#i wish i didn't care about this as much as i do

[bratbarzal]

for ur valentines blurb pretty please these prompts with quinn hughes ☺️😘

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

idk why I give prompts and then continue to go off script but I honestly think I have a problem with being told what to do lmao. something about scripted sentence cuts a creative wire in my brain. THE SENTIMENT OF WHAT I WROTE IS THE SAME!!!!! I promise. also I like this one lmao!! I hope you like it too thanks for requesting!! and stacking the prompts is very cool gave me a nice little story to follow I love it!!! I wrote this whole thing and realised I didn't mention valentines once, but it's belated, so..... we're going to pretend it's okay I've decided on your behalf thanks love you

this ended up at 3.4k words lol - warnings for fade to black type smut, slightly angsty

Quinn: you coming over tonight?

A text from him has never filled you with anxiety like this.

But then again, for as long as the two of you have been friends, you've never actively avoided Quinn until now.

Monday had been one word answers, Tuesday had been emojis, Wednesday had been reactions, and Thursday had been radio silence, because he hadn't texted you, anyway.

It's not that you're mad at him. You wish you could be mad - wish you had any reason other than your own shame to be turning down all attempts at contact. But instead, all you can think when you see his name is how much you had fucked everything up the last time you saw him.

You: idk

And only because you feel instantly bad about how short that is, you immediately follow up with:

You: work has kicked my ass this week

You see the little dots keep popping up, and you're only torturing yourself to watch them come and go as he figures out what to say - how to salvage what you'd so carelessly made a gigantic mess of only last weekend.

You should really just say yes, you think - be the bigger person. Fridays have been your thing, all season. The day of the week he most frequently has the night off, and an end to your usually-hectic work-week, it has just made sense for the two of you to hang out, to make a routine of doing so.

Bailing on him is harsh, you know that. And with such a weak excuse too - you've had much worse times in your job, and it's never come between the two of you before.

And you know that he knows what you're doing. It's obvious. It's just whether he's in any mood to try and recover whatever scraps of your friendship still remain. Whether he even cares, anymore.

Quinn: please?

The two minutes it took for him to type just one word dragged longer than they ever have in your life, and you blink at your phone screen as you see the dots jump up again.

You chew nervously at your lip and wait, tapping your foot against the side of your desk and watching this time as it stays.

Quinn: I've already bought enough to cook for us both

He's such a guilt tripper.

You sigh, typing back and sending an immediate response, figuring a week of the bare minimum is punishment enough without blanking him or making him wait.

You: okay

A heart pops up below your message almost immediately, the reaction only worsening your anxiety at the thought of how hard keeping your distance is.

You: I'm finishing later than usual, should be there around 8

Quinn: ok I'll have dinner ready for then!

--

You knock on Quinn's door a little after 8pm - still in your work clothes, although that is usually how you come over, in your defence. Quinn loans you something comfy, and you usually change, but changing means staying over, and you're kind of trying to avoid all that again.

So when he welcomes you in, you awkwardly pat at his back as he tries to embrace you, before hovering around the kitchen instead of making your way back to his room.

He frowns a little as he watches you - he's in a hoodie and sweats, settled in now for the night with no intentions of getting back up once the two of you have eventually sunk down into the couch together - and waits a second to see if you're just on a delay, if you're just beat from work, like you said.

"I left a change of clothes for you on my bed," he says once he realises you aren't shifting, glancing quickly at you before he starts to busy himself with dishing up dinner.

"I'm good," you tell him, short, with a tight lipped smile sent his way when his eyes meet yours, narrowed in curiosity.

You're wearing a skirt and heels, for Christ's sake, and a blouse that's a little too restrictive around your shoulders. You've been in them all day, too. Of course you aren't good, and of course he knows that, but he drops it, a resigned nod and an awkward shift of his gaze back to the task at hand, spooning an assortment of green vegetables beside the rice on your plate.

You chance a good look at him while he's distracted - his hair soft, pushed back messily in a way that makes it flop straight back into place, and he looks a little tired, but he's had a long week, too. Back in training, pushing himself, dealing with a best friend who isn't reciprocating his energy. He's probably exhausted.

His jaw is clenched as he finishes the meal off, clattering utensils a little louder the longer you're quiet, and letting out heavy sighs when he's clearly growing more frustrated with how little you're giving back.

"How was work?" he tries, reaching into the draw and retrieving a knife and fork for the two of you.

"Long," you sigh, offering a small smile when he looks over to let him know that this particular instance of a short response isn't personal. You are genuinely exhausted - you'd worked an extra long day, just to get a major project finished, and, if you're honest, you're just ready for bed. "Glad it's the weekend, I'm probably gonna hit my pillow tonight and not see tomorrow."

The initial spark that lit up in his eyes when you started speaking a full sentence to him dulled immediately when he realised that you had all intentions of going home.

"You're not staying over?"

"I can hardly sleep here until Sunday, Quinn, that would be insane." Like you haven't spent consecutive days around his apartment, before. Like you haven't spent weeks with him back at his lake house in Michigan in the summer. Like the two of you didn't isolate together when you both got covid, probably from each other.

He nods, brief and sharp, jaw tensing again as he mutters out a bitter, "Right."

God, this is hard.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" You ask, trying to be helpful, just to make yourself feel better.

He wordlessly hands over the cutlery before turning to grab both plates on his own, nodding for you to make your way out of the kitchen for him to follow.

You do as he asks, holding the door for him so he doesn't struggle, stepping nervously behind him as he guides you through to where he's set the dining table up.

His curtains are drawn, a picturesque view of the nightlife of downtown Vancouver, twinkling city lights and the distant flash of vehicles passing by below stands as the most perfect backdrop to his set-up - the table candle-lit, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle, wine glasses and a salad bowl situated around the nice placemats you'd made him buy the last time the two of you went shopping together.

You hesitate when you get a little closer, eyeing up the setting reluctantly as Quinn places the plates in your retrospective places.

He's usually neat when it comes to his dinner table - usually likes to set things up so that they look nice, placemats, coasters. cutlery and napkins - but it's never like this.

"What's all this?" You ask, meeting his eye as he leans across the table to place down the knives and forks you hand to him.

"You said you had a bad week," he shrugs, "Wanted to do something nice."

He shuffles around you, the light placement of his hand on your hip as he does so jolting you toward the table, head swivelling to watch him disappear back toward the kitchen.

"You planned this?" you call after him, turning to look down at everything - a meal that he cooked, something nutritious and filling, knowing you wouldn't have the energy to make as much yourself, pretty flowers, and a calm, ambient atmosphere flooding the room. Your fingers poke softly at the petals on the flowers, lifting them a little to get a better look, mindful of the roses in the arrangement, careful not to be pricked by their thorns. "And you said you didn't think you'd be a good boyfriend,"

The latter sentence is muttered to yourself more than anything, a remembrance of something he'd said a while ago now - something that had always been in the back of your mind when you considered anything more - but your heart drops when you hear him chuckle from not too far behind, spinning on your heels to look at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didnt-,"

“It’s fine,” he assures you, dipping his head but still keeping his gaze on yours, “Wine?”

He holds the bottle up in one hand, and your mouth goes a little dry at the sight of the label, mind going straight back to this time last week, when you had shared a few glasses with him. When things had gone too far.

Quinn's hands were holding you in place on his lap, soft fingers slipping under the hem of his sweatshirt that you wore, sliding up to press into the warm skin of your back, rocking you on his lap as his tongue swiped languidly against your own.

You couldn't quite tell whose mouth the taste of plummy Malbec sat within, but at that point, you didn't care - you'd both drunk enough of it to find yourselves in such a situation, you were at equal fault.

Not that any of it felt wrong in the moment, his hips bucking up as you straddled his thighs, your fingers clutching where his hair grew thick at the back of his neck. Quinn was humming soft, delicious groans straight between your lips, his own closing around your tongue as he sucked on it - all other bodily movements frantic and stuttered until he was repositioning the two of you, laying you back on the couch and gripping the elastic waist of your sweatpants.

It can't have been wrong - not with how easy it all unfolded, your hips lifting until he slid your bottoms off, his fingertips sneaking their beneath the hem of your panties - too drunk to care how sexy they might have been, never expecting to have to even consider such a thing around Quinn - all the while his mouth pressing firm, bruising kisses to your own.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," you mumble, a soft shake of your head supposed to let him down easy, and to bring your senses back to the present, but his frown just deepens, the crease between his eyebrows now almost a fold.

"You can stay, you know," he tells you, pouring his own glass. "I don't care if you sleep until Sunday, it's not like you haven't spent the weekend before."

"I don't know," You sit cautiously in your seat, watching as he lowers into his own, face morphing into a hard scowl before he lets out a heavy sigh. "What?"

"It's like you've been making excuses not to hang out."

"Or maybe you've been making excuses to hang out," you retort, cringing yourself at how stupid it sounds, looking down into your lap as you place your napkin there so that he can't see the visible curl of your features.

"That doesn't even make sense," you know that, obviously, but you've been avoiding him for a reason - you don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready. "I don't need an excuse, we're friends, it's what friends do."

And God, you wish he'd just stop saying it. It's getting annoying now, your jaw tensing as you huff a short breath out, still keeping your head down to avoid him reading you like an open book - a book that may as well be pictures, at this point, or written for children with the most basic reading comprehension, one sentence per page and clear as day.

"What friends do," you mutter, in disbelief. He's one to talk about what friends do.

Friends don't do what you did last week.

Quinn's body had pretty much completely flopped onto yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, but still careful enough not to bare all his weight on you so that yours could do the same.

Your skin felt clammy all over, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead, your neck slick from where his lips had been pressing all into it, sucking and nipping and you swear you'd even felt the glorious scratch of teeth at one point, and the heat of him above you was doing little to remedy the feeling.

You brought a hand up, almost absent-mindedly, to scratch softly at the back of his head as he came down, an overwhelming dizziness gripping at your eyelids, pulling you down as you felt him follow.

"You're making me feel like I'm going crazy," you sigh, "You can't seriously set all this up and not realise that it's way more effort than anyone would normally put in for someone that's just a friend,"

"You're not just anything," he counters, "When did I say you were just anything?"

He looks annoyed, that much is obvious - and yeah, you've technically been avoiding him, just like he assumes, but he was the one who made you feel like you had to.

A soft, sleepy groan was the first sound that brought you into consciousness the next morning - raspy and thick, and so close to your ear that the feeling of it buzzed the whole way down to your toes.

Then came unassuming movements, a twist of his torso, a shuffle of his hips, the stretch of his legs, all of which had been pressed right against all the same parts of your body - the sticky warmth of him catching your skin and rousing you fully from your sleep.

His arms tightened their hold around you before you really thought he knew what he was doing - a lethargic sigh huffing from his nostrils as he got comfortable again - and you had maybe a solid minute in his embrace until he fully came to.

