#i feel so neutral towards her that im not particularly excited to have her as much as im just happy to be given a free doll

[freaky-flawless]

On the one hand, the fact that neither of my nieces are into dolls is a huge bummer to me, mainly because dolls were such a huge part of my life when I was their ages and I would love to engage with them the way I wished someone would've with me when I was a kid.

...But on the other hand sometimes they're gifted dolls that they don't want, and knowing that I collect them, they'll hand em over to me.

[spacedikut]

the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah! 

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you’ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you’ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @averyhotchner

[marvels-agents100]

in the hands of tyche

“for those who believe, no proof is necessary. for those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.” stuart chase

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: slight swearing

word count: 4,603

author’s note: thank you for your patience with this request! it is such a cool concept and it was so, so fun to write. also, im putting together a lil ~thing~ in celebration of hitting 100 followers, so stay tuned :)

“Some psychic this guy is,” Rossi muttered, “this place is as far from a rocky shoreline as you can get.”

Hotch pulled back the blue plastic tarp that was draped in front of the window, revealing a view of lighthouse perched upon a rocky shoreline. Of course, it was a mural painted onto the brick wall of the neighboring building, but it was still a rocky shoreline, nonetheless.

“Dave,” Hotch said, the amusement not lost in his voice. The ghost of a smile danced on his lips as he turned back to his friend, more entertained by the legendary David Rossi being wrong than a psychic being right.

Meanwhile, at the local police department, you were placing Aaron’s files into his briefcase, hoping to have the station cleaned up for him and Dave before they returned. You set the files before you, biting onto your cheek as you tried to picture how Hotch would order them himself. Pensive thoughts brought about your fidgeting with the silver band that wound around your third finger. It was something you did whenever you got lost in your mind, playing with the engraved ring Jack had insisted Aaron purchase for you when they visited Disneyland the autumn before. Small sparkles and fireworks were etched into the metal, a small reminder of happiness when the days seemed dark.

You remember the day you received it, waiting at the airport terminal for the Hotchner boys. The moment you locked eyes with Jack, his smile had lit up the room and he began to sprint towards you, arms open and insistent. You knelt to catch him, his small body colliding with yours, your laugh filling the air.

It was short lived, the hug he gave you, because he quickly ripped himself away and ran back towards his dad. Jack’s tiny hand grabbed into his father’s first two fingers (his small palms were unable to fully grasp Aaron’s hand), desperately pulling the two of them towards you.

“Dad! We have to give them the present!” His little feet were skidding on the tile in excitement, sneakers jumping erratically against the linoleum. A giggle accompanied Aaron’s wide smile, his own feet moving at a purposefully slow pace, just to savor the unbridled excitement his son displayed.

“Present?” You questioned as the boys finally reached you, your eyebrow raising in Aaron’s direction.

“I picked it out all by myself!” Jack exclaimed, pointing a finger at his chest. The small lisp on his tongue only made his pride more endearing.

“He did,” Aaron agreed, his usually serious tone abandoned, “he refused to let me have any involvement in the choosing of presents.”

When you did finally receive the ring- back at Aaron’s apartment, where he could comfortably dig through his luggage- Jack also had to show you the other presents he had chosen for the rest of the team. The line-up included a Stitch bobble head for Auntie Penny and a Genie stuffie for Uncle Dave, to name a few.

Ever since that day, that ring was permanently placed on your finger- the sweet, innocent smile of Jack Hotchner calming your mind whenever you saw it. It had become a grounding mechanism during particularly difficult cases.

You decided to order the files by date, starting with the earliest murders. However, before you could even begin, your instincts froze your movements. The hairs along the base of your neck straightened, a slight shiver circling around your spine. Your eyes scanned the room subtly, meeting the gaze of none other than Stanley Usher, a resident psychic that was involved on the case, who was standing beside an officer across the room.

Abandoning your organizational pursuits, you walked the length of the room towards him.

“I have a feeling you haven’t heard this,” you began, “but thank you for helping on this case.” You decided to start politely, rather than confronting him for his obvious staring problem.

You held your hand in front of you, offering him a handshake.

“You believe I helped?” He questioned, smile never faltering as his palm shook yours briefly.

“I think it doesn’t matter what I believe,” you shrugged, “you gave someone hope when all was lost, and contributed to helping find a missing woman. I thank you for you intentions, whether your predictions came true or not.”

His eyes narrowed at you slightly, but that might have just been from his widening smile.

“I appreciate that,” his voice had a gentleness to it- you could see how he was so successful in his line of work. Anyone with a comforting timbre to their words would be easy to believe.

You nodded curtly, spinning on your heel to return to your work.

“And, Agent?”

You looked over your shoulder, pausing your stride momentarily.

“Chase him,” his lifted his hand, his thumb pointing to the base of his middle finger. Your eyes flickered to the silver ring on your own.

“When the summer rain falls, you’ll know he’s chasing you, too.”

You stared back at him for a moment longer, eyebrow raised in question. Then, wordlessly, you turned forward and moved to the aforementioned table, shaking away the completely ridiculous thoughts Stanley Usher had placed into your mind.

‘Chase him’? 

Yes, it was vague, and your skeptical mind told you that there was absolutely no logic behind it, but the certain Supervisory Special Agent that immediately popped into your thoughts was far from vague. Aaron Hotchner had occupied your conscious (and subconscious) mind rent-free, and his tenancy was a fact you did your best to ignore. But, despite your best effort, his deep, honey eyes and velvet voice never left you alone, even when you tried so hard to escape them.

There wasn’t a single soul who knew of your infatuation with your Unit Chief, and there was no way in hell Stanley Usher would know.

***

The jet was quiet on the trip home. You were sat beside Hotch- as per usual- while he read a book, his chin resting in his palm, elbow perched on the armrest of his seat. Mind somewhere between conscious and asleep, you lulled your head towards him.

“Hey, Hotch,” you spoke lowly, in order to not disturb everyone else on the plane, “guess what?”

A chuckle slipped past his lips, your obviously sleepy demeanor amusing him, “What?”

“Usher, the psychic guy, gave me a prediction.” You bit back a smile on your bottom lip, your slightly delirious state missing the way Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips momentarily.

“Really?” A small grin- a shit-eating grin- settled on his features, (he always smiled so damn much when it came to you),  “Alright, I’ll bite. What did he say?”

“He basically told me that we’re gonna fall in love- something about summer rain?” you chuckled, lifting your hand, “And he got all of that from this ring.”

The falter in Hotch’s smile lasted only a millisecond, but the way his pulse raced was something he was sure would last for a few hours.

“I think that just confirms my theory,” Hotch relaxed further into his chair, eyes moving back to the novel in his lap, “that guy is a complete fraud.”

The back of your hand met his shoulder in a playful smack, “You’re an ass,” you settled into your own seat as well, closing your eyes as you began your first attempt at sleeping, “It would be a privilege to love me.”

