoulder, and Azriel smiled to himself.

Notes:

If you liked this fic, then kudos, comments or constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

[elodieunderglass]

Having dug out the Unfinished Tales to reference a conversation Tolkien wrote between Gandalf and Pippin (but didn’t publish) I thought I’d share it. Gandalf is talking to Pippin about the history of Thorin’s company, hobbits and why he chose Bilbo.

This is evidence for the grand statement I just made about how Bilbo was intended to be a catalyst that changed his society, and that hobbit society was indeed significantly different after his journey, with large social changes occurring between The Hobbit and Fellowship. But it’s also a very funny passage to me so here it is:

‘And then there was the Shire-folk. I began to have a warm place in my heart for them in the Long Winter, which none of you can remember.

They were very hard put to it then: one of the worst pinches they have been in, dying of cold, and starving in the dreadful dearth that followed. But that was the time to see their courage, and their pity one for another. It was by their pity as much as by their tough uncomplaining courage that they survived. I wanted them still to survive.

(😭😭😭😭. Also the theme of having pity for each other is what redeems both Bilbo and Frodo re: Gollum.)

But I saw that the Westlands were in for another very bad time again, sooner or later, though of quite a different sort: pitiless war.

(This is possibly one reason why this passage didn’t make it to publication - Gandalf shouldn’t have had this much foreknowledge of the upcoming war of the ring.)

To come through that I thought they would need something more than they now had. It is not easy to say what. Well, they would want to know a bit more, understand a bit clearer what it was all about, and where they stood.

(It’s also explaining that Bilbo’s role in Thorin’s company was predetermined both by a more omnipotent Gandalf and by Fate; that Gandalf selected Bilbo to be a social catalyst, to return and provoke hobbit society into a more adaptable, resilient state; therefore increasing their chances of surviving.)

They had begun to forget: forget their own beginnings and legends, forget what little they had known about the greatness of the world. It was not yet gone, but it was getting buried: the memory of the high and the perilous. But you cannot teach that sort of thing to a whole people quickly. There was not time.

(Thus Bilbo was supposed to be changed, and return changed by his journey, to teach his people.)

And anyway you must begin at some point, with some one person. I dare say he was “chosen” and I was only chosen to choose him; but I picked out Bilbo.’

‘Now that is just what I want to know,’ said Peregrin. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘How would you select any one Hobbit for such a purpose?’ said Gandalf. ‘I had not time to sort them all out;

(He is SO funny)

but I knew the Shire very well by that time, although when I met Thorin I had been away for more than twenty years on less pleasant business. So naturally thinking over the Hobbits that I knew, I said to myself: “I want a dash of the Took” (but not too much, Master Peregrin)

(This is brilliant we are always BODYING pippin constantly. NOT TOO MUCH TOOK 👀. We were ROBBED not having this in canon )

“and I want a good foundation of the stolider sort, a Baggins perhaps.” That pointed at once to Bilbo.

(Eugenics! Observing them like laboratory mouse lines! Call him a Charles River BILB/o the way you’re genotyping these poor little bastards for your purposes)

And I had known him once very well, almost up to his coming of age, better than he knew me.

(??? Hiding in the bushes spying or…?)

I liked him then. And now I found that he was “unattached” – to jump on again, for of course I did not know all this until I went back to the Shire. I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd, though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not the one that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master.

(Was it cos he’s gay as fuck, Gandalf)

No, I guessed that he wanted to remain “unattached” for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself – or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him.

(I 100% now and for always love a narrator in a constant state of Just Fucking Lies To Everyone All The Time, Giving Us Nothing, Acknowledging Nothing Including Himself. NOPE NOT PROCESSING ANYTHING TODAY THANKS. WE’RE CLOSED. COME BACK TOMORROW. just A Massive Liar about everything and for what!!! Bilbo Baggins my beloved you were born wrong.)

He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally “gone off ”, as they said in the Shire. There were at least two of his uncles on the Took side that had done so.’

You can see why I love this! And I can see why Tolkien didn’t include it, too. Still very fun passage and near enough to canon to be used if you ever want to.

[arpicityandneed]

My Turn

18+ f!reader. best friends steve and bucky. dirty talk. bisexual steve. bisexual bucky.

~

"Tell me again where you want it baby." Your new husband had you in his lap thumbing your clit while you rode him. Your thighs were shaking but you were desperate, tears of frustration on your pretty lashes as you balanced yourself with both hands on his shoulders.

"Inside, Stevie, please?" His hands were roaming over your body possessively, gripping the fat of your ass and thrusting his soaked cock up into you with every down stroke of yours.

"Don't make the sweet thing cry Stevie." Bucky groans as he palms himself through his slacks, waiting his turn for once in honor of your wedding night. Usually he and Steve would've flipped a coin or fought for who got to bully their way inside your pussy first.

"I'm not gonna Buck, she's just so pretty when she begs. My wife." Steve's baby blues were dancing with mischief as Bucky cursed.

"You met her first by accident, Rogers. I'm older-" Bucky started growling the same damn argument they'd been having since they decided they wanted a baby and therefore a wedding. (They were too old fashioned for anything else.)

"Boys, can we argue later?" You cut in breathlessly, and Steves arm wrapped around your waist. Your only warning before he took over- fucking you up and down his shaft like a rag doll as he groaned,

"Alright baby. I gotta do right by my Mrs don't I?" With the smuggest grin you'd ever seen his balls twitched, and spurt after spurt of cum filled you fluttering walls.

"Goddamnit, Stevie." You would've comforted your other boyfriend if you could focus. But Steve's thumb was rubbing your clit as you seized up, coming hard and milking his cock for all he had to give.

You collapsed against his chest.

"You gonna be good for Bucky baby? You got one more in you?" Steve murmured gently as he rocked you on his softening shaft, his cum leaking out of you and drenching his balls in your combined juices.

"Mhm. Want him inside too." You smiled as you kissed him, soft and sweet like you had several hours earlier in front of all your friends and family.

"My turn." You hadn't heard him move but you weren't surprised when you were lifted and bent over the massive bed, Bucky was hardly a patient man once he had the green light.

"Fuck sweetheart, you're dripping." Bucky's voice was hoarse. But Steve, who was laying down close enough for you to tongue at his soft cock, just snorted.

"Don't complain like you don't love it, jerk." Steve guided his shaft into your mouth and murmured softly, "Clean me up baby."

"'M not complaining punk, it's a compliment." You moaned around Steve as Bucky to one good lick of your stuffed pussy before straightening and dragging his cock head through the mess. "Your cum tastes better inside her by the way."

"Shut up, you love my cum anyway you can get it, Barnes."

"Maybe." One smooth thrust and you were full once more, and Bucky goes from teasing his boyfriend to cursing how good you feel. "I gotta say doll. You're kind of a slut."

"B-Bucky!" Your scolding would be more effective if your pussy didn't clench around him from his words and the memories flooding you brain of watching Bucky swallow down Steves cock.

"Greedy fucking pussy-" His moans were loud, shameless. "Back me up here Stevie."

"He's not wrong sweetie. Youre an absolute slut for us. But just us, yeah?" Steve sounds proud. Proud that on his wedding night his wife is being tag teamed by him and his best friend.

Fuck.

You were going to cum, hard and Bucky- the smug bastard- wasn't going to let it happen quietly.

"Someone likes being reminded how needy her pussy is. Clenching down so hard on me doll." Bucky fucked different than Steve. Harder, filthier. His hands were dragging you back onto his fat cock until the audible slap of his hips against your ass echoed around the room. He was getting close you could tell. His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, aching to add to the cum already slicking him inside you. "Should've waited till after the honeymoon to let me fuck her Steve."

His hand snaked around to find your clit and with quick tight circles over your swollen nub you came apart with a cry.

"Yeah, Buck? And why's that.." Steves eyes were narrowed like he was annoyed at being told what to do, but you knew the truth. His cock was growing hard in your mouth again. Bucky thrusted hard inside you before he started to unload, grinding into you as if to make sure his seed took first.

"Cause now we're never gonna know who knocked her up first till the baby's born."

[reidmarieprentiss]

Say Don't Go

Summary: You are given the opportunity of a lifetime, Spencer urges you to take it. Even if it means leaving him behind.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, typical BAU crime, mentions of drugging/kidnapping/robbery, brief alcohol consumption by reader and friends, clubs, break up(?), talks of marriage, forced choices/decisions, happy ending !

Word count: 15k

a/n: so what if this pulls inspiration from the train scene in glee... SO WHAT ... and so what if i named a character after kurt

main masterlist

December 2008 – Present

"You’ve been with so many women you don’t remember their names?" Spencer asked, laughing at Derek.

"Are you surprised?" Emily snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"This has never happened to me before," Derek defended, sounding genuinely incredulous.

"It’s never happened to me before either," Spencer chimed in, grinning as he started toward the conference room.

"It can’t happen to you—you have an eidetic memory," Emily teased, her smirk unmistakable.

"Plus, you only have one name to remember," Derek added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ha ha," Spencer replied, forcing a laugh, though the words cut deeper than he let on. Derek wasn’t wrong.  

He only had one name to remember. One that mattered above all the others.  

But Spencer had messed it up. He had let you get on that train. He had let you walk away.

Spencer's regrets weren't always loud or obvious; they often whispered to him in the quiet moments of his everyday life, weaving their way into his thoughts like unwelcome visitors he couldn’t shake.

It was in the mornings, when he brewed a pot of coffee in his lonely apartment, and his hand hovered over the second mug he used to pour for you. He’d catch himself mid-motion, the pang of realization that you weren’t there cutting through him like a knife. He’d take his coffee black, staring at the empty chair across from him, and wonder if you were having your morning cup too—if you still took it with two sugars and a splash of cream.

At work, it was the little things that brought you to mind. A joke Derek would make, or the way Emily tilted her head while teasing him, reminded Spencer of how you used to laugh with him, soft and genuine. He could still hear your voice in the back of his mind, offering your take on a case or pointing out something he’d missed. Those moments were the hardest—because they reminded him of how much better everything had been when you were there to share it with him.

And then there were the books. Spencer couldn’t walk into his favorite bookstore without being overwhelmed by the memory of browsing the aisles with you, debating over which novel to pick for your next "couples read." Now, those shelves felt empty, even when they were fully stocked. He’d run his fingers over the spines, pausing at titles he knew you would’ve loved, but he never brought himself to buy them. What was the point if you weren’t there to read them with him?

Evenings were the worst. After a long day at the BAU, when he returned to his dim apartment, the silence was deafening. He’d sit at his desk, pulling out old case files to distract himself, but his eyes would always drift to the small keepsake box he kept on the shelf. Inside were the remnants of your time together—a movie ticket stub, a pressed flower from a date, a Polaroid of you laughing at something he’d said. He’d told himself he’d put it away to move on, but instead, it became a shrine to his mistakes, one he visited more often than he’d like to admit.

And then there were the nights when the ache became unbearable, when he’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of you boarding that train. He could still hear the sound of the wheels on the tracks, still see the tear-streaked expression on your face when you looked at him through the window. Those nights, he’d wonder what he’d say to you if he had another chance—what he’d do differently if he could go back. 

The regret wasn’t just a feeling; it was a constant presence in his life. It was the realization that, in trying to give you what he thought you needed, he’d taken away the one thing he needed most: you.

—

June 2008

“Spencer?” you asked cautiously, looking over at your boyfriend as his car came to a stop in front of the train station.  

You could see him take a deep, trembling breath, the shakiness audible even as he tried to steady himself.  

When he turned to face you, his eyes were already brimming with tears, spilling over before he could even speak.  

“You said we were going to dinner,” you reminded him, your throat tightening as dread began to settle in your chest. You were trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, clinging to the hope that you were wrong.  

Spencer cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop his voice from breaking as he said, “No.” He shook his head, and the weight of his next words seemed to crush him as he continued, “You’re going to New York.”  

“What?” Your voice shot up as you stared at him in disbelief, as if he had grown another head. “What do you mean? I turned Aubrey down.”  

“I know,” Spencer sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I can’t let you throw your dreams away for me.”  

“My dreams?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger and heartbreak. “Spencer, you are my dream. I love you!”  

“I love you too,” he choked out through his tears, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”  

“But—” you tried, your hands reaching for his as if grounding him could change his mind.  

“No, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “I—I called Aubrey. She still wants you. I told her you accepted the position. That you’re coming.”  

“Why?” you cried, the single word breaking into a sob. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, desperate for an answer that would make this make sense.  

Spencer’s lips quivered, and he looked away, unable to face the devastation in your eyes. "Because you deserve to have everything you’ve ever wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat.  

"But I already have everything I want!" you shouted, your hands gripping the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "You’re all I need, Spencer. You’re it for me!"  

He let out a shuddering breath, his tears falling freely now as his hands reached up to cover yours. For a moment, you thought he might give in, that he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his expression resolute despite the anguish etched into every line of his face.  

"You’ll resent me one day," he said, his voice cracking. "You’ll look back and wonder what you could’ve done, what you could’ve been if you hadn’t stayed for me. I can’t live with that. I can’t live knowing I held you back."  

"That’s not fair!" you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of your sobs. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! I chose you, Spencer. I chose us!"  

"I know," he whispered, his hands tightening over yours as if trying to memorize the feeling. "And that’s why I have to do this. Because I love you too much to let you give up your future for me."  

"My future is with you!" you insisted, but he was already pulling your hands away from his face, gently but firmly.  

"I called Aubrey," he repeated, his voice hollow. "She’ll be waiting for you at the station in New York. Your ticket is already bought. Your bags… they’re in the trunk."  

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You… you packed my things?"  

Spencer nodded, his expression breaking entirely under the weight of your hurt. "I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t."  

"You had no right!" you shouted, shoving at his chest. "No right, Spencer!"  

He took it, letting you pound against him until your strength gave out, until your sobs consumed you, leaving you trembling and broken in his arms. "I’m sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’m so sorry."  

But he wasn’t sorry enough to stop you from going.  

As the train whistle sounded in the distance, Spencer gently pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You have to go," he said softly, his voice thick with tears. "The train won’t wait."  

"I hate you," you whispered, the words cutting him deeper than anything else ever could.  

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible as he let his hands drop to his lap. "But one day… I hope you’ll understand."  

He opened the car door for you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, staring at him with tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with the weight of everything unsaid.  

Finally, you whispered, "Goodbye, Spencer," your voice trembling as you stepped out of the car.  

He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything as he watched you walk away, each step feeling like a dagger to his heart.  

And when the train finally began to pull out of the station, Spencer felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him like a freight train. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the train. "No," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky and panicked. "What have I done?"  

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran alongside the train, desperate, tears streaming down his face. He called your name, his voice breaking, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him through the thick glass and the noise of the train.  

Inside the train car, you were curled into the seat, staring blankly out the window, your face streaked with tears. You weren’t expecting to see him. But then, there he was—running alongside the train, his expression frantic, his lips forming words you couldn’t quite hear.  

Your heart shattered all over again. The sight of him, so desperate, so raw, made it even harder to leave. Your hand instinctively pressed against the cold glass, a futile attempt to reach for him.  

Spencer’s legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running, the distance between him and the train growing with every passing second. His vision blurred from the tears, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.  

But you… you couldn’t bear to watch. Your tears fell harder as you pulled your hand away from the window and turned your head, unable to keep looking at him. You had to look away, even though it felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.  

Spencer stumbled, slowing as the train picked up speed, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, watching helplessly as the train—and you—disappeared into the horizon.  

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one, the words echoing into the empty night.  

You were gone. And Spencer knew, deep down, that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.  

—

September 2008

You loved your new life. How could you not? You had everything you had once dreamed of—your new position as second in command to the CEO of your favorite designer brand was everything you’d worked so hard for. The thrill of overseeing campaigns, approving designs, and brushing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry was exhilarating.  