The two of you were naked, one of the throws from the back of the couch draped lazily over your modesty, but that didn't really matter when you could feel the heavy press of him all over - your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

His fingers tightened, pressing a little into your waist before his touch disappeared completely. Before he was retreating, untangling himself from your body and sitting up. You felt the couch move as he shuffled around doing God-knows-what - felt the soft drape of the throw back over your body, and the whoosh of cold that followed and refused to leave.

When you dared to open your eyes, he was sat on the other side, leaning over, head in his hands after shrugging his boxers back on.

"Quinn?" you asked, your own voice thick with sleep, straightening to face him properly and rubbing at your eyes until they focused. "What's going on?"

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

Your heart dropped at the question, but your eyes floated over to the coffee table, two empty bottles standing on the other side. "A lot, I guess."

"Shit," he cursed, pushing himself up and pacing in front of the couch, refusing to look at you. "Fuck."

"Q, you're making me dizzy."

"I just," he stopped in place and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes lowering down your body in a way that made heat creep back up your neck, and your shoulders practically fold in on themselves consciously. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Your lips parted, although you didn't really know what to say to that. All you could do was nod, stuttered and slow, your gaze shifting too until it landed on the carpeted rug in front of him, focusing too hard on the pattern. "It's fine."

You could feel the weight of his stormy stare, but you couldn't look up - too afraid of rejection, too afraid of regret.

"We're friends, you know, you're-,"

"I know," you confirmed, not needing to hear how he didn't ever intend to be anything more. "We were drunk, Q, it's fine."

Your attempt at a reassuring smile probably looked a little more like a grimace, but you were saved probably by the fact that the two of you had had a lot to drink, and you were honestly a little queasy.

And maybe it had been the cold hard slap of rejection you woke up to that made you feel that way - after years of wanting more with Quinn - but he didn't need to know that. Not if he was already 10 toes deep into a regret spiral so soon after opening his eyes.

"We're friends."

"You said it last Saturday," you frown, "Saturday morning."

"No, you said we were drunk. I said we were friends, but you cut me off-,"

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't really want the first thing you said to me that morning to be that you made a mistake!"

"And here you are again, cutting me off!" his voice is a little raised now - so unlike the soft-spoken Quinn you're used to - easy going and well natured. "I can't win with you, you're either avoiding me like the plague, or you're not letting me speak, either way, I can't clear all this up!"

"What's there to clear up?" you scoff, "I don't need you to hold my hand and give me the full speech, okay, I get it, you don't want to be anything more than-," your body is jolted quickly by the sudden scrape of your chair across the floor, Quinn's grip firm on the leg as he pulls, "Hey, what are you-,"

And he's at the perfect height, then, to meet your lips once you're close enough, his hand leaving the chair to grip at your face - hold you in place so that you can't protest, can't cut him off in this, too, like you have been doing with every other way he's tried to communicate his feelings for you.

His kiss feels familiar, achingly so, the swipe of his tongue soft at the parting of your lips, his own mouth closing in a soft pressure against yours, over and over at a disorienting intensity - all thoughts melting away at his endeavour.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands in place, watching intently as your eyes flutter open, and you slowly sink back into consciousness, pupils blown when they meet his, intense in their focus on you.

"You're really important to me."

You frown, because your brain will only allow you to process that as the start of rejection - followed by, which is why we can't go further - but that's not the direction Quinn is taking this.

"I wanted to do all of this right. That's why I freaked out last week. I didn't want you to think it was a drunken mistake."

Oh.

You're still a little dazed from the kiss, if you're honest, and so you find yourself blinking slowly back at him, mouth bopping open and closed while you figure out what to say.

"What?" Is all that comes out when you find your voice, watching as he rolls his eyes - part exasperated, part amused.

"Now you have nothing to say?" He scoffs, thumb swiping gently at your cheek as if to show you he's kidding. "I like you. I have for a while, and I want to be more than friends. I want you to stay at my place whenever you come over, and wear my clothes, and eat my food, and drink my wine," he lists, dipping his head closer and closer until you're face to face, a mere inch or two from him kissing you again. "And I want you to sleep here until Sunday. Maybe even after."

"Okay." you respond - the kind of one word answer you've been throwing his way to avoid getting hurt all week. And because you feel guilty, you add, "I want all that, too."

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and smiling slowly - an infectious kind of smile, that has you doing it right back, noses just brushing before you kiss him, again.

Stone cold sober, no longer looking to avoid your feelings, with the intention of being so much more than his friend.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

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

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[cosmosluckycharms]

Show☆Time

chip on your shoulder

Ever since the day you got your group back together, you've all gotten closer together.

You and Tsukasa matched each other's energy, with you both being loud and energetic, always screaming and yelling.

Rui and Nene (mostly Nene) canceled you both out with their quietness.

You and Nene were complete opposites in personality, which was silly considering how you both mellowed each other out.

Nene and Tsukasa would bicker a lot, which was funny to you!

You and Rui would really chaotic, due to you being energetic and him being mischievous.

You love your friends!

You guys would tell each other everything, from Rui telling you about how many times he's gotten kicked out of places, to Nene telling you how to beat levels in games you would play and get stuck on and ask Tim for help on only for him to ignore you to Tsukasa telling you all about why he joined theater.

One day you guys were at your stage, practicing.

You all had decided to take a break after a while of rehearsing.

You were sitting in between Nene, who was on your right, and Tsukasa, who was on your left, Rui standing in front of you guys, fixing a robot that had somehow exploded on its own while you guys were rehearsing.

You, nene, and Tsukasa were all taking a small break from you guys practicing for your next show.

Since you guys had first started, which was a few months ago, you guys have done a couple of shows. Around 10.

You would spend months practicing.Your days would consist of waking up, getting ready for the day, going to school, going back to the manor to eat quickly getting ready for rehearsal, coming back, practicing moves, going to sleep, and repeating.

You would spend hours practicing, hoping to put a smile on everyone's face and wishing your family would come.

You would put little invitations in their rooms and reminders on the family's calendar only to be met with empty seats every time.

You didn't understand.

You wanted to understand.

You pretended you understood.

You'd make every excuse under the sun for them.

Maybe they had an important meeting to get to?

Maybe their job wouldn't let them out?

Maybe they were busy?

Rui watched as you stared into a cup of water for a few minutes, obviously spaced out.

You've been spaced out most of the rehearsals lately, eerily locked in, yet somehow messing up a lot more.

Usually, you would spend a lot of rehearsal having fun and goofing around, but as of late, you had been super strict on yourself, not letting loose as much as you used to.It seemed everyone but you noticed somehow.

After a few minutes of silence, Rui finally spoke up."Y/N, why have you been so zoned out?" he kept tinkering with a tiny robot he had in his hands.

"Yeah, you've been so focused it's scary." Nene said, picking on her nails.

"Yeah, and you've also been messing up a lot more lately," Tsukasa spoke up, drinking from his water bottle which was full of stickers you placed on their overtime.

"What do you guys mean? I'm great!" you piped up, confused.

"Since we've started rehearsing this play, you've been hyperfocused. Maybe you should take a break?" Tsukasa asked, putting his hand on your shoulder.

"NO-NO! It's fine, I'm fine, I swear! It's just, that I really wanna be great for our next performance!" You looked up to look at Rui.

"What do you mean? You've been doing great, you just constantly look distracted." Nene says, now taking a bite of the cotton candy she was holding.

"I'm fine, great even! I'm just trying to be extra focused so when my family comes to see me, they'll be so super impressed!"

Tsukasa looks to you "Your family doesn't come to your shows either?"

"Not really, but I'm sure they're busy! I know they love me, I know they care, it's just that they're busy, I'm sure of it!"

Nene looked at you in pity.

It seemed to everyone but you that no one in your family cared enough to come.

You got up and stood on the stage.

"Well, cmon! Let's keep the practice going! The show is today! Let's do it ☆!"

You guys ended up finishing rehearsal and the show.

Your friends could see you kept glancing at the empty seats, it was like you were hoping that they'd appear at any given moment.

They could see how you kept messing up your lines and queues for your shows, nervous if they came and saw you.

It was time for an intervention from your friends.

Out of love, obviously.

They pulled you aside after the show.

They were all sitting at a table backstage, Nene patting the seat next to hers.

You sat down with them, and next to Nene.

Tsukasa spoke,"Y/N, Though it's hardly my business to say could it be the real thing in your way Is it the very family you've been trying to impress?"

You thought about it for a minute.

Huh.

You hadn't even noticed you starting to mess up a lot more, being too focused while also being spaced out somehow.

You started this all for them, and they still didn't care enough to show.

Strange.

"..Yes! I've been smiling and sweet and trying to prove myself to them, thoroughly beaten, blowing my chance!" You jumped up and grabbed Nenes hands

"I'm not gonna push them away, I'm gonna go ahead and forget them! For now at least♪"

You started marching toward the stage, moving like you meant it.

For the first time in ages, you let loose.

For the first time in ages, you had fun.

For the first time in ages, you stopped thinking of your family for a while.

As you started walking home you stared at the sunset.

usually you didn't like sunsets, it reminded you the day was coming to an end.

This time though, you were exhausted.

Not physically, or mentally.

All you wanted was to crawl into your momma or grandpa's arms and sleep.

You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't wanna crawl into your father or brother's arms either.

As soon as you got to the manor, you saw everyone at the dinner table.

You could hear everyone laughing and talking about who knows what.

They didn't wait for you, they never did.

The conversations died out as soon as you got to the table.

You sat down and Alfred dropped off your food, which was already cold.

You didn't mind, you were trying to finish eating quickly so you could go practice by yourself.

You ate for a minute or two before realizing everyone was staring at you in confusion.

You looked up from your plate.

"What's going on?" You asked, stuffing another spoonful of the food in your mouth. You were starving.

You saw as Tim pointed to your outfit "What are you wearing?"

Oh yeah.

You had forgotten to take off your dramatic performer costume.

Compared to everyone else looking like dark vampires, you were colorful and bright like a walking talking disco ball.

You immediately jumped a bit in excitement, you were finally given the chance to talk about your life!

"Well I got this costume from my friend Mizuki, she made and designed it herself, isn't it amazing? It's so much better than the last one, the last one was itchy and uncomfortable, but anyways-" You started yapping about your performance not realizing your family lost interest as soon as you started talking.

As soon as you noticed (which took a while of talking) you shut up and finished your food.

Jason found it odd, you usually wouldn't go quiet like that.

As soon as he was about to ask, he saw you disappear into your room.

You changed out of your performer costume and into your training outfit, which was just some comfy clothes.

Sure, your performer costume was comfy, but you didn't wanna risk ripping it or ruining it!

You started walking to the gymnastics room, which was originally made for Dick but technically there were no restrictions on who could go in, so you regularly practiced in there.