And you were far into your own dreamland before he could even think about replying, but even if you were awake and alert, his honest reply would’ve died on his tongue before he even spoke the words.

Yes, he thought, it would.

***

There were no more discussions of a potential love, or Stanley Usher, following that late-night jet conversation. Life was nothing short of normal and wonderful, with the days spent in the BAU full of cases and paperwork, and the days off spent with Jack and Aaron, (since Hailey let Aaron take Jack on his days off), or in the comfort of your own home. That’s not to say your feelings had disappeared, but rather you had never broken your routine of completely burying them.

Little did you know, the words you shared with Aaron that night had yet to leave his mind. It was a terrible and abrupt realization, how much he truly cared for you. It was a subject he had never fully confronted within himself- whether it was out of fear or avoidance, he didn’t know. But, since your sleep-induced thoughts spilled from your lips, they had wormed their way into the forefront of his memory and had given little respite to the anxious worry they brought with them. It was entirely stressful, trying to figure out his own emotions.

There was only one thing he was certain of: he had wondered how your lips would taste on far too many occasions to call it normal daydreaming.

He found himself struggling with his self control when you were around Jack. There was something about the way his son smiled at you, that made him want to hold you for an eternity. The swell in his chest brought a warm fullness that he hadn’t known he was missing, but the feeling of it’s presence became addicting. He found himself yearning for you, missing your company, wishing to hear your voice.

“Watch out!” You had yelled to him, running from the giggling Jack Hotchner, “It’s the baby monster!”

Jack squealed in delight, hands held in front of him like an adorable, undead zombie, feet pattering on the hardwood flooring as he chased you.

Ah, there it is.

Like a breath of fresh air, the feeling returned. The weightlessness it brought made Aaron float.

***

The sun shone brightly as you entered the BAU, and while the bright weather is something you usually praised, the lingering pain of the previous night’s bad decisions was keeping you from basking in the light. Damn Emily and her affinity for whiskey.

The travel mug of coffee in your hand made a satisfying clink against the wood of your desk, your half lidded eyes reaching a file that hadn’t been there when you left yesterday. In fact, it was a file you had turned in a few days prior. On top of the manilla was an orange sticky note, the unmistakably messy writing of none other than Aaron Hotchner scrawled on it.

MISSING ME’S TOXICOLOGY SCREEN- SECOND VICTIM

AH.

You sighed as you settled into your seat, picking up the landline to call in for the report.

He subtly watched you from his office, almost chuckling at the slump in your shoulders. You were never able to say no to Emily, regardless of how many shots she brought to you. A smile tilted at his lips, but was quickly gone as a knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” he called. JJ’s head poked in, a sizable stack of files in her arm.

“Good morning,” she greeted, “I just wanted to let you know, they’re postponing maintenance repairs on the jet until tomorrow.”

He shuffled papers around, eyes following his work’s movement, “Are there any cases you’re considering? Should we start looking at commercial?”

“Thankfully, no,” there was hint of a laugh in her words, “which is good. I’ve never liked flying in the rain.”

His actions stopped momentarily, gaze snapping up to the woman in his doorway. Desperately, he tried to keep his features from displaying how his heart had dropped from his chest.

“That is good,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly strong, “keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, the door clicking shut as she retreated back to her office.

He let out a long, drawn out breath as soon as she left, suddenly feeling dizzy and very, very warm. The intensity of his pulse was something that echoed in his ears, which became red at the very ends to match his cheeks. He had put his best efforts into keeping the words of Stanley Usher from his mind, but it was a lost cause as soon as JJ had mentioned the rain.

Eyes moving back to you, he felt the nerves begin to eat away at his gut. You were obviously miserable, but somehow, someway, the slight frown on your features and the (mildly) disheveled state of your hair was enough to lift the very corner of his lips into a minuscule smile. Even on one of your worst days- which is beyond understandable, from your choice of a drinking partner- you were, in Hotch’s eyes, the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

***

It took a little over an hour to get the toxicology screening faxed to the unit, machine sputtering as it printed. You slipped the paper into the file, the soles of your shoes clicking against the floor as you made your way to Aaron’s office. Knuckles tapping lightly on the wooden door, you poked your head in.

“I have that file completed,” you smiled, holding up said file in the doorway.

“Come in,” he didn’t look up from the papers below his pen.

You didn’t think much of his focus, moving into the office and putting your revised work on top of the tower of manila that sat on his desk.

“Anything you need?” You offered, fingers twisting the ring on your finger, “Coffee? Food? A break?”

He finally looked up at you, eyes flickering to your fidgeting hands.

“No,” his voice was soft, “but thank you.”

You nodded shortly, a polite smile on your lips before you turned and left, suppressing a shiver that ran down your spine. There was something that was bothering him, you knew. His whole demeanor was slightly shifted, slightly wrong. Even if you didn’t know the reason, you sure as hell didn’t want to deal with an oddly behaved Hotch for the remainder of your day.

You popped two Advil into your mouth at your desk, willing your headache to leave you as you began plotting.

***

Your final decision was that of the edible route. If there was anything in the world that could create a smile on Aaron Hotchner’s face, it was a blueberry scone from the hole-in-the-wall cafe three blocks north of the BAU. Your lunch break was spent walking to, and dining at said cafe, enjoying a scone and coffee yourself, the second round of caffeine helping to ease the remnants of your hangover.

Emily hadn’t stopped teasing you since the moment you had clocked in that morning. She was as chipper as ever, acting as if she had gotten a full eight hours of sleep and didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol the night before. The way she seemed invincible to the source of your destruction only further proved your point that God is a woman, and her name is Emily Prentiss.

But, despite the jokes and jabs from your close friend, the BAU had been oddly quiet. Any day spent without a case was something to be marveled at in and of itself, but the tense atmosphere extended further than that. Specifically, into the Unit Chief’s office. Derek had talked to you about it briefly, the way Hotch was acting. 

“I know that office is his home, but the closed door is a bit concerning.”

You agreed, but neither of you knew how to go about a solution. Eventually, you had retreated back to your desk and subsequent mountain of paperwork. It was while you were finishing a file on the cop-killer in Phoenix, Arizona, that the famous blueberry scone made an appearance in your mind.

It was quickly followed with a mental image of Aaron Hotchner’s smile, but you elected to ignore that. (You also ignored the way your heart was beating because of it).

You were one block away from the Quantico Headquarters when the sunny sky split,  unleashing a rain that was just heavy enough to soak you thoroughly.

Water dripping off your clothes, you stepped into a nearby clothing shop, heading straight to the clerk.

“Do you sell umbrellas?” You asked, arms crossed and fist still gripping onto the scone-filled plastic bag. 

“Back corner over there,” he said politely as he pointed, obvious sympathy in his eyes.

Nodding, you turned and followed his direction, tugging a new shirt and slacks from their hangers as you walked. A bucket of umbrellas sat exactly where he said they would be, all patterned differently.