You’d settled into your new routine as well as anyone could when starting fresh in a bustling city like New York. Moving in with Aubrey Wilkes, the CEO herself, was daunting at first, but she made it easier. Her mentorship was invaluable, and her sharp wit and genuine kindness turned her into a friend as much as a boss.  

Your days were filled with meetings in glass-walled boardrooms, late nights spent poring over designs and strategies, and the occasional glamorous event that kept your calendar full. You had the life you always said you wanted.  

And yet...  

Every single day, Spencer found his way into your thoughts.  

It wasn’t always obvious at first. Maybe it was a book you saw in a shop window that reminded you of one of his recommendations, or a classical piece playing softly in a café that you knew he loved. Sometimes it was the sound of someone’s laugh that carried the same rhythm as his, or the sight of a man at the train station holding a bouquet of daisies like the ones he used to bring you.  

Other times, it was the silence that brought him back. At the end of a long day, when you’d kick off your heels and collapse onto your couch, you’d find yourself wishing you could tell him about your wins and your struggles. You’d wonder how he’d react to the stories you had to tell, imagining his soft smile or the way his hands would flutter nervously when he was excited for you.  

There were nights when it hit harder—when the city lights felt too bright and the penthouse apartment too cold. On those nights, you’d curl up in bed and stare out at the skyline, wondering if Spencer ever thought about you, too. If he regretted what he’d done. If he missed you as much as you missed him.

Because no matter how perfect your new life seemed on paper, a part of you still felt like it was missing. And that part had a name. Spencer Reid.

—

February 2007

It was a crisp evening as the warm glow of the restaurant's candles reflected off the polished surfaces, casting a cozy light over the two of you. Spencer had chosen this place because it was where you first met, a sentimental touch to the holiday of love that made your heart swell. The quiet buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses provided a soothing backdrop as you both enjoyed your meal, the comfort of each other's presence making the night feel perfect.

You were mid-laugh at something Spencer had said when a woman approached your table, her eyes wide with admiration. "I’m so sorry to bother you," she began, her voice apologetic but earnest. "But that is the most fabulous dress I have ever seen. Can I ask where you got it?"  

Caught off guard, you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced down at the material that clung to your body in all the right places. You smoothed your hand over the fabric, feeling both flattered and shy under the woman’s praise.  

Spencer, noticing your blush, smirked proudly from across the table. His hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch grounded you, reminding you that he was there, always your biggest supporter.  

"I–um," you stammered, your voice soft as you tried to find the words. "I made it."  

The woman’s face lit up with genuine astonishment. "You made it?" she repeated, her tone filled with awe. "That’s incredible. You have such talent."  

Spencer’s smirk deepened into a full-blown grin as he interjected, his voice laced with pride. "She’s amazing, isn’t she? I keep telling her she could make a career out of this, but she’s too modest to listen."  

"Spencer," you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes at him as your blush deepened.  

The woman smiled warmly at the exchange, clearly charmed by the both of you. "Well, if you ever decide to give your talents to the world, give me a call." With a quick admiring glance at your dress one last time, she handed you a business card before turning to rejoin her party, leaving you and Spencer alone once again.  

You stared at the card in your hand, the golden lettering catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights. Your heart nearly stopped as you read the name printed at the top—Aubrey Wilkes.  

Your favorite designer.  

The logo you’d admired countless times on magazine covers and in shop windows felt surreal in your grasp. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the opportunity this might represent sinking in.  

Spencer noticed the stunned look on your face and tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone soft yet concerned.  

You slowly turned the card toward him, your hand trembling slightly. "It’s… her," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer leaned closer, his eyes scanning the card before widening in recognition. His lips curled into a delighted smile, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Aubrey Wilkes?" he exclaimed, excitement evident in his tone. "Y/N, do you know what this means?"  

"I…" you began, but words failed you. It felt too big, too unexpected to process.  

"It means you’re amazing," Spencer continued, his voice steady as he reached across the table to take your free hand. "And now someone else sees it too."  

You looked back at Spencer, who was still holding your hand, his thumb now tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "I told you people would notice," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "You’re incredible, and you should let the world see it."  

Your eyes softened as you gazed at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered.  

"Always," he replied, his expression filled with a quiet devotion that made your heart flutter.  

The moment lingered between you, the restaurant and its patrons fading into the background as the two of you shared a look that said more than words ever could.

—

April 2007

"Spencer, I’m not going," you sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your chest as you leaned back in your chair. His persistence, while well-meaning, was starting to wear on you.  

"Y/N," he began, his tone both patient and pleading, "this isn’t just some casual opportunity. This is Aubrey Wilkes. She gave you her card. She wants to see what you can do. Do you even know how rare that is?"  

You folded your arms across your chest, avoiding his gaze. "I know exactly how rare it is, Spencer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to New York."  

Spencer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if physically holding himself back from pressing harder. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration but also genuine concern. "Is it fear? Because I know you, Y/N. You can do this. You’re more than talented enough."  

"It’s not fear," you shot back, though your voice faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared at the floor, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair. "It’s… it’s everything else. I have a life here. I have a job. I have you."  

Spencer’s heart clenched at your words. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. "I know, and I love our life together," he said earnestly. "But I don’t want you to look back in ten years and wonder ‘what if.’ I don’t want you to resent me for holding you back from something you were meant to do."  

You flinched at his words, your head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think I’d ever resent you? Spencer, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the one who’s always supported me, encouraged me to believe in myself when no one else did."  

"And I’m still doing that," he countered gently. "That’s why I’m pushing this. I can’t stand the thought of you letting this slip away because you’re scared to leave me behind."  

"It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t want to lose us. What if I go, and everything falls apart?"  

Spencer reached for your hands, cradling them between his. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your knuckles as he looked at you with all the tenderness in the world. "You won’t lose me, Y/N," he promised, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I’ll be here, cheering you on, no matter where you are. I’d rather see you chasing your dreams, even if it’s from a distance, than staying here and giving up on them for me."  

Your tears spilled over, and you shook your head, torn between love for him and the fear of what leaving might mean. "I just don’t know, Spencer," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  

"I do," he said softly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "I know how much you’re capable of, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. And I love you too much to let that happen."  

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling between you like an immovable wall. You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill again. “I’m just—I’m not going. Leave it alone,” you said firmly, your voice quieter than you intended but laced with finality.  

Spencer hesitated, his hand still outstretched as if reaching for you might close the growing distance between you. “Y/N,” he murmured softly, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.  

“Can we be done with this, please?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but resolute. You didn’t want to cry again, didn’t want to feel like you were fighting with the one person who always understood you.  

Spencer stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue further. But then he closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

The word hung between you, filled with unspoken emotions—disappointment, worry, and love all tangled together. Spencer looked down at the table, fiddling with his napkin as if it held answers he couldn’t find in your eyes.  

You turned your gaze away, your chest tightening as silence settled over the room. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came with comfort—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of you was saying.  

And though you had put an end to the conversation, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a crack in something you weren’t sure how to fix.  

—

August 2007

"Who was that?" Spencer asked as you walked back inside from the patio, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. He had noticed the look on your face as you ended the call—something between apprehension and surprise.  

You glanced down at your phone, the screen still lit with the call log. "Aubrey," you said hesitantly, tucking the device into your pocket.  

Spencer tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Aubrey Wilkes?"  

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone cautious as you avoided his gaze. "She… uh, she got my number. I don’t know how, but she did." You let out a nervous laugh, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.  

Spencer’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and concern. "And?" he prompted, sensing there was more to the story.  

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "She asked me to consider coming. Said there’s a spot opening next year—her number two is supposed to leave for another job in Milan."  

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching your face as he processed the news. "That’s… huge," he said slowly, his voice laced with both excitement and hesitation.  

"I know," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s… it’s everything I dreamed about. She said she’d hold the spot for me if I wanted it."  

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze softening as he tried to read the emotions flickering across your face. "What did you say?"  

"I didn’t say anything," you admitted, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "I told her I needed time to think about it."  

He nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a moment to respond. "And… are you thinking about it?"  

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don’t know," you said quietly. "I told you I wasn’t going. But now… it’s like she’s dangling everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me, and I don’t know if I can ignore it anymore."  

Spencer’s heart ached at your words, but he forced a gentle smile as he said, “You shouldn’t ignore it.”  

You sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a storm cloud. "It’s just too much to think about right now," you murmured, walking over to where he sat. Without hesitation, you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm wrapped protectively around you. The warmth of his embrace was like a balm, soothing the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.  

"Will you read to me?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.  

“Of course, my love,” he replied without hesitation, his tone tender. He reached for the book he had been reading earlier, adjusting slightly so you could be more comfortable.  

As his calm, steady voice filled the room, weaving through the story’s narrative, you felt your nerves begin to settle. The cadence of his words acted like a lullaby, each one wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Spencer kept reading, even when he noticed your body growing heavier against his, your breathing slowing to a steady rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.  

He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you. You were wearing a sweater you had designed and crafted yourself, the intricate stitching a testament to your talent and creativity. In your peaceful state, with your lips slightly parted and your lashes resting against your cheeks, you looked serene.  

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched you, a flood of emotions washing over him. He felt an overwhelming admiration for you—for your strength, your brilliance, your passion. But beneath that admiration was a deep-seated fear.  

He didn’t want you to give up this massive opportunity, the one you had dreamed of for so long, the one that could change your life. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he was the reason you were hesitating.  

The thought that he might be holding you back, even unintentionally, was almost unbearable. He wanted to be the one who supported you, who cheered you on, who encouraged you to take risks and chase your dreams. But as he held you in his arms, he wondered if his love for you was making it harder for you to leave.  

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered into the quiet room, “I just want you to be happy.”  

He knew that when the time came, he would have to push you, no matter how much it hurt. Because loving you meant wanting the best for you—even if it meant letting you go.  

—

March 2008

You and Spencer were strolling through the mall, casually browsing the stores as you searched for the perfect gift for your grandmother’s upcoming birthday. The two of you laughed together as you passed by store windows, debating what she might like—a scarf, a brooch, maybe a fancy tea set.  

But then your steps slowed, your attention caught by something glinting behind a clear glass case. It was almost subconscious, your feet carrying you toward it before you even realized what had drawn you in.  

"Rings?" Spencer asked, his voice soft and amused as he came to stand beside you. His eyes flicked to the sparkling display before landing on your face, a tender smile curling on his lips.  

"Do you ever think about getting married?" you asked suddenly, your gaze still fixed on the rings, their polished surfaces reflecting the light.  

The question caught Spencer off guard. He blinked, his smile faltering for just a second before it returned, gentler this time. "Of course," he said softly, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable. "Do… do you?"  

You finally tore your eyes away from the display, turning to face him with a grin. Your heart swelled at the look on his face—so earnest, so full of quiet hope.  

"Yes," you admitted, your smile widening as you decided to tease him just a little. "Preferably to a tall, nerdy doctor. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers."  

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his lips pulling into a bashful smile as he looked down at you. "I think you might be in luck," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful humor.  

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head and feigning surprise.  

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes glimmering with affection. "I hear there’s one who’s absolutely crazy about you."  

Your laughter bubbled up, filling the air between you as you leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both stood there, the sparkling rings forgotten as you focused entirely on each other.  

In that moment, with his arm around you and the warmth of his love so evident, you couldn’t help but imagine a future where one of those rings might be yours—and that future felt a lot closer than you’d ever thought possible.  

—

May 2008  

“Aubrey,” you sighed into the phone, keeping your voice low as you closed the bedroom door behind you. Spencer had finally fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning, his fever making rest nearly impossible. The last thing you wanted was to wake him now. “I told you I can’t.”  

Unbeknownst to you, the sound of the door clicking shut had stirred Spencer. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he realized you weren’t lying beside him anymore. He sat up slightly, his head still heavy with fatigue, and strained to hear your voice coming from somewhere outside the room.  

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the moment he heard Aubrey’s name fall from your lips, his chest tightened, and his focus sharpened.  

“No… no… it’s not that…” Your voice wavered, and Spencer could picture you chewing your thumb nervously—something you always did when you were stressed. “I can’t leave. My whole life is in Virginia… well, no… he told me to go… yes, I know—”  

Spencer’s breath hitched, his heart clenching at your words.  

“I love him, I love my life with him,” you continued, and Spencer felt his chest ache in equal parts relief and guilt. “Obviously… I’m sure it would work, but—” You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “My answer is still no. I’m sorry.”  

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed what he’d just heard. He could feel the weight of your words pressing against his chest, a reminder of the sacrifice you were making. He knew he was the reason you were staying. You were giving up your dream for him, and as much as he loved you for it, he couldn’t let it happen.  

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Spencer quickly laid back down, shutting his eyes tight like a child pretending to sleep past their bedtime. He tried to even out his breathing, though his heart raced beneath the covers.  

You slipped back into the bedroom quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow as you moved toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, you nestled into his side, resting your head on his chest. Your lips pressed a tender kiss over his heart, and you whispered, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”  

Spencer’s chest swelled at your words, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as he fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him.  

As your breathing steadied and you drifted off to sleep, Spencer lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the echo of your words—“I love him… he told me to go.”  

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his mind was filled with plans. He had to get you to New York. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him, he had to make sure you followed your dreams—even if it meant losing you in the process.  

—

December 2008 – Present

"Reid, are you paying attention?" Hotch’s firm yet concerned tone cut through the fog in Spencer’s mind, snapping him out of his reverie.  

Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting Hotch’s piercing gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, his voice steady though his heart wasn’t.  

"Good. Let’s keep it that way," Hotch grumbled, clearly not in the mood for distractions.  

The team was seated around the conference table in the BAU’s jet, discussing the details of their latest case. They were headed to New York, where several women had been drugged and abducted from exclusive nightclubs in the Upper East Side. The unsub’s profile was slowly taking shape, but for Spencer, focusing on the details was harder than usual.  

Even hearing the name New York was like a dagger twisting in his side. It brought with it a flood of memories he had tried and failed to suppress—memories of you.  

He could picture the night you had finally told Aubrey no, the way your voice trembled with conviction when you said you were staying in Virginia. And yet, here he was, sitting on a jet bound for the very city where you were supposed to be building your dream.  

Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. This is my job. Focus on the case. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to look at the crime scene photos spread across the table.  

But as the jet began its descent into the city, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the window. The glittering skyline of New York City came into view, and his chest tightened. He wondered, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like now. Would you be walking those streets right now, thriving in a world that had always been meant for you?  

"Reid, thoughts?" JJ’s voice broke through his spiral, and Spencer quickly blinked, realizing the team was looking at him expectantly.  

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "The unsub likely uses a combination of charm and familiarity to gain the victims’ trust. Based on the timeline, he’s calculated and methodical, which suggests he’s not working impulsively. He might be using the same clubs regularly to scope out his targets."  

JJ nodded, taking notes as Morgan chimed in with his own observations. Hotch seemed satisfied that Spencer was back on track, but Spencer could still feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.  

As the jet landed and the team prepared to disembark, Spencer grabbed his bag and fell into step behind the others. He reminded himself that the job came first, that the women out there needed them to be focused and sharp.  

But as they exited the airport and the cold New York air hit his face, Spencer couldn’t help but feel the ghost of what could have been following close behind.  

As the team settled into the precinct, the familiar buzz of activity filled the air—phones ringing, officers shuffling papers, and the hum of conversation about the case. Spencer sat at a desk, his eyes scanning over a map as he worked on the geographical profile. On the surface, he looked focused, but internally, he was at war with himself.  

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The sharp lines on the map blurred as his thoughts drifted.  