You would spend hours practicing in there. From your spins to your flips, to just moves in general.

It was a great way to get your energy out and to tire yourself up before going to bed.

As you were midway through your routine, Dick walked in.

At first, he prepared to fight an intruder, usually no one but him came in to use the gymnastics room.

Then he saw you.

He never noticed how you would practice in this room.

And then he realized that's where all the F/C training items were coming from! He's been so confused, he never realized all the extra yoga and slippers were coming from!

You didn't notice him walking in, as you were in the middle of trying to do a double front dismount, a move on the balance beam.

You were struggling, and he could see that.

You were about to fall, and if it wasn't for him being there, you would've probably fallen.

"Woah there, birdie!" He caught you by the back of your shirt.

You tried not to flinch at the nickname, he'd never given you one.

You were used to him calling you your name or just acknowledging you without it.

It felt like sometimes he had forgotten what your name was. "Hi, Dick!" you exclaimed, hanging mid-air from him holding the back of your shirt.

He placed you on the ground. "What were you even trying to do?" He asked, he saw how you looked confused the whole time you were attempting the move.

"I was trying to do a double front dismount thingy! My friend Nene sent me a video and dared I couldn't do it ♫" You said, posing dramatically like you'd seen Tsukasa doing.

"No offense, but have you ever done anything that involved gymnastics or being flexible? The thing you're trying to do is a pretty hard move, it took me a while to learn." Dick said, putting his hands on his waist.

You tilted your head in confusion. "What do you mean? I used to do gymnastics for like, 5 years! I quit a couple of months ago, though. I wanted to focus on performing theater!"

Dick had forgotten about that. He had forgotten how many times you had invited him to your performances and practices only for him to not be able to make it or completely forget.

"Oh, right.." He scratched the back of his neck in awkwardness.

"..Do you want me to teach you the move?" He asked, immediately seeing how you practically lit up in excitement and happiness.

You guys spent a couple of minutes teaching and learning how to do the move.

He was surprised at how much of a fast learner you were.

He was also surprised at how you could keep a conversation while doing an impressive move.

You talked about your friends and your performances.

You ended up inviting him to come to your next one.

..12th times the charm?

After you finally learned the move, you practically tackled Dick into a hug!

You were so glad you learned it! You could show Nene how you finally had it done!

Damian walked in and glared at Dick.

You let go of Dick, who seemed a little sad that you let go. It wasnt everyday he spent time with his little sister.

As soon as you were gonna hug him again, Damian started talking.

"Grayson, you're late to our training. You said you'd be there at 7 PM sharp. It is now 7:05."

You piped up to defend Dick. "Yeah, he was teaching me this super-duper cool move! It is called the-" You got cut off by Damian.

"I was talking to Grayson, L/N."

You got a little sad by that. You disliked being cutoff.

"Oh, sorry." you muttered as you put your head down and looked at your feet.

You couldn't hear what Dick and Damian were talking about. It was like everything was muffled.

When you spaced back in, you saw Dick being dragged away by Damian.

You couldn't even say or wave bye to him.

He gave you an apologetic glance and left.

So much for bonding.

It's okay, at least you got to talk to Dick for once!

wxs: hey you shouldnt focus on the family that clearly doesnt gaf

reader: ok

(small bonding time happens)

reader: omg u guys r gonna hate me

this felt a lot longer when i was writing

honestly idk why i keep neglecting tbis story oops

anyways fhis is ass i kinda understand why ppl like bug like angel better (ily emureader tho mwa)

mizuki crumbs sorry

i love using silly emojicons when readers talking

♫♪ look how silly

taglist:@shirp-collector-of-fixations @maybeethan69 @iluvcatzz @tacendxx @ninihrtss @tsxukikami @d3sperate-enuf @staarflowerr @chaoticmoontimetravel @crazycaoticsimp @sugarrush-blush @kaitense1 @ryuushou

[nightingale-prompts]

The Green Ribbon-DCxDP Prompt

(Yes this is based on the story of the same name)

Tim can't handle not knowing. It was his fatal flaw. Like Odysseus and his hubris or Heracles and his wrath. Tim's curiosity would be his downfall.

So when he met a boy in class who had a striking green ribbon that wrapped around and around his neck, he wanted to know why. It wasn't not simple accessory as the only thing that changed was how it was tied in its bow.

And he never took it off.

When Danny arrived at the school it was a transfer mid-school year and everyone was drawn to the ribbon on his neck. Then it was forgotten because this is Gotham, it was best not to question.

Though others thought it was a fashion statement that caught on.

Still Tim began getting closer to him to ask why. He never got an answer but a shrug and said it's not important. Over and over Tim tried to find an answer but his investigation found nothing.

"If it's a scar, it's fine. I won't judge." Tim said comfortingly.

"It's nothing you need to worry about," Danny said not confirming or denying it.

"I got you a ribbon. Do you want to try it on?" Tim said holding up a red ribbon he had picked out just for Danny.

"I like the one I have. But I'll gladly take it." Danny said.

The next day Danny began wearing a braided red, black, and green ribbon on his arms. Those also became a trend.

"I'm going swimming with my brothers this weekend. Do you wanna join." Tim asked believing Danny would have to take off the ribbon.

Danny agreed but he spent the day in the shade with his baby sister who romped about in the sand. Around her neck was another green ribbon tied in a pretty bow on the back of her neck like a kitten given as a Christmas gift.

"Sorry Tim, I don't do well in the sun. I burn easily. Elle doesn't like being submerged in water so I have to keep her company." Sanny said as his sister flopped on his lap while he scrolled on his phone.

Dick didn't ask questions as he wished Tim luck with his new but strange boyfriend.

"He's kind of cute. And he's caring at least." Dick said.

Tim didn't listen because Dick had a taste for those who weren't totally normal.

Damian didn't care because as mysterious as it was he was more interested in snorkeling. Also, Elle asked him for some discarded seashells and that was his current mission on getting for her. They were going to build the most impressive sandcastle with them later.

Jason didn't say much since he was riding a jetski in the distance.

Later, at the end of the day Danny tired to clean the sand off his sister as she refused to get wet. Elle hated the friction on her skin and wouldn't let him get the sticky sand off.

Tim took this as a sign. They avoided water like the plague. In fact Danny never drank anything.

Jason eventually picked up Elle under her arms and carried her to the water and dunked her in the water for a second as she avoided the water like a cat. Then it was over and she was fine as Jason put her down. She stuck her tongue out and sprinted back to Danny who toweled her off.

Then the day ended and Tim was no closer to the answer.

Eventually they started dating and Tim hoped he'd be closer to knowing.

Then one evening while Danny was sleeping next to him Tim's curiosity consumed him. Tim pulled on that damned green ribbon until it came loose. It wasn't the right thing and he planned to apologize over and over to Danny.

Tim's face turned white when a thud echoed in the bedroom as Danny's head rolled off the bed and hit the ground.

[chuuqqi]

thinking about nanami kento ^ // ^

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dreaming to be spoiled by him !! +18. MDNI.

nanami kento is an absolute dream boat. he truly is a gentleman in a world full of boys. he is handsome, genteel, polite, compassionate, and a masculine man – in all the right ways. he is the man described in love stories and fairy tales – one that seemed to only ever exist in a fantasy.

being with him has made you realised what true princess treatment is like and that you were only receiving the bare minimum from your previous relationships. he treats and spoils you like the doll you are. he brings you a bouquet of flowers every week, he makes you home-cooked meals whenever you come home tired, he refuses to ever let you pay for anything – a true man.

he knows whenever you are upset simply by the sigh you let out and he's always ready to listen to your concerns, never wanting you to bear even an ounce of burden on your shoulders. he surprises you with a sweet treat every now and then, buying confectioneries he thinks you'd enjoy immensely and feeding them to you. he buys you whatever you wish — look at a dress or some jewellery for more than a second, he's already at the counter purchasing said item. he adores how cute and excited you get when he does these things for you, which makes him want to spoil you evermore.

he cherishes you, he worships you, he treasures you, and he pleases you — in every which way.

a gentleman like him, he prefers intimacy to be romantic and loving. it's never just for a quick few minutes — he wants to savour the moments and please you until you're melting in his hands like putty. he revels in the way you squirm underneath him and the cute, soft moans you let. he holds his own groans back just so he can hear you mewl in his ear, his hands gripping you tighter as he ruts back and forth.

whether he has his head in between your thighs kissing and licking your sweet pussy or his dick is pumping in and out of you slowly and deliciously, sex with him is a gratification like no other. with him, you feel so cared for and so pleased. with you, he feels exactly the same and he always wants to be the only one to ever make you feel this way.

though do not be fooled — this man can get rough & messy! if he's had a stressful day at work or he hasn't been able to see you for ages, he will wreck you — pretty much use you as his personal sex doll. he will pound into you, moving at an ungodly pace that you sometimes wonder where he musters all this stamina and energy from. what riles him up even more is the way your hands scramble to hold onto something and so you settle for his hair, tugging at his strands roughly. the deep growls he lets out make your pussy wetter and tighter, pulling him in more as if you didn't want to let go.

aftercare with him is divine. he makes sure to clean you up, planting kisses all over your body — your face, your tummy, your inner thighs. he pulls you into a sweet embrace, whispering in your ear to ask if you are alright and if you enjoyed yourself. he tends to run his hands up and down your back as you begin to blabber about something and he just listens to you. he loves the fluttering kisses you plant on his chest while he hugs you and how you bury yourself in his embrace.

he is just the man of your dreams ♡

﹙⠀💌⠀﹚── nanami kento has been on my mind so much lately & i just needed to blurt this all out <3 ! this is also my first time writing any sort of smut so it's nothing so special~

[demolitionsweetheart]

Smut headcanons

Shadow the hedgehog x fem!reader

(Can be mobian or human!)

NSFW! MDNI

๑ His ears are very sensitive. It's very obvious and easy for you to pick up on what it does to him. Much to his embarrassment, gently blowing on his ear or sweetly teasing him in smooth tone gets him going hard and fast-literally.

๑ His sex drive is generally low. For the most part, sex has it's place, but when he's riled up, he won't find contentment until he's taken you through rounds and rounds.

๑ Shadow views it a lot more like bonding. He loves it for the closeness.. for the commitment..for you. His desire is far beyond only lust.

๑ He'll never pull out, he loves stuffing you till he physically can't. Loves the firm reminder you're completely his and he's yours. As if that wasn't already clear by how many times he's sunk his teeth into your neck, sternum, and thighs. He can't help it, he bites when he finishes, when he teases you before going down on you, when your scent provokes him into sinking his teeth into your neck(a majority of the time), or when nuzzling you just isn't doing it for him. He's always sweet about it though, his tongue always flips out to lap at and sooth the reddened area. He apologizes when he's left them in less private areas.. Even if he's really not.