Naturally, you took the plain, black one, moving towards the front of the store once again.

“Is it okay if I change into these clothes after?” You questioned, placing your items on the counter.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, “dressing rooms are just around that corner.”

Paying him quickly, you grinned, “thank you.” 

You sent the polite retail worker one last smile as you exited the store, wet clothes in the plastic bag the scone was previously in, the treat protected only by the paper pastry bag the baker had placed it in. Everything was better- since you were armed with an umbrella and fresh clothes- until you glanced down to your watch. You were, without a doubt, late.

The sprint you took off into was that of complete panic, knowing the team was sure to be questioning your absence. You were always so punctual- any deviation longer than five minutes (which was tripled, at the time), was noticed immediately. 

Shoes splashing in the pavement’s puddles, the FBI building finally came into view. You huffed as you walked up to the secured, employee-entrance door, reaching for the ID card that always sat at the hem of your shirt.

The dread that filled you when you grasped air was nothing short of terrible.

Your eyes moved to your hip, and there was empty space where that card, adorned with that terrible ID photo, should have been. Frantically, your hand patted at your pockets, only to find them empty. Your other hand was occupied with the umbrella, bag of clothes, and blueberry scone.

As your self-pat down turned up fruitless, your frustration took over, causing you to close and abandon the umbrella for the sake of using both of your hands. The rain soaked you quickly, which only added to the tension. And, as if you hadn’t suffered enough, the stress had begun your alcohol induced headache once again.

It wasn’t until your smiling face, next to the title ‘Supervisory Special Agent’, shone through the plastic bag that your erratic search stopped. 

Of course, you thought, a wave of relief rushing over you, of course it’s still on my other shirt.

In reality, opening that plastic bag should’ve been an easy enough task, but the shakiness of your post-drunken fingers and the slickness that came with the rain proved it to be the complete opposite.

To say you could cry from the pure frustration with the entirety of your situation was an understatement.

“Damn it!” You exclaimed, letting the bag drop to the concrete. It landed next to the now soaked scone- the entire reason you had left the building in the first place.

You had half the mind to call Emily and beg her to let you in quietly before the entrance’s door swung open.

“Good God,” you groaned, “this day just keeps getting better.”

Hotch stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed as the took in your outfit change, your dripping hair, and the umbrella, plastic bag, and paper bag at your feet. Honestly, it was a lot to process.

“Should I ask?” He questioned, one eyebrow lifting. It took everything in him to fight off his smile.

“I mean it with complete sincerity when I say: I will kill you if you do,” you threatened.

“Noted,” he chuckled, stepping into the rain and picking up the previously discarded umbrella. He opened it swiftly, holding over his and your head. “Are you okay?”

And his voice was so soft and so damn tender, you almost lost it then. It didn’t help that he was entirely too close to you.

“I went to get you a scone,” your eyes peeled from his and landed on the pastry bag, sure to be containing the soggy remnants of said scone at that point, “It started raining, and it all went downhill from there.”

He followed the trail of your eyes, looking at the sad, saturated brown bag, “Why did you do that, sweetheart?”

Ignoring the feeling the pet name gave you, you met his gaze once again, “You’ve been in a funk today. Thought I’d try to cheer you up.”

He sighed, eyes jumping between yours, “I appreciate it, even if it didn’t survive the trip here.”

“Yeah,” you cracked a smile, “what a short, sad life.”

“Very sad,” he agreed, his own smile widening with yours. 

You stared at him for a moment, before realizing your stupor and quickly saying, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re alright,” he shook his head with his words, denying your need for an apology.

“I figured someone would notice I was gone,” you chuckled, “I left my ID on my first pair of clothes, then had a disagreement with the bag.”

“I definitely saw all of it,” he smirked.

“Dick,” you nudged him, still trying to calm your pulse.

“I know,” only a couple steps closer and you would be pressed against him, “but yes, I noticed you were gone.”

What he didn’t say was how hesitant he had been to retrieve you. It was summer, rain was falling from the sky, and the predictions of some small-town psychic were weighting heavily on his mind. Despite his skeptic nature, the mere thought of standing with you in the rain was enough to bundle his stomach into a nervous knot. There were very little things he couldn’t control about himself, and his ability to restrain his feelings while standing beside you in a soft rain was something he was absolutely sure he couldn’t control.

And you know, sometimes he was so annoyed with how right he was.

Because, as he stood before you- small water droplet stains on his charcoal grey shoulders and little drips falling from the ends of his hair- he could feel every ounce of self control slip from his grasp. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he was holding on very tightly to begin with.

It was completely your fault, he had decided. It was your fault because you had walked in the rain, almost got into an altercation with a plastic bag, were still fighting off a whiskey hangover- and yet, you managed to be just as radiant and beautiful as you had always been. It was your fault because you made him feel warm as he stood in a chilled rain. It was your fault because he was standing so close to you and wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you.

If you weren’t so damn perfect, he wouldn’t be at war with himself.

“Hotch?” You asked, your eyebrows creased together, “You okay?”

He broke from his thoughts, blinking at you. There was a moment before he spoke, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them.

“Stanley Usher.”

“Stanley Usher?” You repeated.

“What did he say?” He questioned, “About the summer rain?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“Please.”

“Why?” You interrogated, “What does he have to do with- oh.”

You met his eyes with your own, allowing yourself to read him- which was usually off limits. He looked desperate, almost yearning, for an answer. It was almost laughable, the thought of him believing the words of Stanley Usher. You hadn’t forgotten them, but you were far more spiritual than Aaron. He was the one who was supposed to be completely level headed and realistic.

“Aaron, be honest with me,” you began, “are you asking me because you want to justify your feelings?”

Maybe it was too bold, but you needed the answer, and were far too frustrated with the day to dance around the subject.

The way he immediately looked to the ground was answer enough. You sighed, saddened by the fact that he felt ashamed. It was expected, his embarrassment with himself. Anyone who had feelings for a subordinate would act the same.

You sighed before speaking.

“It reminds me of you, the rain,” you said softly. His eyes flickered up to you, looking through his lashes.

“It’s a little cold, but it’s soft and refreshing,” you continued, reaching up and tracing your fingertips on his temple, “I would dance in it all day, if I could.”

He knew what you were saying, and it took his breath away.

Your hand dropped to your side, your head tilting slightly to get a better look at him, “Would you?”

And all at once, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. The umbrella clattered onto the pavement, his large hands holding your face instead, pulling you to him and connecting your lips to his. You let out a surprised squeak, but quickly relaxed into his touch, winding your arms around his neck.

He kissed you desperately, like the rain would wash you away as soon as he let go. You let yourself get lost in him, throwing every reservation and hesitation to the wolves. He seemed to do the same, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. He wanted no empty space between you. Happily obliging, you tightened your grip around him.