Which building do you live in? The question looped through his mind like a broken record. He knew you had moved to the Upper East Side with Aubrey when you first came to New York. But that had been months ago—almost a year, actually. Maybe you didn’t live with her anymore. Maybe you had your own place now.  

And then, more troubling thoughts crept in. Are you being safe? His chest tightened at the idea of you walking these streets, the same streets where women were being drugged and taken.  

Spencer’s eyes darted back to the photos of the nightclubs spread across the desk. He knew it was unlikely you frequented places like these. You’d never been one for the nightlife, always shying away from loud music and crowded spaces. He remembered how you used to fidget at gatherings, instinctively seeking out quieter corners where you could breathe.  

But the thought of you even being near these places, of someone seeing you, targeting you—it made his stomach churn.  

God, I hope you’re safe, Spencer thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake the image of you from his mind.  

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present.  

Spencer blinked, his hands tightening around the edges of the map. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calmer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to piece together the unsub’s movements.”  

Morgan studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Alright, well, let me know if you need a second pair of eyes.”  

Spencer nodded, returning his gaze to the map. But even as he tried to refocus, his mind kept drifting back to you. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t even been able to convince himself to reach out.  

And yet, here he was, in your city, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you were thinking about him too.  

After spending the day checking out the crime scenes and canvasing the surrounding areas, the team returned to the precinct to deliver their initial profile to the local police. Spencer sat near the back of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to keep his focus on the case.  

Emily stood at the front, presenting the profile with her usual confidence. "We believe the unsub is targeting wealthy women," she explained, her tone even but firm. "Women who appear successful and independent—CEO’s, CFO’s, designers, singers, dancers, actors, chefs, etcetera. He sees them as trophies, not just victims. He uses their wealth and status to justify robbing them, taking their IDs, and eventually breaking into their homes after he’s done with them. This is about control and power, and his choice of victims reflects that."  

Spencer’s stomach churned as he listened, each word cutting deeper into his already frayed nerves. His mind was no longer on the women they were profiling; it was back on you.  

Every victim they described could have been you. Successful, talented, determined—everything about you fit the profile. You had climbed to the top of your field, a name that carried weight and admiration. You were exactly the kind of woman this unsub sought to dominate, to tear down.  

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the board where photos of the victims were pinned. Each face reminded him of you in some way—the confident smiles, the elegant postures, the undeniable strength that radiated from their pictures.  

He tried to push the thoughts away, to remind himself that you were likely far from this mess, probably tucked away in a luxurious apartment or a designer studio, far removed from the chaos he was immersed in.  

But the fear gnawed at him anyway. What if you weren’t safe? What if you were walking these streets late at night, lost in thought or distracted, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby?  

Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the moment, but Spencer barely registered what was being said. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts and the eerie similarities between you and the women they were trying to protect.  

The briefing ended, and the room began to clear out, officers heading back to their tasks. Spencer stayed seated, staring blankly at the photos on the board. His chest felt tight, his mind racing with all the possibilities he didn’t want to consider.  

"Reid?" JJ’s voice broke through the haze, her expression soft as she approached him. "What’s up with you? Is something wrong?”

He blinked, forcing himself to shake his head. "No," he lied, his voice flat. "Everything is fine."  

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close. Every instinct in him screamed to find you, to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that this case wasn’t just about catching an unsub—it was about protecting you from a danger he couldn’t control.  

—

You were getting ready with Aubrey and the rest of your group, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement. It was Blake’s 27th birthday, and they had chosen to celebrate with a night out at the clubs.  

The leopard-print dress you wore hugged your frame perfectly, its bold design a gift from Aubrey herself. As you zipped up your deep burgundy leather boots, the rich color catching the light, you couldn’t help but glance at your reflection. The outfit was striking—you felt sexy and confident.  

“Shots!” Kurt’s voice boomed from the living room, drawing laughter and cheers from the group. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as you finished adjusting your boots.  

“You ready to go, superstar?” Aubrey teased, leaning in the doorway with a knowing smile. She looked impeccable, as always, her outfit radiating confidence and style.  

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, standing and smoothing out your dress.  

“Good,” Aubrey said, linking her arm with yours. “Because tonight, we’re leaving all the stress and work drama behind. It’s Blake’s night, and you, my dear, are going to have fun.”  

You laughed, letting her guide you toward the rest of the group. As the music played loudly in the background and someone handed you a shot glass, you tried to push away the unease creeping in. This wasn’t your scene, but for Blake—and with your friends by your side—you’d make the best of it.  

What’s the harm of one night out on the town?

Aubrey, with her effortless charm and impressive connections, had managed to get your group into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. As you approached the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as you passed the long line of people waiting to get in.  

The bouncer gave your group a once-over before glancing at his clipboard, where your names were already on the list. He nodded to the hostess, who gestured for you to follow her inside. You exchanged amused glances with Aubrey, her confident smirk making it clear she was in her element.  

The energy of the club hit you immediately—a pulsing rhythm of music, vibrant lights reflecting off chandeliers and mirrored disco balls, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.  

You were quickly led to a private VIP lounge area, tucked away yet with a perfect view of the dance floor. The sleek leather seating, soft glow of ambient lighting, and low table with a bottle of premium alcohol chilling on ice made it clear this was luxury at its finest.  

As you settled in with the group, Aubrey leaned over with a grin. "Not bad, huh?"  

"Not bad at all," you admitted, finally starting to feel the buzz of excitement that the rest of the group had radiated all night.  

Kurt popped the cork on the bottle with a celebratory cheer, pouring out drinks as Blake laughed and raised their glass. "To the best birthday ever!" Blake called out, their joy infectious as everyone clinked their glasses together.  

You took a sip, letting the fizzy warmth spread through you, and glanced out at the dance floor, watching the kaleidoscope of lights play over the crowd. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax, leaning into the moment. Tonight wasn’t about anything else—it was about celebrating Blake, being with friends, and maybe, just maybe, finding some joy in the chaos.  

It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the excitement of the night wore on, that you noticed something was wrong. Analise hadn’t returned from the bathroom in a very long time. At first, you didn’t think much of it—maybe she’d gotten caught up chatting with someone or had taken a phone call. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, unease began to settle in.  

You mentioned it to Aubrey, and soon, the rest of your group was involved, searching the crowded club for her. You checked every possible place she could be—the bathroom, the dance floor, the bar. You even tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.  

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as you decided to check with door security. Maybe she’d decided to leave early and hadn’t told anyone. But when you explained the situation, the response you got made your heart drop.  

“She left about 40 minutes ago,” the bouncer informed you, his tone matter-of-fact. “She was with a man.”  

Your blood ran cold. Analise was a married lesbian woman with children. There was no way she would leave with a man.  

“That’s impossible,” you said, your voice shaking. “She wouldn’t… she would never do that.”  

The bouncer frowned, his expression darkening as he realized the weight of your words. Aubrey, ever composed, stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “We need to check the security footage. Now.”  

The staff moved quickly, pulling up the tapes as your group crowded around, watching with bated breath. And there it was—clear as day. Analise stumbling out of the bathroom, visibly dazed, as a man wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the exit. You could see her trying to resist, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, but she was no match for him.  

Your stomach churned as the man led her out of the club. It was clear she’d been drugged and coerced.  

“We’re calling the police,” one of the security staff said, already reaching for his radio.  

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. The authorities arrived swiftly, questioning the staff and reviewing the footage. Your group, shaken and worried sick, was told to wait outside. When the police finally addressed you, it was to inform you that they needed to take statements from everyone who had been with Analise that night.  

Before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of a police car, the flashing lights reflecting off the club’s exterior as it faded into the distance. Aubrey sat beside you, her normally composed demeanor fractured by worry. The rest of your group was being transported in other cars, but you all shared the same fear: What if it’s too late?  

As the car sped toward the station, you stared out the window, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Analise’s face, her laugh, her stories about her wife and kids—it all played in your mind like a reel you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was your fault, that somehow you should have noticed sooner, should have done something.  

Aubrey reached over, squeezing your hand tightly. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.  

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. All you could do now was hope the authorities could act quickly enough. Analise’s life could depend on it.  

Your group was led into a quiet room, far from the noise and chaos of the precinct. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and the tension in the air was palpable as you waited, all of you exchanging worried glances. One by one, your friends were called out by law enforcement to give their accounts of the night’s events.  

You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart sank when one of the officers mentioned that the Behavioral Analysis Unit was on the case. The BAU, you thought, your stomach twisting into knots. That could only mean one thing—Spencer.  

Your mind raced. Please, let him be out in the field. Let him be anywhere but here, you silently begged. The idea of seeing him again, especially under these circumstances, felt overwhelming.  

But then a petite, pretty blonde woman entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to your spiraling nerves. She scanned the list in her hands before looking up and saying your name with a polite smile.  

You hesitated but stood up, smoothing your dress as you followed her down the hallway. She led you to a small interrogation room, where the walls seemed to close in just a little too tightly.  

“Have a seat,” the woman said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. She handed you a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.  

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, clutching the cup between your hands as if it were a lifeline.  

The woman gave you a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warm and steady. “My name is Jennifer Jareau,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “I’m an agent with the BAU, and I just have a few questions for you. You’re not in any trouble; we’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.”  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her posture open and non-threatening. “I know tonight was difficult, but anything you can tell us might help us find your friend and bring her home safely.”  

You took a deep breath, letting her words settle over you. As much as you were afraid of what this moment represented, you knew you had to focus on Analise. You began recounting the evening, walking her through everything you could remember—how Analise had gone to the bathroom, how long she’d been gone, and how your group had discovered she had left the club with a man.  

JJ listened intently, taking notes but never breaking eye contact. Her steady presence made it easier to keep talking, even as your voice faltered at times.  

When you finished, she nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve been really helpful. Thank you for being so detailed—it makes a big difference.”  

You offered a small, shaky smile. “I just want her to be okay.”  

“We’re going to do everything we can,” JJ said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.  

You nodded again, but as she stood to leave, a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Spencer really is here? What if he walks through that door next? You weren’t sure you were ready for that moment. Not now. Not like this.  

—

When the call came in about a new abduction, Spencer held his breath, his stomach tightening as a familiar sense of dread crept in. For a brief, harrowing moment, he waited to hear your name. But it wasn’t.  

“Analise Bordeaux,” Penelope said over the phone, her tone efficient but tinged with urgency. “She’s a top-rated journalist for the New York Times. Married, with two kids. Her wife also reported her missing earlier tonight after she didn’t return home at a previously agreed time.”  

Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but the relief was fleeting. Another brilliant, accomplished woman was in danger, and the unsub’s pattern was becoming even clearer.  

“Morgan, Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the tense moment, bringing everyone back to focus. “I want the two of you to head to the club. Talk to the staff, review the footage, and see if anyone remembers anything unusual.”  

“Got it,” Morgan replied, already grabbing his jacket.  

Spencer nodded, silently falling into step with his partner. The ride to the club was quiet, the weight of the case settling heavily between them. Spencer’s mind wandered, as it often did in moments like this, and despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to you. Were you okay? Were you being safe in this massive, chaotic city? The idea of something happening to you gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake.  

When they arrived at the club, the music still pulsed faintly in the background as staff cleaned up after the night’s events. The bouncer and several employees were waiting for them, and Derek immediately took the lead, flashing his badge and asking for access to the security footage.  

Spencer scanned the room as they worked, his sharp eyes noting every detail. The club was upscale, the kind of place that catered to high-profile clients, which fit the unsub’s victimology perfectly. He and Derek pored over the footage, watching as Analise stumbled out of the bathroom, her movements sluggish and disoriented. The man who had escorted her out didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, but Spencer’s mind was already analyzing every subtle detail—the way he scanned the room, the calculated calmness in his movements.  

“This guy fits in with the crowd,” Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.  

Spencer nodded. “He knows exactly how to stay under the radar. He’s blending in, using the chaos of the club to his advantage.”  

After questioning staff and gathering everything they could from the scene, the two men left the club and headed back to the precinct. The weight of what they’d seen hung heavily in the air between them, but Spencer was unusually quiet.  

“You good, pretty boy?” Derek finally asked, glancing over at him.  

“Yeah,” Spencer lied, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… thinking.”  

Derek didn’t push, but Spencer could feel his partner’s eyes on him. 

When Derek and Spencer arrived back at the precinct, they headed straight to the makeshift conference area where the rest of the team was gathered. The atmosphere was tense but focused, with everyone comparing notes and piecing together the puzzle of Analise’s abduction.  

JJ was finishing up her report on the interviews she had conducted with Analise’s friends. She held a notepad in her hand, skimming through her findings as she updated the team.  

“We have a list of people Analise spent the evening with,” JJ said, holding up the notepad. “Her coworkers and a few close friends all confirmed she wasn’t acting like herself before she went to the bathroom. Said she was dazed, disoriented in the footage—classic signs of being drugged. One of them even mentioned they tried calling her, but her phone’s off now.”  

As JJ spoke, Spencer’s gaze landed on the notepad in her hand. Something about it nagged at him—a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.  

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing to the list of names.  

JJ didn’t hesitate, handing the notepad over with a slight frown of curiosity. “Sure,” she said. “What are you thinking?”  

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the list quickly, his brain processing each name at lightning speed. And then he saw it.  

Your name.  

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the notepad tightened as if he needed to steady himself.  

You’re here.  

“What is it, Reid?” JJ asked, her voice breaking through the sudden rush of emotions.  

Spencer forced himself to look up, his expression carefully neutral. “Um,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I just… wanted to see if anyone stood out.”  

He handed the notepad back to JJ, his hand trembling slightly. He hoped she didn’t notice, but Morgan, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes at him.  

Spencer’s mind raced. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t spoken to you since the night he let you go. And now, here you were, tangled up in a case involving dangerous predators and a missing woman. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest.  

“You recognize anyone?” JJ asked, her tone casual as she flipped back through the list.  

“No,” Spencer lied once more, his voice steadier this time.  

But inside, he felt like he was falling apart. Because no matter how much he tried to focus on the case, on the unsub, on finding Analise, one thought overpowered everything else: You were here.  

“What do you think, Hotch?” Rossi started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Should we let them go?” He gestured vaguely, referring to your group still waiting in the designated room.  

“No,” Spencer said quickly, speaking up out of turn. His voice was firmer than he’d intended, and everyone turned to look at him with raised brows.  

“They’re safer here,” Spencer continued, his tone more measured now. “The unsub might have seen them. If they were with Analise all night, they could’ve been noticed, even targeted.”  

“Reid’s right,” Hotch said, nodding as he turned back to Rossi. “We’ll keep them here until we have more information. JJ, did any of them mention recognizing the unsub from the footage? Or if Analise recently changed anything in her routine that might have drawn attention?”  

JJ gently took her notepad back from Spencer, giving him another curious glance before flipping through her notes. “Uh… yes,” she said, stopping on a specific page. “One of them—Y/N Y/L—mentioned that Analise had just gotten a promotion at work. They went out to celebrate at a new restaurant last Thursday.”  

Spencer stiffened at the mention of your name, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.  

“Alright,” Hotch said decisively. “Let’s bring Y/N back into the interrogation room. She might have seen this man at the restaurant and didn’t realize it.”  

“I’ll go get her,” JJ offered, already rising from her seat and heading toward the door.  

“I’ll come too,” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.  

Everyone turned to look at him again, surprise flashing across their faces.  

“May—maybe a second set of ears,” Spencer stammered, quickly trying to justify his outburst. “Um, a new perspective might help.”  

Hotch studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Spencer’s motives. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. Go with her.”  

JJ gave Spencer a questioning look but said nothing, motioning for him to follow her. As they walked down the hallway toward the room where you and your friends were waiting, Spencer felt his chest tighten with every step.  

