#i wouldn't forgive him otherwise

[dinogoofymutated]

You want X-Men requests? Well, I think I've got a few kicking around for our favorite Cajun.

Ok, so this is NSFW but like...imagine overstimulated Gambit to the point where he can only speak garbled French? Idk, I think that's super hot.

YES OMG YES. I absolutely love this idea I ran with it SO QUICK! I'm Southern, but not necessarily the Cajun flavor of Southern, so I tried to use a translator/dictionary for Cajun-French. There's not really a translator for cajun dialect specifically, so forgive me for some mistakes. I tried my best ;-;

Tw: MDNI. NSFW. Creampie, Overstim, Praise kink (kinda). Reader written while picturing AFAB but no genitals specified. No pronouns specified. Soft dom!reader

Anyone looking outside-in on Gambit's relationships would think that the man is a player, due to his flirty nature, and he could be to an extent, but you know otherwise.

Remy LeBeau was a lover boy. Sure he showed out a lot by flirting, but at the end of the day it's you he's coming home to. The moment someone tries to make a move on him and flirting goes to touching, you know he's shutting that shit down quick.

He was all talk, and you were happy to find out that extends to the bedroom.

Now having said this, it's not that Remy was a liar. He's incredible at sex, but at the end of the day when he's with someone he truly loves, his walls come down. Loverboy was putty in your hands the moment you decided to grace him with your love and praise.

"Plus, donnez-m'en un de plus, s'il vous plaît." Remy is trembling underneath you, head tossed back into the pillow and twitching inside you still as he cums hard. His hands are clenched around your thighs, grip loose enough for you to grind on him slowly as he comes down from his high.

"Remy, I can't understand you." You say softly, cocking your head at him as you brush some hair out of his face. He leans into your touch, chest still heaving. He mumbles something else you can't quite catch, before repeating "donnez-m'en un de plus, donnez-m'en un de plus." Again and again.

"Reeemmmy~" You smile, rocking back against him just slightly to make him groan and curse, before leaning forward to kiss him on the chin. He tries to catch you in a real kiss, but you don't let him, choosing to hover over his lips teasingly. "English, please, sweetheart."

"Je commence Cher, don't tease." Remy whines, leaning forward again. You let him kiss you this time, unable to stop yourself from giving into Remy's charms. You grind onto him a little more to hear him moan and gasp into the kiss, and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter. He mumbles again in Cajun, and you shake your head at him. He'd been trying to teach you, but you still weren't quite fluent. You decide you should ask him to teach you bedroom phrases soon. It'd make this a whole lot easier- but you wouldn't lie, you almost enjoy teasing him like this.

"One more, Cher. Please. Please, give me another one." Remy finally grunts. He looks at you with those pretty eyes of his, all blurry with his pupils dilated. You can't help but lean in and kiss him a few more times. You lift your hips, before sinking back down onto his cock with a little more force this time. He gasps out a broken "merci! merci," tears starting to trail down his cheeks as you start to ride him again.

"Oh- Only because you asked... so nicely." You moan. It's a struggle to get the words out, fighting your own oversensitivity, but hearing Remy crumble beneath you is worth how sore you would be in the morning ten times over.

[johanna-swann]

I actually have sooo many issues with 911 lately that haven't even got much to do with any ships.

Like. They wrote out almost all of the side characters. Chris is gone, Linda and Sue are gone, Athena's kids are gone (even though Harry just moved in with her and Bobby again? Seriously, where is Harry?), Ravi is gone, Carla is gone. I know the GA maybe don't care that much, casual viewers might not even have noticed that this many characters have just vanished from the show, but in my opinion this is one of the things that give a show running as long as 911 life. Having a big cast is a good thing. Otherwise things are going to get very monotonous very soon.

Actually, that's my second point. They keep repeating storylines! Every season Hen and Karen have to fight a custody battle over one of their kids.

Every season Eddie ends up realising he has a lot of repressed trauma and issues which keep him from leading a healthy happy and free life.

Every season Bathena realise that they have communication issues and they fight about it, but then something traumatic happens and they forgive each other without ever really talking things out.

Every season we are reminded that Maddie's most prominent character trait is "traumatised", the writers just alternatingly bring up Doug again and sometimes the ppd arc.

Every season we see Buck being somewhat restless, looking and searching for something that will bring him true happiness and cycling through love interests that never stick around and each time when you think "oh, there it is, he's getting somewhere now" the writers go "BEEEP! WRONG!" and we start all over again. [This is not just about recent events aka Tommy, the break-up and Buck potentially going back to his 1.0 ways, this also happened in season 6 when he had his "it doesn't matter what other people see in me, I'm enough" revelation only to suddenly be like "omg, Natalia just sees me".]

And Chimney- he had his moment last season with the wedding episode, Kenneth Choi really ate that episode up, but his most prominent character trait is "Maddie's supportive husband". There's really not that much going on with him otherwise.

Another point I briefly touched upon above is consistency. Like Harry moving back in with Athena and Bobby and then just vanishing. Or Gerrard being more like a slightly unfriendly grandpa than an actual antagonist in season 8 when he was still spouting slurs in season 7.

And the timeline! We talked about this before ("last March", Mara's fostering to adoption timeline, Tommy tranferring to harbour "5 years ago"), but the newest "Tommy was actually Abby's Tommy" twist just adds to that. Tommy was with Abby for over 2 years. They were engaged. This was at a time when he was still at the 118. Tommy dated Abby presumably because he was in denial or maybe because he was hiding. In either case, wouldn't his team at least have heard about his fiancée, Abby the dispatcher? Wouldn't that have rung a bell when Buck eventually brought her around only a year or two later? Tommy did talk about his private life at least a little at work, even under Gerrard. It just doesn't make sense. (Not to mention this seems wildly out of character for Tommy who around the same time also said about himself "being single is easier".)

Then there's the pacing. This was a huge issue in season 7. They jumped from one personal soap opera drama to the next without taking any breathers, had almost no procedural in their drama the whole season, still somehow decided to spend one third of the entire season just on the opening disaster and also squeezed in a "Bobby begins for the third time now" episode. But okay, it was a shortened season, there were strikes, they switched networks, they were under a lot of pressure - I'll cut them some slack. At least they set up a bunch of interesting stuff for the following season.

But we're in season 8 now. The renewal was announced very early, they had a lot of time to plan this time. Also they have almost double the episodes they had last season, there's really no need to rush any of the major plots. I am done cutting them slack.

They wanna do a 3 part opening disaster again? Okay fine, you have the time now. I feel like they could've easily done it in 2 episodes (especially 8x02 felt a little "eh"), but okay. Better than the breakneck speed you were going at befo- Oh, what's that? 8x04 flying in with a steel chair. You resolved 70% percent of the plots you set up last season in one single episode with no build up, no emotional pay off and no lasting consequences? And you also squeezed in multiple unrelated calls at the same time? Damn, okay then. Good-bye potentially interesting storylines. Fuck me for being invested I guess. I thought there would at least maybe be some follow up in 8x05, but no.

Now that Halloween episode wasn't bad, it was actually the best episode of this season imo, but instead of following up on previously established conflicts and developments they just hit us with new Wilson family trauma and conflict that was also immediately fixed again. And now 8x06 has speedrun and dumped another storyline that had potential to go to deeper and interesting places. Not gonna talk too much about that though because this post is about the show as a whole, not ships.

And I am not yet convinced that there will be much more to come on the only thing that's left from last season: Eddie's deep dive into his trauma and repression. It's totally possible at this point that being told "you deserve nice things" by a random stranger actually solved all of his problems, it would be very in tone with 911's new style.

What are they even gonna do with the rest of this season? Revisiting the Hotshots set sounds fun, but ultimately inconsequential. You know what's great about a regular old procedural drama with ~20 episodes per season that comes on weekly? You have time. You can let the viewers sit with their emotions and thoughts for a week and keep them engaged by stretching things out a little.

But why should I bother getting emotionally invested in problems the characters are gonna solve within the same episode anyway? Or rather, even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to care if you don't give me the time to develop any feelings about anything that's happening? "Henren lost in court and are now completely forbidden from seeing Mara at all!" Damn, that must be so har- "JUST KIDDING! Ortiz is exposed and everything is perfect again now." Oh. Okay then, I guess.

Bottom line: The characters are all stuck in their own hamster wheels, they keep cutting side characters that could bring a breeze of fresh air (I'm honestly surprised they even kept Josh until now), they rush through all the storylines a such a ridiculous speed that I don't even have time to feel any sort of way about it, they don't even try to keep a consistency or sensible timeline going and they seem to strongly prioritise random funny bits that'll entertain the very casual viewers right now in this moment (tiger call, Billy Boils, Bee-nado, the 'Stache tm, "wait, it's the same Abby?", Gerrard being a fangirl at heart) instead of playing the long game and catering to people who actually pay a little attention to the show.

[On that last remark: I'm not talking about hardcore fans who analyse every single frame here, I mean casual fans who've watched the show on and off again for a while and who may not be involved in fandom but genuinely care about the show.]

I mean. What am I even still doing here? The show is treading water and I end up disappointed more often than not. I'm still holding out a little hope that they actually will do something interesting with Eddie and his sea-monkeys, but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

[carto0ncritter]

One thing I noticed in this shitshow of an episode is how fucking ungrateful Stolas was for everything Blitzø did for him since he came to his place.

Him being a spoiled rich white asshole:

I hate his facial expressions so much, you have no idea

I can guarantee you care about these 'nice things' more than you care about your daughter btw

Oh, we also have, let's see here...

*insert the entire montage of Blitzø (Stolas' victim) trying to cheer his abuser up since he's now in love with him thanks to good ol' Stockholm Syndrome*

Seeing that cigarette reminds me of when Stolas uh... *checks notes* called Blitz an 'itty bitty imp (racist)' despite him clearly hating it, grabbed his cheek and used his horn to put out his cigarette (not to mention Blitzø's severe trauma being related to fucking fire)

Okay so anyway, I think Stolas said "Oh, when have you ever asked" bc Blitzø stole from him and his family 25 years ago. correct me if I'm wrong here but isn't it manipulative af to bring up smth that happened that long ago, also it's totally unrelated to the current situation. I swear it's like a grown ass man saying to another "Oh I still hate you because, uhm, remember that one time in 3rd grade when you stole my pencil..."

So... if Stolas still holds this against Blitzø, let me ask: why was he ever "in love" with him in the first place? Answer? He wasn't. Stolas only used this imp for his sexual fantasies and for him to get to experience his "fairytale romance"

P.S. Imps are a race his privileged ass has always been racist towards and he hasn't ever attempted to, uh... try to understand them better? Understand how they live? I mean if you truly cared about your "boyfriend," Stolas, you'd have put in SOME effort to change your mindset/behavior and WOULDN'T HAVE EVER SEXUALLY COERCED HIM

He also 🍇d you blitz

And no he didn't do much, he's powerful af. Using those powers isn't rocket science heck he turned an imp to stone in s1 he can protect himself but is apparently the "bottom" in the stolitz "relationship". Also no, him leaving Octavia clearly isn't a huge deal to Stolas otherwise he'd have fought to earn her forgiveness and not just sulk like a wimpy loser. YOU ARE NOT ONLY A GROWN MAN STOLAS, BUT A FATHER. At least you were supposed to be

So was not thinking about your daughter until you lost everything, apparently

AGAIN WITH THIS SHIT??? WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT A TRANSACTION AGAIN

Alright I'm signing off until the next season drops, if that ever happens

This episode sucked, but kudos to our girl Via who was smart enough to see through her "father's" bs 👏

ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THE CRITICAL COMMUNITY (and to non-toxic stans too)!

[humiliatemeplesse]

When the faggot told it's Dom boyfriend that it had a fetish for sniffing guy's sweaty smelly socked feet, it hoped that He would understand since it believed He loved it and that He would help it satiate it's need. However, its boyfriend laughed at it and told it that it was pathetic to have such a lowly, stupid fetish. But, He said, if that's what you need, I'll give it to you since you're such a good boy otherwise. The fag filled with excitement and thanked its boyfriend over and over. The next night, when it's boyfriend came home from work and the gym, both places where He wore the same pair of socks in His work boots and workout shoes, He told the fag to lay on the floor at the foot of the couch where He was sitting. He put both sweaty, smelly, stinking socked feet on the faggots face and used it as His footstool all night long. He told the faggot it was not to speak or get up to do anything, to not even move. The only thing it could do was raise its hand if it had to use the toilet. That was it. So the faggot smothered under it's bf's stinking socked feet for hours and hours, their heavy weight on its face. The next day, the same thing happened. And the next day. And the next day. At first the fag was thrilled with this treatment, but eventually it felt like it was too much, that it'd like to have some "nights off" or maybe do it only three days a week. It got up the nerve to ask its bf one morning when it was making breakfast for them before work. it's bf looked it straight in the eye and said in a very serious time of authority, you asked for this, I think it's ridiculous and frankly embarrassing for you. If I had known this about you I wouldn't have even dated you nevermind moved in with you. But, you've been such a good boy otherwise and do everything I tell you to do that I decided to give you this one thing. This one pathetic, embarrassing thing. You asked for it, I've given it to you. So now you're going to accept my incredible gift and shut the fuck up and not complain about it or you can pack your shit and leave. Now I'd hate that, but it's up to you. I'm giving you a gift, take it or not. But this is going to be every night, and on weekends too. This is what you want and as they say, be careful what you ask for. The fag apologized and begged for forgiveness and got in the floor and kissed it's bf's boots. It was never discussed again and the fag ended up hating having it's bf's sweaty socked feet on its face every single day but there was nothing it could do about it. So it suffered in His sock stink every single day for the rest of its life. it's bf got a hard-on while this happened every day due to the sadistic nature of how He handled it, with complete, unquestioned control of His little slave sub bf. He'd often make it suck Him off right after but the fag never associated the act with any sadism on its bf's part.

[mochinomnoms]

why were you digging? what did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

art by wolfythewitch

Hozier lyrics in which they embody when loving you.

multi x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - some of the lyrics are gendered, few suggestive parts

[note] - i forgot i had this drafted for a while lol anyways only romantic vibes cause i couldnt find satisfactory lyrics for grim and ortho :( i also was gonna add the halloweenie boys but then it wouldnt have been evenly split and i didnt want that lol

[edit] - I FORGOT AZUL IM SORRY AZULITO FORGIVE ME—

"I know who I am when I'm alone/I'm something else when I see you" - It Will Come Back

He's always been sure of who he is and how he presents himself. He has an image that he must uphold, his reputation is dependent on it. Yet, that perfectly sculpted person comes crumbling down, firm marble turned into malleable clay with you. He should be appalled by the very idea of someone having so much hold over him, yet he can't bring himself to care. You see through him, and it's addicting. You see through him, but still show him kindness, and it's addicting. You see through him, still show him kindness, even knowing just what thoughts he has of you at night, and it's addicting. He has an addiction, and you're his drug of choice. There is no rehab for getting him off of you, once he's hooked he's never letting go of the high that you are. Then again, if you knew just who he really is, perhaps the addiction was mutual.

Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper

"We lay here for years or for hours/So long, we'd become the flowers" - In a Week

He is admittedly a simple man, even if he might portray or say he desires otherwise. But deep down, he is very simple: he'd like to be with you forever, that's it. Laying in the grass, the sounds of cicadas and birds singing, the smell of dewy grass and freshly bloomed flowers, all of that with you would be his dream. He hopes that you two will live a long life together, that your graves will be one, your bodies decomposing together into the earth as nature intended. You hope that centuries into the future, some bright-eyed archaeologists will see the patch of flowers growing over your grave and dig to find your two skeletons intertwined. You both hope that theories and myths are created in the image of your long gone bodies so that the memory of your love will live forever on.

Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Rook Hunt, Silver

"She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily/Better yet, she wouldn't care" - Jackie & Wilson

Loud and impulsive to a fault is how most would describe him, and really he should care more about the problems this causes. He should, but why when you take him as he is, flaws and all? To you, the impulsivity, his loud mouth, his rash nature, his bluntness, they weren't flaws—they were him and you love him. And he loves you—for all your naivete, doting, and enabling ways. If there's trouble to be found, it's likely you're both involved: you chasing after him as he goes of. Is it naive to think that this sort of relationship won't eventually burst into flames? Probably. Is it a bit toxic if you were to look at your relationship critically? Probably. But he doesn't care (even if he normally would or should), and neither do you. Instead, for just a bit, you indulge in the present, rather than the past or future. Just for a bit

Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

"You're bright as the morning, soft as the rain/Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape" - Too Sweet

Something about you is just a bit off-putting: you're a bit too put together, too cheery, too sweet for someone in your situation. It's more off-putting to him that he's drawn to you anyways. Part of him holds himself back, as he's a realist at heart. One day, any day now, you can go back home, where your sweetness rightfully belongs. Part of him though wants to that sweetness, make it rightfully his and his alone. It's why he can't keep himself away from you, he'd rather defile you, ruin you for anyone else so that you'd have no choice but to come running back to him for that sweet satisfaction that only he can provide. You're not stupid though, you know just what he's doing; lucky for him, you're happy to let him age you into a fine wine, made just for his taste.

Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Lilia Vanrouge

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I" - Francesca

You have ingrained your very being into his own. The sight, the sound thought of you has him yearning for your touch in ways that would put a god to shame. But Eros had no role in his love for you. Since he's met you, somehow you've managed to core out a space in his heart in the shape of your body. Without you, he'd be empty. Without you, he'd be devastated, experiencing an anguish that would kill his very soul. His love is so strong, so overwhelming, so earth-shattering that he'd alter the very laws of the universe just to keep you with him. Could you even bring yourself to deny him if the choice to leave ever came? You have him in the palm of your hand, like a god with their worshipper. You'll be a merciful and loving god to your devotee, won't you?

Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[messenger-of-babel]

Cracks in The Bedroom

Summary: You've never seen Jay crack before, but when he starts it's more broken than you realise. (Arkham Knight! Jason x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: RUSHED EDITS. This is a touch late cause of work so I'm a few hours behind (it's like 12:45am rn). I tried to use game Arkham Knight Jason since I am not 100% across knowing all the nuance for this one and didn't have time to pre-read for it. Warnings for manipulation of story and plot to serve my own selfish devices. Otherwise, back to writing Jason again. Enjoy! (Forgive me for the shambles today but I hope it feeds you regardless)

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You couldn’t tell what had drawn you to Jay when you met, or really what had held you together throughout the last year. He was secretive, he was snappy, and he had anger issues through the roof. He’d blow up at the smallest of things, get stressed and crack within a second. You knew he had trauma; you could see it in his eyes. The way that those baby blues burned with a cold fire, a gripping malice keeping him moving each day. It was written over his skin; in the glimpses of scars he wore that he never let you touch. It was imprinted on the J cut into his cheek, and the way he turned his face away whenever he caught you looking at it.

He disappeared every night and came back beaten and blue, shrugging you off angrily when you try to comfort or tend to his injuries. He wouldn’t tell you where he was, pushing past you with a glare to lock himself in the bathroom. His hands would shake as he walked past you, knuckles clenched and fuse lit. His pain was his kindling, and every night you saw him go to burn himself again. 

People told you that you were crazy, and maybe you were. He wasn’t the best partner, hardly able to give you what you gave back. But you didn’t want to give up on him entirely, not when you could hear the soft sniffles coming from the bathroom late at night, the wavering in his eyes when you ask to give him a hug. His eyes flickered with the urge to give in, a bitter longing you knew all too well, but his mouth formed the words ‘don’t you try’ with a venomous tone that had you retracting your arms to your side every time. 

You loved him despite it all, a soft tenderness whenever you looked at him despite how your brain screamed at for you not to. However, you didn’t know if you could continue your life like this. That’s why tonight you were going to break it off, to free yourself from the man who seemed like he’d rather do anything than stay with you. However, when you come home from your restaurant shift, (not that it was much of a shift with the city being evacuated), keys jangling in the stuck lock, your determination falters.

He is shocked to see you as well, eyes widening and pacing coming to a halt when you enter the living room. Like a deer caught in the headlights he stares at you, fingers twitching nervously. You have a sharp intake of breath as your eyes scan across his body, taking in the suit that clung to his skin. His face had a cut and a new black eye forming on his right side, lip split and beginning to scab over. However, what you were more drawn to was the bat like cowl held loosely in his left hand, and the triangle like logo emblazoned on his chest.

It all makes sense to you now, and you step back at the realisation. You miss the wince that flickers over his face when you fall back from him, his eyes narrowing.

"If you tell anyone, you're dead." he hisses. It scared you, breath hitching in your throat. You shake your head, closing the door quietly behind you.

"I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm not going to hurt you." you try to stay calm and approach him, but he begins to pace again.

"Like you could hurt me," he scoffs. "You wouldn't even get a chance."

The sneer he sends your way is coated in venom, digging into your heart with needle-like teeth. "What are you going to do now?" he gestures around. "Now that you know? Do you have questions? demands?" he laughs out, but the sound is dry and angry.

"Are you-" you begin, but he waves the helmet towards you aggressively.

"Am I what? the Arkham Knight? a monster? a killer?" he spits out, eyes burning with rage. "Use your eyes, sweetheart." he sneers, tone mocking. "Of course, I am."

"Are you okay?" you finish softly, trying to reach out your hands for him. He stops for only a moment, tensing with confusion. Then he's back to being the Jay you know, harsh and abrasive. he shakes his head, muttering to himself.

"Like you care, like you care!" he grumbles, throwing the helmet to crash against the wall. "You don't care. You just want something from me. You all want something from me." he hisses, breathing beginning to quicken. You shake your head, trying to keep your body language calm so he knows that you mean no harm. Your fingers burn with the urge to grab him softly before he hurts himself, but you know it would probably end up with you crashing over a table. "I don't want anything from you. I want you to be okay, can we just talk?"

He sighs but doesn’t say anything else, jaw clenched as he turns his head away. You'd been around him long enough that you took it as an invitation to get closer.

You managed to lead the both of you over to the couch, sitting with a space in between you both. "Jay, please tell me what’s going on." you ask softly. Your head feels like it's spinning with the information that your partner (you weren't sure if you two ever really became official) was the Arkham Knight that you had only heard rumours of floating around on the sparsely populated streets. As far as you knew he was going after Batman, but it was all rumours.

"Are you...are you injured cause you're fighting the Batman?" you ask softly, wanting to get answers to those rumours without triggering him further. His fists clench in his lap and for a moment you think you won't get past the stone wall you can see him building, but after he exhales, he nods once. You worry the skin of your lip between your teeth. You never really had a problem with Batman. He was doing more for your city than the corrupt police on the street, and despite him being a vigilante and not bound by the rules of the law, you couldn't deny that his presence made you feel safer in your own home.

"Why?" you press softly, hand hovering out. He flinches the close that you bring your hand, but eventually he lets you place your hand over his. Your skin thrums with the contact, something you had been deprived of for so long. His calloused hand warms under your light touch, and he tilts his hand softly till his palm tilts up. He allows your fingers to creep down lower, until you lightly intertwine your fingers with his.

"Because..." he chokes out, and you can see the way his throat bobs. Your heart races a little with panic, never seeing this side of Jay before. You never saw him get upset, only angry. The blinking of his eyes to fight away the tears was new, and the way he hung his head in such defeat. It made you feel like you were watching a pitiful boy wearing the skin of a much older man, and your thumb stroked his hand softly. "Because this was all his fault. Everything. He gave me this..." he whispered out, the rage seeping back into his voice and other hand gripping his knee tightly. His gloved finger points to the 'J' carved into his cheek, and his breathing quickens when he looks you in the eye.

"The Batman did that?" you ask softly, but he shakes his head violently.

"No." he snaps. "But he let someone else do that. He lets someone else cut me and-" he cuts himself off, breathing irregular as he stops to take a big heave. His lips tremble and he tries to keep himself together. He hated this. The anger that he fuelled into tormenting Bruce was draining into despair.

He hated the way you looked at him, with those big eyes that begged him to spill all of his deepest fears to you.

He hated the way his name sounded on your lips, even though you didn't realise that it was only a nickname, not his real name.

He hated the way how his body seemed to buzz under your touch, blood rushing under his skin.

He hated it because he felt that if he let himself surrender to it, if he let you in, that he would never be able to go back again.

"Please Jay," you beg, eyes pleading. "Please just tell me what's going on."

"It's not Jay." he croaks out, hanging his head. "It's Jason." he raises his eyes to meet yours, pitifully looking through his hair. "Jason Todd."

Your hands fly to your mouth, unable to stop the short gasp. You feel a chill run through your body, freezing you to the spot on the couch. "You mean the Jason that-"

"Went missing?" he scoffed. "Yeah. That's what they he wants you to believe. It doesn’t change the fact that he left me there." The man you now know as Jason raises his voice, standing to his feet with hands clenched by his side. "Batman abandoned me!" he shouts, voice deepening.

You jump, seeing the way that his eyes darken. "Jay-"

"Jason!" he shouts, whirling to you. "Don't play the perfect life now. I know it's anything but." he hisses at you. "You were planning on leaving me too."

You falter, and that's all it takes for him to bring his hands to his hair and grip at his face. "I knew it." he spits out. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it."

You jump to your feet too, indignation rising in your tone. "That's because I don't even know what we are!" you protest back. "We live together but we don't speak, we sleep in the same bed, but we don't touch. I'm tired of not knowing if you even like me back!" you yell, beginning to feel the anger in yourself rise up.

"You're just going to abandon me too!" he yells, face growing red and eyes growing panicked. "You're going to leave me, just like my father!" his voice cracks at that, and he almost doubles over as he staggers backwards. You shake your head, confused.

"You don't make any sense, Jay." you groan, tears prickling at your own eyes. Jason lets out a half scream of frustration.

"Bruce! Bruce left me with him in there and never came looking." He cries. You can see the war in his mind as he struggles to get his breath back, pupil’s swallowing his eyes until the pricks of blue disappear. You know it's bad when you hurry to him ang grab his wrist, getting no response from him. he didn't try to push you off, or flinch as your hands circled his trying to hold him still.

"Bruce? you said Batman left you there. Bruce looked for you! I remember the press statements!" you plead, heart beating frantically and unsure what to do to help. You were so used to him being cold and abrasive, so distant and aloof that to see him break down like this was eerie and panic inducing.

"They're the same! it doesn't matter!" he shouts, breathing getting irregular. With a strong push you manhandle him back down onto the couch, tilting his face up so you can ease his quickened breaths. "All that matters," he swallows thickly trying to get his bearings back. "Is that he left me. and you will too. Now that you know. Now that you know all of me."

You feel the heart thudding in your neck, pulse beating against your skin. You sink to your knees, tears finally falling over your lashes. You head drops until your arms are on his knees, forehead pressing into your skin. You sob softly, defeat weighing in on you. You weren't sure if you could pull him out of this hole that he had dug himself into. If the web of lies he had been spinning had been strung too tightly around your heart and had cut off the circulation. You felt tired and overwhelmed with what he had told you, mind feeling fatigued.

He was no better around you as you reached up to grip his hand, squeezing it. You can't get your voice to say what he wants to hear, can't find the words that will take the paranoia away. You don't know how to get close to him when he keeps lashing out and pushing you away.

 He can barely keep air in his lungs, and his mind is unsure where to focus, but he tries to focus on anything but you at the moment.

Rage?

He was good at that. It made him feel alive, like he had a purpose.

Sadness?

He had already spent enough of his life in sadness, wasting away in that cell when he was locked in Arkham.

Pain?

Jason Todd had endured enough pain to last him several lifetimes over already.

His lips tremble as words pass past them, half conscious as he says them. If he had a better control on his emotions, he would have kept them down like usual, traded them for some scathing remark that would make hurt ripple across your expression.

"I used to be Robin."

You just look up at him blurrily, and he can see in your eyes that you’re scared of him and his sudden vulnerability. His heart aches, but he knows it’s a pain he deserves. He did that to you, made a good impression on you at a bar once and then signed you up for hell, refusing to let you go.

He guessed he and Joker were alike in some ways after all. Yet he continues.

"He left me. My father never even came looking."

With each word it's like a catharsis on his soul, chasing away the shadows that were wrapped around him. He had been out tonight, hunting Bruce. He needed to go out again soon, once he had licked his wounds clean and known that the damned Bat hadn't found his hideouts. he had selfishly kept you around despite the evacuation, and only now was he starting to regret it.

As he gazed down at you, he could see more of him in you than her would like, the fragile hope in your eyes already webbed with cracks.

Had he really done this?

Contrarily, you stared up with a soft kind of pity. This was the Jason that you never got to see, the one that got out of bed in the middle of the night to go for a walk and come back with red rimmed eyes. The one who made the quiet sniffles behind the locked bathroom door, the one that hid his scars from you not out of anger, but out of shame and embarrassment. His eyes flicker between your face and the hand that you begin raising, until it strokes along his cheek. He has the urge to pull away, to flinch, but he lets your fingers ghost just barely across the skin. He understands your silent ask for permission and accepts in by gently turning his face into your hand.

A small smile flits across your face then, filling in the cracks that had formed in both of your hearts. "I won't leave if you won't" you whisper, and his breath begins to even out. Maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were deluded. Maybe you were just dumb in love.

"I don't care about everything that you think is going to scare me off," you say softly. "If you...if you promise to try with me, I'll try with you too. I won't abandon you, Jason," you say, using his full name. It feels foreign on your tongue, but you like the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "If you won't leave me behind either."

That night was the first time that you saw Jason Todd smile, and unbeknownst to you, it was the first time in years he had even tried.

[intern-seraph]

diagnosing the twst boys aka putting my psych degree to good use. wrote these on discord mobile at like midnight last night so forgive any weirdness.

Riddle: C-PTSD (his mother was/is very clearly abusive and extremely controlling. he has been experiencing trauma his whole life.), possibly on the spectrum as well

Trey: probably neurotypical and mentally well. the teeth thing is pretty weird though.

Cater: Major Depressive Disorder, but he masks pretty well.

Ace: honestly? Probably neurotypical and not mentally ill but if i were to diagnose him, perhaps ADHD Inattentive Type??

Deuce: Before i read his dorm vignette i may have said he has a learning disorder like dyscalculia or dyslexia, but he clearly shows that he doesn't struggle with academics due to disordered thinking so much as it's due to lacking the fundamentals. He picks up math pretty well just from using riddle's textbook. He may have had conduct disorder in his youth, but that also could have been him acting out for other reasons and i honestly think it's more likely the latter. Maybe has some form of ADHD but I'm not certain.

Leona: very clear case of Major Depressive Disorder.

Ruggie: C-PTSD (extreme poverty is, in fact, traumatizing)

Jack: bro is carrying the mental wellness of savanaclaw on his well-built shoulders

Azul: Body Dysmorphic Disorder and EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). He has some serious body image issues to the point that i would definitely classify them as disordered, and he exhibits restrictive eating habits that also fall within the bounds of disordered eating. I wouldn't say he's anorexic or bulimic, so EDNOS is probably the best diagnosis.

Jade: okay. So. If Jade were over 18, i would say he might have a cluster b personality disorder (cluster b includes antisocial personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, borderline personality disorder, and histrionic personality disorder. Yknow. The most stigmatized ones.), but you CANNOT diagnose anyone under the age of 18 with a personality disorder... and also i don't think he quite meets the criteria? Maybe on the spectrum. He's a freak but idk if he's diagnosable.