You wanted desperately to learn every detail of him, to feel his breath with yours, to match the beating of his heart. You wanted to know every flaw, every weakness- every portion of him, no matter how small. He had become your everything, and you were content with that first kiss being your last first kiss.

Even as the rain relentlessly fell upon the two of you, no complaints were heard. The raindrops were simply an audience to the resolution of an unspoken love.

You were the first to break away, unable to ignore your empty lungs. Neither of you moved to untangle from each other.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your words brushing against his lips, “we’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do,” your eyes flickered to the cameras lining the federal building before you.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling, “Forgive me if I don’t care.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” you pressed a chaste peck to his lips.

“Mm,” he hummed as you pulled away, “I have been waiting to do that for a while.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while.”

Your teasing tone was not lost on him as he bumped your nose with his, “We are both going to get sick from this rain.”

“Worth it,” you sighed, connecting his lips with your own once again.

And he couldn’t agree more. Even when you both caught a nasty cold, even when Strauss confronted you about your ‘romantic endeavors’, even when the team teased the living hell out of both of you- it was all worth it.

You were worth it.

***

Stanley Usher sat in his living room, flipping through channels before landing on the news, the local weather man flashing on the screen.

“-and, as the weekends come, we expect precipitation on the west coast-“

And he felt it, the phantom metal around his middle finger, the overwhelming warmth in his chest. He looked to the ceiling, almost able to hear the soft patter of rain on pavement. His thumb brushed the coolness away from his finger, and he settled into his couch cushions, a smile never leaving his face.

taglist:

@quillvine​ @winterscaptain​ @agenthotchner​ @davidrossi-ismydad​ @misskirkstark​ @good-heavens-chris-evans​ @vintagecaptainspidey​

[ciggylungz]

Positive

Blurb night:

1.4k words

(request: imagine you’re married to harry & you’re pregnant and you meet up with the boys and tell them and it’s just all happy and so cute🥺) + request: what about some morning cuddles? or how they communicate to everyone that they’re having a baby? sorry im soft today i need some good fluffs)

(Sorry if you didn’t want them combined they were similar so I thought it might be repetitive if I did them independently)

 -----

Trying to conceive was always a nerve-wracking trial and error process for those participating in the journey, and Harry and Y/n are no exception to those bumps in the road to starting a family.

The couple had waited till their one-year wedding anniversary to start trying for a child, making sure the marriage was going smoothly and both of them were able to devote as much attention to the child if they were to successfully fall pregnant.

The pair decided to both get exams to make sure they were fertile and another to make sure Y/n was healthy enough to carry a pregnancy, both of their results came back perfect for the two of them so you can imagine the confusion and upset they experienced when months went by without a positive pregnancy test. Harry and Y/n have been doing a lot of condoling each other, cooking comfort foods for dinners and taking their vitamins religiously to give themselves some hope, carbs and cuddles to carry them through this journey of bringing a new person into the world.

You’d think trying was the most fun part of making a baby yet months of constant sex did a number on the two. They were losing their libido, tired and sometimes sore from the constant friction on their most sensitive areas but the duo refused to give up.

__

It was a typical Thursday morning, Harry sending off emails while cramming toast into his mouth and Y/n was brushing her teeth, feeling particularly out of it that day. She was tired and sluggish, a bit queasy and just off.

By now taking a pregnancy test was part of her morning routine. She even had a designated cup next to the toilet she used to collect her first morning wee in to dip the tests in, every morning she took one just to see. She was never very good at controlling her curiosity and when it comes to something this life changing, well she just can’t stop herself.

Y/n swears her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she saw the second line, bright and bold perfectly straight next to the control line. It took a few minutes for her brain to truly comprehend the evidence in front of her, there were two lines.

She was pregnant!

After the initial shock started to fade, excitement flooded through her. A shriek of her husbands name rolled through the house prompting him to jump to his feet and rush towards the noise.

“What?! Are you okay?! Are you hurt baby? What happen-“

“Harry I’m pregnant! Look ! it worked! We’re having a baby!” Y/n held the positive test in the hair, thrusting it towards his wide eyes seeing the man shift from panic to being elated.

“Oh my god! We’re having a baby! My dick works!” Harry wrapped his arms around his wife before hoisting her in the air, spinning the both of them around while they cheered and let out happy tears.

That night the pair celebrated with a nice dinner and excitedly calling y/n’s obgyn to set up her first prenatal visit. The pair decided they’d keep their secret till they were in the clear, the first couple weeks of pregnancy are the most high risk time for miscarriage so they didn’t want to get their hopes up and let everyone know till they were sure this baby was going to make it to term.

___

 Y/n was 18 weeks along when the couple decided they were going to announce the news to their friends and family. Harry was giddy, obsessed with his wife’s tummy that was now starting to get a little curve to the lower part of it. He kept ultrasound pictures in his wallet and spend every evening reading baby books and making a list of names for their growing baby.

The first people they decided to tell was of course their mothers and siblings, it was a great experience lots of hugs, happy tears and celebration sweets. Everyone was over the moon, the couple had full hearts and tummy’s when they left Anne’s home. The couple had never felt happier in their lives.

Of course when it came to telling the news to the boys, Harry decided to whip out one of his dad jokes he’d already been hoarding in his mind. His jokes were always terrible, lets face it, but the boys loved to take the piss out of him and found his jokes entertaining now.

So, Harry invited the group over directing Louis to open the oven for him which inside was a bun- yes Y/n had to refrain from cringing at the horrible dad joke but she let him has his fun- and Louis reacted first with a confused glance to Harry. “Mate, ya’ not the best chef but I thought you’d know that cookin’ one thing at a time is a bit wasteful of the gas innit?” the man plucked the bread off the rack, handing it to Harry who was rolling his eyes since the other man didn’t seem to get the implications.

“Lou, what was in the oven?” he decided to throw him a line, the other guys just watching the interaction confused and waiting for Harry to reveal what the hell he was on about. “A roll Harold” Harry then huffed, “No! it’s a bun!”, Niall was now laughing finding the situation at hand seeing Harry getting mad over the guys not having a clue what he was trying to imply.

When the bickering filled the kitchen between the boys Y/n decided to step in- “Alright! Harry I told you the joke was rubbish, guys ‘bun in the oven’- the reference and horrible execution was a reference to me since I’m pregnant.” – only then did it click in all their heads, a chorus of ‘ohhhh’ and then excited congratulations followed. Louis of course took the chance to pick on Harry who gave him the finger before excepting the celebratory hugs and pats on the back, the boys giving Y/n a good cuddle too congratulating her on the pregnancy and telling her how excited they were to be uncles. A few making jokes to Harry about ‘getting it in’ and all that boyish banter.

The pair couldn’t be more thrilled at all the excitement that surrounded the arrival of their first born, Y/n was also happy she wouldn’t have to wear baggy clothes around them anymore either. Sweaters in august was a bit uncomfortable for a pregnant woman with hot flashes.