๑ Saying shadow loves going down on you is an understatement. He much prefers it over the reverse.  He loves shoving his muzzle in between your legs, digging his tongue as deep as he can into your tight heat as his nose repeatedly hits your sensitive clit. He loves it when you grip his quills and fur like a lifeline, when your thighs strain again his hands to close around his head, your taste, and your pretty sounds. The action is for your pleasure but, he's definitely enjoying it more.

๑ he doesn't care for positions where you're facing away from him. He sticks to basic and instinctive positions like missionary and mating press however, he will oblige if you wish to (physically)be on top, riding him.. Though he's still in control regardless. He isn't one for quickies, but if push ever came to shove he'll either have you in full nelson or pinned against the wall. He loves being and control but he's never a meanie.

๑ As mentioned,  it has a lot less to do with lust. His desires stem less from lust and more from love.. The need to make you feelgood before seeking out his own pleasures. He constantly checks in, asking if he's making you feel good or if he's hurt you. Occasionally, he'll nuzzle his muzzle right into your neck or rub his cheek against your sternum. An instinct, he cannot suppress as he drives himself fast and hard into you, silencing his groans with biting and nuzzling.

๑ He'd be great with aftercare if he didn't just want to stay cuddled up with you until you both drifted off. He collapses on to your chest, your fingers slipping in to his soft fur, as his hand finds the back of your thigh, gripping and rubbing as you stroke his quills. Entirely content. His eyes grow heavy with sleep. He's so in love. You never have to doubt he isn't head over heels for your even so far into your relationship.

Thank you for reading and thank you anon who requested this! I had so much fun writing it.

Requests are open!

Pictures are from Pinterest

Dividers by @shadow-raven22

[exormilion]

warmth

sevika/reader

word count: 1,036

summary: you have your period and sevika comforts you a bit. not explicit, contains non sexual nudity.

note: hi :) i tried to hint at endometriosis with this (i have it and am about to have the inevitable soul sucking bleeding) but its not that present! feel free to read if you dont have it! <3

link to ao3

─୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─

You took comfort on Sevika's arm - strong, warm, the only arm she dared to touch you with - draped over your belly, now fully aware of the tingle that soon would progressively turn into a gut wrenching cramp.

Sighing, there was nothing you could do but stare at the ceiling, hoping that, with some miracle, it would all go away.

It didn't.

Sevika was gone a few hours later, leaving with a peck on the forehead and a wish for a good day. You refused to tell her you were in pain - she was dealing with too much alredy, so the mask slipped on and you gave her a curt hug, waving at her at the door while she walked away, mixing with the sea of people and creatures from Zaun. Maybe, after you were both home, tired and back in bed with nothing on but skin to skin, you'd ask her to warm your lower belly with her big palm or massage your aching thighs but thats a thing to consider later. Now, you needed to force yourself out of bed and get ready for work.

Work was work, as always. People in Zaun are always drunk, from morning to night and morning again, nothing out of the extraordinary.

Except for the cramps and the headache and your burning breasts. Yeah, it wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary, you felt a lot more pain and more often than most people but today was hard, so you were miserable and insufferable the whole day (but you did apologize to your coworker for snapping at her. She said "it was fine" and "we all had bad days" and you cried and got snot all over her shirt while she gave you a friendly hug and a pat on the back. You would probably stay up at night thinking about that and maybe consider quitting).

You got home late, really late. You were almost crawling by the time you reached the front door from the little place you shared with Sevika, and having to stop again and again to make sure you wouldn't puke your guts out in a alley, it took much longer than it should. As silently as you can - which probably didn't mean much now -, you get inside, lock the house and kick your shoes out, hands desperately trying to unbutton your pants and relieve the pressure on your swollen, terribly sensitive belly, leaning back on the wall by the door and shimmying out of the piece, sighing in relief as you stood only in your panties and the stained uniform shirt.

The sound of a lighter makes you jump out of your skin and you look up to find Sevika sitting on the couch, legs spread and head tilted in your direction as she lit her cigar, eyes questioning. Alredy out of her outside clothes and simply in a white thank top and black boxers, she looked as delicious as ever.

"Whats wrong?", she asks after blowing smoke, her hand patting her own thigh, "C'mere"

Trying to stay composed didn't work. You walked a little arched foward with your hands holding your belly and Sevika held the cigar between her lips to help you sit down on her leg, holding your hip in support and pushing your back against her chest after you were sat.

You stayed quiet for a bit, closing your eyes and enjoying her warmth. The smell of her cigar was comforting and her warm skin was soothing against your lower back, even with the clothes in between.

"Bleedin'", its all that comes out of your lips, a low murmur that echoed inside the silent living room. Sevika hummed, a small offer of compassion, another puff of smoke flying around.

"Worse than normal?", her thick voice asked. Despite her stoic voice and rough manners, Sevika cared deeply about you and always did what she could to make you feel a little bit better when in crisis like this.

"Yeah, horrible", sitting a bit straighter on her leg, you lift your shirt with a small grunt and throw it somewhere on the floor. Reaching behind your back to unclip the bra was a nightmare and Sevika didn't take long to unhook the think for you, briefly following the line of your spine with her index before taking the cigar from her lips and putting it out on the ashtray on top of the couch armrest. She pulled you back against her chest, her full attention now on your swollen, almost naked form, her heart squeezing with the thought of your pain.

"What can i do?", rasped out, caressing your belly softly. You were warm, inflamated, but the heat of her skin felt incredibly overpowering.

Taking her hand, you gently put her palm on your breast. Your tits always got painful and swollen, somehow heavy with the ache. It bothered you all day and the roughness of her hand always felt amazing on it - not a sexual caress, the way she just supported one of them and gently ran her thumb on the nipple. No, it was soothing, warming, and you waited the whole day just to have her like this. For her to have you.

"Warm", you eyes fall closed again, resting the back of your head on her shoulder and tilting to the side to smell her neck.

"Could've told me earlier", it came as a mutter, and you both knew it wasn't necessarily truth. The both of you needed to work, Sevika couldn't ditch Silco to take care of you... But the idea still warmed your insides.

"S'okay, just need to rest a bit", you feel her head turn and her nose nudged your, hinting at you to tilt your head up. You do, and her lips find yours in a tender wet kiss, your hand finding her cheek to bring her face closer.

"Y'sure?", she hums against your lips, breaths mixing, the scent of nicotine and whiskey that was so Sevika-like was your favorite.

"Mhm. Just staying here with you is enough."

[fucking-brains-out]

Is anyone going to contribute? no? ok imma do it myself  (also I changed Danny names in this since I think that his name has to be more Arabic)  Warning 1000 words 

bad translator of arabic

Danny thought that his life couldn't get more complicated but no, apparently being a half ghost means your afterlife is also weird, he had to be reincarnated into a cult involving corrupted ectoplasm, sure why not and to make it more weird he was born a girl and first born of the daughter of the leader and his Grandfather Ra  

Dalia Al-Guhl is his name here but secretly he calls himself Danyal (he liked more than Daniel to be honest) 

Even in his new life he still has his ghost powers but because of the corrupted ectoplasm is making him sick, he was going to be scarified if it were not from his mother who intervein in, now he is head healer of the league he is known as the Shadow healer (bear with me ok?)  the only good thing about of the league is his baby brother, his Akhi, his Najam, Damian  

Ever since he was a baby Danny has taken care of him, when his mother was in a mission or simply to watch him, he tells him the story of his old life, he told him about stories of his father that his mother told him too, when he was sick Damian make an effort in visit him and when he was better he would sneak Damian in his hidden space where he would watch the stars (Talia knew about the hidden space but wouldnt tell his father about it her dear Dalia had already too much in her place) he would bring him there with him and tell him about the stars he would call him his Polaris and Damian would call him Ursa since he was his big brother   

(“Why am I Polaris?”  

“Because you're my little brother” 

“I'm not little” 

“Yes you are look how tall you are”  

“Tt” 

“Hehe”) 

He would train with his mother when he wasn't sick, Talia despite the circumstances is a good mother, she always looked at him in a way that he knows is a face of proud parent (and if that didn't make him miss his mom) he has tea with her and trains with her, when he is sick he comes to visit him and take care of him (since one time an traitor tried to poison him, good thing he realized and his mother took care of them) sometimes she takes him to minor missions   (“Why do you always help me mother? I know there's a reason for that” 

He sees her pause  

Because my dear Dalia, you and I aren't so different”)  

He can't say the same thing of his grandfather, it makes seem Vlad like a minor thing, he is the fruitloop of fruitloops, he hates his grandfather so much but what he can do? Nothing even if his mother interferes, he has the final saying which sucks because his grandfather can be the most sexist motherfucker ever and a fucking asshole (it doesn't help he is a fucking immortal, when he gets all his strength back, he will brag his rusty ass into the Realms) he always make sure to get a challenge of sorts and if he doesn't make it he will judge him, he hates it, even if he admits he is very skilled that's not good enough for him  

He really misses Damian; he got really sick a time ago he couldn't even leave his bed, in that time his brother had gotten permission to go to their father Damian said he wouldnt go if he didn't come but grandfather prohibited, he was too weak and he still hadn't proved himself to the standards, mother also tried but it was final, he will not go, Damian was very upset but he consoled him that he could write to him anytime, he promised him that he would find a way to join him with his father. That was the last time he saw his brother, he writes to him to time to time but it's not the same and they know it, he is happy that Damian has adapted well to his father family (he also corrects him in certain things, no Damian just because you want to be Robin doesn't mean you have to duel Timothy, don't be mean to our brothers) , he misses him dearly he... he wishes to be there with him, his mother tells him to train more so grandfather approves him to go, but to be honest he thinks she tells him this because so he doesn't lose hope, but it has been 4 years he trying  to do more mission so grandfather can consider it  

Right now, he is on a mission, he has to dispose some traitors that are keeping the pits in restricted in an unknow location, grandfather says the levels of a Lazarus pits have been weird, so he sent him to kill the nuisances (even tho he knows that the pits makes him sick) mother would have go in his place but she was in another mission (how convenient isn't? Can you hear the sarcasm) anyways he is near the place where the pits are, the guards weren't that of an issue and it seem it as the leader wasn't here, but he still has to check the pits, he really hates them, he can't even filter them honestly- 

Time in 

He looks at shock at Clockwork, who he hasn't seen in so long 

“Danyal Al-Guh, Daniel Fenton, Danny Phantom, it's good to see you again” 

“Clocky” he jumps in his arms of the older ghost  

“Danyal, I have carried news, news that you won't like very much”   “What happened?” already in edge  

“There was an accident with princess Ellie, she was seriously hurt fortunate she was able to just retrieved to her core but there's a possibility of breaking” says somberly   The room got colder as frost came from his feet   “What can I do?”  