Floyd: ADHD, either combined or inattentive type. people like to throw around the word "bipolar" with floyd but they have a fundamental misunderstanding of bipolar disorder. BD mood swings are not even close to the frequency of floyd's. They can last for weeks or even months and are far more extreme highs and lows. He matches ADHD symptoms far better (constantly seeking stimulation, emotional dysregulation, trouble maintaining focus, etc.).

Kalim: ADHD combined type and C-PTSD. Listen. It is not fucking normal to constantly be in fear for your life and it will leave a person traumatized. Also he matches the classical ADHD symptoms.

Jamil: probably also has C-PTSD. Wouldn't be surprised if he develops some kind of personality disorder either due to trauma.

Vil: okay like... honestly? I think he's okay. He has some inferiority complex going with neige but 1. That's not a diagnosis and 2. It's not particularly disordered aside from the SDC incident.

Rook: he's a freak. But idk if his freak is diagnosable.

Epel: "a bit of a dick sometimes" is not a diagnosis

Idia: Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, MDD, autism, and PTSD. please god get this guy some antidepressants.

Ortho: he is a robot. he has a soul now but he seems like a very neurotypical and not mentally ill robot. Idk maybe autism??

Malleus: this guy is so full of autism it's unreal

Lilia: PTSD. Not even a question.

Silver: Narcolepsy, possibly with cataplexy, although I don't know if his sleeping spells constitute true cataplexy. Excessive daytime sleepiness is, however, a classical symptom of narcolepsy. Also probably on the spectrum. Flat affect king.

Sebek: Autistic ADHD legend. specifically ADHD hyperactive type.

[sinsofsummers]

push & pull

5.7k | din djarin x f!reader

summary: after convincing him to help you hide from the guild, you teach mando how to enjoy himself. this is the way. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. canon-typical violence, but otherwise it's super canon divergent. din is a touch-starved virgin, soft touches, lap-sitting, the helmet stays on, mask kink, din does lots of whimpering, experienced!reader, mutual masturbation, virginity loss (m), praise kink, creampie, brief aftercare at the end. note: look me in the eye and tell me he wouldn't crumble at the thought of skin-to-skin contact. yeah. you can't. anyways this is so long and so self-indulgent. pls forgive me. if mando takes his helmet off by the end of this, mind ur business this is sooooo not canon. note p.2: i'm so sorry this took so long but i was hungover. also this was not meant to be this long. so count this as a big fat thank you for 1.4k as well as my bday present to you guys (for my bday.) impaired editing i apologize.

With the light of both suns in your eyes, forcing you to blink the spots from your vision, you brushed a hand across your forehead. The dry, dusty atmosphere of Tatooine was no joke, and you scowled under the cloth you'd brought with you to cover your mouth and nose.

"Figures," you mumbled to yourself, looking down to see a small pile of sand building on the tops of your boots, the wind blowing it into place. "Why would anyone choose to live here?"

Of course, you weren't looking for a resident; you were looking for a fugitive. The infamous Mandalorion, no less. You'd been given less-than-satisfactory information on the bounty hunter and the reasons for such a high reward for his capture, but it wasn't like you had much choice than to accept the job. Despite what you told yourself, you did actually need the money.

That was before you'd figured out that everyone else in the Guild had been tasked with the same job, turning a high stakes bounty hunting gig into a near-definite suicide mission. Something you didn't want anything to do with.

But alas, here you stood, practically sinking into the hot Tatooine desert. You had to keep shifting your weight to keep at least one foot above the surface. You never knew when you'd have to make a quick getaway. There were still a handful of Guild members left that presented a challenge to collecting your bounty, and of course they were the most dangerous ones.

You kicked a foot forward and watched the sand shift, cursing the trouble that was inevitably on its way. You'd managed to bribe your way to Tatooine, where the Mandalorian was apparently hiding from the Guild. And if you had found the Mandalorian, there was almost no possibility that the others hadn't found him.

Because, if you were being honest with yourself—the one task you excelled in—being a bounty hunter wasn't exactly something you were good at. In fact, you were far from it. With luck and just enough anxiety to keep your feet moving, you'd floundered your way through three years in the Guild, searching for a way out just as quickly as you'd begged for a way in.

So you'd gotten yourself into this mess. Wasn't that how it normally went, though? Quick decision-making skills weren't necessarily a blessing if the decisions you made would determine your chances of living past thirty (spoiler: the chances were significantly slimmer).

You rubbed the dust out of your eyes once more and saw some movement in the distance, the subtle glint of beskar blinking toward you as it reflected the sunlight. Gotcha, you murmured inwardly. The Mandalorian was here, and you were going to get him. Not to turn him in, no; you held no loyalty to the Guild and its cult-like policies.

This job was an escape mission. If he could stay hidden, maybe he had room for one more. You'd cut a deal.

There had to be something you could offer him, if not your skills in combat, or stealth, or—

Or simply human mobility, you groaned inwardly as you felt your ankle roll underneath you, the sand softer than you'd anticipated. It'll be a good day when I leave this damn place.

—

It was a wonder that the two of you had survived. You'd hardly gotten the chance to give your proposal before he was aiming his blaster at you, and then at the Guild members that showed up in droves behind you. It was all you could do to get out of the way, knowing you'd be hopeless in the fight.

Now, with their bodies scattered around your feet, the Mandalorian standing a few feet from you with his chest heaving, and his beloved ship somehow still functional, you had your chance.

"You're not...very good at this," he said, the helmet masking his voice in a way that made it scratch along the insides of your ears as it traveled to your brain. "You do know that?" he asked, but it sounded more like an accidental insult than a real question.

You threw your hands up, letting them fall heavily to your sides. "Yeah, I told you that," you scoffed. "That's why I'm asking to go with you. Wherever you're headed."

His head tilted, the beskar shining in the setting suns, and you wondered what his eyes looked like under that helmet. Would they be sparkling with mirth or lined with mockery?

"I thought you were kidding," he said sheepishly, shifting his weight. "To get me to underestimate you." He looked like the picture of careful relaxation, although his blaster was still held tightly in both hands, poised in case he needed to aim and fire.

You couldn't help the exasperation in your tone as you lifted your head to the sky, squeezing your eyes shut and placing a curled fist over your eyes. "Why would I do that when I don't want to turn you in?"

He didn't answer.

"You know that there's only two ways out of this, right?" He still didn't answer you, just held his blaster taut and his head tilted to the side, so you continued. "You killed every Guild member that's left. Now it's just you and I. If I don't bring you in—which I'm not exactly dying to do—those rich fucks that are more powerful than us are gonna come find us."

"Find you," he corrected. "Why would I want to add another target to my ship?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, they probably will. But that's only part of the first option. Either they come for me, and you leave me here, and I die—also something I'm not particularly thrilled to think about—or the two of us..." you gestured with your hands to imitate the pair of you getting on the Razor Crest and flying away from Tatooine and its dusty expanse of a landscape.

"Could be a third option," he said quietly, "if you think about it." He lifted his blaster until it was lined up with your chest. "I might just kill you and cut my losses."

Fear might have struck you, but you didn't have the energy to entertain the panic unspooling in your chest. "That wouldn't be very humanitarian of you. Besides," you insisted, hands lifting to portray the image of surrender, "I'm light. I'm quiet. I won't stay with you longer than I need to. Once you get me off this planet, I'll find a place for you to drop me off."

He didn't answer for a moment.

"Literally," you pushed once more, "you can open the back door and push me out for all I care. I just want out of the Guild and all their dumb shit."

You'd known Mandalorians to be quiet, pious, and ruthless, but something about the way his helmet betrayed no hint to what he was thinking or how he might respond...it made you more anxious than you'd ever been in your life. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm. "Well...you're not coming with me. Ship's full."

"Your ship?" you said, incredulous. "That thing would be gone without me."

"Damn luck, that was." His voice had gone hard, but his body was still.

This was...partially true. Your mind flashed with a memory of the way you'd accidentally pulled the trigger on one of your blasters, effectively stunning the last Guild member who'd been attempting to strap explosives to the hull of the Crest. It was the only good thing that you'd done all day.

You curled your lip, annoyance rippling off you in waves. Lifting a middle finger in front of the helmet, you scowled. Hope he can see this under all that beskar, you snarled inwardly. "Still counts."

With a soft huff that you could hear come from under his helmet, the Mandalorian lowered his blaster. "One jump into hyperspace. The first little space rock that's big enough to stand on—"

"Perfect," you interrupted firmly. "I'll be out of you...armor...soon enough."

—

You'd missed your stop about three years ago. One jump into hyperspace had turned into four, and then ten, and...now you had your own spot to rest your head at night on the Razor Crest.

On that first day, you hadn't known the Mandalorian—"Din Djarin," he'd introduced himself reluctantly one day—was still traveling with Grogu, the sweet child that had begun his journey across the galaxy, hiding from the Guild. But you'd quickly decided it was nice to have another partner in crime, to interact with whenever Din was in the middle of one of his quiet days.

As the days had turned into months, and subsequently into years, the inability to meet Din face-to-face had become less frustrating, although sometimes you wished you could sneak a glance at his hands, or his wrists, or something that might resemble the human underneath the armor.

Once in awhile, deliciously, you could tilt your head just the right way and look forward at him when he was in the cockpit, his helmet pulling away from the cloth under his armor. Between helmet and armor, a sliver of golden skin would glimmer back at you, just begging to be touched. Of course, you never gave in to your silent desires.

This was not the Mandalorian way; you knew this well. Even when you felt his head turned toward you, even when you were sure his hands were reaching for you when you needed his help climbing somewhere, you kept your distance.

Well, for as long as you could. Until he forced your hand.

It wasn't long before you were unable to keep your hands away from him; going up and down the ladder on the Crest, or climbing over the occasional boulder on the routes you walked along when forced to take a respite on an unknown planet. His gloves were always rough in your grip, but you couldn't ignore the way his hands seemed to squeeze yours, tighter than might have been necessary.

And you'd begun letting your hands linger on the beskar of his armor for moments longer than you should—his helmet, tracing the indented curves of the spot where his cheekbones rested underneath, or on his chestplate, where you swore you could feel him lean into you, as if pressing your hands closer and closer to his skin beneath the armor.

You stood beside him as he sat in the chair in the cockpit, guiding the Razor Crest through the galaxy once more, aiming for some undisclosed location he'd neglected to tell you. He usually did things like that; you'd learned not to be offended by his unbreakable instinct to keep things to himself.

It hadn't occurred to you just how long he'd been wearing that helmet until you looked toward him again and noticed the soft curl of a few brown strands of hair that crept from the edges, kissing the back of his neck. They were short strands, but they were long enough to wink up at you as they curled around each other, begging to be touched.

"Din?" you asked, hoping to distract yourself from the thought.

He didn't look at you, but he tilted his head in your direction, just a centimeter. It was enough.

"Why'd you let me stay with you?" you gripped your hands together, as if they had a mind of their own and couldn't be trusted to remain at your sides. "I was horrible at any aspect of being a bounty hunter."

You were used to the way that it always took him a few seconds to answer, coming up with an evenly-expressed response. This, of course, gave you more time to stare at the tendrils spilling from the edges of his helmet.

"You were a risk," he admitted with a shrug, the helmet (of course) not betrayed anything. His voice was calm, even as he continued softly. "I have a particular...proclivity for picking up foundlings," he said with a tilt of his head toward Grogu, who cooed at the mention of him.

You lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not a foundling, though."

If you could have seen his eyes, you were almost positive that they'd be giving you a look that said, are you sure? Instead, he only spoke in his perpetually smooth voice. "You were lost, though, mesh'la."

You still weren't sure what each word in Mando'a meant—he'd been dropping a few words here and there, as if he knew you couldn't interpret them—but you blushed all the same. Before you knew it, your hands were releasing their grip on one another and reaching up to comb through the curls at the base of his neck.

They were softer than you'd imagined; smooth and thick in your grip. "Alright," you said gently, "maybe I was. I never got to thank you, you know."

Your hands were moving on their accord now, silently twirling the curls around the tips of your fingers. You were used to his silent, immobile exterior, so you didn't think he'd be able to feel the way you pressed your hand to the back of his neck. He'd never said anything before that gave the impression that he was aware of your ministrations, so when he leaned back into your touch then, something strong and addiction bloomed in your gut.

When he spoke, you were surprised to hear how shaky his voice was. After three years of hearing nothing but steady syllables fall from his masked lips, you nearly flinched at the stutter in his voice.

"Thank me?" he said quietly. "For..." you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat flutter rapidly in his neck when he trailed off. "For what?"

You pulled your hand away, pretending not to notice the way he shuddered at the loss of touch, his shoulders slumping as if in a pained relaxation. You hid your smirk. "You're not seriously asking that, right? Without you, I'd probably be dead by now." Or worse, you reflected with a quiet pang in your chest.

Din's response was quick this time, an unusual—but not unwelcome—surprise. "And without your perfectly timed luck, I might be without a ship." His voice was thick, trembling with something that might have sounded like desire had it been someone else speaking.

You didn't even think Din had the capacity to know something as heavy as desire. Well, not that he was incapable of feeling desire, just...you'd never thought about what he might do if he did feel it. Would he shove the temptations down, destined to die in the corners of his mind and body?

Your cheeks warmed at your next thought. Perhaps he took care of it himself in the dead of night on the Razor Crest, or on those mysteriously long patrol walks that he insisted on doing alone.

"Yeah, well..." your answer was pitiful and you knew it. But you were too busy looking at the way his body was slumped in his seat, facing forward despite every limb beginning to turn toward you, as if you were a magnetic beacon.

His fingers twitched in his gloves, angling toward you just as his knees began to do the same thing. "Will you..." he trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Mesh'la," he breathed, and he leaned to the side, as if his shoulder was chasing your touch. "Put it back."

You were going to ask what he meant, but you didn't have to. Even with his helmet on, you could practically see the pleading in his body language. Here he was, a devout Mandalorian, begging you to put your hands back on him.

"Please," he said quietly, almost a question. It sounded so unlike him that you wondered briefly if he'd been killed and replaced with an imposter. But by the way that his hand trembled as he took his focus away from flying the Crest and moved it toward you...this was Din.

"You...okay?" you asked, but you obliged his request in return, replacing your hand at the base of his neck. You watched in an unfurling dizzying sense of satisfaction as he reached up his own gloved hand to cover yours, squeezing it gently. "Din," you started, but he shook his head.

"I've never disobeyed the Way of the Mandalore," he said, his voice muffled under the mask. You strained your eyes, wishing you could see beneath the beskar. "I've never wanted to. Not before..." he brought your hand around to rest on his chestplate, and you could feel the pressure of his chest leaning into your touch. "Not before I knew what it might feel like to want someone like this."

Your eyes widened, but you didn't pull your hand away. "You...what?"

His head tilted down. "For once, I don't know how to manage this." He stood up, and suddenly he was towering over you, the cloth under his armor making your fingers itch to tear it off. "How do I manage this?"

"I..." you couldn't hide your shock. "I don't know. It's...isn't it against your religion? It's not the Way."

Din shook his head. "No, it's not." He spread his hand down your wrist and extended it toward your own chest, the leather of his glove seeping into your skin. "But I've also never told anyone my name. Never heard it spoken since I was a child."

You swallowed roughly. "So?"

He huffed a chuckle. Lifting your hands to his helmet, he let your fingers find the divots of the beskar. You didn't miss the way his chest shuddered with a stuttering breath at your touch. "So," he said, "to hell with the Way. For tonight, at least. I need to know you in every way I wish I could."