____

When the 20 week mark came, the couple decided to keep the gender a surprise till birth when offered the anatomy scan. They really didn’t have a preference as long as their bundle of joy was healthy, they were happy.

They had spent the last few weeks painting the nursery a pale yellow, making an accent wall with a neutral colored floral wallpaper, lots of vines and plants on it in a grey and white color theme. The room was fit for whatever gender their baby turned out to be, and it was now being filled with a crib Harry had put together- which he nearly had a breakdown over how many fucking screws and parts it had- and a nice changing table stocked with diapers, wipes and all the baby essentials.  

The little ones closet was organized by size, all hung neatly on hangers and in organized bins as well. A nice rocking chair with a little nursing station was in one of the corners, stocked with burp cloths and a nursing pillow as well as a few jars of nipple balm since breastfeeding can caused chapped skin on the breasts. They had a little dish with pacifiers sitting on the small table next to the chair, picture books and a few nice soft blankets folded on the small shelf below the drawers.

Everything was slowly but surely coming together, and now they couldn’t wait to welcome their baby into the world.

(Tbh idk if I like this one, but I tried my best.)

[pointedly-foolish]

[ вut "sєntímєntαl вσч" ís mч nσm dє plumє ]

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gender-neutral!reader

genre: slight fluff; angst with sad ending

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy. you did what you were designed to do. memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it��alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat, scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was no longer. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesis only gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my other works

[shadowsblades]

VALEERA’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Rachel OOC Contact: IMs, Discord

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

Valeera Sanguinar is a blood elf spy loyal to the Wrynns. Sometime after surviving the fall of Silvermoon, she fought alongside Varian Wrynn in the gladiator pits and later escaped and helped restore him to the throne. Valeera acted as an advisor and bodyguard to Varian throughout Wrath of the Lich King, Cataclysm, Mists of Pandaria, and Warlords of Draenor. Following Varian’s death on the Broken Shore, Valeera pledged herself to his son and the new High King of the Alliance, Anduin. Valeera also worked alongside the Uncrowned, a secret organization of rogues affiliated with both the Horde and the Alliance, against the Burning Legion.

Points of interest:

blood elf working for the Alliance (not that she will ever admit to it)

undefeated gladiator Champion of the Crimson Ring

previously possessed by a dreadlord

Shadow of the Uncrowned

no pants, ass right there

huge green orc daggers

much hair, very blonde

little armor, very red

What they’ve been up to recently:

In canon:

discovered Mathias Shaw was being impersonated by Detheroc

worked with the Uncrowned to defeat the Burning Legion's assassin Akaari Shadowgore

carried messages between Anduin Wrynn and Baine Bloodhoof regarding the meeting between the Forsaken and their human families (which lead to many deaths, rip)

assisted Baine Bloodhoof to return Derek Proudmore to Jaina (which lead to Baine’s arrest, soz)

On this blog:

compliant with everything in canon

I have plotted with @lightsblade that Valeera was involved in the negotiations between the blood elves and the Alliance during MoP, and during that time also became sexually and romantically involved with Lady Liadrin. Although her loyalty to the Wrynns and overall emotional reservedness has made things slow going, they are involved still and Valeera makes frequent visits to Quel’Thalas. Now that the Horde and Alliance are at war again, that places Valeera in a fairly precarious position, torn between her new home in Stormwind and the home she fled from as a child.

Where to find them:

Stormwind

pretty much anywhere on Azeroth because spy

Current plans:

This blog is still pretty new and I’m still on my first thread with most people, so I’m still getting a feel for the relationships Valeera has with other canon and original characters. I would love to plot more things with people, be that pre-established relationships or a relationship we can build towards in threads.

Desired interactions:

Other Uncrowned / Rogues: Although Valeera primarily works as an independent agent, there’s every possibility that she has made contact with other rogues and maintains a mutually beneficial relationship with them, facilitating the exchange of information that would be difficult or time-consuming for Valeera to obtain herself.

Sin’dorei: As Valeera becomes more involved in activities in Quel’Thalas, she’s likely to be interacting with other sin’dorei, but given that she is closely affiliated with the Alliance, those interactions might not initially be very pleasant. There’s also an opportunity for Valeera to reconnect with other sin’dorei she may have known prior to the Fall of Silvermoon, such as teachers, neighbours, and other orphans.

Alliance leaders: Valeera has been embroiled in Stormwind’s political affairs for a number of years now, meaning she should have some kind of relationship with the other Alliance leaders, particularly those that also live in Stormwind. I’m intrigued by how Valeera and Alliance higher-ups perceive and interact with one another.

Quel’dorei in Stormwind: Valeera’s only connection to her culture while living in Stormwind are the interactions she has with the high elves. While most likely limited and antagonistic, there’s potential for a really interesting dynamic.

Offered interactions:

I think Valeera’s mobility and neutrality offer ample opportunity for interaction. As above, she can be found pretty much anywhere, and unless your character is a demon or annoys her, she’s usually not inclined to attack. 

As above, your character could be a source of information Valeera is seeking or they could be looking to trade information with her, you could catch her lurking somewhere she isn’t supposed to be, or simply meet her as she travels between two points.

If your character, canon or OC, is in a position of power, Valeera might be involved in carrying messages between them and Varian/Anduin.

Apart from being a spy, Valeera is also a hero. If your character is in some kind of trouble they don’t deserve to be in, or if there’s an enemy lurking about, she'll most likely try to help out.

Current open post/s:

None, but you can find a meme to send here (feel free to send anything that looks like something to start a thread out of, just not those headcanon memes or drabble memes) or just jump right into my IMs to yell at me. 

Anything else?:

I reply pretty quickly because I get excited, but I don’t expect the same from you.

I’m making my way through the World of Warcraft novels and comics at the moment, but I definitely don’t know everything there is to know and I probably don’t even know what I don’t know. If I get something wrong about your character or the lore, please help me learn!

Tagged by: pickpocketed from @necroarchy

Tagging: @lightsblade, @ladywindrunner, @themorningfell (on Airlia or on any of your other blogs), @anierous-sunblade, @wclfcrown, and anyone else who would like to!

[thjungwon-blog]

hi!! i’m clo (she/her) from the gmt+8 squad, and i apologise for being late! anyway, here’s seo jungwon, mischief, from the kim pack and i’m super excited to have him here. if u ever want to plot with him or want him to stir up some trouble somewhere, pls hit me up in my im! here are some links!: bio, profile.

talk tag details below.

1. what is your name?: clo

2. who will you be playing and what’s their skeleton?: seo jungwon, mischief, from the kim pack

3. a quote that you see your character living by?: “create wings out of fire. burn holes through the nets they cast upon you.”