“You must carry Ellie core in your own, she will reform acondently but the consequences is that she will be reform as an human baby” he brings out his baby core, she has that light green color that she loves so much  

He, honestly expect it, its almost impossible to a ghost heal once they're retread in their cores and if they do reform it takes time  

“I accept” he touches his daughter core and it disappears from his hand, he feels her in his own, she is happy to see him again 

“Now Danyal, you must flee the League of Assassins their ectoplasm can damage Eli in this form, I suggest you go to your brother, be aware to explain the situation to Lady Gotham”  

He nods, he had already come to that conclusion 

“Can you deliver some letters? I have to explain to mother and Damian”  Clockwork nods “Of course”   

*Sometime later*  

He gives the letters to CW and banish, time begins to flow in normal again and flees the place, he goes to one of his hideouts and begins to prepare, he cuts his long hair and changes his clothes to a more comfortable ones, once he is done, he will go to Gotham 

“I'm coming home my Polaris”   

Prompt #12

Okay I have seen a few things of Damien and Danny being siblings but most of the time they are twins but that is not the angle that I’m currently going for since I do remember reading once when Danny was Damien’s older brother some time ago  and  I’m going to throw in some trance Danny misunderstandings with baby elly but a lot more interference from clockwork

so Danny was reborn as Danielle al Ghul and for some reason he was born female but he did not care since he could just simply proclaim himself trance when he’s older, he knows he’s a baby he still has all  his memories from his first life and his time as the ghost King but he sees this as a vacation  that will take an entire lifetime but a vacation non  the less one that finally will let him relax hopefully.

but unfortunately he was born to a family that worships a thing known as a Lazarus pit   a hole  of disgusting, old  ectoplasm that has become corrupted, not to mention he found out later he was born into a league of assassins, and these two things wouldn’t really be a problem since he still has his durability and enhanced senses so he could avoid getting killed, and  he thought  the ectoplasm  would not affect him but unfortunately due to how old and disgusting it was it was making him sick so from when he was a baby he was ill and obviously his grandfather saw this as a liability but his mother somehow convinced his grandfather that he might have inherited his biological father’s intelligence so he might be useful for something other than one day taking over the league of assassins, and that she would simply try and bear another child in order to get the perfect heir,

when Danny was 4 his mother gave birth to his little brother Damien who unlike him was not affected by the Lazarus water so was the perfect  heir in his grandfather’s eyes.

They both were still being trained Damien obviously because he was supposed to be the next heir of the league of assassins but Danny was being trained more in intelligence and healing but it does not mean his assassin training didn’t happen and to the surprise of everyone he was keeping up with his training  the only thing is his illness made it difficult for him to gain his grandfather’s approval since Danny would randomly faint or start coughing up blood.

Also despite constant attempts to keep Danny and Damien apart most of these attempts being done by  grandfather they had a good relationship and Danny had become the league of assassins head healer by the age of 12 and his grandfather, Ra's al Ghul could admit that Danny was not as useless as he once said but despite that Danny’s condition was getting worse, so much that by the time Damien was 10 and about to leave to go to his father Danny could not leave his bed.

okay so a time skip happens of 4 years and this is where I’m going to have to explain on how elly fits into the story, so something happens in elly  gets put into her core and while Danny is on a mission clockwork gets in touch with him again and explained the situation with elly and explains that she needs to be incubated a.k.a. he has to carry her like a normal human baby and Danny Seeing this is a chance to reunite with his daughter along with to get away from the league of assassins makes a plan and stages something that makes it look like he got (assaulted) when in reality all that happen is that he absorbed elly’s core,now for his plan to get away from the league of assassins

he writes a letter to Damien explaining the situation blaming their grandfather for the entire thing by stating that he had been getting worse and   grandfather had sent him on the mission regardless to a place that was honestly more dangerous than he could handle in his much weaker state and now things have happened ( he does not mention that he is pregnant technically since it would be too early to know that for a normal human)

Damien having lived for 4 years with his father and siblings had learned that most of the things the league of assassins did was not okay and receiving this letter from his brother that he had kept secret from his family because he honestly thought that his brother was safe and he did not see a point in telling them about Daniel, was absolutely furious how could grandfather do this, Daniel was a cherished member of the league of assassins she was the best healer, what would be the reason for grandfather to put him in such danger and then he would think Daniel had always been strong his fighting prowess was that on almost the same level as mother  the only reason it wasn’t better was because he was ill and to be honest if he was not ill he probably would’ve far surpassed grandfather,  Damien comes to the conclusion that grandfather was scared of Daniel and was purposely keeping him sick and putting him in dangerous situations just to keep him in line, Damien would not accept this and would immediately set up a meeting with his father so that they can rescue Daniel.

[vryfmi]

[major book spoilers]

my favourite concept that i barely see in l&co fandom being talked about is Lucy grieving Skull. whether you see their relationship as platonic or ship skullyle, it's stupid to deny the fact that Lucy grew to care about Skull, her actions in epilogue being the heartbreaking glimpse into the new reality for her and her friends after the events of TEG:

“I don’t know why you insist on having it with us for each meal.” (Holly) “It’s that horrid charcoaled skull Lucy insists on carrying around with her.” (Holly) I’d wrapped it up and taken it home, and kept it with me ever since, just in case.

here i want to say that im not a fan of idea of Skull eventually "coming back", re-materialising. it defeats the moral of Lockwood & Co and the growth that Skull underwent. past is meant to stay the past, living can only learn from it while dead will forever exist there. no one should disturb the dead, the past, it needs to be left at rest and let it hold its memory.

Skull wanted and longed for freedom, at first defined by breaking out of silver-glass prison, but later, very clearly defined by the peace of mind. he was scared of death as much as Bickerstaff was, that's why Skull turned his back on the other side, he chose to stay here, in the world of the living. i always read his decision to save both Lucy and Lockwood as him admitting that he could never be a part of the living world (cough could never compete with what lockwood, alive boy, could give lucy cough), so he pushed the two away as he stayed in the room with Marissa, Penelope and Ezekiel.

to me, the best ending to Skull's story is him passing on his terms, not the explosion destroying his connection with the source, but contemplating what he sees himself doing after Lucy suggested him staying with L&Co. Skull declines her offer. and chooses freedom.

obviously, that's my reading and how i prefer to interpret L&Co's ending. (it's also the reason i can't accept that christmas special as canon, im sorry, i hate happiness).

but that leaves Lucy and her newfound need of keeping skull near her at all times since Fittes HQ explosion, her wishful thinking that he'd come back. and i want to see her go through painful acceptance of losing Skull. losing a someone that she never got to know closer. losing a chance to get to know him as a friend, to admitting to have found a friend in Skull, a kindred spirit. losing someone who understood her and knew her deepest fears because these two deeply traumatised teens were so alike. losing something that she chose to define herself and her worth by. Lucy would have to come to terms with how much of a support system she had in Skull. and now, she'd have to navigate without it.

Lucy makes a remark that i can't stop thinking about.

Whenever I put my fingers on it, I got no psychic charge. The bone was dry and cold.

i could go on a rampage theorising why Lucy can't feel anything despite a) her having a strong Touch b) objects that are not sources are still able to hold strong psychic echoes. but i feel like Stroud was trying to wrap up the story and didn't want to introduce a whole new storyline of Lucy picking up fragments of Skull's past. which is a shame. i would kill for such story to be told. (please hit me up if you do.)

but say she really can't pick up anything, Skull is gone and there's not a psychic trace left of him. where does Lucy find herself then? constantly checking the skull with all her senses, wishing to see a green spark dance around the (former) source, to hear a whispery insult in her ear, to feel just anything with her touch. but it's all gone. there's nothing left. no one left. everyone else is moving on, hurries Lucy to get rid of that horrid old bone, but how can she? how can she bring herself to get rid of the only thing left? the only thing left on earth to remember a nameless boy by? the boy who could've been her friend, but she failed to trust him? failed to say thank you?

with each passing day Lucy’d feel worse because she knows how she looks to her friends, to agents, to the ones saving London from violent visitors every night, putting their lives on the line. and here she sits, wishing a ghost to appear in her attic room when she's the most vulnerable at heart.

bonus points for Lucy picking up a pencil and trying to recreate the boy she saw on the other side on paper while the memory is still fresh, while she still remembers. (but also, if we view books as Lucy's memoirs, it would make Skull's bare-bone description even more sad because that would mean older Lucy forgot the details).

what im trying to incoherently say is, Lucy would grieve. and having read almost all of the books Stroud wrote, i see that he has a very intimate relationship with grief and mourning the loss of someone dear to the point where he explores different sides and intensities of it, how each of his characters goes through it, in every single book of his. (i believe, i have three more books of his to read).

p.s. i don't want to be a hypocrite so here are fics about lucy grieving skull that i love to bits:

- i'm still painting flowers for you by terryh

- echoes by menina123

- it isn’t the same (but it is enough) by bluejay_07

- don't wanna go, but it's time to leave by fourohfourerror

[olderthannetfic]

I wish I could figure out why so many people seem to have a hidden "Everything is secretly code for SA" complex but by the Deer lord, it's getting obnoxious.

Imagine me, writing a scene where my character has a bonus limb cut off. Monster biology, for ease of explanation, imagine a monsters tail or wings.

I very explicitly mention that he has this body part cut off, that this is the only thing that happens, and that it's an incident in his life that deeply traumatized him. He suffers from phantom pains, and even after years he still hasn't gotten used to this body part being missing. Blahblahblah.

If I got a penny for every time someone said he was SA'd, that I (on purpose) wrote a SA story, that I clearly wanted to write an SA story (but didn't have the guts), or people calling me out for fetishizing SA, it'd maybe have a handful of pennies.

No. YOU are the ones reading that into my story. I mean I can't stop you, but don't pin your interpretation on me. You're the guys who're being hit in the face with me mentioning numerous times about the cutting off of his appendage and the trauma he suffered from it. I'm not exactly writing between the lines here. In this case, the curtains are just fucking blue.

I'm wondering if people just have an inability to see how strongly other kinds of physical and mental abuse can traumatize people, and thereby characters, unless it's specifically SA related. As if the only true trauma you can suffer from as a victim of abuse is the SA kind. I'm not even mad that people care so much about SA, but I do wonder if people just don't see other types of abuse as legit enough or "tamer".

Oh yeah, this guy has an entire limb cut off, and is now suffering chronic consequences and deep seated trauma... but you know? That is clearly code for SA because nothing is worse than that, and now we're going to be mad at you because of our own interpretation upsets us.

--

[howi99]

(This will be part of the rewrite of Jaune is a Genius)

Roman: *crawling out of the wreck of an atlesian ship* Good thing Oobleck forced me to attend those piloting lessons back in the days. *Looking around, seeing the entirety of Beacon on fire but the City of Vale is untouched* I guess Jaune had enough time to deactivate the virus.