Such a harrowing request, given the circumstances. But you couldn't stop your hands from tracing the lines of his masked face. "Din..."

"Please." His voice cracked over the single syllable, and it was all you needed.

To hell with the Way, your thoughts echoed his words, and you nodded softly. "Alright," you acquiesced. With one look down, you saw the tent growing in his pants, sending a spike of desire down your spine, settling in your core. "How'll you have me?" you asked.

He let out a soft noise that sounded like a whimper. "Any way that I can," he choked out, his hand returning to your wrist and enclosing it in his grip. "I'll have you any way you'll have me."

You could hardly speak, so you didn't. With a gentle nudge, you pushed him back into his seat. When he sat back, his legs fell open; there was an inviting space between them.

Standing in the spot, just inches from his face, you stared into the black mass of his helmet, hoping you'd get a glimpse of his face. Of course, you knew he would only go as far as he wanted to. If the mask was destined to remain, then...so be it.

With your eyes on his, you moved his hands to your waist, pressing them to your skin and enjoying the feeling of his leather against your body.

He shook his head. "Take them off," he said, again with that whimpering voice. "Please."

You nodded wordlessly and shed his hands of the barriers, heat pooling in your core at the sight of long, thick fingers, his skin finally exposed to you. Returning his hands to your waist, you tilted your head back at the sensation. You were never going to forget what his skin felt against yours.

The melody of shuddering breaths that fell from his lips was unreal, and you wanted to soak up every second of it. Without more than a second thought, you slid your legs over his, straddling his hips and pressing your chest to his chestplate. His hands remained on your waist, but he let them wander, curling them around to cup your ass.

The feeling of his hands on your body made you unconsciously roll your hips forward, which released a strangled moan from his lips. "Oh, god," he mumbled. "Mesh'la, please take it off."

You paused. Your hands fell to your lap, and your eyes were wider than saucers in the reflection of his helmet. "What?"

He picked up your hands in his own, the rub of skin against skin an intoxicating intimacy. "Please," he begged. "If I'm going to touch you like this, I need to see you, cyar'ika. Nothing in the way."

You were going to argue further, but you couldn't ignore the pulsing need that was clouding your thoughts, the same need that pushed your hips further down into his lap. It was impossible to miss the way his cock twitched against your clit, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

“Are you—”

“Don’t fuckin’ ask me if I’m sure,” he begged, and he squeezed your hips under his hands. “Never been more sure, mesh’la.”

This time it was your turn to let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, more to bolster your own confidence than his own. His resolve was clearly rather strong in this matter, and nothing would change his mind. 

With a hand on either side of the helmet, you gently pulled it up and away from his face, hardly able to believe that he’d agreed to let you rid him of his every barrier. For a moment, as each inch of skin was revealed to you, you caught yourself frantically wondering what he might look like. 

Would he look like anyone else? Would he look familiar to you in that way that only lovers can? Or would he be hiding a deformed brow bone or an abnormally small nose or a crude smile?

Of course, you shouldn’t have even worried. When the helmet lifted off of his head and you let it fall to the floor with a hard thud, you smiled at the face that blinked back at you in wonder. With those brown strands that were just long enough to hang down over his forehead, and the matching brown eyes that twinkled with the moonlight in his pupils, Din Djarin was exquisite.

“I knew it,” you hummed, your eyes tracing every line on his face, every strand of hair that clung charmingly to his forehead. 

His response was a strangled moan, and his eyes fluttered closed of their own accord when you dragged a finger along his jaw, then the hooked line of his nose. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d be one of the pretty ones,” you grinned, and you leaned down to press your lips to his, swallowing his groan of ecstasy.

You drank it down like the sweetest liquor, the sound pulling your own moan from your chest. His lips were chapped and dry from lack of care, but his mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was deliciously shy as he darted it towards yours. His hands stuttered as they pressed further up your chest and felt for your breasts. You weren’t sure how long he’d last; his chest was already heaving. 

“Din,” you pulled back with a grin. “Din,” you repeated when his eyes remained closed. “Thought you wanted to look at me?”

“I do,” he said, his voice choking in his throat. “I do, mesh’la, I just…I think I might come in my damn suit if I look at those lips too long.”

You cooed, letting a hand search for the roots of his hair, finding a home on his scalp. You curled your fingers in the strands and watched his eyes squeeze shut, his jaw go slack, and felt his hips buck up into yours. “You’re so sensitive, baby,” you hummed, your mind running wild with thoughts of what this could mean. 

“Never been touched like this,” he mumbled, voice cracking again. “Feels perfect, mesh’la.”

“I need you to look at me, Din,” you nodded. “It’ll keep feeling good, I promise. I just need you to look at me.”

When his eyes opened, you could have fallen apart right there at the sight of his glassy brown depths. His lip quivered and you almost thought he’d cry, but then he was letting his hand fall from your chest to your waistband, trailing his thumb along the skin there. “Can I?” he asked gently. 

Nodding, you stood up. “Just keep breathing, pretty boy,” you said softly. “I’ll make you feel good. Show you just how good it can be.” You guided his hands to your waist and let him pull your pants to your ankles, revealing the front of your glistening slit to him. 

Din was just starting to understand the drug-like effects of physical touch, so you weren’t surprised when he leaned forward, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the soft skin of your stomach, breathing deeply as if he were a zealot bent to pray at the altar. 

“C’mere,” you whispered, though unable to hide the growing smirk on your face. There seemed to be nothing more addicting than the sight of the Mandalorian on his knees before you. “Sit back down for me, baby,” you said, tilting his chin up to look at you. “Take those pants off, they look awfully restricting.”

He nodded quickly and obeyed, slipping his pants down to his knees as he sat back on his chair. It was downright sinful—the beskar on his chest but his helmet removed and his cock springing free, the tip red and angry and leaking. “Please,” he begged. “I—”

“I know,” you breathed, stepping closer to him. “We’re gonna make each other feel good now, yeah?”

Din nodded once more, his eyes fluttering shut. “Please, please.”

Well, how were you going to deny him then? 

You straddled him once more, your clit throbbing at the sight of his cock underneath you. But rather than shock him with the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth, you hovered over him, just enough that the head of his cock lay just an inch from your entrance. 

“Mesh’la,” he begged, “please don’t tease. I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel good, I swear to everything I’ve ever believed in—”

A finger pressed to his lips, you shook your head. “I know,” you repeated. “Deep breaths for me, Din.” 

He inhaled sharply and shoved his breath out of his chest. For a moment, his eyes cleared. 

“Good,” you encouraged him, relishing in the look of his wide eyes at the praise. “Such a pretty boy, baby.” You moved his hand to your core, guiding his fingers to your clit. “Rub little circles for me, baby. Make me feel good and I’ll make you feel good.”

He obliged quickly, rubbing tentative circles to your clit in a way that had you smiling gently, loving the sacrilege you were participating in. “Is that g—oh!”

Din’s question was interrupted by your hand reaching down to grip his cock, delivering a quick stroke and making his hips stutter. He tried his best to lift his hips from the chair, clearly aiming for your entrance, but one hand on the beskar on his chest had him sitting back. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, “just like that. Just touch me for a while.”

Ever the gentleman, Din kept his eyes on you and his hand on your pussy, pulling sweet sounds from your lips just as you wrecked him beneath you. Your thumb slid against his tip and he almost came; you could tell by the way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut, lip trapped between his teeth. 

You wanted his fingers to wander toward your dripping entrance, but you knew he might not last long enough for any more foreplay. Next time, you thought smugly. 

Now…now you needed him inside you. 

“Gentle, baby,” you reminded him when he gripped your hip too tightly. You didn’t want to tell him you enjoyed the near-bruising strength; that would be for another time. You could already see that you were close to losing him, and you weren’t going to end this experience without riding him until the both of you saw stars. “One more deep breath, yeah?” 

He was a mess of tumbling words in Mando’a that you didn’t understand, and his brow was furiously furrowed, as if it was taking all of his focus not to come on your hand. As a matter of fact, it probably was taking all of his focus. “Please, mesh’la,” he said again. 

You wondered briefly if you’d begin answering that now; treating it as your name. Mesh’la. 

“Deep breath, baby,” you reminded him, and when he obeyed, you sank your hips towards his. The tip of his cock slid in with no resistance; you were wetter than you’d ever been in your life. “Good boy,” you moaned as you kept your hand on his neck, softly cupping the underside of his jaw to look at you. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

The stretch of his cock inside you was delicious, and pleasure licked sharply at your insides, begging for a quick release. You knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together much longer based on the whimpers that still crumbled from his throat, broken and jagged. 

“So fuckin’ pretty?” he repeated, his voice a high squeak. He gripped your hips and threw his head back. “So fuckin’ pretty for you?”

Your breath rushed out of your chest in a strong blow and you had to take a deep breath yourself to calm down. “All for me, Din, that’s it,” you continued, and you lifted your hips up. Dropping them back into his lap, you soaked up the feeling of being filled so completely by his cock. With every shred of patience left in your body, you pushed your lips back to his and tasted his moans on his tongue. 

His hips began lifting into your own, the only clue you’d get to his desperation for more. Without a word, you began moving faster, more rhythmically, as you bounced gently on his cock. With the base of his cock pulsing against your clit at every drop of your hips, you were approaching that edge quicker and quicker. “Din,” you moaned, “baby, I’m gonna—”

“Please,” he said, “I want you to feel good, mesh’la. Use me, please, use me, please…”

You were sure your brain short circuited. With no more patience left in your bones, you picked up the pace and chased your own orgasm, knowing he wasn’t far behind. With every squelch of your pussy on his cock, your moans became less coherent, and you leaned your head forward against his neck. 

Pulling back to press a kiss to his jaw, you felt his loins tense beneath you. Something nearly snapped inside you at the sound and sight and sensation of his pleasure so close to release; at the knowledge that it was you who had done this to him. “Good,” you mumbled against his jaw, getting closer to his ear. “Pretty boy, just for me,” you mumbled. 

Din’s chest tightened and his moans became longer and more high-pitched, true whimpers if you’d ever heard one. “Mesh’la,” he begged, “Mesh’la, I—”

You dipped your head down and, while grinding your hips back and forth on his cock at a feverish pace, you darted your tongue out to his neck. Licking a stripe from the crevice of his neck to the spot just behind the soft part of his ear, you groaned in his ear as you crumbled on him, releasing the tension in your body as you came hard.

Din was ruined beneath you, with his neck bobbing and his eyes shut, his head thrown back. Mouth opened in a wide moan, his voice broken over the sound, you felt his release sink into your fluttering walls. He let out a deep cry of words that you didn’t recognize, but you blushed all the same. With the way that his eyes glossed over when he said it, you were sure it was something that reeked of sin and sweat and sacrilege. 

“So good,” you mumbled again, “you’ve done so good for me, Din.” Your face tucked itself into the crook of his neck, and you inhaled the heady scent that belonged only to him. You sat motionless on his lap, but you could still feel his head pulse inside you at the overstimulation. “Did that feel good?” you asked, your hand reaching up to smooth down his hair comfortingly.

He let out a breathless laugh. “If this is sin, I’ll want more of it,” he replied, his arms snaking around your middle to tug your chest closer to him. “I’ll never know how to thank you,” he finished, sighing deeply. His eyes twinkled at you when you pulled away to look at him. 

You shook your head. “No need,” you assured him. “Just catch your breath, brave Mandalorian. Then we’ll talk.”

He nodded, his eyelids growing heavier with the expense of energy now catching up with him. His cock had grown soft inside you, but he made no move to lift you from him. “I did well?” he asked. This wasn’t surprising; you’d known him to be quietly confident, but the Mandalorian was never one to pass up the opportunity for someone to reassure his talents.

You grinned and leaned forward to press your lips to his hooked nose, fighting the urge to nip at it with your teeth. Next time, you reminded yourself. “You did well,” you nodded. “Feeling okay?”

He splayed his hands on your back and inhaled near your chest, his face buried into the soft skin of your breasts. “Never better,” he reassured you, rubbing his hands along your spine. “So sweet to me, baby,” he murmured, repeating your own affection back to you. 

The two of you remained like that, just wrapped together in a mess of limbs and sweat and come mingling together. When he began to wince with the overstimulation, you lifted off of his cock but remained in his lap. You pulled back and leaned your forehead against his. You watched his lips, plump and sitting perfectly, waiting to be kissed again. 

“What does mesh’la mean?” you asked instead, the word strange and unfamiliar on your tongue.

He looked at you for a long time, bringing a finger up to trace the line of your mouth. “Put your lips on mine again and I’ll teach you,” he offered casually, as if his pupils weren’t still blown wide, his eyelashes still fluttering from the power of his release. 

You smirked. “This is the Way, huh?”

For once in his life, Din Djarin smiled at you. “This is the Way.”

tysm for reading! so glad to be back, i'm sorry if the smut scene seemed rushed and out of pace! again: i was hungover. pls forgive. lemme know what you think!

adding tags here cause i'm going grocery shopping at 8:30pm BYEEEE

this is a good morning fic for @thetriumphantpanda and the aftercare bit at the end was specifically for @cavillscurls i know u crave it girl

the rest of the taggies: @mingiast @iluvurfather @cupofjoel @morning-star-joy @darkroastjoel @tightjeansjavi @chaotic-mystery @dinsdjrn @huffle-punk @tommymilllers @milly-louise @struig @butiknewyoudlinger @alejaa-a @worhols @thegreat-annamaria @easaud @country2212 @sleepdeprived-feelalived @pertinentpostmortem @lailaispunk

[reidmarieprentiss]

UnLucky

Summary: Based on this request! Reader encourages Penelope to go on a date, which ends in tragedy. This event shakes the team, leading to conflict, particularly between reader and Spencer, who blames her for what happened. Alternate ending to Lucky …

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes:

Word count: 15.4k

a/n: i do agree with the comments saying they wouldn't forgive him... so here ya go!

main masterlist

“So,” Derek says with that familiar smirk, “who’s the lucky guy?”

Penelope's eyes sparkle as she smiles, her fingers toying with a brightly colored pen on her desk. “His name is James. Just this sweet guy I met at the coffee shop. You know... normal, stable. No dark criminal past.” She tries to sound casual, but the happiness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Uh-huh...” Morgan leans in, tilting his head as if scrutinizing her every word. “And you’re sure you want to go out with him?”

A slight defensiveness takes over as Penelope puts her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Yes! Why not? Am I not allowed to date now, Derek Morgan?”

Morgan's grin widens, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say that. Just... be careful, alright?”

Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, Penelope can’t help but huff. “Yes, Dad,” she quips, wondering why Derek is being so weird about this.

But then Morgan’s expression shifts, softening into something deeper, more earnest. “No, seriously.” His voice drops, gentle but firm. “Just... be careful, Baby Girl. Don’t give away your heart to some guy who hasn’t earned it.”

Penelope hardens slightly, feeling slightly hurt that Derek feels the need to lecture her. “I know, Derek. But... he seems nice. Really.”

Morgan nods slowly and walks away, still caught in the cloud of his concern and overprotectiveness. She lets out a soft sigh, looking down at the pile of case files on her desk, feeling a little bit deflated despite her earlier excitement. She loves that Derek cares, but sometimes he can be a bit... much. She starts to drum her fingers nervously against her desk, mulling over their conversation.

That's when you come in. You'd been passing by and couldn't help but notice the tense exchange. Taking a quick survey of Penelope's expression—anxiousness and longing—you decide to step in, offering a soft but encouraging smile.

"Hey, Pen," you say gently, leaning against the edge of her desk, careful not to crowd her. "You doing okay? I saw the little showdown with Morgan. He can be a bit... intense sometimes, huh?"

Penelope chuckles softly, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You could say that. I mean, I know he means well, but... I just want to do normal things, like go out with a guy. And James... he seems so sweet, you know?”