4. how does your character feel about the news of kim sukwon getting in bed with bae hyesu?: jungwon is amused. it’s the kind of drama that entertains him, an event whose repercussions has already proven to be interesting to watch unfold in its cause and effect, a giant ripple. and to be honest, he’s not surprised. this is merely the way of the powerful and the influential. they do as they please and have more skeletons in their closets than they know to do with. it’s all a matter of which laundry is being aired and how sorry they pretend to be about it. ultimately, as long as he doesn’t go back to being the bottom of the so-called food chain as part of the kim pack, he’s not personally invested in it.

5. how about the yongs?: he’s neutral about them, though he does see them as being too flashy and glamorous, too reminiscent of how his ex-family behaves and he doesn’t particularly like that association/affiliation.

6. what’s your favorite food?: chicken! 

7. your ultimate bias?: lee taemin and kim jongin 

8. anything you would like to see happen in the lands of aglaia?: everything. conflict, love, lust, powerplay, drama, betrayal, shades of grey, complicated relationships.

9. and cue details about your lil baby?: 

he was raised as a servant despite being the legitimate youngest son of an it mogul because of his status as a beta, because they were ashamed of him. did a lot of the work for the company but was never given credit. 

was expelled from the family when he sold company secrets because he hated his family. eventually joined the kim pack because he asked, because he had something more strategic to contribute if the kim pack were meant to be the brains.

observed a lot of rich people at rich people parties where he learnt to play tricks on them: tricks like uncovering affairs, illegitimate children, treachery. playing with whether he would expose them, to who, who he would potentially pretend to blackmail. later on he would move on to starting affairs.

considers himself an outsider. not quite on the side of anyone. but he skews more towards the rich because although he wasn’t treated very well growing up, he was still raised in a relatively opulent environment. 

probably isn’t as loyal to the kim pack as he should be. not that he’s betraying them, he’s merely neutral, on the fence. 

has probably dabbled in everything once because he’s just so curious and hasn’t really found anything that could gain his attention for long. could starting knitting one day, and then be fencing the next. could be trying to hack someone one moment and then playing the guitar next. never really sticks to one particular thing.

one thing he does love to do is to watch the stars at night. if it’s a cloudless night, he’ll smoke and pretends the smoke are clouds. if it’s a starless night, he’ll light sparklers.

as long as you don’t disparage him for being a beta, he won’t particularly bother you. because he hates that the most. but you can disparage him for his personality, hahah. he’ll still bother you but he’d be more playful about it.

[imagine-lcorp]

A Step Into the Light (Part I)

Lena Luthor x Vamp!Reader

A/N: So, i’m new to all of this but i like writing and I like Lena Luhtor, and I came up with an idea after watching a really cool vampire movie. So here you go, I don’t know all about this story yet but I promise you I’m gonna finish it if you like it. 

Also, Im gonna try to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, ‘cause in general I imagine them as female but I think we all should be allowed to enjoy this. So here we go! 

You never expected to be infatuated with someone at this moment of your life. After all the wars and revolutions, all the people you outlived, all your fortune and useless knowledge about the past, this felt like an oddity. But looking at her made your unbeating heart skip a beat. And you knew, after trials and tribulations, you were fangs over heels for Lena Luthor.

The young Luthor had all the trademarks of a striking person: genius, leadership, and beauty. In another time, she could have passed as a queen, and she was one in some sense as she was the heiress and current CEO of L-Corp. It made sense you would feel drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, towards her light.

You were lucky you got to meet her one night at a bar and even luckier that she accepted you a drink. At first, you didn't recognize her but she was familiar enough to acknowledge her as a personality. Soon, you found out, it was a delight getting to know the infamous Lena Luthor.

Whatever your conversations lead, you were more than happy to listen to her. New projects and business, the puppy she saw on her way, rants about the vultures she had as investors or formulas not quite working. You would listen thoughtfully when she talked about her family and cherish the smile she had talking about her best friend, Kara "Sunny" Danvers. You were a little jealous for the closeness their shared but, ultimately, thanked her for being there for Lena in her darkest times.

In return, you tried to tell her as much as you could about yourself. Where were you born, your parent's names, the family "business" and how you inherited all that. Your hate for the sun and hot days for no reason in particular. About how you definitely were not a morning person but liked to watch the sunrise. Your travels around the world, the people you had met, and funny bits of history you had learned. Hell, you even looked at her, dead in the eye, to say you were into drinking blood and being immortal. Only for her to dismiss you with a playful grin.

"What an adventurous life you have, (Y/N). Maybe next time I can come with you". She told you.

"I would be more than thrilled if you do. I just hope the blood thing doesn't bother you". You replied with a mile, all honestly and truth in your voice.

"Well, it's not the worst of all evils. I should know." She winked at you.

Now, you were headed at the gala for the Luthor Family Children's Hospital. Lena had been hopeful you would attend and you didn't want to disappoint her. Once you arrived, you found Lena with a serious face talking to an old man. She looked beautiful as always, a black dress that looked too good, hands, arms and head all arranged in a proud and elegant pose. You didn't hesitate to go and take her away, from what seemed like an insufferable conversation. Managing to leave the man with a cordial expression even after being interrupted. You took Lena by the hand and walked towards the bar. She let out a sigh of relief and little giggle at your manners.

"I know it may be early for this but if we are to survive the night we would need this." You said as you huffed and pointed for two glasses of scotch to the bartender.

"Thank goodness you are here, (Y/N). I was worried you wouldn't come. I know you don't particularly enjoy such parties." She took her glass from your hand.

"Well, who would willingly want to hang out with these...how did you called them? Vultures? Besides, I'm not one to leave a beautiful lady at the mercy of such creatures." Your drew your glass towards your mouth in an attempt to hide your grin.

"In that case, thanks for the favor and the compliment. “She took a sip of her own glass. "You know, for someone who doesn't take pleasure in attending social events, you seem to know how to deal with these people. That man looked almost pleased to be left there."

"I had a lifetime to learn the tricks of the trade. Stick with me and I may teach you a few things."

"So I've been told." She said as a red, blue and blond figure descended from the sky in the middle of the party. "But it seems they will be the least of my concerns tonight."

Lena walked towards National City's Greatest Hero, Supergirl, and you followed close enough to make sure she was alright. Others looked with certain expectation, worry and even dislike for the two figures that were talking. On your part, you were more than intrigued by the hero. There were some perks of being changed; eating and drinking everything you could without gaining a pound, instant regeneration, strength, walk on walls, plus being able to recognize blood by taste or smell. So, when the strong metallic smell of her blood reached you, you knew she wasn't human and not in the same way as yourself.

It was fascinating. You had never been near an alien before. It was one of the hopes you had when coming to National City, the place that brought aliens and humans together, and finally you had come to cross paths with nothing less than the Girl of Steel. However, the excitement was rapidly replaced with concern as you watched Lena's eyebrows knitted in a frown. Whatever the conversation was, it was not good news.