He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. And now, he was seconds away from coming face-to-face with the person he’d never stopped thinking about.  

—

You were just starting to lose your patience, shifting in your seat and glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, when the door opened again. The same woman from before, Jennifer, stepped inside with her calm and professional demeanor.  

“Y/N?” she said with a polite smile. “Can we see you again?”  

Your friends exchanged questioning glances, murmuring words of encouragement as you stood. “Good luck,” one of them whispered as you followed JJ out of the room and down the hallway.  

You tried to steady yourself, reminding yourself this was all routine. Just more questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as you stepped into the cold interrogation room again, the air felt different—charged, heavy.  

And then you saw him.  

Sitting in the chair across from the table, Spencer.  

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room that had felt icy before now felt like it was a thousand degrees hotter. You froze for a moment, your mind racing to make sense of the sight in front of you. He looked the same, yet different. His hair was slightly longer, his face a little more tired, but those eyes—the same deep, thoughtful eyes you’d once adored—were unmistakable.  

Spencer’s head snapped up as you entered, and for a second, he looked just as startled as you felt. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.  

“Y/N,” JJ said gently, breaking the heavy silence. She gestured toward the chair across from Spencer. “Have a seat.”  

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move as you crossed the room and sat down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, shock, or something else entirely.  

Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You blinked, your throat dry as you nodded again. “Hello, agent,” you replied, equally quiet.  

JJ glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, but she quickly masked it. “Y/N, we just have a few follow-up questions,” she said, sitting down beside Spencer and pulling out her notepad.  

But it didn’t matter what she said. The only thing you could focus on was Spencer, sitting right there in front of you, as if the years between you had suddenly disappeared.  

The questions started simply enough—where had you and your group gone to dinner? How many people were there? Did anyone stand out or seem to take special interest in you?  

“There was one person,” you said after a moment of thought, tilting your head slightly as you tried to recall the details. “He was a busboy, I believe. But he kept coming by our table to check on us.”  

Spencer, who had been taking notes alongside JJ, immediately perked up at that. “He wasn’t your server?” he asked, his voice calm but focused.  

You shook your head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “No, our server was a woman. She was very attentive, but this guy—he kept showing up. At first, we thought he was just really good at his job, but it started to feel… I don’t know, a little strange.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. “Strange how? Did he say anything to you, or was it more about his behavior?”  

“It was mostly his behavior,” you replied, frowning as you tried to piece together the memory. “He’d clear away plates that didn’t really need to be cleared yet, or refill water glasses that were barely half-empty. And every time he came by, he’d linger for just a second too long. It was subtle, but… noticeable.”  

Spencer exchanged a quick glance with JJ before asking, “Can you describe him? Anything about his appearance that stood out?”  

You nodded, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focused on the image in your mind. “He was average height, maybe a little shorter than you,” you glanced at Spencer. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. He had this kind of… intense way of looking at people, like he was trying to figure them out.”  

Spencer scribbled furiously in his notebook, his pen moving so fast it almost blurred. “Do you remember if he wore anything unusual? Jewelry, a watch, anything like that?”  

You paused, biting your lip as you thought. “I… I think he had a tattoo on his wrist,” you said finally. “It was hard to see because of the uniform, but when he reached over to clear a plate, I noticed it. It looked like… a triangle, or something geometric.”  

“That’s good,” JJ said with a nod, giving you an encouraging smile. “That’s really helpful, Y/N.”  

But your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was still scribbling notes with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unsaid passed between you.  

“Anything else you remember, no matter how small?” he asked softly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something deeper—something that felt almost personal.  

You shook your head slightly. “No, I think that’s it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…” You trailed off, a shiver running down your spine at the realization of how close your group may have been to danger.  

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable as he set his pen down. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

JJ stood, glancing at her notes before giving you another reassuring smile. “We’ll follow up with the restaurant and see if anyone knows him. You’ve been really helpful, Y/N.”  

You nodded, rising from your chair, but your eyes lingered on Spencer for just a moment longer before you turned to leave the room. And as you walked back to your friends, you couldn’t help but feel like this encounter had stirred up more than just memories of the night—it had brought something long-buried between you and Spencer back to the surface.  

Before you could reach the room where your friends were waiting, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. The unexpected touch made you stop, turning instinctively.  

There he was—Spencer, standing just behind you, his face filled with an urgency that took your breath away. He looked like he was holding back a storm, his words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.  

“Can I see you before I leave?” he asked, his voice low but rushed, as if afraid you might say no.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind scrambling to process the request. And before you even realized it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips almost automatically.  

Relief flashed across Spencer’s face, but he didn’t linger. He simply gave you a small, grateful nod before turning back toward the team. You stood there for a second, trying to collect yourself, before heading back into the room with your friends.  

As soon as you sat down next to Aubrey, she leaned in, her sharp eyes scanning your face. “Was that Spencer?” she asked in a hushed whisper, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.  

You nodded again, unable to bring yourself to speak.  

“Are you okay?” Aubrey pressed, her hand resting lightly on your arm.  

This time, you shook your head. The motion was small, but it felt monumental, like admitting the weight of everything that had just happened. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, the sharp pressure a weak attempt to distract yourself from the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.  

Aubrey frowned, her expression softening as she studied you. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

You shook your head again, swallowing hard as you tried to push the overwhelming feelings down. “Not yet,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Aubrey nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But I’m here when you’re ready.”  

You gave her a faint smile, grateful for her understanding. But as you sat there, surrounded by your friends and the low hum of their conversations, your mind was elsewhere—focused on Spencer, and the inevitable conversation that now loomed on the horizon.  

—

Luckily, your information turned out to be exactly what the team needed. With Penelope’s tech skills and the restaurant staff’s confirmation, they were able to identify the unsub and locate Analise.  

The relief was almost overwhelming when the news came in: Analise was found unharmed, aside from the lingering effects of the drugs and the red marks on her wrists where she’d been bound. The man hadn’t had the chance to carry out his full plan—robbing her or doing worse—thanks to the swift intervention of the police and FBI.  

By the time everything was resolved, the authorities had cleared you and your friends to leave that same night. The long hours of tension melted away as you gathered your things, and your group began heading toward the precinct exit.  

You stuck close to Aubrey, practically glued to her side as you wrapped an arm around her waist. Her presence grounded you, the warmth and familiarity of her reassuring after everything you’d been through.  

“Finally,” Aubrey murmured as the two of you reached the doors, her tone light but laced with exhaustion.  

You nodded, tightening your hold on her as you pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air. But as you stepped outside, your eyes darted around instinctively, searching for a glimpse of Spencer.  

And there he was, standing just a short distance away, speaking with Morgan and Hotch. His back was to you, but even from where you stood, you could feel the weight of the moment.  

You immediately turned your head, your arm tightening around Aubrey as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk Spencer catching sight of you—or worse, calling out to you.  

Aubrey glanced down at you as the two of you walked quickly toward the car. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite her own obvious fatigue.  

“Yeah,” you whispered, though your grip on her waist betrayed your nerves.  

As you slid into the car, your heart still raced. The thought of seeing Spencer again—even after everything—left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a tiny, nagging part of you that wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let yourself stop.  

But for now, you were content to let an officer drive you home, the city lights blurring outside the window as you leaned against the seat, trying to process the night’s events—and the man who still had the power to shake you to your core.  

The incessant ringing of your phone jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the fog of your restless sleep. You groaned, squinting against the morning light as you reached for your phone on the nightstand.  

Your heart skipped a beat when you glanced at the screen. No name was displayed, just a number. But it was a number you could never forget, no matter how hard you’d tried.  

You had deleted Spencer’s contact months ago, telling yourself it was for the best, a necessary step in moving on. But his number was burned into your memory, a string of digits that you could recite as easily as your own name.  

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the answer button. The ringtone seemed louder, more insistent, as if demanding a decision.  

Your chest tightened, and a million thoughts ran through your mind. Why is he calling? What does he want? Can I even handle hearing his voice right now?  

But before you could overthink it any further, your thumb moved almost of its own accord, pressing the button and bringing the phone to your ear.  

“Hello?” you said softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your heart race, and then you heard it—a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.  

“Y/N,” Spencer said, his tone cautious, almost tentative. “I… I’m sorry to call so early. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”  

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “What’s going on, Spencer?” you asked, your tone carefully neutral.  

He hesitated, and you could practically hear him piecing his words together. “I just… I couldn’t leave New York without talking to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after last night. Not after seeing you again.”  

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.  

“I know this isn’t fair,” Spencer continued, his words tumbling out now, “but… can we talk? Just the two of us? Please?”  

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the headboard as you exhaled slowly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if you were ready to reopen wounds you’d worked so hard to heal. But the sound of his voice, the raw emotion in it, made it impossible to say no.  

“Okay,” you said quietly. “When?”  

“Now?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope and hesitation. “I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere—whatever you’re comfortable with.”  

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, your mind still racing. “There’s a café a couple of blocks from me,” you said finally, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”  

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I’ll see you soon.”  

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand. Part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the part that had never really let Spencer go—knew this was a conversation that was long overdue.  

—

November 2004

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice spoke from behind you, polite but a little unsure.  

You turned around, confused, to find a lanky man with slicked-back hair and glasses standing there, looking at you expectantly. He wore an awkward smile, his hands fidgeting slightly as he shifted on his feet.  

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to place him.  

“If it’s no bother, we would really appreciate the check. We were just called into work,” he explained sheepishly, gesturing to a man sitting at the table behind him, who was watching the interaction with an amused grin.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Um,” you started, your tone hesitant, “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”  

The man sitting across from him burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Nice going, Reid.”  

The one who had spoken—Reid, apparently—turned bright red, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I just—your outfit—it looks just like the uniforms the waitstaff are wearing!”  

You frowned, glancing down at your clothes—a crisp white blouse tucked into sleek black slacks. Then it clicked, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Oh, wow,” you said, grinning at him. “That’s… actually kind of funny. I designed the uniforms, so I guess I subconsciously dressed accordingly.”  

Reid blinked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “You designed them?” he asked, his embarrassment giving way to genuine curiosity.  

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, glancing around the restaurant. “I work for the owner—well, freelance. They hired me to design uniforms that were professional but stylish.”  

“That’s… really impressive,” Reid said, his tone sincere as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re—um, they’re very nice. Clearly convincing,” he added, his cheeks still pink.  

The man at his table laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she’s nice, kid. That could’ve gone way worse.”  

You smiled, brushing off the comment. “No harm done,” you said, waving a hand. Then, looking back at Reid, you added, “Just maybe double-check next time before you assume.”  

“Noted,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “And again, I’m really sorry.”  

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head at the interaction. Little did you know, it was the beginning of something much bigger than a misunderstanding over a uniform.  

—

December 2008 – Present  

You sat at the small table in the café, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth with one hand while biting your thumb with the other. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine creating a soothing background. Still, your nerves were anything but calm.  

You hadn’t seen Spencer yet, but you felt his presence looming, the anticipation making your chest feel tight. Your mind raced with a million thoughts—what he would say, what you should say, how this meeting would go after all the time that had passed.  

“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice interrupted, laced with a soft, teasing tone. “You don’t happen to work here, do you?”  

Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in surprise, only for the tension in your chest to loosen when you saw him. Spencer stood there, looking both nervous and amused, his hands tucked awkwardly into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly tousled from the cold, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the café lights.  

You couldn’t help it—amusement took over as you remembered the very first time he had said those words to you. “Seriously?” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re going to lead with that?”  

Spencer shrugged, his lips curving into a sheepish grin. “I figured it worked the first time,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes flickered to yours.  

Your heart stuttered at the look he gave you, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in 2005, standing in that restaurant, completely oblivious to what the future held.  

You shook your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Sit down, Reid,” you said, your tone light, though your voice still carried the weight of everything unsaid.  

Spencer moved carefully, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile moment between you. He slid into the chair, his hands resting on the table, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve.  

“You remembered,” you said after a beat, unable to stop yourself.  

“Of course I did,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember everything about you.”  

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”  

Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”  

And just like that, the conversation you’d both been avoiding for years finally began.  

Spencer folded his hands on the table, his long fingers twitching slightly as though unsure of where to begin. He glanced down at the tablecloth before looking back up at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out right away.  

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve never been one to struggle for words,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.  

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His voice was soft, almost tentative.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—weighted with years of unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and all the things neither of you had said when you had the chance.  

Spencer finally spoke, his voice low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go.”  

Your heart clenched at his words, the directness of them catching you off guard. You opened your mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for too long.  

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I thought I was giving you the chance to live the life you deserved, to follow your dreams without me holding you back. But all I did was hurt you. And…” He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. “I hurt myself too.”  

You blinked, stunned by the raw honesty in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to dive in so quickly, to say the things you’d spent so long wondering if he even felt.  

“Spencer,” you began, your voice wavering slightly, “you didn’t just hurt me. You made a decision for both of us without even asking how I felt. You thought you were protecting me, but you didn’t give me a choice.”  

He flinched slightly at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I know I handled it all wrong. I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head, and every time, I wish I’d done it differently. I wish I’d just… trusted you.”  

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his words stirring something deep within you. “You think I didn’t want to go? That I didn’t think about what it could’ve meant for my career? I stayed because I loved you, Spencer. You were my dream. Not New York. Not Aubrey. You.”  

Spencer’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “And I threw it away,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t throw it away. You made a choice. We both did. And we have to live with that.”  

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it—that he would drop it and let you both walk away again.  

But then he looked up, and his eyes were filled with something fierce, something determined. “I don’t want to live with it,” he said firmly. “Not anymore. Not if there’s even the smallest chance I can fix this—fix us.”  

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung between you. You wanted to say something, to respond, but you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak.  

So instead, you just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. And in that moment, Spencer Reid, the man who rarely hesitated to explain every detail, every fact, every statistic, did something unexpected.  

He waited too.  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope, for any clue as to how you might respond. You could see the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the desperation for you to believe him, to give him a chance.

“Spencer,” you began softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Fix us? There is no us anymore. You made that abundantly clear when you kicked me out of my home.”

Your words were sharp, cutting through the fragile hope that had been lingering in the air. Spencer flinched as if you’d physically struck him, his face falling with the weight of your statement. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words.

“I didn’t—” he started, but then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I thought—”  

“You thought you knew what was best for me,” you interrupted, your tone more firm now as the hurt you’d buried for so long began to surface. “You didn’t even ask me how I felt. You made a decision for both of us and expected me to just accept it. And when I didn’t? When I tried to fight for us? You pushed me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Spencer said quickly, his voice cracking. “You still matter. I—I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”  

“Protecting me?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You weren’t protecting me, Spencer. You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d resent you, so instead, you pushed me out of your life completely. And guess what? It hurt just as much—maybe even more.”  

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was afraid. I was terrified. Not just of you resenting me, but of… of failing you. Of not being enough. I convinced myself that letting you go was the selfless thing to do, but all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

You looked at him, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. Part of you wanted to lash out, to make him feel a fraction of the pain you’d carried for so long. But another part of you—a part you didn’t want to admit existed—still ached for him, still felt the pull of the man you’d once loved so deeply.  

“You can’t just come back now and expect to fix everything,” you said, your voice softer but no less firm. “It’s not that simple.”  

“I know,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading. “I know it’s not. But I had to try. I couldn’t leave New York without telling you how I feel, without letting you know that I’m sorry—for everything.”  

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “And what happens after this, Spencer? What are you expecting? That I’ll just forget everything and we’ll go back to how things were?”  

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking as he added, “I just needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”  

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes—it was all too much.  

But so was the weight of everything that had happened, the scars that hadn’t fully healed.  

“I never stopped loving you either,” you said finally, your voice trembling again. The admission felt heavy, like a weight you had been carrying for far too long, now released.  