“James?” you say, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you lean a bit closer. “Who is this James?”

Penelope's eyes dart to yours, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her surprise quickly melting into a flustered smile. “Oh, he’s... just this guy,” she says, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to sound nonchalant. “Met him at the coffee shop. He's sweet, you know... normal.”

Your grin widens, clearly unconvinced by her attempt to play it cool. “Normal, huh? And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this ‘normal’ guy?”

Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a playful huff. “Oh, come on. It’s just a date... no big deal.” But the glint in her eyes says otherwise, and you know it’s a big deal to her. And that’s exactly why you’re going to keep teasing.

“Well, it’s still a deal!” you exclaim, leaning forward in your seat, eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me all about it!”

Penelope laughs, the warmth of your enthusiasm easing away the hesitation she’s been holding onto. She fidgets with the edge of her sweater, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she starts to talk. “So... I was at my usual coffee shop, you know, the one with the really good chai lattes,” she begins, her voice picking up speed as she gets lost in the memory. “And then, out of nowhere, this ridiculously attractive man just... walks up to me, like he’s in some kind of rom-com or something. And he... he asked me out.”

You lean back, eyes wide, soaking in every detail of her story. “No way,” you whisper, your excitement infectious. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“Well, I said yes, obviously!” she chuckles, though there's an underlying nervousness. “But... I felt so... I don't know. Conflicted. This just doesn’t happen to girls like me.”

“Girls like you?” Your expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, brow furrowing as you try to make sense of her words. “Penelope Garcia, you are one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted, brilliant people I have ever met in my life.” You lean in, your voice gentle but insistent, making sure she understands every word. “ ‘Girls like you’ deserve the world and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, your words hitting her like a warm, unexpected wave. Her smile softens, and she blinks a few times, trying to brush off the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispers, her voice almost breaking with vulnerability.

“Are you kidding?” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you reach out to squeeze her hand. “James is the lucky one here, Penelope. Trust me on that.” 

She squeezes your hand back, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she ducks her head a little. “So, you’re saying I should go on this date?” she asks, the nervousness wavering just slightly in her voice. “Because... Derek didn’t seem so sure.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “Derek is a man, and men are weird,” you say with a knowing smirk. “I bet he’s got some strange alpha-male possessive thing going on. It’s like, in his DNA or something, to protect his pack. Don’t listen to him. You should absolutely go on this date.”

Penelope’s smile widens, and she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Well, when you put it like that... maybe you’re right. I mean, he is just one guy. And he did buy me a coffee...” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim, nodding fervently. “You’ve got a very attractive guy who bought you coffee and wants to spend time with you. And, Penelope, you deserve to have fun. So don’t overthink it, okay? Go on the date, be your amazing self, and if Derek has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

She chuckles at that, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and the smile that spreads across her face is brighter than ever. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.” 

“Good!” you say, beaming. “And when he inevitably falls head over heels for you, I expect a full play-by-play report.”

“Deal,” Penelope says, grinning, the confidence returning to her eyes as she envisions a night filled with possibilities.

When you walked out of Penelope’s office, a spring in your step from the lighthearted conversation, you made your way back to your desk in the bullpen. As you approached your workspace, something immediately caught your eye — a fresh mug of hot coffee sitting on your desk, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. A secret smile spread across your face as you set your things down and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, the scent of your favorite brew filling the air.

You didn’t need to guess who’d placed it there. Glancing up, your eyes found Spencer across the bullpen, and sure enough, he was looking at you with that sweet, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. The quiet gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes about the thoughtful, caring man he was.

You mouthed a silent “thank you,” lifting the mug slightly as a toast of gratitude, and playfully blew him a kiss. Spencer’s cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink that always surfaced whenever you flirted with him, and he shyly ducked his head for a moment before glancing back up to meet your eyes. With a wink and a barely contained grin, he turned back to his work, trying — and failing — to hide just how pleased he was to have made your morning a little brighter. 

The sweetness of the morning, with its light teasing and the comfort of Spencer’s coffee, was short-lived. The moment Hotch called everyone into the conference room, a palpable shift in energy settled over the team. You quickly gathered your things and followed the others into the room, the coffee that had moments ago been a small joy now forgotten as you braced yourself for the case that awaited.

On the screen in the conference room was the face of a young woman — a bright, smiling 19-year-old with curly brown hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks. The smile in her photo seemed hauntingly out of place for what followed. Abby Connors, the name beneath the picture read. Hotch stepped forward, his face grave, and began the briefing.

“Abby Connors was a 19-year-old freshman at the University of Florida,” he explained. “She left home a little over a week ago to move into her dorm, but she never made it back. Her parents reported her missing, and after three days of searching, joggers found her body near a park in the Everglades, near an area the locals refer to as 'Alligator Alley.'”

A murmur rippled through the room as the next image appeared — a crime scene photo, one that showed just half of Abby’s body. You instinctively held your breath as you took in the gruesome details: everything beneath her waist was missing, consumed by the predators that roamed the swampy area. But it was the condition of the remaining part of her body that made the room go eerily silent.

“She was found with an inverted pentagram carved into her chest,” Hotch continued grimly, pointing to the markings on her torso. “Her fingers were all cut off at the second knuckle, and her throat was slit cleanly.”

You exchanged uneasy glances with your teammates, the horrifying nature of the crime setting in as you processed each detail. “So what are we dealing with?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some kind of satanic cult?”

Rossi, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shook his head. “It's not as simple as that. The idea of satanic cults operating as organized serial killer groups has been widely debunked.” He sat up, his expression thoughtful but firm. “The satanic panic of the ‘80s and ‘90s sensationalized a lot of things, but ritualistic killings like this? They don’t happen often in the way people think.”

“So, not a cult,” JJ mused aloud. “But this is still a ritualistic killing, right? The pentagram, the mutilation... it’s not random.”

“Absolutely ritualistic,” Spencer added, nodding in agreement. “The precision of the throat slitting, the removal of the fingers, the inverted pentagram... they all suggest that this was premeditated, and that the unsub wanted to send a specific message with Abby’s murder.”

“This type of ritualistic behavior can escalate,” Derek said, leaning over the table, a serious look in his eyes. “It’s got all the hallmarks of a kill that’s part of a larger motive. If we don’t catch this guy, he’s likely to do it again.”

“Which means we’re looking at a potential serial killer in the making,” Emily concluded, her voice grim. “Someone with a specific set of rituals and a willingness to mutilate and kill.”

Rossi cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him as he spoke with an almost reverent gravity. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” he quoted in a low voice, his Italian rolling off his tongue smoothly. Seeing the questioning looks on some of your faces, he translated: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

A silence fell over the room as the weight of those words hung in the air. You knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this case was going to be dark, disturbing, and an all-consuming race to catch a killer who seemed to find something meaningful — perhaps even sacred — in the brutality of his crimes.

And with that, the team set into motion, knowing that every second mattered if they were going to save another girl from meeting the same fate as Abby Connors.

—

After the team closes the case, the team sits in relative silence on the jet, each member deep in thought, processing the horrors. The soft hum of the plane’s engine provides a strange comfort, and the tension of the day slowly begins to ease. Morgan sits across from Rossi, resting his elbows on his knees, staring off into the distance. Rossi watches him for a moment before speaking up.

“You did good work out there,” Rossi says, his voice steady and calm, the kind of voice that always has a way of grounding everyone. 

Morgan looks up, giving a half-smile, but there’s a heaviness behind his eyes. “Yeah... but you know how it is, man. No matter how many of these cases we close, it never feels like it’s enough.” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as if to brush away the exhaustion. “I just keep thinking about Abby’s family. They’ll never be the same.”

Rossi leans back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, it’s tough. But we gave them answers. And sometimes, that’s all we can do. You know as well as I do, it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about making sure we fight it.”

Morgan nods, his jaw tightening as he absorbs Rossi’s words. “I know,” he says, voice a little softer now. “It’s just... there’s so much darkness out there. And some days, it feels like it’s winning.”

Rossi’s expression shifts into something more reflective, a small, wise smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it feels like that,” he admits, “but the fact that it bothers you — the fact that it bothers all of us — that’s what makes the difference, Morgan. It means we’re still out there, shining a light in the darkness.”

Morgan's shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep fighting, right?”

Rossi raises a glass of bourbon from his side table, offering a silent toast. “To fighting the good fight.”

Morgan grins, and they clink glasses in a quiet, shared moment of understanding. The jet continues its journey through the night, a small point of light against the vast expanse of sky.

—

Meanwhile, Penelope walks arm-in-arm with James, her laughter bright and infectious as it echoes down the sidewalk. They reach the front steps of her apartment building, and she turns to face him. “Well, this was... really nice,” she says, giving him a genuine smile. 

James grins back at her, and for a second, he leans in as if he’s about to kiss her. But at the last second, he pulls back, laughing playfully. “Sorry,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”

Garcia giggles, shaking her head at his little fake-out. “You almost had me there,” she teases, turning to fish for her keys in her bag. “Well, goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says, stepping back and starting to walk away, giving her one last wave. 

As she turns to unlock her door, James suddenly stops, a strange stillness in the way he holds himself. He calls out to her over his shoulder, voice casual but loud enough to make her pause. “Hey, Garcia?”

Penelope looks up, smiling as she begins to open her door. “Yeah?”

James turns fully toward her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with an unsettling calm. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Before Garcia can even process what’s happening, James pulls out a gun, his movements quick and fluid. The world seems to slow down around her — her eyes widen, her mouth opens to scream, but the sound never comes. 

And then, in an instant, the gun fires. The crack of the shot echoes through the empty street, and Penelope’s body jerks back, eyes wide with shock and pain as she collapses to the ground, her keys scattering across the pavement. 

James stands there for a moment, the smoke from the barrel of his gun curling into the night air. He watches as she gasps for breath, a cruel smile curling on his lips before he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Penelope lying there, her life slipping away on the cold, unforgiving ground.

—

Back on the jet, you lean back in your seat, facing Spencer with a thoughtful look. “You know, I keep wondering what Penelope’s date is like,” you muse aloud, spinning your half-empty cup of coffee between your hands. “I hope she’s having fun. She deserves it.”

Spencer’s brows knit in mild surprise, his mouth opening to respond, but before he can even utter a word, Derek’s voice cuts across the cabin. “Wait — hold up.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Garcia actually went on that date?”

“Yeah, she did.” You nod, meeting his incredulous stare with a small smile. “I told her to go for it. She’s gotta put herself out there, right? No reason for her to hold back just because you’re all... alpha about it.”

“Alpha?” Derek echoes, looking around at the others as if searching for an ally. “I’m not... okay, look, I just want to make sure she’s safe. And how do you even know if this guy’s legit? Did you see him? Talk to him?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “No, but she deserves to have fun, Derek. She seemed excited, and it’s not like she doesn’t have a good head on her shoulders. I think it’s great that she’s taking a chance on something new.”

Emily nods along in agreement, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “I think it’s sweet. And Penelope isn’t some naïve kid — she’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

JJ chimes in with a bright smile, “Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she’s going to let someone walk all over her. She’ll know if something’s up. And if he treats her right, then it’s all the better for her. Maybe it’ll turn into something special.”

Rossi, watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, adds, “Sometimes people surprise you. And sometimes that surprise is exactly what someone needs to get out of their comfort zone. Our girl deserves someone to treat her well.”

Derek’s shoulders stay tense, and he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I get that, but... I just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s all. You know Garcia — she’s got a big heart, and I don’t want some guy messing with it.”

You reach over and pat Derek on the shoulder, a soft smile on your lips. “I get it, really. But maybe you should trust her on this. Penelope’s stronger than you think, and she’s allowed to take some risks. It’s not always about protecting her, Derek — sometimes it’s about letting her live.”

Spencer, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up. “She’ll be fine, Derek. And she’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do. But I think what she really needs right now is support... and maybe for us to just be happy for her.”

Derek looks around at everyone, the tension in his expression easing as he sees the genuine support in the eyes of his teammates. He lets out a reluctant chuckle, running a hand over his shaved head. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m just overprotective.”

“Just a bit,” you tease with a playful nudge.

“Fine,” Derek relents, lifting his hands in surrender. “But if this guy hurts her...”

“Then we’ll all be there to kick his ass,” Emily assures with a wink, and the team laughs, the conversation flowing into lighter banter, the tension dissipating as they talk about how much they hope Penelope enjoys her date — all of them unknowingly letting go of their worry while the truth of the night's events remains just out of reach.

You leaned into Spencer, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer until your head rested comfortably against him. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support and affection.

The chatter of your teammates surrounded you, playful jokes about first-date jitters and guesses about how Penelope’s night might be going. It was one of those rare lighthearted moments that made the job feel less heavy. And as you closed your eyes for just a moment, feeling the calm of Spencer’s presence, everything felt okay.

The jet touched down smoothly, and you straightened up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Spencer’s side as everyone prepared to disembark. But as soon as the wheels hit the ground, Hotch’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. He picked it up immediately, his expression going from relaxed to steely in an instant as he answered.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice flat and professional.

The team began to gather their things, their attention still mostly on wrapping up the casual conversation, until Hotch’s face went stark white, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw the shock in his eyes before he steeled himself again.

“What happened?” he demanded, his tone shifting from its usual calm to something far more urgent. He stood up abruptly, stepping away from the team, but you could all still hear him as the rest of the plane went silent, each of you glancing at one another with rising concern. Spencer’s hand instinctively found yours, and you squeezed it, anxiety blooming in your chest.

“Where was she?” Hotch’s voice was clipped, a mixture of alarm and anger. “When?”

You exchanged quick glances with your teammates. It wasn’t normal to see Hotch like this, and that fear in his voice made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Is she...?” Hotch stopped, and there was a pause, a terrible pause that seemed to stretch on forever. You held your breath, waiting, every second feeling like a lifetime.

“Understood. We’re on our way.” Hotch’s voice was low, tight with a struggle to maintain control. He hung up without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his muscles.

He turned back to the team, his expression grim, and you knew, you just knew, that whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s voice was like ice, cutting through the stunned silence of the jet as he delivered the news that seemed impossible to process: “Garcia’s been shot. She’s in the hospital, in surgery.”

The world seemed to tilt, a rush of chaos and confusion drowning out everything else. In an instant, you and the rest of the team scrambled to grab your bags, shock and fear flashing in everyone’s eyes. It was like all at once, the air was sucked out of the room, and before anyone could fully understand what was happening, you were rushing down the steps of the jet. The roar of the engines and the slap of your feet against the tarmac seemed distant, muffled, as adrenaline took over. 

Within seconds, you piled into the SUVs, slamming the doors shut as the engines roared to life, and the cars sped off toward the hospital. The journey felt agonizingly long, despite the breakneck speed. No one spoke, but the tension in the car was palpable — every breath was shallow, every heartbeat loud in your ears. Your hand was clasped tightly in Spencer’s, and he held on as if anchoring you to reality, but all you could think about was Garcia and the thought of losing her. 

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everyone practically flew out of the cars, running toward the entrance. The white lights of the waiting room were harsh and sterile, amplifying the dread that hung over the team. Hotch was the first to speak to the receptionist, his voice firm and demanding answers, but the only thing they knew was that Penelope was in surgery — no word on her condition, no updates, and, most importantly, no word on who had done this to her. 

And so you waited. 

The team paced, hands running through hair, fists clenching and unclenching as they tried to contain the storm of emotions within. The minutes stretched into hours, and the silence felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on each of you. Spencer held you close, one arm wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face. He murmured gentle reassurances, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, but his own eyes were red-rimmed and his voice strained, betraying his fear. 