Neo: *slowly gliding down towards him*

Roman: Ah, Neo! Tell me, on a scale of "mild disappointment" To "I'm going to dismember you, beginning with the nerves in your theet", how angry do you think our genius friend is?

Neo: *goes to use her electrolarynx, the gift Jaune gave her then-*

*entering call from Jaune Arc*

Neo: ... *Point to herself* 🔇🫢🥺

Roman: ... *Roll his eyes* Fine, i'll answer. *Answer* Hel-

Jaune: *cold anger* I'm giving you 3 minutes to explain why you didn't warn me of the attack at least a day before it happens and if i don't like the answer, i will track you down and turn you into one of my "fun fact".

Roman: *gulp*

Neo: 🔥🫠💀?

Jaune: No... I won't need fire to melt your flesh, a basic compound will suffice.

Roman: I-i-

Jaune: *coldly* 2 minutes.

Roman: *sigh* I don't have an excuse. I honestly just wanted to make sure Neo and you survived. You can be mad at me, but honestly i don't care. I'd sacrifice this city in a heartbeat if it means the only peoples i care about are safe.

Jaune: ... *Sigh* You are lucky that i managed to deactivate the bombs and killed-switched the Atlesian Army.

Neo: 🤔🦠💀?

Jaune: How? Should i remind you i had an hour to try hacking the system with a school scroll and free wifi? It was much easier to just cut everything off.

Roman: And what about Cinder?

Jaune: She managed to Kill the headmaster and whoever was in that weird pod i found. But i think she didn't have the time to get whatever she was truly looking for, since half of her plan had been thwarted.

Roman: ... And your girlf-

Jaune: *angrily* Penny is "fine". In pieces, but her hard drive wasn't damaged and neither was her aura reactor. I'll try repairing my friend when i'll have the time.

Roman: Jaune, we all know you are-

Jaune: Do you wish to know what unfinished soap can do to the skin?

Roman: *panicking* Ok BYE! *Hang up*

Neo: ... 🥺

Roman: I'm not calling back, you can text him whenever you want!

(So yeah, Vale isn't destroyed and there's a lot less casualty and grimms. Also, Pyrrha live! *Stomp* *stomp*)

[starrxgarden]

I've been thinking about something recently, and i wanted to share my experience in hopes that it'll maybe comfort some people.

I think people need to acknowledge more that neurodivergence can actually SEVERELY impact how much you're able to do. I can barely even do the bare minimum. People always say "if you're really low on energy, you can just say a prayer in your head", but im uncomfortable with it because i can't always control what i think. Even when people say "simply talk with the gods", what about the people who CAN'T speak? Im not comfortable because i can't always trust my thoughts, and it is really hard for me to speak out loud.

More an example on me: i can barely even do a prayer once a month. So many activities i wish to do, I can't do any of them because life and my own brain gets in the way. But what do i do instead? Use the things i already do. Lots of devotional activities. Simple things like taking care of myself, learning about stuff, etc. And the most important thing, being kind to myself and understand im not able to do the same things other people can.

And I don't have a solution that would satisfy everyone, but i do have a piece of advice i hope for people to also take with them.

Do your practice when you feel like you can. It might take a push, but it's better to do it whenever you have the motivation and happiness to really put your all into it rather than forcing yourself to half-ass something every week. Build your practice around your routine. Small things can matter so much more than grand things.

even if you're not neurodivergent or disabled, it can still be hard!

And as so many other people say, don't beat yourself up over not being able to do stuff. Acknowledge your mistake and strive to be better. The gods aren't mad at people for not knowing better, or not being able to do something when they just can't do it. It's hard to wrap your head around, but i can say it's the truth <3

(I didn't go very in-depth because everyone's experience is different, but i hope it was still something people can think about)

[treasureyourfire]

~ Get a little rest ~

Dear Souls! A little later compared to my plans, but I brought you my New Year's Pick a Pile readings. The readings are timeless, find the post in the beginning months of any year (*or even in any month of a year), believe that you need it right then, of course only if it resonates with you. (*If you read it in June, for example, look at the past year going back to June of the previous year. ^^) I've noticed that the piles carry similar messages from certain areas of life, so you may be drawn to more than one image, and that's perfectly fine. Read them all, so if there is a message for you in more than one reading. Wish you the best, and take care! ^^ Arisa

Reminder:

* These are not gender-specific readings, they are about energies. * These are collective, timeless readings for entertaintment. * I am not a professional reader and readings that I do are a part of my learning process. * The tarot can provide guidance, but you manage your own life according to your free will. Feel free to keep what resonates, and let go of what doesn’t.~ * (English is not my mother language, sorry for the mistakes.)

Illustrations belongs to Kristin Askland

~ 1 ~

You can take a breath: What burden have you left behind in the past year: Five of Swords, Reversed Death, Reversed Ten of Wands, Temperance, Six of Wands, Magician, Page of Cups

Just thinking about the image I felt an unusual, intense resistance. At first I didn't know if the feeling was my own - because I was in a bad mood - or not, but then, when I started the reading, I understood that I felt your energy, dear Soul. You suffered such a loss, defeat or betrayal that you hid from the world with deep wounds. Maybe even from yourself. You wrapped yourself up like the kitty in your chosen picture. You were afraid to let change into your life, you closed yourself off, whether it was a change in external circumstances or your own internal transformation and development. Whether you wanted to survive or forget, I feel that you tried to remedy it by taking on more and more burdens the weight of which brought you to the brink of burnout, or maybe this collapse actually occurred. Maybe you buried yourself in work or a personal project, but it could also be that you didn't take on such a many burden of your own free will, but that your circumstances turned out that way. You couldn't grow under those so many burdens. Maybe you have been subconsciously or even intentionally hindering and sabotaging your own growth. A deep, personal transformation awaited you, which of course is often difficult, uncomfortable, and can be very much outside of our comfort zone, when we have to reshape our belief systems, our way of seeing things, and our attitude towards our situation and ourselves. Maybe this was meant to happen for you to some extent, a victory over the ego/subconscious. After many tense internal struggles, the time of ascension has finally arrived, the time to create a healthy balance in your life again. You've got room to develop again, and you've stepped onto the path that you can use to create harmony and peace. It's like you got your Mojo back. The fighting spirit has awakened in you. You embraced yourself, broadened your horizons, and now with more self-esteem, zest for life, more vitality, you switched to creation mode. Now you value yourself more, you have seen the treasures within you, and you are actively working on realizing your dreams to create the life around you that you really want. You have everything for it. The meeting your deeper self opened the door to self-love and new, happier beginnings.

You can rest: What helps you relax/gain strength the most? Page of Wands, Sun, Nine of Swords, Eight of Swords, Knight of Swords

Inspiration (making a mood board at the beginning of the year for example), creativity, dreaming, forms of self-expression. Art can be the best way to relax you right now, which can ease your anxiety. Returning to an old hobby, passion, any activity that filled you with joy when you were younger, or maybe starting something new that helps express yourself and self-realization. For some of you, a trip might mean relaxation, recharging in a sunny, warm place. There may still be holding back beliefs in your head, but don't let these ups and downs discourage you, you have time to heal. Fears, doubts, self-doubt cloud our vision, we get confused. Maybe you need to clear up these confusing thoughts and feelings. If you put them into form, it can be easier to examine and arrange them in yourself. In addition to art, because of the sword cards, I think communication can also help, either verbally or in writing, or if you examine yourself and your thoughts more consciously from a scientific perspective. Whether it's a person close to you, a support community, or a professional, it can help to share with someone what's weigh down your heart.  It is difficult for me to interpret the Knight of Swords in this context. This card usually encourages action and change, not rest. In this situation, it can mean that it is necessary to take the lead, break out of a situation, overcome ourselves, shake ourselves out of the waves of negative thoughts, face our fears and examine their origin. Behind these fears, our true self is waiting to break out. We often think things about ourselves that are not true at all, we don't see the reality, the truth, among the false assumptions. It is difficult to abstract and look at ourselves and our situation with external eyes.

*Note: There is a Youtuber named Thomas Sanders whose videos I have seen in the past and some of those at the time helped me see some things in a slightly different light. Through himself, in an entertaining guise, he reveals to us (I could say that he explains with logic as the Knight of Swords) the workings of a person's personality and mind. Maybe someone else who chose this picture needs this information so I wanted to mention it.

Plan your path: What will you need to the start? / What should you take with you on your path? Hermit Item in your bag: - The Hermit's Lantern

Introspection, stillness. Maybe you need to withdraw from the eyes of the world for a while in order to find your own inner light, the wisdom, the knowledge with which you can go towards a truer, more authentic life. The Hermit searches for answers in himself, he is developing and growing quietly, he only needs himself, he does not let the outside world influence him. The meditative retreat, the practice of your spirituality can become an important tool for you in the period ahead of you, you can find the path that leads to the fulfillment of your wish(es). Let your own inner star, which you keep in your lantern be your compass.

Encouraging/Inspiring message from your spirit guides: Queen of Cups, Reversed Queen of Pentacles

You've reached shore, you're over it. You may have been attracted to the second picture as well, and that reading may partly resonate with you, because it may convey a similar message about your emotional world and the need to take care of the health of your body and soul. It is important to ground yourself, to research grounding techniques and activities, to connect with nature, and to balance your elements, equalizing the proportions against the energies of many previous sword cards with air (mental) element. Observing walks in nature, yoga, craft hobbies, claying, making ceramics, gardening, spending time with animals, practicing living in the present, connecting with Mother Earth. Manage and care your emotions and feelings consciously and don't forget to nourish and care for your body. Pay attention to your health. Nutritious meals, quality rests. A lot of anxiety also weakens the physical body, listen to its signals about what it needs. Take care of your heart, water your garden to gain strength and have the energy to create, to shape your life around you as an artist.

~ 2 ~

You can take a breath: What burden have you left behind in the past year: Queen of Cups

The inner turbulent sea has calmed down, your emotions have become clear, uncertainty has been replaced by stability, clear vision, awareness, and understanding. You already look at your own emotional world with different eyes, you have better understanding about how it works. You have studied yourself, the triple relationship of your thoughts-feelings-actions, as a result of which you have gained a deeper understanding and self-knowledge of yourself, and in the future you will try to handle different life situations and challenges more efficiently and consciously. You take care of yourself and your needs, you have become more understanding and compassionate to yourself and you are already showing more love to yourself.  By the time you reached shore, you realized your own values, you found your inner voice, now you can finally breathe again.