“Really?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to believe it.  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Well, it’s only been half a year, Spencer. I thought I was going to marry you. That doesn’t just go away.”  

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, it doesn’t.”  

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the quiet of the café wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the raw, unspoken emotions lingering between you.  

Then, Spencer shifted in his seat, his hands fumbling around in his bag as if he were searching for something. You watched him curiously, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally pulled out a small box.  

“What is that?” you choked out, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer held the box in his hand, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at you. “I bought this the day we went to the mall,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “When you asked me if I ever thought about marriage.” He paused, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box as if grounding himself. “When you went into the lingerie store, I went back and bought the ring you were staring at.”  

Your breath hitched, your mind racing. “How did you know?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.  

“I’m a profiler,” he said with a small, almost shy smile. “I know—knew you so well. It wasn’t hard to see which one caught your eye.”  

“It’s—the ring is in there right now?” you asked, your voice trembling.  

Spencer nodded, his expression cautious but hopeful. “Do you want to see it?” he asked tentatively, his fingers tightening slightly around the box.  

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you nodded, unable to find the words to say anything else.  

Spencer opened the box, turning it toward you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.  

The ring was simple yet elegant—exactly the kind of style you’d always admired. A delicate band of platinum, with a perfectly cut diamond set in the center, surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled as if they held their own light.  

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your eyes never leaving the ring.  

Spencer’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he rushed out, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.  

“Yes,” you said again, louder this time, your gaze shifting from the ring to meet his wide, questioning eyes.  

“Yes… what?” Spencer asked, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.  

You took a shaky breath, your emotions swelling and threatening to overflow. “I’ll marry you,” you said firmly, the words filling the space between you like a beacon.  

Spencer froze, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. For a moment, he looked like he might cry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hand tightened around the small box.  

“You will?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of awe and disbelief.  

“Yes,” you said again, nodding for emphasis. “I love you, Spencer. I never stopped. And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like I don’t.”  

Spencer’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his grip warm and steady despite his obvious emotion. “I—I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping him.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your voice soft but certain. “Just… ask me.”  

Spencer blinked, his lips curving into the smallest, most genuine smile you’d seen in years. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slid out of his chair and knelt on one knee, still holding the box open.  

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”  

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes.”  

Spencer slid the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking as he did so, and when he stood, you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, holding you tightly as you both laughed and cried, the weight of years of pain and longing finally lifting.  

In that small café, with the world around you fading into the background, the two of you found your way back to each other—against all odds, against all fears. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.  

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

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 @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 

[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[cameronsprincess]

okok hot cocoa and a movie w rafe and his gf on a late night drive maybe after a fight?????? 🤗🤗🤗 u can make it smutty or angsty or fluffy

i’m honestly thinking all three, angsty smutty fluff😏🩷

CW: smut! 18+ only! bf!rafe, gf!reader, strong language, slight angst, piv sex, car sex, semi public sex, fluffy ending w soft!rafe<3

join the 5k celly here!

you lean your head against the window of your boyfriends truck, nothing but the low hum of the radio filling the tense silence that surrounds the two of you.

the night was going well, until it wasn’t. you and rafe argued a lot, but it had never reached the point it did tonight. the thoughts of all the harsh things you both spewed at one other makes your chest tighten.

you slowly lift your head from the window, chancing a glance at rafe. his body is tense, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. you don’t miss the slight tick in his jaw, watching as he clenches and unclenches it, nostrils flaring as his eyes remain on the road, not bothering to even look your way for a second.

“rafe…” you whisper, shifting in your seat so you’re facing him completely.

his hard blue eyes glance at you for a second, quickly placing them back on the road before he speaks.

“what, y/n… i’m really not in the fucking mood to talk to you right now.”

you breathe out a sigh, rolling your eyes. “then why the fuck did we go on a drive, huh? if you can’t even fucking talk to me, what was the fucking point in this?”

his hands tighten around the steering wheel once more, a heavy sigh pushing from his chest.

“i needed to fucking clear my head, after you…” he pauses, trying to calm himself before continuing, “fuck, after you said some of the shit you did, throwing low blows about my relationship with my dad my way, telling me that i’m a fuck up, i needed to fucking get out of that house… you are the one who asked to come with me, i would’ve much preferred you stayed home.”

his words hit you hard, slapping you in the face and twisting tightly around your stomach. your face drops, a slight frown on your lips as tears begin to fill your eyes. you know you shouldn’t have thrown his strained relationship with his father in his face, using it as ammo in your ploy to hurt him, and you definitely shouldn’t have called him a fuck up, knowing full well he hears that enough from his father and a few others.

rafe wasn’t a fuck up— far from it actually— you were just so angry, the words spilled from your lips before you could even give them a second thought.

“rafe, i-” you begin, but his loud, booming voice rings through the air, cutting you off.

“just stop fucking talking! can you fucking do that, for once? just stop. fucking. talking,” he pauses, letting out a rough laugh, “i’m just gonna take you home, i can’t stand the sight of you right now, can’t stand your irritating fucking voice.”

you gasp, his words slicing right through your heart.

“fuck you, rafe! god, i’m trying to make things better, but you’re being a fucking dick! and you wonder why i said the shit i said earlier, it’s because you act like this! you’re a fucking child! learn to grow up and communicate.”

rafe slams on the breaks so hard you jolt forward, your palms slapping against the dash of the truck. you push back, eyes narrowed on him. “what the fuck, rafe! are you fucking crazy? fucking drive the truck, now!” you shout, hands shaking and breathing choppy.

he ignores you, simply pressing his foot on the gas and speeding down the road, his tires slightly screeching as he does. you press your back firmly against the seat, arms crossed over your chest as you watch dim street lights and dark outlines of the trees fly by.

rafe makes a sharp right turn, pulling his truck into an empty, dark parking lot. he places the truck in park, quickly killing the engine and tossing the keys to the floorboard. you run a hand down your face, a scoff leaving your lips.

“why the fuck are we here? take me the fuck home.”

he doesn’t answer, his silence slowly grating on your nerves.

“rafe! are you gonna say anythin-”

he cuts off your words, his hand reaching out and wrapping tightly around your throat. you wrap a hand around his wrist, trying to pry him off, but it’s no use. his fingers tighten around the expanse of your neck, pressing firmly into your pulse point. he gives a low hum, leaning his face in close to yours, his warm breath fanning across your face.

“god you’re fucking infuriating, such a fucking bitch sometimes,” he stops, his eyes flitting down to your lips, reveling in the way they’re slightly parted, loving the way your pulse beats rapidly against his fingers. his lips slightly brush against yours and you squeeze your thighs together. you need him, and you need him now. “what am i gonna do about that little fucking attitude of yours, hmm?”

your eyes find his, the normally bright and shining blue now dark. you inch your face closer to his the best you can, and it’s just enough to press your lips against his. rafe groans, releasing your throat, his hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling you further into him. his tongue shoves its way past the seam of your lips, tangling with yours perfectly.

you moan into his mouth, your fingers gripping at the soft fabric of his shirt and pushing him back. both of your heavy breathing fills the cramped space of his truck, your eyes darting across his face, “rafe…” you whisper, but he doesn’t let you say another word.

he fumbles with his belt, pulling it free from his jeans before popping the button and slowly guiding the zipper down. he removes the rough denim from his lower body, his boxers going with them. your mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock, his tip swollen and already dripping with his arousal. he reaches over the center console, hands gripping your hips tightly and yanking you into his lap.

a low groan escapes him when your covered core rubs across his length, making him twitch beneath you. his hands pull at the waistband of your cotton shorts and you lift your hips, allowing him to pull them down your legs. he tosses them into the passenger seat, one hand firmly gripping at your hip while the other fists his cock, jerking himself as he keeps eye contact with you.

“fuck me, rafe. please?”

the words barely leave your lips before he’s pushing the head into your drenched hole, bottoming out in seconds. you both groan in unison, the feel of his large cock stretching you and the way your pussy tightly grips his dick making all the anger from moments ago wash away.

rafe presses his lips against yours, his mouth devouring you as he holds onto your hips, keeping you still as he pounds himself inside you from below. the head of his cock repeatedly hits at that sweet spot inside you, your body shaking in his hold and sweet moans of pleasure falling past your lips.

“r-rafe.. oh, god.” you mumble against his lips.

he pulls back, hard blue eyes on yours as he continues to brutally fuck himself into you. your pussy pulsates around him, your clit throbbing. you remove his hands from your hips, running them up your sides and placing them up your shirt. he cups your breasts, squeezing at them harshly. you begin lifting your hips, slamming yourself back down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“fuck, baby. ‘m so sorry, ‘m so fuckin’ sorry.”

you press your forehead against his, your lips beginning to slowly trail across his jaw and down to his neck. your teeth lightly nip at his sweat slick skin, loving the reaction it pulls from him.

“‘m sorry, too, rafe. i love you. fuuuck, i love you.”

your body trembles beneath his hold, rafe’s hands slowly and softly roaming your body, drinking in every bit of you with his hands. “i love you, too.”

the band snaps, your pussy clenching tightly around rafe’s cock, your orgasm rushing through you with a call of his name. rafe isn’t too far behind you, his dick twitching inside you. he shoves himself deep inside you, a raspy moan falling from him as he paints your inner walls white with his seed.

his body falls limp beneath you, his arms wrapped around your waist as you lie your head on his chest. his fingers begin to trace lazy shapes on your back, lips kissing softly at the space between your neck and shoulder.

you break the silence first, “i’m really sorry… i- i didn���t mean anything i said, i just-”

he lifts his head, cupping your face in his hands as he forces your eyes on his. “i know. i’m sorry too, i love you, y/n. i really fucking do.”

you smile down at him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. he pulls his hands from your face, allowing you to rest your head on his chest again. you find comfort in the silence this time, the strong beat of his heart against your face making your insides warm.

tagging a few moots: @starkeysprincess @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @rafesangelita @rafeyscurtainbangs @drewsarms @drewsephrry @bloodibambiidoll @babygorewhore @nemesyaaa @httpsdrewstarkey @redhead1180 @rafeinterlude

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 2 to A New Form of Pleasure

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: There is something that happened between you and your superior, something that unlocked a new side to both of you that neither of you knew about, but Simon may not be as keen to accept it as you are. However, after a bit of silence on his part, a late night visit might just fix everything.

Word Count: 6.4 k

Warnings:

Quiet breathing is the only noise left in the room as both of your bare, glistening bodies lay exhausted in bed, wrapped in a euphoric haze as Simon’s hand draws lazy circles up and down your arm. He continues the pattern for several minutes until that high finally starts to subside and clarity comes rolling back in.

Your eyes scan the small room to find the solitary clock along the wall and seeing how late it is you make the decision that it’s time to head back to your own room. The night is waning faster than you thought and now that the problem has been fixed, you both should really get some sleep.

Without a word you crawl your way out from his side and begin the search for your clothes; you won’t make it far across base naked. Simon props himself up against the wall behind the head of his bed, one arm behind him like a headrest as those dark eyes follow you through the room collecting your clothes to get dressed. Strange thoughts are already swirling around in his mind now that it’s clear of his desire, but he keeps those thoughts locked tight behind his closed lips and just enjoys the sight of your body until those silky curves are once again hidden from his sight. 

Your shirt is put on last and with that he too makes it out of bed and tosses on his sweats to walk with you the short distance to the door. “Till next time, yeah?” you say with a light chuckle, delaying the inevitable for a few seconds more so that the heat in your cheeks can die down.

Pulling you back against his warm chest with a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he places another grateful kiss to your lips and the moment you break apart he places his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispers in the space between your raw mouths.

“Anytime,” you say with eyes still closed. “Just say the word and I’m here to do this again.” 

He moves back and you shoot him a bright smile as you reach for the door handle before you can talk yourself out of it and just like that you make your way out into the night. His eyes stay on you until he can’t make out your form in the darkness anymore and only then does he head back inside with a question pressing to the forefront of his thoughts.

What the hell has he gotten himself into now?

Days pass in normal fashion, but Simon doesn’t speak a peep about that night; there’s no requests for more encounters, no mentions of how good it was, nothing. You find it odd after all the intensity you had both shared, after the way he had told you how much he really wanted you to make him beg, that all of a sudden it would just be radio silence from him. Perhaps it would just remain a secret that you would share or maybe… maybe he thinks it was a mistake.

Whatever the case you keep it to yourself and things around the base return to the usual standard of monotony that day to day life brings whenever there are no missions scheduled. The only thing that keeps you from over thinking too much is the fact that Simon addresses you as he always has, but you can feel some space between you that hadn’t been there before and it puts a sour taste in your mouth that you can’t seem to shake.

More days pass in this confusing limbo, more nights spent alone in your bed without that thrill of making your superior cum again and now you’re frustrated. It wasn’t just Simon that got opened to something new, you did too and you liked it. Now it’s just over and tonight you’ve just about had it.

“I guess I better just get used to it,” you mutter to yourself as you roll over to turn out the lamp to at least try and get some rest.

You aren’t certain how long you’ve been asleep, but something suddenly breaks you out of your slumber. In your sleepy haze you aren’t entirely sure it’s actually anything until it happens again. Tap, tap, tap. Someone is knocking at your door and it’s getting louder and more frantic. It’s late, much later than having random company would allow and curiosity has you in its grip as you bound out of bed.

“One second,” you call out as you quickly flick on the lamp and blink a few times to adjust to the light.  

Another round of knocks ring out and you grab a jacket you have lying about close by to cover your tank top and panties well enough to greet whoever it is on the other side as it’s clear you won’t be able to get fully dressed; must be urgent the way the person doesn’t even seem to react to your message. Quickly you grab for the handle and turn the knob, ready to find out what’s so pressing that you would be disturbed this late. 

You open the door barely a crack and there, standing close to the frame, is the hulking form of the lieutenant. His random presence catches you off guard; he is the last person you’d expect to see right now with no previous warning. What the hell is he doing here? Silly question, but you don’t want to assume even though you are quick to pick up on a few signs. 

His attention falls to you as he finishes surveying the area around him and those eyes immediately find yours looking up into his balaclava-masked face. You notice something strange in his gaze… like he’s nervous. The sweats he’s currently wearing look as if they’ve been thrown on in a hurry and he isn’t even wearing a shirt, it’s just his dog tags that are over his bare chest. It’s like he’s bolted all the way over here the way he breathes in laborious, heavy draws. 

“Bit late don’t you think?” you say, trying to ascertain from his demeanor what the agenda for this visit is. “Can I help you lieutenant?”

Simon clears his throat. “We need ta talk,” he says, ignoring the snide way you utter his title as he rushes to finish speaking as if he doesn’t have the time. “Are ya gonna fuckin’ let me in?”

“I don’t know if I should…” you counter, your sleepy state making it hard to hide how annoyed you are at his sudden appearance.

He knows he deserves it, but he is desperate to get in. “Please,” he pushes; it’s not a word he uses often.

You detect that hint of desperation in his tone and unable to stop yourself you silently fling open the door enough that he can pass by you to get in. Without another word shared between you both he quickly steps inside as you poke your head out. The hallway is quiet, everyone else still asleep for the night. No personnel can be seen moving about which leads you to believe this isn’t a business call… at least that’s what you hope. 

You close the door and set the lock out of habit, but as you go to turn around your pithy words about how he better have a good reason to wake you up in the dead of night die on your tongue as you are suddenly forced back first onto the surface of the door and pinned with by two large, rough hands on your hips as bulky muscles press against your stomach. The action is so fast it leaves your mind reeling and grasping for understanding.

“Again,” he growls in a huff, his face inches from yours. “Need it again.”