After a brief moment, the conversation was over leaving Lena with a worried face while Supergirl graciously saluted the guests and assured them she had come to express her appreciation for their work and support to the Children's Hospital. All before flying towards the night sky.

"Everything ok?" You approached Lena.

"Nothing you should worry about." She took you by the arm and walked you once again towards the bar.

"Then it's bad, isn't it?" You leaned towards her to whisper. "You only say not to worry when there is something to really worry about and try to hide it."

"Alright, fine." She stopped before reaching the bar, making sure no one was within ear reach, and whispered back to you. "There's been a thread of attack by a group called Cadmus, so we need to keep everyone calm. Supergirl will be watching and if something happens-"

"She comes to the rescue, of course. Don't you want to end this party early?" You suggested looking at the people around.

She looked around herself making sure everything was still going normally, trying to hide the worry in her eyes and taking a deep breath. "No, we need to stay here. If they think we know about their plan, they will surely want to storm into the crowd and take advantage of everyone here."

"So we just play the waiting game, uh? Hey, whatever happens I'm not leaving you, it’s going to be okay." You made sure to use the calmest voice you had as the concern in Lena grew. She had to maintain everyone else in the shadow of a possible attack and made sure those people kept the endorsements in the company. The stakes were high in this gala; she just couldn't risk another disturbance and a front page of bad publicity.

She took a deep breath, took your hand in hers and gave you one of those Lena smiles, soft and warm. "Thank you, (Y/N)"

You tried to smile smugly in an attempt to ignore the adoring look you sure were giving her. "What's there to thank?"

"Being here." You looked at her eyes and you knew, for however long was your immortality, you would be there for the heaven sent creature that was Lena Luthor.

[mr-moustachio]

A *quick note from my suppressed consciousness.

It has been slowly rising up from my subconscious to my awareness that I am incredibly depressed. I really don't have any outlets for this newfound discovery, so I'm posting on Tumblr where I feel I can say what I want and it will most likely just get lost amongst the memes and posts that people actually want to read.

Pre-req:

A quick recap of my current life: I am 29, have a wife and 2 children. I work at a grocery store as a supervisor making roughly $17/hr. My wife does not work, meaning I bring in 100% of the income. She stays at home raising our boys. But not "our" home, because I can't afford to pay rent and feed my family and supply them with clothes and other necessities. In the state of NV I only qualify for about $65 in foodstamps. So there is this impending and constant struggle for money. The past year I was paying about $1000.00 a month for rent. But I was over drafting every pay check and borrowing money when I got the chance. Shitty. And I cope with the financial struggle with alcohol. I'm not going to consider myself an alcoholic, because if there is liquor around, I don't care. I drink beer. Love it. Can't wait to get off work and have a few beers . Everyday. I'm not at rock bottom but I can see the floor beneath my feet. So I moved my family out of the apt. And into my grandfathers house. He's 92. Love him. My dad also lives here as kind of caregiver. Him and I don't get along. Like, at all, we don't fight. It's more passive aggressive over everything. Literally the smallest stuff.

Marriage/kids:

So I've covered my finances and my stressful living situation with family. Now, my wife is everything to me. I love her with everything I got. But I feel like I can't make her happy. She does so much for us and the household and is mega under appreciated.. And for whatever reason I can't seem to please her emotionally or sexually. I mean, I've become such a "type a" person. Very logical and straight forward. That I don't stop to just enjoy our time together. And with the kids it's like we never have time to be Kyle and Britt. We Are always playing Mom and Dad. We don't really trust anyone to watch our kids. Weird. I know. But when we do have babysitters we can't just let loose. And this is all raking a toll on our marriage and our friendship. I have become so reluctant to do any activities or even play with my kids. I'm distancing myself and I hate myself for it. I see that I am acting just like my mother did towards me. And it fucking pisses me off. I want to be a better father. But I feel so drained after work. I come home and everyone is asleep. I wake up with them in the morning groggy and I make them breakfast and try to spend a bit of time with them before I go to work. But I end up playing video games or sitting on my phone scrolling and scrolling. I pretty much shut out my wife and kids from my consciousness and escape for a bit into the internet. And I know it's detrimental to both my kids perception of me and my marriage. I know my wife is unhappy. I can feel it and see it. And I'm unhappy despite laughing and wearing a smile. And my wife knows it.

Sex-life:

First off. Sometimes I have performed amazing. Like we both finish and are sweaty and everything was perfect. But for the most part. I'm a disappointment. To myself and my partner. Whether it's my wife now, or girlfriends in the past. I struggle with ED, and sometimes I don't finish or most often, I finish far far to soon. The later is the most common now. I'll be super horny, ready to have sex, my wife not so much, okay, I'll warm her up and turn her on. But with living at my grandpa's house who's always home. And having the boys running around or distracted for a short time with TV/electronics. She can't get in the right state of mind. So it's bad for her because she can't let go enough to actually enjoy the 4 minutes I offer of actually sex. And I'm so stressed about being quick or trying to get her excited enough to feel something that I ejaculate to soon, no condoms, only pull out. And literally the second I feel my orgasm, I get overwhelmed with disappointment. And I apologize to my wife. For the lame sex. Was that really great for me and I know it wasnt great for her. But I feel so ashamed about it. That most days when I feel horny I'd rather just rub it out in the bathroom and get it over with. So I don't have to go through that disappointment again. And that alone is one of the most depressing things I've ever admitted.

Flirt:

I'm a flirt, I have this horrible habit of attracting the attention of any woman that will give me the time of day and over flirting just to feel wanted. I never have had girls look my way growing up. My teenage years were spent needing out with video games and music to really have girls chase me or flirt with me. Idk how to act in those situations, and after being married for over 4 years now. And not actually wanting to pursue any other woman, I flirt so hard. I talk to almost all the girls at work like I'm only interested in them and I make them feel special and act like I just want to take them to the supply closet and make out. Of course that never happens. I just spit horrible game and they giggle or laugh and everyone feels a bit lighter after. But it is such a shitty perception to place on other people. That's not who I am. Im not actually interested in fucking or dating these girls. In fact I don't particularly even care for their wellbeing. I just like the attention and reactions I get. Twisted. I do however stare and gawk at pretty girls that I don't know like a fucking wolf in the old cartoons. I just feel so sexually deprived that I want to fuck everything. But when presented the opportunity to legit have 1 night stands. I freeze up and bail, because not only is adultery a shitty thing to do but I would just be a major disappointment to that girl and to myself. That is what keeps me loyal to my wife, the fact that I don't offer great sex. I can talk game and get a girl interested but the rest is just filled with to much anxiety.

So after all these things happening on the regular, I drown out my sorrow with beer and video games and flirting, I also love porn, would watch everyday can't get enough. 4 vices I didn't even know I had acquired.