Across the room, Derek’s frustration finally boiled over, and he lashed out, yelling at a nurse who could provide no new information. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know anything? That’s our friend in there! You have to know something!” His voice was raw, the anger masking his pain, but before he could cause more of a scene, Hotch intervened, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him outside. 

The tension in the room didn't lessen, only growing heavier in Derek’s absence. Emily sat with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if willing time to move faster. Rossi paced back and forth, his jaw tight, not a word leaving his mouth, but the anger and sorrow on his face spoke volumes. JJ stood near you, hugging her arms to her chest, eyes fixed on the swinging doors that led to the surgery wing, willing them to open with some kind of good news.

Hours passed in that awful purgatory, time stretching and distorting until it seemed like you’d been waiting an eternity. And then, finally, a nurse came out and told you that one person could go back to see her. As a unit, the decision was made for Hotch to go — Garcia had named him her emergency contact, and he was the steady hand, the one who would be able to bring back the information without being overwhelmed by the storm of emotions all of you were feeling. 

The waiting resumed, and all you could do was cling to Spencer tighter, the fear and worry seeming to squeeze the breath from your lungs. 

When Hotch emerged from behind the doors some time later, his face was unreadable, a mask of professionalism over whatever emotions he was truly feeling. The rest of you gathered around him quickly, every muscle tensed as you waited for him to say something, anything, about Garcia. 

“Garcia’s going to make it,” he said, his voice low but firm. You let out a shuddering breath of relief, and the room seemed to collectively exhale. “She’s stable, but...” He paused, glancing at each of you, and in his eyes, you saw a darkness that made your stomach drop.

“It was her date who shot her,” he said quietly. “James. But his real name... is Jason Clark Battle.”

The name seemed to hang in the air like a curse, and it took a moment for the shock to register. And when it did, Derek’s expression twisted with a rage so violent it was almost frightening. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. “No, no, no—” His voice rose to a shout, and before anyone could react, he lunged toward you, face twisted with anger and pain. “You told her to go! You told her to go with him!”

His hands reached out to grab you, but before he could touch you, Rossi and Emily were on him, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Derek, stop!” Rossi’s voice was sharp, his grip firm as he held Morgan in place. “This isn’t their fault!”

“Let go of me!” Derek struggled against their hold, his voice hoarse with fury, his eyes wild and filled with a grief that had no outlet. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve...”

Hotch stepped between you and Derek, his face set in a stern, controlled mask. “Enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “This is not how we handle this. We find this man, and we make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

It felt like everything around you was falling apart, the walls closing in as the weight of the world crashed down on you, pressing in from all sides. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to the one person who could always make things feel right — Spencer. You reached out to him, seeking his comfort, his steady reassurance. But instead of the familiar warmth of his embrace, you were met with a coldness that hit you like a blow to the chest.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on you with a look you’d never seen before — something between shock, hurt, and a kind of betrayal that cut deep. The warmth was gone, replaced by an expression that made your stomach drop. 

“Spence?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a whimper. You felt your world spiraling, desperately trying to grasp onto something to steady yourself. 

Spencer’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment, then back to you, and he shook his head, his expression clouded with confusion and anger. “You told her to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite, but it felt like one all the same. He kept backing away from you, his face crumpling into an anguish you’d never seen before, like he was fighting to hold himself together. And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the waiting room, his footsteps echoing.

“Spencer!” JJ called after him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, she rushed to follow him, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you tried to piece together what had just happened, a sob choking in your throat. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were falling, tumbling into a void. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own body, trying to stave off the cold emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones. You wanted to scream, to cry out and make sense of the look in Spencer’s eyes, the pain in his voice. But all that came out was a soft, broken whisper.

“Spencer...”

Rossi was there in an instant, a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to a nearby chair as the reality of the situation crashed over you in relentless waves. Emily crouched down in front of you, her face tight with concern as she spoke softly, her words trying to break through the fog in your mind. But you could hardly hear her. The only thing echoing in your head were Spencer’s words — “You told her to go” — a statement that seemed to slice through your heart, over and over again.

—

You left the hospital soon after Spencer did. The cold night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but the chill did little to clear your head. Everything felt like a blur — Spencer’s words, the look on his face, Derek’s anger — it all played on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with sharper edges, digging deeper into your heart. You didn’t know how to feel, how to process the whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion. But one thing was clear: you had to find the man who hurt Penelope.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise when you arrived at the BAU. The bullpen was already a flurry of activity, the team moving with a frantic energy that matched your own desperate need to do something, anything, that could bring justice for Penelope. But as soon as you stepped inside, the adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the raw pain that hit you when you saw Spencer.

He sat at his desk, fingers typing furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn tight with concentration. You stood there for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for him to look up — to give you some sign, any sign, that you could start to fix whatever had broken between you the night before. But Spencer wouldn’t look at you. It was as if you didn’t exist, like he’d built an invisible wall around himself, and you couldn’t break through. The red puffiness around your eyes was the only outward sign of the sleepless night you’d had, but the exhaustion in your soul ran much deeper.

When you walked past JJ’s desk, she reached out and touched your arm gently, her eyes full of concern, the pity unmistakable. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort, but you shook your head, swallowing hard. The last thing you could bear right now was pity. Not when you had to keep it together for Penelope.

The rest of the team looked at you with the same expressions — sympathetic, worried, but no one knew what to say. And the truth was, neither did you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise in your throat, and forced yourself to look away, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was time to work, and that was something you could still do. Something you could control.

Well, the whole team except for Derek. 

Every time he walked by, you could feel his eyes burning into you, his anger practically crackling like static in the air between you. And he didn’t hold back, either. With each passing hour, he took every chance to let you know exactly what he thought, throwing thinly-veiled digs and outright accusations whenever he could. 

“This is your fault, you know,” he muttered under his breath when you passed each other in the hallway. “You’re the one who pushed her into going out with that psychopath. If she’d just listened to me, she’d be safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed into you like a knife, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You just kept walking, heading back to your desk with that guilt clawing up your throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no time to argue, no room to let Derek’s words take over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shut them out.

And then there were the moments when Derek couldn’t hold it in, when his anger boiled over and his voice rose loud enough for the whole team to hear. “You know that if she dies... if she dies, it’s on you,” he spat, his eyes burning with a fury so sharp it left you feeling gutted. “Her blood’s on your hands. Because you thought it was a good idea to let her go out with some random guy.”

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you whenever it happened, the tension in the room growing thick and heavy as they tried to balance the grief for Penelope and the pain of watching their family fall apart. JJ would try to step in, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “Derek, now’s not the time—” or Hotch would give him a stern look, that unspoken command to drop it. But nothing seemed to get through to him, and each word he threw at you landed like a punch, his grief and fear bleeding out as anger directed at you.

You couldn’t argue with him. You didn’t know how to defend yourself. How could you, when deep down, a part of you agreed with every word he said? 

So you did the only thing you could — you kept your head down and worked, staring at files until your eyes burned, listening to updates and following every lead until you were numb to everything except the hope that finding Jason Clark Battle would somehow make it right. You tried to drown out Derek’s voice, drown out the guilt, drown out the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t encouraged Penelope, things wouldn’t have gone this way. But no matter how hard you tried to bury it, Derek’s words followed you, hanging over you like a dark shadow. 

And the work continued, relentless and desperate, with everyone pushing forward to find the man who’d hurt Penelope. But the team was fractured, split between their grief and their anger, and the chasm between you and Derek seemed to widen with every word he threw your way.

Even as you worked, though, you could feel Spencer nearby — that familiar presence that you could always sense, whether you were looking at him or not. But this time, it felt different, like an ache just below the surface, a heavy, unspoken rift. He still wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak to you, even as you shared the same space, both working to the same goal. And no one pushed him. No one had the time or the energy to force him to talk through his emotions, not when there was a dangerous man on the loose and a life hanging in the balance.

But every time you heard Spencer’s voice — every rapid-fire observation, every note of urgency — it felt like a reminder of how things had changed in the space of a night. You worked side by side, but worlds apart, both desperate to save Garcia, but more than that, desperate to find your way back to each other.

And so, the hours wore on, a relentless, all-consuming search for Jason Clark Battle, with every member of the team driven by the same furious need to bring him to justice. Because in the midst of all the uncertainty and hurt, one thing was clear: no one was going to let him get away with what he’d done to Penelope. Not while any of you still had breath left to fight.

The team found Jason Clark Battle quickly, all things considered. The determination to bring him to justice — to make him pay for what he'd done to Penelope — fueled every moment, every step, every search through records and combing of evidence. But as the moment of his arrest neared, it became a new kind of challenge: keeping Derek Morgan away. 

Hotch had to physically block him from joining the takedown, knowing all too well that if Derek got his hands on the man who shot Penelope, it wouldn’t end in an arrest. “Stand down, Morgan,” Hotch had ordered, his voice like a steel blade, cutting through the thick fog of Derek’s rage. It took Rossi and Emily to finally pull him back, their hands firm on his shoulders as Derek cursed and seethed, every inch of his body vibrating with the need to rip Battle apart. But they couldn't afford to lose two team members to the fallout, and Morgan was forced to stay back, simmering with fury as the rest of the team moved in.

When Jason Clark Battle was finally caught, subdued, and taken into custody, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that the man who hurt Penelope would face justice. But the victory was bitter, the relief tainted by the damage left in the wake of what had happened. The case might have been closed, but for all of you, it didn’t feel like a win — not when someone you loved was still lying in a hospital bed, healing from wounds she never should have gotten.

Once the reports were turned in and the team was officially dismissed, you watched as everyone else gathered to visit Penelope. There was a sort of reverence in how they spoke of her, quiet smiles and gentle jokes exchanged as they planned to bring flowers, chocolate, and anything else that would bring a smile to her face. But you couldn't go. The thought of stepping into that hospital room, of meeting her eyes, of seeing the pain and understanding what your advice had led to... it felt unbearable. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t let her see how broken you felt, knowing how close you’d come to losing her because you thought you were doing something good.

So, while your teammates headed to the hospital, ready to surround Penelope with love and support, you went home. The silence of your apartment was suffocating, and it took everything in you to not collapse under the weight of your own regret. The emptiness of being away from the team, from Penelope, only deepened your guilt. But it was better than showing up and making things worse — better than her having to see your face and be reminded of everything that happened. 

Instead, you did what little you could from afar. You sent gift baskets filled with all of her favorite snacks — crunchy caramel popcorn, brightly wrapped candies, a couple of silly trinkets you hoped would make her laugh. You sent care packages with magazines, crossword puzzles, and soft blankets she could curl up with while she healed. You tried to send all the comfort you couldn’t bring yourself to give in person, every basket and letter a quiet apology you weren’t sure you deserved to offer. You only hoped she knew that, despite the distance, you were thinking of her. That you were sorry. 

And as the days went on, and Penelope stayed in that hospital, you wondered if she could ever forgive you — if one day, when she was better and things returned to some semblance of normalcy, she might understand that all you wanted was for her to find happiness. That, even though your advice had gone so terribly wrong, it had come from a place of love. But the uncertainty of her forgiveness lingered, hanging over you like a cloud, and all you could do was hope that, in time, the rift could be healed.

Until then, you stayed away, waiting for the moment you could finally make amends — if that moment ever came.

—

The next workday, you sat at your desk, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, but your mind felt miles away. The sound of your own heartbeat seemed loud in the quiet of the bullpen, pounding relentlessly in your ears as you willed yourself to focus on something — anything — other than the turmoil of the last few days. You barely slept, and the fatigue sat heavy on your shoulders, making every moment feel sluggish, disconnected from reality. The tension still hung in the air, lingering after Penelope’s shooting, and it felt like every step you took was on eggshells, threatening to crack under the weight of all you hadn’t said. 

You didn't hear Derek's approach at first, lost as you were in your own thoughts. But when you did catch the sight of his broad form looming in your peripheral vision, your whole body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what you knew would be another wave of anger, another round of accusations that would leave you feeling raw and exposed.

Here it comes, you thought. The guilt clenched in your chest as you waited for the onslaught, already picturing the words he’d throw at you, the blame you knew you deserved.

But then, you looked up, and the expression on Derek's face made you pause. It wasn’t what you expected. The hard lines of anger that had been etched there were gone, replaced by something softer, something regretful. He stood before you, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“Hey.” You nodded back, your voice barely more than a whisper, your body still taut like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Derek glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, there was an apology written all over his face. “I, uh... I came to talk to you about... you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “About what I said. What I did. And... I’m sorry.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a punch you didn’t see coming. “You’re... sorry?” you repeated, trying to make sense of it, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I... I was angry, and scared, and I let it all out on you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, what happened to Garcia. You were just being a good friend.” He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath. “And I guess... in a way, I’m mad at myself. Mad that I couldn’t keep her safe, that I didn’t know who this guy was, that I couldn’t stop it... so I put all that on you. And I’m sorry.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of the rage you’d seen before, but all you saw now was sincerity, and pain, and a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to find there. Derek Morgan — the strongest person you knew — was admitting his own fear and guilt to you, and it felt like the world was tilting just a little bit on its axis.

"I appreciate your apology, Derek, but it doesn't erase how you treated me."

Derek's gaze dropped for a moment before flickering back to yours. "I know, Y/N. I said I’m sorry."

"And I heard you," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "But sorry doesn’t fix everything."

Derek's shoulders dropped slightly, the weight of your words settling in. He shifted on his feet, glancing away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When his eyes met yours again, they held that same sincerity, but now there was something else—regret, deeper and more profound.

“I know it doesn’t,” he admitted softly. “And I don’t expect it to. I just... I couldn’t leave things the way they were. You didn’t deserve that, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms, not to shield yourself but to hold steady under the swirl of emotions. “It hurt, Derek. I get that you were scared, but I was too. And when I needed someone to understand that, I felt like you were ready to make me the enemy.”

He nodded slowly, stepping closer, careful but deliberate. “I know. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I should’ve been better. You’ve always been there for us—for me—and I let my anger blind me. That’s on me.”

There was a long silence between you, filled only with the hum of the bullpen and the distant chatter of the team.

“I don’t expect things to go back to normal right away,” Derek continued, his voice low, “but I hope we can get there eventually.”

You sighed, feeling the tension in your chest ease just slightly. “I hope so too,” you said quietly. “But it’s going to take time, Derek.”

He gave you a small, understanding nod. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, the rift between you felt just a little smaller—still present, but with a path forward that hadn’t been there before.

—

The day Penelope returned to work felt almost like a holiday. The bullpen was transformed, bursting with bright colors and streamers that cascaded down from the ceiling. Balloons, in every vibrant hue imaginable, were tied to the chairs, and the break room was packed with all her favorite snacks and drinks — colorful cupcakes, glittery cookies, and more caffeine than the doctor would ever allow. The team had gone all out, putting together a grand welcome fit for the one and only Penelope Garcia. The room was buzzing with laughter and excitement as she entered, everyone cheering loudly as she walked through the doors, wide-eyed and grinning.

It was exactly the kind of entrance Penelope deserved. And as she hugged each person, the joy on her face made the space feel warmer, brighter. But you stood in the back, a small smile on your lips, content to watch from a distance. You clapped along with everyone else, but you kept to yourself, too aware of the gnawing guilt that still sat in your chest. It was wonderful to see Penelope smiling, to see her back on her feet and surrounded by the love of her family. But being there, knowing what you’d encouraged her to do, left you feeling like an outsider, not quite sure where you fit in anymore.

When Penelope finally got to you, it took all your courage to step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, and you clung to her a little tighter than you’d intended. The relief of finally seeing her in person, of knowing she was safe and whole, made your throat tighten with emotion. 

Penelope returned the hug with a strength that surprised you, squeezing you tightly as if she didn’t want to let go. “I’m just happy to see you, hon,” she whispered, her voice warm and forgiving. “It’s been too long.”