Simon’s breath is warm as it wafts over your features and you realize his balaclava is already discarded haphazardly on your floor; there is no barrier that now exists between you. The parts of his skin that make contact with your body through your clothing are feverish to the touch; it’s like he’s on fire. 

His hands on your hips grip into the muscle harder as he speaks. “Need ya ta make me come again,” he groans, his lips getting closer as he tries to hold back long enough to have this conversation. “Like ya did last time. Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Can’t get off alone again, so you’ve come crawling back to me? Is that it?” you ask, followed by an irked chuckle as you try to steady your breathing, hoping he can’t tell how flustered that little move just made you. He doesn’t get that luxury, at least not yet.

Simon shakes his head slowly. “I’s not that,” he replies, quieting his voice. 

“Then what?” You stare back, waiting for his reply.

Simon licks at his bottom lip. “I’s not just ‘bout comin’... I want you, the way ya fuckin’ do it and I’ll do anythin’ ya tell me to jus’ ta have it like that again.”

His needy words stir something inside you, making you feel that boldness you did that night this happened the first time. How could you say no to a request like that? But you can’t just let all that silence that built between you both in the days since that night pass without saying something.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been ignoring the subject then? I thought we had something going last time and ever since you’ve acted like nothing happened. You made me think we were actually gonna keep this up.”

He pauses a moment as he thinks about how best to answer. “I… like tha fuckin’ power ya seem ta have over me,” he admits finally. He knows he’s fucked up and if this has any chance of going anywhere tonight he is going to have to be honest. “Not used to enjoyin’ somethin’ like that and once the pleasure subsided I got self-conscious ‘bout it. I shoulda said somethin’ to ya sooner. I’m not exactly tha best at tryin’ new things.”

Dammit, that’s actually a reasonable excuse. And, of course, you’re already forgiving him. Fuck. “I guess I can understand that,” you admit as he ever so subtly brushes his lips over your own, which doesn’t help you in staying mad at him. “But how do I know you’re not gonna just pull this shit again, hmm? That we’re not gonna keep playing this game where I give you what you need and then you just ignore me till you need it again? Cause guess what, I got needs too you know.”

Releasing one of your hips, his rough fingers come up to mess with the zipper on your jacket as he lets his confession linger in the air a moment until he pushes the edges of your open coat back to see the skimpy bits of clothing you have underneath and his breath hitches. Barely anything on; god damn he is starving.

Simon’s dark eyes meet yours one for a split second before he breaks the short distance between your faces to catch your lips in a desperate and heated kiss that you cannot help but reciprocate with the same intensity. It’s not exactly the answer you wanted, but in this moment it isn’t half bad and all that frustration melts away as your mouths dance in feverish bursts until finally Simon breaks the kiss.

He inhales a shuddered breath. “Because ya got me in a fuckin’ chokehold, luv.”

You swallow hard to collect yourself; you have been waiting for this chance to spread your dominant wings again and now is not the time to get swept up in his overwhelming desire, not if you want to do this right; you need to keep your head. 

“Well, then that was a good first start, but I’m gonna need a bit more before I can really forgive you.”

Those coffee eyes drift back up from your flushed lips to your face. “I wanna make this right. I’m at your fuckin’ mercy.”

The dog tags around his neck clank together as he shifts his stance and the sound causes a reaction that makes your hand gravitate to them without even thinking. Your fingers find the chain wrapped around his neck and slip around it, pulling it towards you to grip it tightly in your fist, and tug hard.

The action is unexpected and even though it takes Simon by surprise he cannot help moaning deep and guttural at the feeling of the chain tightening around his throat in such a delicious way. This is why he knew he had to come to you tonight, you are full of surprises and he was doing himself a disservice by staying away.

His reaction is evidence that you’re onto something and you decide to run with it. “Then you best be obedient and get down on your knees,” you whisper into the intimate space between your mouths. 

You wrap the chain around your fingers again to make it tighter around his neck and give the tags another hard jerk downward now. That hulking man doesn’t hesitate to follow your direction, slipping out of his shoes and lowering himself to the ground right at your feet like a dog waiting for a treat.      

God, it already feels good to be back in this headspace again, he thinks and your thoughts match the same without either of you knowing.

With your free hand, you wiggle your arm until the sleeve of your jacket slips down and you can pull your arm out of it before you switch the chain to the other hand and do the same to the other side. The clothing falls around your feet and there you stand in almost nothing. 

Simon’s eyes are immediately drawn to your clothed pussy, but you need him to pay attention and so you jerk the chain. “Eh, eyes up on me. I need you to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Dark eyes snap back to your face and you smirk. “There you go,” you praise him before issuing your first of many demands. “Now, I want you to listen carefully. You are going to take off my panties… with your teeth.” 

Again he immediately follows your order, holding his hands together behind his back to prevent them from getting involved and he leans in to place his lips against your lower abdomen as his teeth latch onto the waistband of your panties. Simon looks up just for a second to see how you tower over him with his makeshift leash wrapped around your delicate fingers. 

God, you look so fucking good.

It makes him feel small for the first time since he was a kid. His body feels like it is vibrating at a new frequency now as he drags that small piece of fabric off your hips and down the length of your legs, excitement and ecstasy flooding through him at a rapid pace so that his heartbeat is pounding dangerously fast.

“That tongue of yours is going to have to do a little more forgiving,” you say as he reaches your ankles, his mouth still clinging to that delicate bit of fabric, his face in the floor as he waits for you to step out of them so that he can sit back upright with his prize between his lips. 

That’s all the context he needs to know what’s coming and his heartbeat leaps excitedly in his chest at the prospect of having his face buried between your legs. You can see the look in his eyes as he drops the undergarment from his mouth and lets it fall down to the floor between his knees; so eager to please in that aspect, but this isn’t for him, it’s for you. 

You chuckle at his electric enthusiasm that you can feel coursing from him as you place your hand at the back of his head. “Don’t get too excited now, you better be sure I can feel just how sorry you are,” you say as you push his head in towards your body, struggling to hide the way your breathing hitches as he gets in close and his balmy lips make contact with the skin on your abdomen.

His lips are already on the move the moment they touch down and he trails them to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. 

Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and in a flash he is smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier, adjusting the chain in your hand so you don’t lose it. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip. 

There is little oxygen to be had from the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft gasp as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up for air. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, he writes his apology all over your cunt until the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured washes away the rest of your annoyance at him.

He is relentless in his endeavor, putting his all into eating you out like a goddess deserves. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you can barely contain yourself, but you continue to hang on. There is still more work to be done to him and as good as this feels you cannot let it derail your objective.

You raise your hand to the top of his head. “Who do you belong to Simon?” you ask through a moan as you pet over his scalp and through his short hair. “I’m going to need you to say it, out loud, so that I know you aren’t going to stray away from me again. Say it, say you’re mine.”

Simon pulls away from you swiftly. “I’m yours,” he says against your pussy.

You can feel his warm breath on your lips. “Again,” you push for another answer.

His fingers dig into your thighs. “I am yours, sweetheart.”

“Good boy,” you praise and you can feel him shiver against the palm of your hand still resting over the crown of his head. 

That military officer eats you out as if he is a man starved, his aggression in taking all he can from you making you lose it fast and you scramble as he goes to come up with what comes next. You hadn’t forgotten his words from the last encounter, how he wanted you to make him beg, and you know that this isn’t the way to make that happen; he would clearly love to drown in you forever and be happy to do it.

The more that pressure that builds at the base of your spine, the less time you have to claw through the haze to create a plan, but as you look up from the top of his head bobbing between your legs your sight lands on your bed and like being struck with lightning, your mind materializes a single image of him tied down, arms outstretched with you on top of him and you know what you want to do.

Calmly you try to pull him from you. “That’s enough,” you coax, but he digs his fingers in harder to your hips.

“Wanna make ya cum,” he groans into your body, but you pull him from you by contorting the chain and taking a step back to get out of his immediate way.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you say with a smirk as you look down into his face to see the lower half glimmering with your slick and his saliva. “It’s time to move on to the next part. Go get on the bed and lay down on your back up by the head… and don’t make me tell you again.”

Wiping the wet mixture from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, he gets to his feet and heads to the bed just as you directed. You have to do this on the fly since you haven’t had any time to prepare, but thankfully your pack of gear isn’t far and making your way to it, you dive into one of your duffel bags. It takes you a minute, but finally your hand makes purchase with what you are searching for and you pull out a bundle of military issue rope. 

“Arms out,” you direct him as you make your way back over to the bed. “I know someone likes to get handsy, so we’re gonna take care of that.”

His eyes stay glued to your movements as you bind his wrists and strap them down to the legs under your bed. It’s a good thing you did because as soon as you finish you stand at the foot and remove your tank top agonizingly slowly, letting your breasts bounce as they fall out and you can see the way his pupils dilate; you know he is itching to get his hands on you again. His sweats start to tent even more than they had from the pleasure of being face-deep in your pussy as you stand there completely naked like the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen.

Are you a devil, an angel? Whatever you are, he cannot get enough.

Like a lioness stalking through the grass, you slink onto the bed on all fours, moving until you are over top of his legs where you finally stop and your fingers brush across his stomach as you grab at the waistband of his pants. “Lift your hips,” you command and he does.

You pull them down and off his legs and you can see his cock is already pulsing at attention as it springs free from its cage. Fuck, he’s so hard already he can barely see straight and he has to clench his fists tight and take a few deep breaths to calm himself as he waits for further instruction.

Using the pad of your pointer finger, you lightly brush it over his tip and watch as he almost levitates off the bed as he groans. You wait until he has settled back down before you decide to speak, the smile on your face unable to be contained; oh, he is going to be begging alright, once you’re done with him.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do… we are going to play a little game. I want just the tip inside me, that’s it. And you’re going to lay there and let me warm it for a bit. If you can last till I say then I’ll let you fuck me however you want.” 

You lean over him to grab his chin firmly in your hand. “Do you understand?”

Simon struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head as your skin brushes against him. Fuck, why did he wait so long for this? “Yes,” he says.

That drugged look in his eyes, you can’t get enough of it. “Yes, what?”

Crap, what should he say? You are waiting for his reply, but his mind is already gone. Luckily the soldier in him takes over. “Yes, sergeant, understood.”

That’ll do. “You’re even better at this than you were last time,” you praise, releasing his chin to position your body over top of him, using his chest as leverage, and you can tell he is holding his breath as you grab his cock to place the head right at your entrance.

“Aww, baby, you better breathe cause we’re going to be here a while,” you say and lower your hips to take the tip inside the threshold of your wet cunt.

Simon is now in a battle with internal demons as he fights himself not to cum from this small bit of insertion, his cock is throbbing something fierce as your body puts the tip in a chokehold. You aren’t faring any better as he stretches you out; all you want is to lower yourself on it all the way, but you push that feeling down and incline yourself forward so you won’t be tempted.

The heartbeat coming up through your palms pressed into his chest is thunderous and you can’t help but smile as you count the strikes to calm down. “There we go,” you say after a moment. “See, you’re already doing so well Si. If you keep this up you’re gonna get what you want, to fuck the shit out of me.”

Minutes pass, but the time passes so incredibly slowly that it feels like hours to the lieutenant. He’d been in all types of high stress situations in his career, but nothing had ever been more overwhelming than having to rest just barely inside you without letting that animalistic part of himself take over to thrust up into you until you both cum.

Sweat starts to gather on his bare chest the longer this goes, a product of the conflict raging inside, and it rolls down in shimmering beads over the curves of his muscles, through the hair covering his chest and abdomen, all the way past his belly button. 

You can tell Simon is losing the war with himself to stay still as he unintentionally tries to buck his hips up into you, but he can’t get any purchase as you raise yourself up off him. “Ah, ah, ah, the more you struggle, the less you get,” you tease. “I said just the tip and I meant it. Now, be a good boy and stay still; we’re almost done. You don’t want to lose it right at the end, do you?”

The need is killing him and he can hardly see straight anymore. He wants, no he needs to be deep inside you, but he can’t. You won’t let him. Instead his eyes fixate on something else, anything to give him the strength to survive. 

“See something you like?” you ask with a coy smile spread across your lips. “I can see how hard you’re focusing on my nipples.”

“Need ‘em… in my mouth…” he stammers out. 

“Then stay still and maybe I’ll let you suck them.”

Forcing himself not to move an inch, he becomes like stone even as his muscles twitch and you move your upper body towards him just enough so that he can lean his head in and capture one of your breasts in his hot mouth. 

The moan he lets out in relief is intoxicating, matching the way you feel in between his lips. His suction is strong, pulling as much of the soft, supple tissue into his mouth that he can until breathing becomes nearly impossible. 

“You like that?” you ask in a groan of pleasure and he nods enthusiastically. 

There’s a light pop as he unsuctions his lips from around the first breast to get at the other one, pulling it into his mouth with just as much enthusiasm as the first one. Your distraction is working a little too well, but on you now and it isn’t long before it’s going to make you break.  

You need to end this soon.

“How bad do you want to fuck me now?” you ask, grinding on his tip as you push on his chin to remove him from your nipple so he can at least try and answer.  

There is a hazy quality to his eyes now that reminds you of someone after a night out of heavy drinking. He can barely speak as he feels your slick start to drip down his shaft, but he swallows to gather the strength to create a simple sentence. “So fuckin’ bad.” The words feel too cumbersome in his mouth.

“You want me to untie you so you can take me?” you ask, your tone still cocky even as you yourself are falling apart.

“Please,” he grunts.

“Yeah, you gonna ruin this tight pussy? You gonna rail me so hard I can’t walk after?”

You risk lowering down a bit more onto his shaft and he has to bite the inside of his lip in order to answer. “Gonna ruin you.”

“Then you know what you have to do, Simon. You said it yourself last time and I am going to hold you to it.”

You rotate your hips as you squeeze so that your walls clamp down on him and he chokes on his own saliva as he strains to stay still. His cock is so sensitive he’s sure by now that a little breeze would make him blow his load, but that’s not how he wants it to happen. He’s come this far, the only way he wants to go out is from fucking you.

One more rotation and you stay still to give him a moment to recover; you need his fervent participation for this next part. “ Simon,” you say his name to make him focus on your face again, “beg.”

You’re not gonna go easy on him; that’s just what he wants. “Please,” he says in a whimper, his voice the most meek you’ve ever heard it. It surprises even him that he can sound so pathetic after all the years he’s been the dominant one. “Please, luv, I need ta fuck ya. I’m beggin’ ya luv, please. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll be your good boy. Whateva ya want me ta say, I’ll fuckin’ say it; whateva ya want me ta do, I’ll fuckin’ do it. Jus’ want ta be good for ya so we both can fuckin’ cum.”

“And you’re not gonna pull away from me again?” you ask. “Not gonna deny yourself this type of pleasure from now on?”

“I swear it,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’m yours, I belong to ya.”

A smile spreads across your lips and fills the features of your face. “Good boy,” you praise as you raise yourself off his body amongst his agonized grunts of displeasure. You move closer to the first wrist to undo the restraint. “That was better than I could have imagined, Simon. I think you’ve more than earned your turn now.”

The tie on his second wrist hasn’t even slipped off the bed before you are forcefully grabbed by the waist and flung onto your back as Simon rips your legs apart and clambers his hulking body in between your thighs. He looks down and sees the effect your teasing has had on you too as the lips of your pussy are covered with your arousal. 

What a pretty fucking sight.

But there’s something he’s been thinking of since you grabbed his dog tags back at the start of all this, one last thing he wants you to do as he pounds you into the mattress. Grabbing both of your arms by the wrists he wrenches them up so that your hands are near his neck. He releases them from his grasp and uses his own hands to encircle yours around his throat.

“Squeeze, hard,” he growls as he leans in to capture your lips and you apply ample pressure to the sides of his neck.