You can rest: What helps you relax/gain strength the most? Queen of Pentacles

Treat yourself like a queen/king. It's time to relax and enjoy earthly pleasures. Taking care of yourself, giving attention to yourself can help you now the most to rest after the toils of the past year. In moderation, but get your favorite comfort foods or pay attention to your health and eat foods that nourish your body, if that resonates with you more. Any form of grounding and connection with nature can also embalm your soul. It can be any activity that relax you, in which you find joy, e.g.; creative projects, baking and cooking, claying, making ceramics, gardening, yoga. Maybe pamper yourself for a few days with a wellness or spa program, beautification, if you prefer this type of relaxation.  Have a pampering intimate time with your partner or with yourself if you are single. Quality rest is important, enjoy, don't rush it. In all of its being (regardless of gender) I feel feminine (including possibly parental) energies from this pile, during this period it may be important for someone to connect to this gentle, caring quality, whether they practice it only towards themselves or by spending time with their partner, children, family.

Plan your path: What will you need to the start? / What should you take with you on your path? Reversed Empress Item in your bag: - Selflove potion

As soon as the Queen of Pentacles appeared, it was as if I felt the presence and essence of the Empress together with her. Strongly feminine, caring energies surround this pile. However, when this card arrived in reverse, I was a bit confused. Even with the Queen of Pentacles, I felt that self-care was emphasized, the Empress has similar energies in a basic situation, I don't think you should take that away from yourself after you managed to recharge. Indeed. Perhaps this is exactly the point, that you continue to pay attention to yourself and take care of yourself first before you do it with others, maintain your inner balance. (Of course, if you are a parent, priorities and balance are usually are rearranged, but don't forget about yourself, your own well-being, and ask for help if you need it and have the opportunity.) Perhaps it also refers to your relationship with others, to pay attention to how much of yourself you give to others and not to shred yourself to please everyone at all costs. It is a wonderful quality of you to care about others and be always there when they need you, but unfortunately this can have the shadowside of giving too much of yourself, consuming all your energy until you have no more to yourself. You love being a mother hen. ^^ Maybe you have taken on tasks for which others should have taken responsibility and solved them. This burnt-out or possibly frustrated state also hinders the development of your creative energies. It may be necessary to set those certain boundaries and not allow others to cross them, taking advantage of you, your altruism and generosity. I feel the main message is to love yourself enough to take care of your own needs first and not get stuck in harmful, destructive emotional addictions.

Encouraging/Inspiring message from your spirit guides: Star, Reversed Three of Cups

For me, the message got around with this advice. Dreams, healing, wishes, goals. Your spirit guides ask you to move forward towards your dream goals. You have heard a higher calling, you have taken the first steps, and your life is slowly starting to take the shape of your desires. Healing, growth, following our life path sometimes go hand in hand with loneliness, but don't let that discourage you. You should let go of fake/superficial friends/relationships, who don't treat you well and don't support you on your way, let them go. "It's better to be alone than in bad company." If they don't represent your ideas of what kind of relationships you need in your life, they hold you back in your development and they are toxic or disrespectful, breaking these relationships can be the beginning of healing and can give you space to later find true partners who really deserve and reciprocate your care and sincere love.

~ 3 ~

You can take a breath: What burden have you left behind in the past year: Reversed Ten of Cups

Relationship problems, toxic relationships/environment, people with low emotional intelligence, hopelessness, lack of love and happiness. Although you were physically surrounded by others, you felt lonely among them. You have been searching your place, where you belong. One-sidedness, overgiving may have characterized your relationships, which did not make you happy or nourish you, but now you have managed to break the chains. Maybe you have been wandering alone for a while looking for your soul tribe, where you will be supported and finally feel loved.

You can rest: What helps you relax/gain strength the most? Reversed Three of Pentacles, Eight of Wands, Magician

Sometimes it's good to withdraw from social life for a longer or shorter period of time (perhaps we pause our studies or don't immediately go back to school after finishing our courrently last course) to be alone, to clear our minds and figure out who we are and what we really long for without competing with others. For this, there are people who travel far away, or even move to a new place, where they can heal, and later, when they feel ready, in the new community there they can start with a clean sheet. Of course, this does not mean that traveling is the solution for everyone who chose this picture, but it is certain that moving forward is necessary, keeping your future in front of your eyes. Let your plans to spear, focus on your own individual goals for faster development and progress. All tools are at your disposal to bring your plans to life. Perhaps you received a message or an offer in the recent past period or you will receive it recently, which may hold out a new opportunity to you or inspire you, reminding you that it is time to get moving and put your ideas into shape. If you need it, unleash your creativity, live your passions and hobbies that you have suppressed or put aside for a while. The period of creation may begin.

Plan your path: What will you need to the start? / What should you take with you on your path? Wheel of Fortune, King of Cups, Three of Cups, Two of Cups, Knight of Cups, Sun, Seven of Cups, Eight of Swords Items in your bag: - A feather of a cedar waxwing - A seashell with the sound of your deep inner sea

Let the feather of this pretty bird reminds you on your journey that you were and are able to rise above difficulties and to keep your good heart. Your karma turns for the better. Your empathetic, giving nature is treasure. You are a good friend who enjoys spending time with others and sharing your emotional and earthly abundance with them, but it is important to maintain a balance. Reciprocity. Make sure that in your relationships you get back as much as you give. Stay aware, see who is worth letting close to you, who can become a true friend/ally, and who is only beautified by filters. Don't let others dim your light, don't give in to deceptions and manipulations. From now on, be the protagonist in your life, shine at its center, like the Sun in our solar system. Maybe the Knight of Cups can also points to make room for romance in your life, let these feelings in if that's what you want. If there is no one who would arouse your interest, be your own suitor, romanticize yourself, your life. Be open to opportunities for more emotional growth and development. Trust your emotional maturity. If a situation still confuses you and shakes your self-confidence, think about what is just a mind game or a delusion, either on your part or on the part of others. Examine your options, which one is the rational decision/available choice for you. Of course, it is often difficult for us to rise above our traumas and fears. Check how real your barriers are. If you don't see the truth at first, you are unsure of what is good for you, which is your path, try to calm down, raise the seashell to your ear and listen to what your inner voice wispering to you.

Encouraging/Inspiring message from your spirit guides: Reversed Ten of Swords, Reversed Hanged Man, Reversed Four of Cups, Reversed Six of Wands, Reversed Ace of Swords, High Priestess, Devil

You are over the biggest challenge, a difficult period has come to an end for you. You have awakened to awareness, and this enlightenment brought a healthier view of yourself and your situation, and initiated you on a more energetically balanced path. Your spirit guides say those who hurt you were not worthy of being part of your life anymore, their betrayal brought you a blessing in the long run, even if you don't feel that way at this moment. Your spirit guides want to help you, but for that you have to do your side too, take action and look for opportunities where you can develop and grow. Clear your thoughts. They ask you to learn from the challenges of the past and turn your experiences to your advantage, rebuilding your self-confidence and regaining your fighting spirit, and think things extensively before making important decisions. Maybe you practiced communicating with them in the past, but you've been holding back for a while? (Re)open the channel between you and them and ask for their help or advice for clarity, if you have doubts, if something is blocking your intuition. The Devil card can reveal addictions that chain you down, hinder your development (even spiritually), prevent you from fulfilling yourself and truly live your life. It may be important to question your beliefs and gain a deeper understanding of your spiritual path. This requires introspection and questioning of existing beliefs. It encourages you to dig deeper into your spiritual questions to seek a deeper and more nuanced understanding of your spiritual journey. Start trusting your inner wisdom and intuition. Stay aware of your negative thoughts, temptations, and fears that can derail you. In terms of your relationships, it can be important too to examine your attachments. What pattern do you cling to, what is toxic, what wasn't healthy in your previous relationships, be it in family, friendship, or romantic relationship.

[queerprayers]

i've grown up in quite a secular family, never went to church etc, and only in the past couple of years started celebrating serbian orthodox christmas with my mum where we attend part of the christmas eve mass. i want to get to know christianity a little better, and i know ur lutheran and not orthodox but i was wondering if u have any tips for just. starting somewehere? it feels very strange to sit down and think "Im Going To Pray" when ive neither done it nor seen anyone do it before, but i want to explore a bit, if that makes sense. your blog is very nice and calming i feel like you might have some insight :)

Welcome, beloved!

Prayer is quite strange sometimes and Sitting Down and Doing It does not come easily to most, especially if you didn't grow up doing that. I'm honored to be asked and I have a few thoughts.

At some point as a kid I was taught the acronym ACTS—Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. I was told a prayer should contain these elements. And I don't technically disagree; I think those are all good necessary things. If you want a formula, there's a formula. But I always found "I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping" a much more real description of prayer.

We're told to pray always, without ceasing—prayer is something to bring with us. It is to be in relation with the God who is Love, who knows our suffering, and who hears. To pray is to be heard—and to listen in return, even if what we receive may be holy silence. 

Mass is a prayer, one the Church does together. Liturgy is where I learned most of the prayers I say, where I first chanted the psalms. I learned to read in church. Even once a year, it shows us many parts of prayer—it fulfills the acronym, sure, but attending services has shown me that prayer can be somber, joyful, certain, wondering, penitent, musical, silent. We can also think of things prayer can be that we don't want to replicate—Jesus talks about hypocritical ways of praying, of calling attention to oneself, of "heaping up empty phrases."

It doesn't always look like Sitting Down. There are not always words. I sit down (or lie down, depending) and pray at certain times—this was a hard-won habit, that still doesn't come easy—but it's easier for me to use my own words in the woods.. You can be anywhere, and be doing anything. You don't have to commit to a form—do it a little bit differently each time. Ask a question. Confess something. Picture someone you love in your mind, and feel that love. Look at each person on the subway and wish something for them. Set a timer on your phone to spend five minutes tentatively thinking about God—this is a prayer that can be more deeply felt than all the books in the world.

Whatever strangeness or embarrassment there is in addressing an unseen being, in coming to the Universe with your one quiet voice, it is the strange embarrassment of caring, of attempting what seems impossible, of being earnest about this whole being alive thing. The uncertainty of a new relationship, the doubt of whether it all matters, the unfamiliarity of learning a new skill. But you can do strange things, new things, vulnerable things. Love is continuing movement, and each step takes more bravery. You need communication with Love to live in it. 

Of course there are countless people who do not purposefully pray and yet show more love than I could ever hope to. God has met many, and sustained many, without their ever asking, sometimes without them ever knowing his name. But the asking is another kind of love, and I am one of the many who devote myself to even slight knowledge of his face. You have all you need to join me—because you have God.

The need that flows out of you, all the time—the draw you feel to start—is a prayer already. Really, there is no start—only a joining of a current already in motion. A dipping into a well that never runs dry. Others have the words, if you don't. I learn the psalms because, for all my poetry, I can't say it all, and never as perfectly as they do—and because it's a connection with centuries of voices. The practicing of the divine hours is another connection.