You pulled back, offering a small, apologetic smile, but the warmth in her eyes made it clear that there was no anger there, no bitterness — just pure gratitude and love. And for a fleeting moment, you felt the overwhelming urge to spill everything, to apologize for not visiting, to explain the guilt that had been eating away at you. But Penelope gave you a knowing look, a slight shake of her head, as if to say not now. And you understood. This moment was for her — for the joy of being back, for the healing that still needed to happen. The deeper conversation could wait.

But as the celebration continued and the week went on, you still kept your distance. You showed up, of course, participated in the day-to-day, but any time Penelope tried to engage with you beyond work matters, you found ways to cut the conversation short, to avoid anything that could bring up what happened. You didn’t want to push her; you didn’t want to burden her with the weight you were carrying, the idea that anything you say could put her in danger. And you could see she was trying to give you space, to let you come to her on your own terms. But the longer you avoided it, the harder it became to find a way back to the easy friendship you once had.

By the end of the week, it seemed Penelope had had enough. As you were leaving the office one evening, walking toward the elevators, she appeared beside you with a determined look on her face.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, planting herself firmly in your path, hands on her hips.

“Just... heading home,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“Well, change of plans,” Penelope said cheerfully, not giving you a chance to argue. “You’re coming over tonight. We need some serious girl talk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Penny, I—” You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on her face was unwavering, her smile patient but insistent, like she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t going to let you wriggle your way out of it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try it,” she said, holding up a finger in playful warning. “We’re way overdue for some quality time, and if I have to drag you to my place myself, I will. And believe me, I’ve got the strength to do it.” She gave you a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly give way. How could you say no? Penelope was right; you did need this. And no matter how afraid you were of having that conversation, of putting her in more danger, you couldn’t keep running from her. “Okay,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’ll come over.”

“Good!” she exclaimed, beaming as she linked her arm with yours, pulling you into the elevator with a bounce in her step. “I’ll see you at seven. And trust me, it’s gonna be like old times. Pinky swear.”

And just like that, with Penelope by your side, the world felt just a little bit brighter again.

Being with Penelope felt so easy, so natural — just like it had always been. From the moment you stepped into her apartment, it was as though nothing had changed, as if the heavy cloud of the last few weeks wasn’t hanging over you. She’d set up her place just the way you remembered, warm colors, quirky decor, fairy lights draped over bookshelves, and the familiar scent of lavender. And Penelope, as if sensing your hesitation, knew exactly how to guide you back into a comfortable rhythm.

It started with laughter, of course. The kind only she could pull out of you, a sound that seemed to break down the walls you’d built around your heart. She leaned back on her sofa, legs curled under her as she went on about the latest gossip in her stack of magazines, her voice rising with excitement and exaggeration. 

“Okay, so tell me this,” Penelope started, waving around a magazine with glossy pages. “How is it possible that Bruce Willis can just get hotter every year? It’s like the laws of nature don’t apply to this man!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I guess some people are just blessed like that.”

“And don't even get me started on what I saw in the office last week,” she continued, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear to you, I saw a hickey on Hotch’s neck. A hickey. On. Aaron Hotchner’s. Neck.”

You nearly choked on your drink, the image catching you completely off guard. “No way!”

“Yes way!” she nodded, her eyes wide with the thrill of gossip. “I’m telling you, our stoic unit chief has a spicy side. And speaking of spicy sides, have you seen how Emily and JJ have been looking at each other lately? I mean, come on, are they not totally vibing?”

The conversation flowed easily, effortlessly, and before long, you found yourself leaning back, laughing, the warmth of Penelope’s company soothing all those frayed edges that had been gnawing away at you for so long. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. It was fun to catch up, to just be with her, to hear about all the little things you’d missed — the world outside the darkness you’d been living in. And you could see how much Penelope was thriving, back in her element, glowing with that infectious positivity you’d always loved about her. 

But eventually, it happened. The laughter faded, and the unspoken truth sat between you like a presence too big to ignore. Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with that gentle understanding you’d come to know so well. “Okay, hon,” she said softly, resting her hand on yours. “We’ve gotta talk about it. About what’s been eating you up inside.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to make an excuse, but it was like the dam broke before you could stop it. All the guilt, the fear, the shame — it all came flooding out. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the trembling as you finally voiced the things you’d been holding onto for so long.

“Penny, I... I don’t know how to say this,” you started, your voice cracking. “But I’m so sorry. I... I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what was going to happen, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told you to go, if I hadn’t encouraged you to see him, then maybe you wouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Penelope said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just stop right there.” Her eyes were intense, her voice steady in a way that cut through all the panic you were feeling. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And what happened — what he did to me — that is not on you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

“But what if it happens again?” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “What if I give you bad advice? What if I invite you somewhere, or we’re just hanging out, and I somehow put you in the wrong place at the wrong time and you get hurt again? I don’t... I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

Penelope’s eyes softened, and without missing a beat, she pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Shh,” she murmured against your hair. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

You clung to her, the sobs coming freely now as all the fear and self-blame poured out of you. Penelope held you firmly, stroking your back, soothing you like only she could. “I know you’re scared,” she said gently. “But, sweetie, you can’t carry the weight of things you can’t control. What happened to me — that was on Jason. He was the one who did this. Not you. You were just being a friend, trying to help me find some happiness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should’ve known better,” you mumbled against her shoulder, the words muffled but filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go.”

“Hey, listen to me,” she said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, her hands gripping your shoulders. “You didn’t push me. I chose to go on that date. And yes, it turned out horribly. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being my friend, or stop giving me advice, or living your life like you’re walking on eggshells around me. I need you, okay? And I need you to be you, because that’s the person who’s always been there for me, the person I love. I don’t want you holding back because of fear.”

The sincerity in her voice, the love, and the forgiveness shining in her eyes broke down the last of your walls. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to believe her words. “I just... I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered again, your voice small and vulnerable.

“And you won’t,” Penelope said, her voice steady and resolute as she held your gaze. But then, her expression shifted, her eyes searching yours with a gentleness that only she could carry. “But I know that’s not all.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated, biting down on her lip before speaking, her eyes dropping to her hands as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. When she finally looked up again, there was a hint of sheepishness in her expression, like she was tiptoeing into territory she wasn’t sure she should tread. “I know you were worried about me, hon,” she said softly. “And I love you so much for that, for being there for me even when you couldn’t actually be there. But… I can tell I’m not the eye of the hurricane inside your head.”

You felt your breath catch, the truth of her words hitting you with a force that left you momentarily speechless. It was as though she had seen straight through you, through all the guilt, all the fear — to the thing that lay beneath it all. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell her that it was just about her, you knew you couldn’t lie to Penelope.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything you’d been holding onto crashing down on you again. You sniffled, trying to steady your voice as you nodded slowly. “Spencer,” you said, the name leaving your lips like an admission of a wound you hadn’t yet looked at directly. “Spencer hasn’t talked to me since we found out what happened.”

Penelope’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out to take your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, sweetie...”

“It’s like he just shut me out,” you continued, your voice trembling. “The day we found out about you, he walked out of the hospital without even looking back. He hasn’t said a word to me since, and every time I try to talk to him, he just... shuts down. I know he’s hurting. And I know he’s probably just processing everything, but...” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head as the tears welled up again. “It feels like I lost him too. Like I lost both of you. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

Penelope listened intently, her face softening with every word you spoke. She could see how much pain you were carrying, how deeply Spencer’s silence had cut you. “Have you tried talking to him? I mean, really talking to him? Not just about work or everyday stuff, but about how you’re feeling?”

You nodded, though your shoulders slumped as the hopelessness of it all settled back in. “I’ve tried, Pen. I’ve tried so many times. But every time I get close, it’s like he just... builds a wall. He won’t even look at me sometimes. And it hurts, because I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Penelope was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she processed your words. Then she sighed softly, her fingers intertwining with yours. “You know what I think?” she said gently. “I think Spencer is hurting more than he knows how to deal with. And I think he’s taking that hurt and turning it inward — or maybe even outward. But I also know that he cares about you so, so much. He wouldn’t just turn his back on you for good.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over again. “But what if he has? What if he’s blamed me for this just like everyone else did?”

“Honey, listen to me,” Penelope said, her voice firm but full of compassion. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but he’s also a human. And sometimes, humans don’t know what to do with all the pain they carry. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs time, and you might need to let yourself be okay with that. I know it’s hard, but you can’t carry both your own guilt and his.”

You sat there, taking in her words, trying to let them sink in. It was easier said than done, but hearing Penelope — wise, compassionate Penelope — tell you that it was okay to not have all the answers gave you a sliver of relief. 

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability clear in your eyes.

Penelope smiled, a genuine, warm smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “I know he will. And until then, you’ve got me.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand, feeling a small, fragile hope begin to grow in your chest. 

—

The kindness and warmth Penelope had shown you was not extended to Spencer when she found him in the breakroom Monday morning. You were still settling in at your desk when you saw her storm across the bullpen, determination in her eyes and anger practically sparking off of her. You didn’t think much of it at first — Penelope’s strong-willed presence was no stranger to the office. But when you saw her walk straight up to Spencer, her expression dark and unyielding, you knew something was about to happen.

Spencer, who had been stirring his coffee absently, looked up in surprise as Penelope closed the distance between them, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. And then she let him have it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Ignoring Y/N for weeks? Shutting her out like she’s some stranger? After everything you’ve been through together, and everything she’s done for you, you have the nerve to treat her like this?”

Spencer flinched at her words, his face going pale as the berating continued. He opened his mouth to respond, but Penelope wasn’t letting him get a word in. 

“Y/N’s been tearing herself up over what happened, blaming herself for something that wasn’t even her fault! And you know what? Instead of being the partner she needs — the person who supports her no matter what — you’re just adding to the guilt. You don’t get to treat her like that. Not after—”

“I almost lost one of the most important people in my life because of her!” Spencer choked out suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion as he interrupted Penelope’s tirade. His eyes were wide and filled with fear and frustration, and he looked like he was unraveling with every word. “I almost lost you, Penelope, because she told you to go on that date.”

Penelope’s expression shifted then, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sympathy as she let Spencer’s words sink in. There was a silence, a heavy silence that felt like it filled every inch of the breakroom. And neither of them knew that in that very moment, you’d walked up to the door, hearing Spencer’s words, and froze. The world around you seemed to fall away as his voice echoed in your head, the raw pain in his tone seeping into your bones. You stayed there, heart pounding, unable to move.

“Spencer,” Penelope said slowly, her voice gentle but firm, trying to rein in her own anger. “That was not her fault, and you know it. Do the math, genius. Jason was targeting me from the start, whether I was on that date or not. He had me in his sights long before Y/N ever said anything. Stop blaming her for something no one could control.”

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if trying to brush off the weight of her words. “Yeah, well, you say that, but it’s not that simple. If she hadn’t—”

“No, Spencer!” Penelope’s voice cut through his, sharper now, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “You listen to me. That is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Your life partner. Your best friend. Y/N has been there for you through everything. Do you remember when you were so drugged up that you didn’t even know what you were doing, or who you were with, when you lashed out at her in the middle of the night? And did she blame you? Did she shut you out? No. She held you, she comforted you, and she made sure you got the help you needed. She has never given up on you, not once, and you’re giving up on her?”

Spencer was silent. His mouth opened as if to respond, but nothing came out. He looked at Penelope, his eyes burning with anger and anguish and something far more complicated. And for a long moment, the silence stretched between them, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, cracking with the strain of what he was feeling. “I love Y/N more than anything else in this world. But how can I trust her to make good decisions for herself, at all, if her last one almost got you killed?”

And that was all you could take. The words hit like a blow to the chest, and before you knew what was happening, you let out a sob, loud and choked and broken. The sound tore through the silence, and both Spencer and Penelope whipped around, eyes wide in shock as they realized you’d been standing there, hearing everything. 

“Y/N—” Spencer started, panic flooding his voice as he took a step toward you.

But you were already moving, already running. You turned and fled, the tears blurring your vision as you rushed down the hall, away from the breakroom, away from the words that had shattered you all over again.

“Shit!” you heard Spencer yell from behind you, followed by the sharp slap of his hand hitting the cabinet in frustration, the loud bang echoing down the hall. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. All you could do was keep running, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to chase you down with every step.

“Was it worth it, Reid?” Penelope asked, her voice breaking the silence that filled the breakroom after you’d fled. There was no anger left in her tone — only a sadness, heavy and deep, that seemed to echo around them. She looked at Spencer with a sorrowful expression, searching his eyes as if she could somehow pull out an answer that would make sense of what had just happened. “Was it worth it? To get that off your chest?”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the cabinet door he’d slammed shut in frustration. The thud of it still seemed to reverberate in the air, mingling with the ghost of your sobs. His jaw clenched, his eyes staring blankly at the floor where you’d stood only moments before, now empty. 

He didn't respond, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze. 

“Did it help?” Penelope pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. “Did it make you feel better? Because from where I’m standing, you just broke the heart of the person you say you love more than anything else.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Penelope. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. I was just... I was so angry. So scared. And I... I took it out on her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to take it back.”

Penelope’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, aching understanding. “You can’t,” she said softly. “You can’t take back what you said. But you can try to make it right. You can own up to it. You can tell her the truth — that you were hurting, that you let the fear and anger get the best of you. That you don’t actually believe she’s to blame for any of this.”

Spencer finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with regret. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice raw with desperation. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Penelope took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in her touch. “Then you fight for her, Spencer,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “You do everything you can to make her see how much she means to you. You remind her that you love her, that you need her, that this — all of this — was just you not knowing how to handle almost losing two of the people you care about most.”

She paused, her voice softening even more as she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “But first, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because all that anger you’ve been carrying? It’s not about Y/N. It’s about you.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right — he knew it all along. But knowing it and facing it were two different things. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly sit with the pain of it, to feel the regret for what he’d done, and the fear of what he might have just lost.

And in that moment, the truth settled in his chest like a stone: if he had any chance of making things right, he’d have to confront his demons, no matter how much they scared him. Because he loved you. And he was going to do whatever it took to get you back.

—

You found an empty office as soon as your legs carried you far enough away, stumbling inside and shutting the door behind you before you could even think of stopping the sobs that clawed their way up your throat. You leaned against the wall, your hands over your face as you let yourself cry — really cry — until the tears came freely, the weight of Spencer’s words sinking in like a stone in your chest. Every breath hurt, and the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long finally broke. It wasn’t just about what he said, but how deeply it cut. 

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours; you couldn’t be sure. You let it all out, every sob, every tremor that racked through you. And then, as the tears finally slowed and the pain dulled into exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. The team was counting on you. Penelope was counting on you. So you pulled yourself together as best as you could, taking slow, deep breaths and wiping your face with the sleeves of your shirt until your hands stopped shaking.

The mirror in the bathroom was unforgiving as you stood there, splashing cold water on your face. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to erase the smudges of mascara that had stained your cheeks, and did your best to fix your hair, to smooth away any evidence of your breakdown. But your eyes were still puffy, red-rimmed, the remnants of your tears clearly visible. And you knew, even as you straightened your posture, forcing a calmness you didn’t feel, that everyone would see right through it. That they’d probably all heard what happened.

But you had work to do, and you couldn’t afford to fall apart again. So, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and walked back out into the bullpen, your head held high, your shoulders squared. Even if your composure was a fragile thing, even if you felt like you could shatter with the slightest touch, you made your way to your desk, focusing on each step as if it were the only thing holding you together.