It’s like flicking on a switch and his kisses turn rough and intense in a second so that he is devouring your mouth with everything he has, shoving his tongue to the back of your mouth until you are so full of him just as you will be down below in only a few more seconds time. A low groan vibrates in his throat against your palms before spilling onto your tongue. 

“Mmm, gonna fuck the shit outta ya now, luv,” he gasps between the embraces of your mouths. 

God, yes, please. “Then give it to me, baby,” you purr as you keep your hands firmly around his neck. “That’s it, get your prize.”

Simon pushes your thighs back towards your chest as he aligns the head of his throbbing cock with your moist entrance and you can no longer hold back how much you need him in you, inching your hips forward as you try to force him inside. Is it desperate? Yes. Is it needy? Yes. Do you fucking care? Not even in the slightest.

He’s the one to chuckle now. “Christ, you’re gonna be tha death ‘a me and I’m gonna die fuckin’ happy as hell.” With that he pushes through the threshold and down the length of his thick shaft, bottoming out all the way inside.

After all that stimulation, being smothered in your tight, wet cunt is almost too much for his sanity to handle. Just entering you he is already seeing stars. What’s going to happen when he actually comes?  

The first of his movements comes swift and hard; there is no more time for being gentle, not with the way both of your bodies are in agony for release. Your poor, government issued mattress can hardly withstand the power of his desperate thrusts as he slams them forcefully into you, each one causing the springs to creak and groan loudly until it is echoing off the walls.   

You open your mouth, pushing yourself to keep in control even as he is shoving his cock so far into you, you swear you can feel it in your stomach. “That’s it, give it to me Simon. Fuck, I love the way you stretch me out.”

The sloppy sounds of your drenched pussy being penetrated so aggressively grow louder and louder the more he ruts into you at that relentless pace. He pushes your legs back farther against your chest to open you up even more, needing to get as deep as humanly possible. There is only one thing left in his feeble mind now: to make you both cum and cum hard.

You let out a moan as your body shakes up and down with each thrust and squeeze so that you tighten around him and it makes his thrusting falter, breaking his rhythm for a moment.

“Bloody hell, jus’ like that… fuck…”

His words fuel you to do it again and he groans. “Yeah? You like that?” you ask breathlessly and he nods.

“That’s what you do to me Simon,” you continue. “No one makes me feel like you do.”

You compress around him again and his body jolts. “God, you’re gonna make me cum. It feels so good, sweetheart. Don’t stop.” 

“I want you to cum, Si. Cum for me. I need it so fucking bad; I’ve been waiting so long to make it happen again.”

Just the thought of making him fall apart again is a stimulant in itself and all that pressure that had been previously built is quickly coming to a head, that warmth in your belly glowing through you with more intensity now. That look of euphoria must be plastered all over your face for him to see because he is focused in on you even harder at making sure his strokes are more even.

“You first,” Simon grunts. “And don’t fuckin’ hold back.”

He is fighting tooth and nail to hold on for just a little bit longer; he knows you can’t be far off. Then he sees your toes curling into the air at his sides and he instinctively knows that each thrust is hitting its mark precisely as it’s meant to, your body giving in to all the pleasure it needs to be satisfied. A few more pumps and there it is, just like that everything comes to a head with a shudder as your orgasm rockets through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp as your core flutters around his cock.

You place your hand over his gripped around your thigh and he laces his fingers in between the spaces in your own, holding onto you for dear life as you coax him with shaky words. “Let go, baby. That’s it.”

He isn’t far behind and it doesn’t take many more strong thrusts until the warmth that had been tirelessly overwhelming his body all night finally shoots through his body while he releases a loud moan, the euphoria coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he rips his cock out and you reach between your legs to take it in your free hand to stroke it over your stomach. His warm load shoots out in short bursts, coating the skin on your abdomen in his cum.

“You did so good for me, Simon,” you sweetly praise in repeat as you work his cock until he has to tap your hand to get you to stop.

His limbs are shaking from the comedown as he breathes in deep, his body spent, his mind completely blank in his state of ecstasy, and he releases your legs to tumble down beside you exhausted. A few minutes pass silently in that high until he can collect himself enough to speak again.   

With his palm against your cheek, he turns your head to face him. “If I ever do somethin’ as stupid as tryin’ to stay away from ya again, ya ‘ave my permission to fuckin’ deck me,” he says with a laugh before scooching in closer to your face to place a kiss to your lips.

“That’s not gonna happen,” you say against his mouth, “ cause you said it yourself Si, you’re mine now. And you would never deny me what’s mine, would you?”

Another kiss placed to your lips, this one lingering a bit. “Never,” he says finally.

Good, you think, cause I will fucking deck you.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ever Since We Met

Spoiler: Jason dies in the warehouse. ~1.5k words

Jason Todd is six years old and snot nosed when he falls in love with his best friend. Sure, he doesn't exactly know what love is, but he makes sure he's standing next to you when the class lines up so he can hold your hand.

He gets a weird feeling in his stomach (he’s not completely convinced that it’s jealousy, despite what the teacher tries to explain) when you follow other kids around the playground instead of him.

But, he does recognize the excitement he feels when you seek him out to be coloring partners during class instead of the girl sitting next to you.

He loves you as much as a six year old can. Especially when he gets to sleep over at your house and you turn your bed into a fortress of blankets and pillows for you both to sleep in. Those nights are his favorite, and you both drift off to whispered stories and hushed giggles.

Jason Todd is ten years old and getting used to growing pains when he develops a crush on his best friend. At least, he thinks it’s a crush. It feels different than being in love, even if he hasn’t quite grasped the fact that he is in love.

He's more hyper aware of what he does now, how he treats you. Sometimes, the way you smile makes him stumble over his words, and his face go hot. He distracts himself and you from it by asking about homework or that one TV show you that you watch on Saturday mornings.

Jason decides he likes that you’ll press to his side when you’re reading, lost in your own worlds together without a need to fill the silence, crush or not.

He likes that you’ll trade half of your sandwich for his and sneak him doodles and notes during class. (He won’t admit it, but he keeps them in a box under his bed. Sometimes they’re the only reason he doesn’t run away from it all)

He doesn’t bother to mask his obvious preference for you, even when the other kids try to tease him for his crush.

You’re always quick to threaten anyone who tries to put him down, anyway, and he’s more than happy to do the same for you. And when you offer him a high five for scaring off some of the older kids, He decides it doesn’t matter if it’s a crush or not, as long as you stay his best friend.

Jason Todd is twelve when he becomes Robin. It’s hard, well, not being Robin, that’s a magic entirely its own, but being away from you.

He lives in a manor that's bigger than the entire floor of the apartment building he used to live in. He's learned how to do a backflip while throwing a punch in midair. He has more at his fingertips now than he's ever had in the entire first eleven years of his life.

But he misses you. Sometimes, it feels like a phantom limb. Something he's always reaching for, but never quite grasping. It helps that you've gotten a scholarship to his new school, but it's still not enough.

He can't explain it, but he gets greedy for your time. You don't seem to mind the sporadic hangouts, or how often he has to cancel or leave. He kind of wishes you would, just to show that you care as much as he does.

He redoubles his efforts to be a good Robin when you tell him about the dealer that moved into the apartment next to yours. He resolves to be a better friend when you tell him the fancy suits he has to wear to galas look good on him.

His feelings don't change once, even if he hasn't quite found a balance between vigilante and civilian, he knows you're the one thing he can't let go of.

Jason is fifteen years old and about to die when he realizes the person he wants to see most is you. He's always known it, in the back of his mind, but as the blaring red numbers tick lower and lower, he just wishes he could hear your voice one more time.

It's you. Always been. And he's never said it. Never let you know.

His body aches. His leg is twisted the wrong way. His breathing is shallow and raspy. His vision is blurring, and he wants to live. But his mom is still trapped in this warehouse with him, and he's Robin. Robin helps, and that's what he'll do.

Jason drags himself to his mother's side to help, moves despite the gnawing, indescribable pain with every movement.

He's still trying to help, trying to sheild her from harm, as the numbers drop to zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.

What happens next doesn't hurt more than anything else did. And he has enough time to picture the color of your eyes before it all goes to black.

Jason Todd is eighteen when he dons the name Red Hood and becomes Gotham's biggest crime lord in a matter of months.

He stays far away from you, even if your memory has haunted him since the moment he woke up in that cursed pit. (and if he tries to remember, the moment since he first woke up in his own grave)

He's eighteen still, when his empire crumbles and he's left without a path, a purpose. He carries the weight of his years with the league, sags under the strain of not knowing who he is anymore.

He stays far away from you, sticks to the cracks and shadows of Gotham until his name is no longer whispered in fear. Then, and only then, is he brave enough to take off his helmet in front of you.

It's a relief and a terror all at once to finally see the color of your eyes from something other than a memory, and when his heartbeat starts to stutter, he knows he's never really grown out of being in love with you.

You've gotten older. (He shouldn't be surprised, he has too. He just always pictured you growing old together)

Your eyes still light up like he's your favorite person in the room. (He thinks he's allowed to be surprised about that)

But it's when you breathe out that he's home, that he figures out you've been waiting for him. Neither of you seem to know what to say after that, but you don't run for the hills in terror. And for the moment, that's enough.

Jason is twenty-one and passing the first (legally) acquired bottle of alcohol you've ever bought. You laugh about how it still tastes the same, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the sound.

He loves you. It sings in his blood, settles on his tongue, he just doesn't know how to say it. He shows it, or at least he tries, but sometimes he's still waiting for this all to be a dream. It should have been impossible, how easily he slipped back into your life.

It was easy. So easy. Everything was easy with you. That's probably why he spills his guts.

He doesn't quite say it the right way, doesn't manage to get the word 'love' out. But he says enough to get his feelings out.

It's not poetic, not grand as you deserve, but somehow he manages to articulate the way butterflies create a hurricane in his stomach when you're around, how his gaze is always drawn to you, how he can't help but lean into the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch.

Maybe he says a little too much about how he's been head over heels since the day you've met, because you just stare at him.

He's almost ready to run, to blame it all on the one measly shot he's had. This is, until you kiss him. And oh, it's everything he never dared to dream it would be.

It's a little messy, sure, the angle a little strange as you crane across the couch to tangle your fingers in his hair. But it's perfect, it's you, and Jason falls in love all over again.

Jason Todd is twenty-three and still learning how to say I love you. It's not that he loves you any less, if anything, he loves you now more than ever. It's just still something he's getting used to.

Love is something you've given to him so freely, something he's happy to return. But it scares him, sometimes. He worries that if he says it out loud too much, the universe will realize how great of a gift he's been given, and rip it away.

It might be irrational, but he holds the word love close to his heart anyway, unwilling to test fate anymore than he already does by putting on that red helmet.

He whispers it to you in the dead of night instead, says it with touch instead of sound, shows it with soft, shine of his eye. He squeezes your hand when you say it to him, does his best to make it clear he feels the same, even if he can't get the words out.

He'll get it eventually, figure out how to get it off his tongue. He has to.

Especially if he wants to show you the pretty little band of shining, precious metal he has tucked away in a velvet box.

[ukkoperkele]

Just to share my own thoughts, I don't think that was the point. @fortunatelyginger

The article is not taking the male perspective into account since this time the writer is focused on girls. I doubt she was bringing up girls' and women's problems in her book about men's problems either, because that wasn't her focus. Not focusing on the male perspective in this article doesn't makes boys' and men's experiences with bullying from women any less real.

The article is showing one possible explanation why teenage girls are feeling unwell. These girls are telling about their experiences with harsh online and in-person bullying from these certain boys in their school. Not from men as a whole. It is also true that people who are struggling are more likely to take their anger and sadness out on others especially without proper support or knowledge about healthy coping mechanisms. Boys still often lack support.

Regular cruel comments and sexualization are undoubtedly a valid cause for someone to start feeling unwell. Teenagers are at an age where their identity and emotional regulation skills are still developing. Receiving this kind of treatment will usually take a bigger toll on teens than adults.

It's been a while since I was a teen, but I remember this kind of bullying from both girls and boys. Both also received it. Teens in general can be cruel as hell.

However, in my experience teenage boys were doing this kind of bullying more often, or at least they were generally more aggressive and open about it than girls. The worst bullies were usually from dysfunctional families. Girls also usually had, and most likely still have, more pressure than boys when it comes to looks, and that pressure is not only coming from boys. This is an indivual experience, but I wouldn't be surprised if this was still the case in some schools.

Andrew Tate has some good points when it comes to self-improvement, but he also has more harmful takes on human value and mental health. "This is why women should not vote, they're morons" comment after a (trans)woman was expressing stress over elections is not something I would like my own sons to hear or look up to. Someone like HealthyGamer, a Harvard trained psychiatrist focusing especially on boy's and men's mental health, would be a better choice.

Tate's followers from what I've seen are not usually the kindest to women, some of them being blatantly hateful online. When young impressionable boys who have no proper critical thinking skills or media literacy skills yet see this kind of content and comments, there is a risk they will absorb all the things they're fed, including hatred towards women, without a second thought. They don't have the maturity to pick the genuinely helpful tips and ignore the rest. This in turn can affect the way they treat girls and women in their close circle. I think this is what the article was trying to convey by mentioning Tate.

These bullies might not be the only or the main reason why girls are unwell, but it is certainly still a serious problem that parents and teachers should pay more attention to. Teenagers are old enough to understand right from wrong. Behavior like this needs to be corrected not only in boys, but in teens in general.

Social media is creating more apathetic and cruel kids. You can also see it from the way those boys reacted to a fellow boy trying to stand up for her. Basic human decendy shouldn't be ridiculed or seen as something negative.

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

[kitimeq]

surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦

pairing: sylus x reader

summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe try to kidnap you in the process too).

tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry

warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?” He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me of guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating appearance. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like a complete psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

”Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these similar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?.”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes from you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand, bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself suddenly being lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red eyes, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. ”You will have all the time in the world to touch me, when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying, that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood almost motionless before you, devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his movements. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really though it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” I smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—“

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—“

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

”I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—“

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 zone that would pose and actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

[7s3ven]

SINGLE DAD! X BABYSITTER! READER HAS ME FROTHING OMGG. Even better when the rest of TF 141 is involved

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon - rest of tf 141 introduced)

master list

MDNI 18+

Warnings: big age gap, babysitter! reader, reader is in medical school (but still legal guys)

You told yourself it was just a temporary summer job, something to fill your pockets over the Summer break as you moved into another year of university. Medical bills were not easy to pay off and your old job that paid the bare minimum did not help you in the least. All it taught you was that you had a nasty uppercut (from the time you actually hit someone and got fired).

So, you found yourself standing in front of John Price’s house. You stared up at the tall building, brows raised in surprise. He had understated how big his house was… it even had a garden and a pool. You may as well consider it a mansion.

You quickly rang the doorbell, smoothening out your tight blouse. Your much more appropriate one was in the wash so you prayed whoever answered the door did not notice.

It was a tall middle-aged who greeted you, beard cleanly trimmed and… a hat on his head. “Y/N L/N?” He asked you. You swiftly nodded, softly smiling when he stepped aside.

“So, medical school, huh? Training to become a doctor?” He asks as he brews you a cup of tea while you read over his terms and conditions.

“A surgeon, sir. Not much better, though.” You offer him another smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension.

“Right. Next time I need surgery, I’ll call you up.” He takes a sip from your tea, which you notice but you say nothing. “Just checkin’ the temperature. Wouldn’t want ya to burn yourself.” He hands you the mug, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long.

“I assume this is only a quick job for you? Just away to gain a bit of money to pay those student fees off?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you nod. “Yes, sir. I know I should have clarified it but I’m a little desperate at this point. Besides, no retail places want to hire me… after I hit someone.”