The scary thing is that I spend so much time numbing and neutralizing my depression and anxiety that I don't known who I am as a human. Like, looking back I can see all these characters I played. All these roles I filled to have friends. And now instead of friends, it's coworkers and my family. Am I a good or bad father or am I just pretending to be. Do I actually enjoy things or is it fake emotion. I can't tell what is real feeling and what is forced. I just look forward to the next beer or video game etc... #whoami

End rant. Thank you Internet.

*not actually quick.

[tricksters-captain]

FP Jones/Andrews family/Riverdale imagines - Oh Dear Part 9

AN: This chapter is a little different... It’s also a little short so I may release the next chapter a little earlier than Friday. 

(Part One) (Part Two)(Part Three)(Part Four)(Part Five)(Part Six)(Part Seven)(Part Eight)

Overall Summary: You’re Archie’s old sister and you have a thing for a certain serpent

Pairing: Reader x FP Jones, Sister!Reader x Archie Andrews, Daughter!Reader x Fred Andrews

Word count: 1,335

Warnings: Well, FP is clearly older than the reader in this fic, none really

Before homecoming...

FP watched you leave the trailer with a unconscious smirk on his lips. 

You really were something else. 

He turned to the kitchen and poured himself a coffee, he had to be at Alice Coopers in an hour and if he was honest, he was kind of nervous. 

He knew Alice. He knew that this wasn’t just some social gathering to bring the Cooper/Jones family together but he said he’d go since Jughead seemed so damn excited about it. And in the end, he didn’t care that much about Alice’s intentions as long as his son was happy.

And your surprise visit was enough to encourage him to get through the rest of the evening. Knowing that you would be at the Whyte Wyrm in a pair of combat boots and black washed jeans that clung to you so tightly was enough to help FP through the night. 

FP had no idea why he let himself get talked into what he just experienced at the Cooper’s house. It was an interrogation he never particularly wanted but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect it to go ass up one way or another. 

He ran his hands over his face, sighing, partially out of defeat and partially out of exhaustion. 

““Betty! Jug! Hey!” You crossed over to Betty’s front patio, next door to your own. FP’s head shot up when he heard your voice. 

He felt as if he’d ran straight into a brick wall when you came into view. His lips parting lightly and his eyes widening in awe. 

You looked incredible.

FP hadn't realised that you were only really watching his reaction and had noticed that he hadn't held back when you revealed yourself. 

(Y/n), my gosh, you look beautiful!” Betty awed over your dress, and you thanked her. FP snapped back to his usual neutral facial expression, hoping that no one had seen his reaction to you as Betty cooed over you. 

“I’ll be right back, I have to get something from the house.” Jughead excused himself for a second, and then Betty started heading towards FP’s truck, leaving you and FP both alone for a split moment. 

‘Wow’ FP thought. 

“You look... beautiful.” FP murmured as you both walked down the steps, slow enough to have a private conversation. He wanted to say more, do more, but he knew he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t even find the words to say more. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself. Shame I didn’t get to see you in a suit tonight though.” You teased, a smile toying on the corner of your lips. FP eyes caught the smile you were repressing. 

“Believe me, you’re not missing much.” FP told you, chuckling softly. He looked sideways at you, waiting for you to say something else, anything else, but Jughead rejoined you, cutting you off.

“Come on, Betty doesn’t like to be late.” He said, rushing past you. FP shook his head at how whipped his son was on the young girl but also couldn’t help but feel hypocritical. 

FP watched his son open the car door for you and Betty as he clambered into the truck himself. 

He was glad that you entered first, pushing yourself up against his arm, your familiar scent filling his nose. 

The car was a tight squeeze but FP didn’t mind. He didn’t mind being so close to you and the other two didn’t think too much of it and so on you went. 

FP pulled up outside the school and almost told you to skip homecoming but managed to control himself. You were young, you should enjoy yourself and you were meeting later on anyway. 

“Have fun tonight.” FP quietly told you as the younger couple exited the car.  

“Remember, Whyte Wyrm, save me a dance.” You whispered, winking at the man. FP’s eyes lingered on your lips, he had to fight every urge in his body to kiss you in that moment but fortunately you exited the truck before he could act on it. 

“You be a gentlemen tonight, okay?” FP leaned towards the window, calling out to Jughead. He watched you take the umbrella from Jughead and head up the stairs to the front doors. FP’s gaze never left you. He watched your shoulders move as you adjusted the umbrella. He watched the way you stumbled slightly in the heels you wore. He watched your face light up as you greeted others and he felt himself suddenly long to be at that dance. 

“He always is, Mr. Jones.” Betty assured FP, bringing him back to his senses. 

“Betty, you mind giving us a minute?” Jughead asked, Betty, of course, didn’t mind and left the Jones family to talk.

After the talk with his son, FP headed back to the trailer park. His thoughts raced around his head, if Jughead said yes to Toledo that means he would have to go, he would have to leave you. He didn’t know if he could do that. He guessed you could always go to college there and he’d still get to see you but how long would he be able to get away with that?

He sighed, shaking the thoughts from his head and decided he’d make himself something to eat considering he didn’t do much eating at the Coopers. 

He figured he’d have to wait at least an hour before you ditched the dance but kept his phone by him in case you called. His phone rarely exploded with calls but when it did, it was usually you. 

FP’s mind wondered back to the first time you admitted you were crushing on him. He could admit that he couldn’t believe what he was doing at first when he allowed you into his life but, boy, was he glad he did. 

You made him forget about all the bad shit going on in his life. You made him forget the pain he had when he wife left him and took his baby girl which replaced the drinking. You made him forget what it was like feel like a loser, what it was to be the typical bad guy.

You made him feel human. 

He ducked down into the fridge and pulled out a box of eggs and a frying pan. 

He turned on the hob and the eggs started to sizzle when he suddenly got lost in thought. He was reflecting on the day he met you behind the bleachers. Your hair tied up, your shorts high on your hips, one sock a little lower than the other. Your (y/e/c) met his and that was the moment he knew he was screwed.

He was drawn from his thoughts when a chorus of sirens and flashing lights pulled up outside his trailer. He huffed. What could they possibly want on this night of all nights?

FP opened the door to reveal Sheriff Keller and a gathering of cops. 

“We have a warrant to search the premises.” Keller told him. 

“Be my guest. Got nothing to hide.” FP stood back and opened his arm, allowing the officers to enter. 

FP sat back and watched the cops raid his home, trashing the place that he and you had only just completely cleaned. His mind wondered to the polaroid of you and him and where he had put it, not that it mattered much because the cops weren’t searching for a photograph.

He thought to himself that he would have to let you know that he may be a bit late to the Whyte Wyrm if the cops didn’t finish up soon, especially since they weren’t leaving a single thing unturned. 

FP wasn’t worried at all about the raid, anything that could link him to any crime was ridded of a long time ago. He didn’t like to leave loose ends and therefore there would be no strings to pull. But when the sheriff pulled out a lockbox that FP had never seen before, he knew he was in trouble.

Chapter 10

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