But really, putting aside the walks in the woods and the going to church more and the acronyms and the metaphors—how do you pray on purpose? Ultimately, there is no better answer than the one Jesus gave: Go into your room, shut the door, and (without an earthly audience, without looking a certain way or believing a certain thing) pray to the secret, listening God, in whatever language/version you have,

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever, Amen.

You've never done it or seen it before, sure, but it's built into you, to need this. Once you've done it, you will have seen it. Once you've seen it, I expect you'll realize you have done it before, without noticing. You don't have the words, so they have been given to you. You don't have to believe wholeheartedly each word—that comes later for those of us who grow up in it, and it can come later for you, too. Start in the somewhere you have been placed. 

The first thing we learn how to ask for as babies is the result of every prayer: being heard. So cry out.

<3 Johanna

[sunrisecaminus]

Hello again bbg I hope you're okay o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o may I request shockwave x fem! human reader who he kidnapped for experiment but oh no this one-eyed big BOI falls in love~ you can make NSFW 😉✋🏻😌🤚🏻

Take your time bbg love you 🎀✨

Message - I cooked you some good shit, now eat your dinner. Shockwave is such an interesting weirdo, I like this giant piece of crap. Love you too!

Shockwave x Human Reader NSFW

Summary - Shockwave using his kidnapped human woman as his next "experiment".

Warnings - NSFW

You have been stuck in this testing chamber for weeks now. Being fed and cleaned wasn't the issue, it was that you have not been able to walk around or do anything for forever. Holy crap has it been so long since you have been able to even change into different clothes, they have just been cleaning the same ones over and over. When you complained about it last time, the big purple mech gave you pjs. It was nice, but now you have been wearing this thing for eight days. Even if you hate your life right now, you are still very much terrified of Shockwave. He has tested a lot of things, but Megatron told him to test your pain tolerance or anything that is more "useful to him". If not, you would be disposed of, which is something you wish to never happen to you. What you didn't know, was that Shockwave has taken an interest in you. Whenever he has done his tests, you try your very best even if you were kidnapped. Honestly, he was theorizing you were going to try to escape and fight back, but you were not stupid. Shockwave underestimated you, and is now intrigued by your character and personality. You both have talked before, telling him that you were in college, about to graduate with a n/d (name of degree). He thought it was interesting how humans were kind of similar with Cybertronians, even if their physical appearances were much different.

Now, understanding your history and emotions, he won't admit how much he adores you. Shockwave hated himself for a long time, falling in love with such a disgusting creature…but it has been millions of years since he has cared for someone. He tries to give you better food, and even has been looking up trending clothes he should buy for you. Shockwave has told Megatron that they should be using you as a pet and not a disposable experiment, but it got him no where. Starscream thought you were the grosses thing in the world and told Shockwave multiple times to destroy you. You would get confused why there would be random times Shockwave threatens or hits Starscream, but its because Starscream would tell him how much he hated you quietly so you wouldn't freak out and try to escape. Shockwave is very protective of you and keeps you in that tube for a reason…but he understands that he has a job to do. He has been thinking for a while on how to save himself while also not hurting you…which got him to design a lovely plan. He now has a new test, which he asked Megatron if he should be able to do, and was excepted. Finally, time to get back to work.

You are right now laying on the floor of the tube, trying to take a nap, when you hear a door open and see the purple mech again. Opening your eyes, you get up and watch him going to his desk and grabbing data pads, graphs, and a camera. Crap, its time for the experiment. "Um…can we talk about this? Maybe we can do the running experiment again?" You press your hands on the glass and look at him with pleading eyes, oh how cute you look begging for him. "I have other plans, Ms.l/n (last name)." Oh no you had to think of something. All you can think of is knives cutting you, being smacked around, or maybe even being smooshed. Pain tolerance is something that an experiment could do many ways with, which is not helping your imagination going crazy. "I promise not to complain! Please, I don't want to be killed!" Shockwave didn't look at you, setting up the camera to face you. "Megatron changed the experiment to something else. You will not be harmed…though it is an experiment that can be seen as vulgar." Well that made you relieved at first, but than made you curious on what was about to happen. He already saw you naked when you had to get changed. You didn't feel too much shame about your body, as these bots had different beauty standards than humans…at least you hope. You didn't want to look ugly to them, but why would you care about what they think?! Maybe he will have you eat something gross? You rather do that then be physically abused. Shockwave grabs a data pad and walks ups to the tube, hooking up some wires to it that was connected to a control panel. Oh, he did this once to have you test your swimming abilities by pouring water into the tube with whatever machine he uses. "The question we are about to experiment today on is your mental compacity. We will test how well your brain can function on your ability to read or answer questions while being distracted in other things". You felt as though this was just a normal test, maybe it was vulgar because it has to do with your brain? "Oh, so like multitasking, right"? You asked, trying to sound as respectful as you can to not make him mad. Shockwave wished he could laugh, you were smarter with your vocabulary than he thought. "Something like that, yes."

The big mech goes up to the control panel and starts to press buttons, once he flipped a little switch, you see little wired tendrils coming from the top of the testing chamber. This was very new and you poked one, letting it slide around your hand a little. Shockwave grabs some cards and watches you play with the new machine he made. "I will be showing you pictures of colors or items on these cards. Try to answer them as best as you can without being distracted by anything that goes on inside the chamber. Do not react and stay focused if they poke you, you understand?" After explaining the rules to you, he sees you nodding without any questions as he pulls out of the cards. "Square" You feel one of the tendrils wrap itself around your ankle as you answer the question. You don't move and keep your eyes on Shockwave. He pulls up another card. "Magnify Glass". One of the other tendrils wrap around your stomach. You gasp as it slowly slips under your shirt and slides around. "Sir! Are you sure this is necessary for the test?" Shockwave takes another card out before he looks up at you. Goodness thank god he is recording you, he was probably going to watch this tape more than once. "Of course, I need to test how well you can pay attention. Now name what is on the card." You couldn't believe what was happening, but you didn't mind too much. Your cheeks get red and kept naming the cards. The tendril in your shirt tightens around your lower chest while another goes under the cloth, pulling the shirt off over your head. "Ah! Sh-shockwave wait-"! When you called his name out, his head looks down. He didn't want you to know how much this was making him go nuts. He never gave you a bra to wear for today so your boobs were out already. The tendril wrapped around you starts to wrap around your breasts, squeezing and massaging them. You moan from the sensitive touching and start to get weak in the knees. "Mhmm! U-um car~" You kneels down, feeling the one around your ankle goes up your leg and pulls on it, making you naturally spread your legs on the ground. Thankfully you had nice pants, because then Shockwave would have seen how soaked you were from what was happened. Being in such a sensual position was making your mind think of so many things.

Shockwave watches you, basically saving the picture of your body in his mind. You are right now having your legs spread while kneeling on the ground, having one of his machine tendrils touch your boobs. He hesitated before he pulls out another card. "Y-yellow." You were still going, how smart you seemed to him. Human creatures were so simple and dumb in his eyes, seeing you being able to control yourself while having, what humans would consider, such a distracting experience. You were way stronger mentally than a lot of the soldiers on this ship. He wanted to make it harder, so he flips another switch and out comes another tendril. This one goes up to your pants and slides under the layers of clothes that cover your nether region. "Ngnn! Holy shi-ah!" You feel the tendril rubbing itself in between your folds and that is what makes you feel like your going to lose this experiment. Your hands press against the glass, leaning against to help yourself get more support from kneeling on the ground. You needed to finish the test or he was just going to continue this sinful act. "Cat…mhmm." Shockwave knew you were getting too weak, your eyes were getting dazed and blurry. He had one more card left, but he wants to know if you can focus when you are getting 100% attention. He presses on one of the buttons and the tendril enters into your vagina, going as deep as it can to figure out what it was working with. Shockwave sees your eyes get wide from the sudden pressure and you moan out his name. Shockwave couldn't believe this, but he felt his spike press against his panel, but he was going to wait until after the experiment to treat it. He shows you the last card. "This is the final card. Can you read it?" You couldn't believe what was happening, this tendril was slamming into your walls like it was no ones business…but if this is what he wanted, you were not going to lose this. You press your face against the glass to try and focus, blinking your eyes to keep your vision from giving out. "Purple! It's Purple!" You finally did it, now he could stop before you became a mess. The tendrils stop moving as you try to get the one off your boobs. Your hands shakily grab it, but it wouldn't move. You see shockwave flip another switch as another tendril comes down…oh no. You completed the test, you got all of them right! Why was he adding more?! You see the tendril going down into your pants like the other one. "W-wait sir, I did the test! Did I do well?" That was when you see Shockwave's eye brightens a little, watching as he puts his hand on the On button. "You did very well y/n. Now it is time for your reward." He turns it on again and you feel the second tendril push itself inside you, making your vagina now have two of them sliding in and out of your walls. You moan loudly, feeling your eyes start to water from the pleasure you were feeling. Your brain gets clouded, only thinking about your lower half getting destroyed. It only took a few minutes for you to cum all over the floor. The tendrils stay inside you when you started to slide off the glass and onto the floor. Your chest gets unwrapped, while the ones inside you slide out carefully and put themselves away. This was so embarrassing, you were laying on your stomach in your own liquids. Shockwave ends the recording and looks at the masterpiece he just made. "You surprise me, human. My processor is changing its opinion on you at this very moment. You should be proud."

[elfdragon12]

Hi I just want to say that you’re right about Prowl not being a prick in every universe because while IDW shows a very unique interpretation of Prowl, he doesn’t speak for every Prowl made. G1 is an absolute sweetheart who while not usually in the spotlight is still willing to help out, Marvel while not being the most social steps up and is willing to do what he can, RID2001 is a bot who despite nagging on Sideburn loves both his brothers dearly and just likes following the rules and stuff, TFA gave us someone whose past made him distance himself from others but later learned how to work together and trust, Covenant of Primus showed how Prowl is willing to throw everything away to save those he held dear, Cyberverse while I don’t know much, shows him actually being quite nice and in Earthspark while Prowl there is on guard and very cautious, he’s ultimately right with what he said and his concerns are justified.

I love Prowl and what fascinates me about him (and something I wish could be expanded upon) is how each interpretation handles what I think are his main characteristics; loyalty, rationality and care.

Oh yes! I would definitely put those as his main character traits!

CV Prowl... I actually can't say much about despite having watched the whole thing. His personality was kind of a nothing-burger whose only "major" moment (besides dying) was talking weapons with Shadow Striker. Honestly, he's mostly just there. (I didn't especially enjoy Cyberverse, tbh.)

Transformers is a franchise running 40 years. IDW1 only ran for 13 of them and wasn't even the only continuity going at the time. IDW1 Prowl was complex and interesting... When written by someone who cared to portray that. However, I am so tired of folks trying to insert the flanderized "lol Prowl is an angry prick who flips tables all the time" onto every part of the franchise when it wasn't even all that true to the actual comics!