Your words intrigued him. He let out a low chuckle as he sat across from you. “Now I’m interested.”

“Well… there’s not much to it… a guy kept staring at my chest. He said some vulgar stuff and next thing I knew, I was punching him.”

Price shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “The lad was askin’ for it. So, what do you think about the job? You’ll honestly be a glorified babysitter. Just do some cleaning and cookin’ here and there and make my baby happy and you’ll get a nice pay check every week.”

It all happened in a blur. You agreed to the job and weeks later, you found yourself at Price’s house more than your apartment. You hadn’t stepped foot into your apartment since two days ago, Price generously allowing you to use one of the guest rooms.

“Lila has a sleepover tomorrow.” Price mentions as you’re reading the instructions on how to make cookies for Lila’s bake sale.

Based on the cooking skills you had seen from Price, you doubted he could bake very well. In fact, all he could cook was steak, which was general knowledge for dads.

“I can drop her off if needed.” You offer while opening the packet of flour only for it to explode in your face. You smacked your lips together, grimacing. “Not a word.” You mutter to Price who’s chuckling under his breath.

“Wasn’t gon’ a say anything, love.” He helps wipe the flour dust off your face, still grinning in amusement.

In all honesty, your relationship with Price felt a little too domesticated, especially right now as you wore a frilly apron he had bought just for you.

“Your skirt’s too short, by the way.” Price grumbles, attempting to tug it down. “You sure no creeps stared at you on your way ‘ere? Wouldn’t want ya in danger.”

You push his hands away from your hips. “Even if people were staring, I’ll just punch them.”

You had tried to maintain a professional relationship with your boss but it was hard when he carelessly manhandled you and treated you like his wife rather than his daughter’s babysitter.

And all professional behaviour came crashing down when he unexpectedly stood behind you as you whisked the cookie batter.

“You look like a coke addict.” Price jokes, referring to the flour that still stained your face. “Like you got it everywhere but up your nose.”

“I can assure you, sir, I have never tried coke unless my friend daring me to snort sherbet counts.”

Price grins at your biting remark, his heavy hands falling to your waist. “Yeah? Heard it doesn’t feel too good with sherbet.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His hands trail dangerously low but you don’t have the courage to ask him to stop… nor do you really want him too. He seems to sense your willingness as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, body pressed up tightly against yours.

You feel more like his spoiled wife than a medical student just trying to pay her bills.

“You’re pretty, ya know that? Surprised you don’ have a boyfriend… or girlfriend. Or partner. Dunno what your label is.”

With shaking hands, you place the bowl filled with cookie batter to the side, afraid you’ll only spill it.

“Never met a woman as soft as you… most think I chased Lila’s mother away. But nah. Her mother ran off, leavin’ me with a baby. Not that I’m complaining, I love Lila… and without her, I wouldn’ have met you.”

You’re reduced to listening to Price’s words, stuck between his larger frame and the marbled kitchen counter.

“Sir.” You whisper but it reaches his keen ears. Everything after that is a distorted blur and you find yourself bent over the counter, clad in nothing but the apron, with Price right behind you.

Price was a mystery to you. How could a man be turned on by something as simple as an apron? Though, he was a single dad so it made sense.

Price is muttering praises in your ears as your knees tremble, threatening to buckle. You never imagined you’d be in your employer’s kitchen, having your back blown out by the man himself.

His hands were hungrily climbing your body, gripping every bit of exposed skin he could find. If it wasn’t for him holding you upright, you would have toppled to the ground in a heartbeat.

You feel Price lift a hand to grip your hair, tugging at your locks. He’s in a desperate stupor but you’re not any better, pushing back your hips to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Gon’ a fill ya up. Give you a baby of yer own. Fuck… be so pretty just like you. My perfect little wife.” He grunts in your ear. You have no energy to correct him; that you’re not actually his wife but you’d have no complaints if he bought you a ring.

If anything, his words spur you on more.

Your chest is heaving by the time you near your release. You’re whining like a damn dog, high pitched noises slipping past your saliva-slicked lips. And you only grow in volume as Price speeds up, pressing his body against your back.

He’s older than you, that’s a fact you knew from the start, but he’s definitely more experienced as well. His well thought out words have the desired effect on you as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your fluids drip down your exposed legs, hitting the tiles kitchen ground in thick droplets. You hear Price swear under his breath, quickly pulling out and staining your back white.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. Then he leads you towards his bathroom, ushering you inside and handing you a spare set of clothes.

“Imma place your old ones in the washing, yeah?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you to wash off.

You sit on the shower floor for a good five minutes, replaying the moment in your head. When you finally cleanse yourself of sweat, you slip Price’s shirt over your head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of his cologne. It was the one you liked too.

His clothes engulfed you as you stumbled back into the kitchen, hobbling a little.

“I guess I’ll… get going then.” You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Price reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Then he nods. “See you tomorrow night, lovie.”

Right, you still had to finish those cookies and pick up your clothes.

[fallenclan]

Pls ramble about Maplestar i didn't think much of him at all when he was around

:3

okay so imagine. You are born into Fallenclan as a fresh little kitten. You are told at a very young age that your mom isn't around anymore, but your dad loves you and your two siblings more than anything, and he will do everything in his power to make sure you all are happy and successful. Your siblings are louder than you, more outgoing than you, and arguably more likeable than you, but they look to you as the cat to follow when your dad isnt around, so it's your job to look after them. You're the oldest, after all.

Later into your kithood you are told that your mother died giving birth to the three of you. If you didnt exist, she would still be alive.

You become an apprentice. Your sister is mentored by the cool older cat that is also your friend's mom. Your brother is mentored by one of your dad's best friends, a cat you've known since birth. You are apprenticed to the deputy of Fallenclan--she cares about you, and the clan, but she's also strict, and tells you in no uncertain terms that she expects you to be great. Not good. Great. You think, "If I am not great, is it my fault?" You try your best. You wonder if it is enough.

You become a warrior. Your sister takes on a mate, your brother does, too. Both of them have kits. You never were interested in having a mate, but you can't help but wonder if that's what your clan, your father, wants you to do. Your father, in the meanwhile, takes over the job that your mentor had, and becomes deputy of Fallenclan. Then he becomes leader. He becomes legend. Cats at gatherings say to you, "You must be so proud!" You are. When your back is turned, they say "The son of Goldenstar, he'll be something special, I'm sure."

The deputy, a cat known for her strength, loyalty, and honor, retires, and chooses you out of everyone to take her place. Your father assures you that you'll do great. Your siblings cheer you on and offer their support. You refuse it, politely. You will be a great deputy if you have to pull out all of your fur to do it--and you will do it by yourself. Are you really great if some of your greatness is borrowed? The whole clan depends on you.

Under the cover of night, the clan is attacked. The former deputy dies. One of your best friends dies. Your brother dies. Four kits, six warriors, and one elder die. You are hardly wounded. For moons you keep the night guard and torture yourself thinking about what you could have done to change things. What you could have done better.

Time passes. You age, your sister ages, your father ages. As leader, he has nine lives, but they slowly dwindle. One evening, he's missing from camp longer than he said he would be, and you and your sister go looking for him. You find his body at the bottom of a cliff. You grieve until sundown, and then you travel to receive your nine lives. You see the faces of all the cats you outlived. All the cats you failed. Your niece and great-nephew, your brother, your mentor, your father, your mother. You wake up and it is only you and your medicine cat huddled together in a cave. Your skin hurts, you can feel each fur on your body. You walk home.

You discover that your former apprentice is a murderer. With no other options, you exile him from the clan and watch as he is escorted away. If you had been a better mentor, would he have lived a kinder life? Would he have forgiven his long-time enemy? You'll never find out.

A neighboring clan, which has had it out for Fallenclan since your father was an apprentice, declares war. You run yourself ragged making plans and trying to keep your warriors safe and alive. There are battles, there are scars, but there are no deaths, and the war ends only a few moons later. You congratulate yourself for this feat, and then wonder why it was only when you became leader that war was declared.

Every death that passes, you wonder if you could have prevented it. Every loss that your sister suffers, your nephews and nieces suffer, you contemplate how to fix. You are old now, and there are few Fallenclan cats that knew you before you were an apprentice, before you were a warrior, before you were deputy or leader. You're not a cat, anymore, you are a shelter; protecting your clan and paying little mind to your own needs.

You take a hunting patrol by yourself, late one night. In a dry riverbed, you feel the ground rumble, and look upstream to see a flash flood clawing its way towards you.

You wonder, "Am I fast enough to outrun it?"

You aren't.

[torrilin]

My mother got an ADHD diagnosis in the 1990s, after first my brother and then me (a daughter) were diagnosed. My father has refused to pursue diagnosis despite in many ways having more severe symptoms than my mother, but knowing what i do about diagnosis and heredity of ADHD… he’s got something in that area. It is not surprising that two individual cis people with unusual neurology produced 3 neurodiverse children. (my sister’s diagnosis is recent and I’m not confident either parent knows)

None of my grandparents had a diagnosis, since only one of them lived past 1985 and that one only just barely. Out of the four of them, 2 were alcoholics, one has a listed cause of death as Alzheimer’s, and the last to die probably has a listed cause of death of lung cancer, but diabetes is also reasonable. Statistically, alcohol abuse is very common for ADHD folks. I’d be shocked if the two alcoholic grandparents did not have ADHD.

Going back to great grandparents, I’m reasonably sure that my longest lived great grandparent was neither ADHD nor someone with autism. The other 7 all died at normal ages rather than hitting their century marks, so I never met them. On my mother’s side, most of them have a cause of death of heart failure or heart disease, which given how diabetes works suggests that the diabetes on her side is hereditary and may well be on both sides and going into great great grandparents. Both sets of my mom’s grandparents were utterly horrified by the alcoholism, and did their best to mitigate it, given cultural norms. My dad’s side is… an utter blank. So if I had to guess, alcoholism was more acceptable on that side, and there’s probably more people on the ADHD/autism spectrum on that side. But things pass out of living memory in a family in a very short time, and ancestors dying before age 65 really hurts the chain of evidence.

As all my ancestors reproduced, leading to me, it’s difficult to tell at this remove whether any of them were out of gender norms for their era. But gender norms in 1890 were in some ways very different from 1990, and it’s important not to assume that I was more free in 1990 than my great grandma in 1890. Yes, I could vote in theory. Yes, I had a high school diploma and I’m not at all sure great grandma did. That doesn’t mean I was better educated, or better traveled, or better at anything else you might name. Ok, better vaccinated is fair.

something that should be taken with a grain of salt are the statistics talking about the high rates of mental illness + neurodivergence among trans people (ocd, bpd, adhd, autism, etc)

I see both sides of the political spectrum taking these studies at face value - conservatives say we're broken, and trans people try to come up with reasons why for example autism + gender dysphoria makes sense and why one of them feeds into another

at the end of the day you have to remember that we're the one category of people on this planet who are legally required to go see a psychiatrist in order to receive non-psychiatric medication and surgeries.

more trans people are in therapy by law than any other demographic of people, and as a result, this captures more comorbidities.

if I had to look at my own family & rates of mental illness?

mom, dad, 2 maternal aunts, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother, sister, sibling, and me all have OCD.

7/9 of them are cishet, never been to therapy, never diagnosed. 2/9 are trans, required therapy for hormone treatment, and were diagnosed.

you don't have to do any math to just see that the resulting statistics end up intensely skewed.

and we can think back to how autism was virtually never diagnosed more than 50 years ago - ruling out any grandparents being included in statistics - and even my parents' generation (they're in their 60s now) wouldn't have been included either.

I don't think it's to anyone's benefit to accept these studies uncritically. a lot of these things are hereditary and far more prevalent in the overall population than people realize

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[hoesluvjude]

Future Plans || jude bellingham

Word count : 1k

Genre: fluff

Author's note:Enjoy;)

Masterlist

The couch was soft, the room dimly lit. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a testament to the candle Jude had lit earlier. You’d spent the better part of the evening watching an old movie, but now, the TV was off, and the room was silent save for the occasional hum of traffic outside.

Jude was sprawled out comfortably, his legs stretched across the couch. You were draped over him, your head tucked under his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand lazily tracing circles on your back while the other rested on your hip. He always had this way of holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"You know," Jude began, a teasing edge in his voice, "I was thinking we should have ten kids."

You burst out laughing, the sound filling the quiet room. “Ten? Are you out of your mind?”

He grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Why not? Think about it—a whole football team! We could have family tournaments. And maybe an extra kid for the bench, just in case.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, giving him a mock-serious look. “Jude, do you have any idea how much chaos ten kids would be? The noise? The mess? The grocery bill?”

He chuckled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Okay, fine. Maybe not ten,” he said, but there was something in his tone that made you squint suspiciously at him.

“Wait,” you said slowly, “you’re not entirely joking, are you?”

Jude’s grin softened into something more thoughtful, and he shrugged, looking almost bashful. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, maybe not ten, but… I do love the idea of a big family. Coming home to a house full of laughter and love. Watching them grow up together, always having each other to lean on.”

You smiled at the thought, imagining a little one with Jude’s warm eyes and infectious smile. “They’d be lucky to have you as a dad,” you said softly.

He tilted your chin up with gentle fingers, his eyes locking onto yours. “And they’d be lucky to have you as a mom,” he said, his voice filled with so much conviction that it made your throat tighten.

He smiled at you, a little shy, and then tilted his head. “Okay, so maybe ten is a bit much. What about you? How many kids do you want?”

You leaned back against his chest, pretending to think. “Hmm… Two feels like a good number. But four could be fun, too. A nice mix of boys and girls, maybe.”

“Two or four?” Jude repeated, his hand resuming its gentle pattern on your back. “Okay, I could get on board with that. Two feels manageable, but four does sound kind of perfect, doesn’t it? A little pack of chaos, just enough to keep things exciting.”

You smiled at the thought, imagining a lively home filled with tiny feet running through the halls. “Yeah,” you said. “Two or four feels right. But let’s not lock anything in yet. We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”

Jude nodded, his expression softening as he gazed at you. “We’ll figure it all out together,” he said.

You fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only happens when you’re with someone who feels like home. You could feel Jude’s chest rising and falling beneath you, the steady rhythm soothing in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“So,” Jude said after a moment, his voice teasing again, “what do you think about matching family pajamas for the holidays? Too much?”

“Way too much,” you said, laughing. But even as you teased him, you couldn’t help but picture it—a future filled with warmth and love and the kind of moments you cherish forever.

“You know,” Jude said eventually, a playful lilt returning to his voice, “we could always practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “You’re incorrigible.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softening. “I am.”

Jude’s expression turned tender again, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always want to be.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in, and snuggled closer to him. In that moment, there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Our future might still be unwritten, but with Jude by your side, you knew it was going to be beautiful.

“Do you think we’ll ever get tired of this?” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

Jude chuckled, a soft, musical sound that made your heart flutter. “Tired of what? You using me as your personal pillow?”

You pinched his side lightly, and he let out a playful yelp. “I meant us, silly. Being like this. Together.”

His hand paused on your back for a moment, and then he tightened his hold on you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Never,” he said firmly. “I could spend forever like this and still not have enough of you.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, and your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you—like you were his entire world—was enough to make your heart feel like it was going to burst. His eyes were soft and warm, his lips curved into a small, boyish smile.

“Forever, huh?” you teased, though your voice was soft, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “Yeah, forever. And after that, if I can.”

“What about marriage?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted. “Waking up next to you every day, calling you my wife, knowing that you’re mine and I’m yours forever. It’s... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you buried your face in his chest to hide your smile. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, though your voice was thick with emotion.

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you. “You love it,” he said confidently, and he wasn’t wrong.

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. You could feel his fingers start tracing patterns again, this time on your arm, and it made you shiver in the best way.