The bullpen felt different now, the energy heavier than it had been before. Conversations were hushed, the usual buzz of the office subdued as you passed by. You knew they were watching, that they’d seen or at least heard what had happened in the breakroom. But you didn’t look around; you didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. You just sat down at your desk, opened up the stack of files in front of you, and forced your focus onto the work, letting it be the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his own desk, and as soon as you walked in, he saw you. He saw the way you held yourself together — the straight line of your back, the tightness in your expression, the way you refused to let your gaze wander to his. And he hated it. He hated knowing that he had done that to you, his love, that he’d been the reason for the pain and exhaustion etched into your face. He’d never seen you like this before — so closed off, so... dim. 

He watched you bury yourself in your work, your fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, your pen scribbling across the pages as if each word was a way to silence the hurt. And all Spencer could do was sit there, guilt and shame wracking his mind as he thought about what he’d done — how he’d let his anger and fear control him, how he’d let it spill out onto you, the one person he swore to protect, the one person who deserved none of it. His brilliant, loving, beautiful girlfriend, who had always stood by his side, even when he didn't deserve it.

He made you cry. He made you doubt yourself, blame yourself for something you had no power over. And the light that usually radiated from you — the brightness he loved so much, the joy you carried so effortlessly — was gone, dulled by the weight of the hurt he’d caused.

Every fiber of Spencer’s being screamed at him to get up, to walk over to you and wrap you in the biggest hug he could manage. He wanted to hold you, to whisper a thousand apologies, to promise that everything was going to be okay and that he’d never, ever make you feel this way again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move, because he knew that it would take more than that — more than a hug, more than an “I’m sorry” — to fix the damage he’d caused. It would take time, and understanding, and patience — all things he wasn’t sure he even deserved from you after what he’d said, what he’d done.

—

Later that evening, the weight of the day still clung to Spencer like a thick fog. Unable to concentrate, unable to push past the regret that gnawed at his insides, he found himself reaching for a small comfort — your favorite book. It sat on his shelf, the well-worn cover soft under his fingertips as he pulled it down. You had gifted it to him long ago, lovingly annotated with notes, doodles, and highlighted passages. Each page was filled with bits of you — your humor, your thoughts, your heart. Categories like “reminds me of you,” “our jokes,” “my favorite quotes,” and “scenes I wish I could live with you” peppered the pages, showing just how much care, time, and love you’d put into making it special for him. It had been one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received.

He settled onto the couch, the book resting heavily in his lap. And as he flipped through the pages, he let himself be pulled into the memories, letting his fingers brush over your handwriting, your underlines and notes. He read the small snippets where you’d connected a moment in the book to a joke only the two of you shared, where you’d drawn silly little hearts in the margins or underlined lines that spoke to you. And he could almost hear your voice as he read your thoughts, your teasing comments, your kind words. It felt as though you were right there with him, the warmth of you emanating from every page.

The tears came slowly, silently, at first just a sting in the back of his eyes that he tried to blink away. But as he read deeper, the notes growing more tender, the love you’d put into every word more apparent, he let them fall. He let them fall because he could feel the depth of what he’d pushed away, how much you’d loved him, how much you still loved him. And how horribly, deeply he’d hurt you.

He was reading a note that simply said, “This reminds me of the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching”. He laughed softly through his tears at your handwriting, slightly wobbly from when you’d annotated it while on a train, but the joy of that memory only made the pain sharper, cutting through him like a blade. He wished he could take everything back, go back to when things were easier and he hadn’t let his fears get the better of him.

Spencer found himself reaching for his phone, his fingers hovering over your name before he clicked it, pressing the device to his ear. The dial tone echoed in his chest, each ring making his anxiety climb higher as he waited for you to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice came through, flat and devoid of emotion.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, hesitating as if testing the waters.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Spencer...” he trailed off, the words catching in his throat. The coldness in your tone unsettled him, and he suddenly found himself unsure why your attitude toward him felt so distant.

“I know,” you replied, your voice quiet but sharp enough to cut.

Spencer swallowed, feeling the space between you growing even through the phone, and he realized this call wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped.

“I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry… for earlier, for what you heard,” Spencer said, his voice hesitant and unsure, each word carefully chosen but fragile.

“You’re sorry I heard it?” you asked, the flatness in your tone making him wince.

“I’m—no, yes, I mean—” Spencer huffed softly, frustration lacing his voice as he struggled to find the right words. “I’m sorry I said it at all.”

Silence hung between you for a moment before you spoke again, your voice quieter but no less pointed. “Did you mean it?”

Spencer froze, his breath catching in his throat. He gripped the phone tighter, feeling the weight of the question press down on him, heavier than he expected. “No,” he whispered, the answer finally falling from his lips with a sincerity that surprised even him. “No, I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I let that fear turn into something it shouldn’t have. But I didn’t mean it, Y/N. Not for a second.”

The line stayed quiet, but Spencer could hear your soft breathing on the other end, and he held onto that sound, hoping it meant you were still there, still listening.

Spencer’s words hung in the air, heavy with regret and vulnerability. But as you stood there, gripping the phone tightly in your hand, the weight of everything he’d put you through crashed down like a tidal wave.

You wanted to believe him — wanted to believe that fear had driven him to say those things, that he hadn’t meant to make you feel small and alone when you needed him most. But wanting to believe him didn’t erase the reality of how deeply his words had cut.

“I’m glad you didn’t mean it,” you said quietly, your voice steady but distant. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you said it, Spencer. And it doesn’t change how much it hurt.”

Spencer’s breath hitched on the other end. “I know,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his tone. “I— I know I let you down. I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. But I want to fix this, Y/N. I’ll do anything to fix this.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the phone. The truth sat heavy on your chest, but you couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I don’t know if you can,” you admitted, and for the first time since the call began, your voice trembled, betraying the storm of emotions you’d kept bottled up. “What you put me through... on top of everything else... it feels unforgivable.”

“Y/N...” Spencer’s voice cracked, but you couldn’t let him sway you.

“You were supposed to be there for me,” you continued, blinking back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “And instead, you made me feel like I was the reason for everything that happened. Like I was the reason Penelope got hurt. I needed you, and you made it worse.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear Spencer’s breathing, uneven and shaky, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to explain it away.

“I think I need some time,” you said softly, pressing the palm of your hand to your forehead as the ache in your chest grew heavier. “I just... I can’t do this right now.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was faint, barely more than a whisper. “Okay. I understand.”

And with that, the line went dead, leaving you standing alone with nothing but the weight of his absence and the ache in your heart.

—

The next day at work, Spencer sat at his desk, glancing over at you every chance he got. His eyes lingered, watching carefully for any sign that you might be willing to meet his gaze. But every time he tried to catch your eye, you looked away, your focus glued to the files in front of you or the screen of your computer.

His frown deepened with each failed attempt, the knot in his stomach tightening. He could feel the distance, thick and unrelenting, sitting between the two of you like an unspoken barrier he wasn’t sure how to break through.

By mid-morning, he tried a different approach. Quietly, he slipped away to the breakroom, returning a few minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee — just the way you liked it. It was a small gesture, but it was the only thing he could think to do, a silent offering, an olive branch wrapped in warmth and caffeine.

He set the cup gently on the corner of your desk, lingering for a brief moment in case you wanted to say something.

You glanced up, your eyes catching on the cup before drifting to him. A small, polite smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you gave him a soft nod. "Thanks," you said, your voice quiet but distant, as if the words were more out of obligation than gratitude.

Spencer nodded back, but the lack of warmth in your tone hit harder than he anticipated. He wanted more — a real conversation, something to pull you both back to where you used to be. But instead, he returned to his desk, the silence louder than any rejection could have been.

You didn’t owe him more than that. And Spencer knew he had a long way to go if he ever wanted to earn more than just a nod and a polite smile.

It took weeks for you to acknowledge Spencer outside of work. You were always courteous, always professional — but that was all. The warmth, the teasing, the quiet moments you used to steal together between cases were gone. And Spencer felt every second of that absence.

He missed you — deeply, achingly. Every glance you gave him that didn’t linger, every polite nod that replaced the easy smiles he once knew, it all felt like tiny fractures splintering through his chest.

But he gave you space. As much as it hurt, he didn’t push. He knew he deserved the distance, knew he’d earned every bit of the cold shoulder you gave him.

Then one night, after he’d convinced himself you might never reach out again, his phone lit up with your name. Spencer stared at the screen for a second longer than he should have, hardly daring to believe it was real before he answered, voice hurried and breathless.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Spencer.”

He nearly melted at the sound of your voice, the familiar softness in it, even if it felt restrained. “I— It’s good to hear from you. How are you?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Spencer held his breath.

“I’m... okay,” you said carefully. “I was actually calling because I need to pick up a few things from your apartment. Would you be home tomorrow?”

The excitement that had bloomed in his chest moments earlier shrank instantly, replaced by the cold grip of reality. His throat tightened as he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah... yeah, of course,” he replied, forcing a small, empty chuckle. “I can be here anytime. Just let me know when.”

“Thanks, Spencer. I’ll text you.”

And just like that, the call ended, leaving him staring at the phone in his hand, the silence of his apartment pressing in around him.

But Spencer wasn’t above begging. Not for you.

The next day, when you arrived at his apartment, Spencer stood in the doorway as you gathered the small things you’d left behind — a sweatshirt in his closet, your hairbrush by the sink, the book you’d been halfway through reading on his nightstand.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching you, his heart twisting with every item you picked up, as if each one was a piece of you he was losing all over again.

When you finally met his eyes, ready to leave, he took a shaky breath, and before you could step out the door, the words spilled out.

“Please don’t go,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Y/N... I know I messed up. I know I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. But... I love you. And I can’t— I can’t just let you walk away from me like this. Please... I’ll do anything.”

You hesitated, your grip tightening on the bag in your hand. Your eyes softened for a brief moment, flickering with something he couldn’t quite place — regret, maybe, or sorrow.

But you didn’t say anything right away. And Spencer stood there, heart breaking with the silence, knowing that no matter how much he begged, some things might take more than words to fix.

Your grip on the bag tightened until your knuckles turned white. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, heavy and desperate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes for long.

“Spencer...” you began softly, your voice breaking just enough to betray the conflict raging inside you. “I can’t.”

His breath caught, and you saw the way his face fell, the faint flicker of hope extinguishing right before your eyes.

“I know you’re sorry,” you continued, forcing yourself to stay steady even though the tears threatened to come. “And I know you mean it. But this… this isn’t something an apology can fix.”

Spencer took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides as if he wanted to reach out but was afraid you’d pull away. “I can be better,” he pleaded. “I will be better. Just— just give me the chance to prove it to you.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks before you could stop them. “I gave you that chance, Spencer. And when I needed you the most, you weren’t there.”

The weight of your words hit him hard, and for a moment, he looked as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But love isn’t always enough. I can’t keep giving and giving, hoping you’ll be there, only to be left standing alone.”

Spencer wiped at his face, quickly brushing away tears that he’d failed to hold back. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and the silence between you grew thick and unbearable.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you admitted softly, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. “But I think... I already have.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something, anything, but there were no words that could undo the damage. Nothing that could fix what had already broken.

“I need time,” you said, stepping toward the door, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Maybe one day... but not right now.”

Spencer nodded, though the understanding in his expression didn’t mask the heartbreak written all over his face. “Okay,” he whispered. “If that’s what you need.”

You paused at the threshold, hesitating for just a second before you turned back to him. “Take care of yourself, Spencer.”

“You too,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

And with that, you stepped out of his apartment, leaving Spencer standing alone, the echo of your absence louder than any sound could ever be.

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

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[merakiui]

OHSHC AU where reader breaks a precious arrifact from one of the dorms maybe all but instead of repaying the huggeeee debt with hours of labour she has to pay with her body and can’t refuse :)

every kink in the book is used as she’s pleading with the dorm leaders for mercy, crying about forgiveness but all they can hear is that her mouth is very wide open and needs to be replaced with a cock or gag </3 poor reader doesn’t have time to take birth control! and none of the students at nrc know what condoms are oopsies!! imagine savanaclaw in their heat … oh boy rip her pussy! she’ll never know a peaceful day until graduation but even then one of the dorm leaders might take her with them to spend forever with them

Omg yes,,, ohshc au, but it's freaky and full of sex because those scheming boys now have a girl in their debt and that opens so many possibilities. Their methods in dealing with you would all be different, of course, but in the end you're probably getting dicked down either way. <3

I think Riddle's punishments are probably more old-fashioned. If you can't fix whatever it is you broke, then you will write lines stating that you will be more careful, that you won't break anything again, etc. Or he'll make you write an essay detailing why exactly you're sorry, why you ought to be forgiven, etc. T_T really, these are just punishments his own mother gave to him in order to push him to do better in his studies. Riddle doesn't know any better.

He thinks differently when someone like Ace or Cater offhandedly and jokingly remarks how unlucky you must feel. Good thing their Housewarden isn't some pervert, otherwise he could totally force you to give him blowjobs whenever he wanted all under the guise of "repaying your debt." Riddle is appalled. He would never stoop so low! This is Heartslabyul, not Octavinelle. >:( still, the basic concept is just a little appealing. So maybe he's got a small crush on you, and maybe it would be easier to get you to spend time with him if you had no other choice. He makes you join him for tea parties in the gardens, for games of croquet, etc. His hope is that you'll warm up to him and not feel so rigid around him. orz

Leona probably doesn't care as much about the artifact as someone like Riddle might. It has no sentimental value to him personally, so why should he be worried? Besides, it was pretty old anyway. But that doesn't mean you can get off completely innocent. You're the reason he's got more work on his plate now, what with having to deal with the Headmage squawking at him about it. He allows you to choose between two punishments: either you become Savanaclaw's errand girl and do much the same work Ruggie does around the dorm, or you spend every night literally warming his bed (i.e. let him use you as a pillow if you're going to be good and still and quiet). If you want an easy way out, you'll choose the latter. Besides, his bed is comfortable, big enough for two. And as long as you aren't a pain, he doesn't mind. (You are definitely going to be warming his bed in other ways. The innuendo in his words is not lost on Leona.)

Azul...... of course he's slimy and sleazy about it. Oh, you poor soul. How is he ever going to get over this dear, priceless artifact that you have so carelessly broke? Jade is there to oh-so-helpfully inform you of its market price and what it could currently go for if sold. And Floyd's there to poke fun at the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. But Azul is a resourceful octopus. He makes a grand show of contemplating what he should do with you just to watch you squirm nervously, as if he hasn't already planned it out from the very beginning. He'll capitalize on your being a girl and have you work the floor in the lounge. There's always an increase in tips and sales when you're serving the customers, and why wouldn't there be? A cute, helpless girl in a school full of boys is an appealing sight.

He's irritating, but he isn't callous! Jade and Floyd are there to look out for you in case any of the patrons get it in their heads that they ought to appreciate you through touch instead of simply staring. Your uniforms change with every new event Mostro Lounge holds. Azul knows his target audience well because he also fits into that same group LOL. So maybe the sight of you in frilly uniforms is appealing. Sue him. >_< he wants you so badly, and luckily (with you being indebted to him) he has you all to himself. :) after hours are a very fun time at the lounge.

Kalim doesn't see what the issue is. He's not mad, so please don't cry!!! 🥺 you'll make him cry if you're not happy... Jamil is just about ready to pass out while he calculates just how bad this is. And here Kalim is, not caring in the slightest! T_T but Kalim is more sympathetic towards you, not the vase you broke. Besides, he can just get another one. :D no harm done at all! There really isn't any punishment to be had. If you insist on repaying your debt, Kalim tells you it's all water under the bridge.

Jamil is the only one who insists this is a good idea, and if Jamil thinks it's fine then Kalim agrees. So now you're sort of,,, there in Scarabia. Jamil puts you to work when Kalim isn't around, but when Kalim is there he spoils you rotten. The complete opposite of a punishment. There's definitely dubious shadows to this, though. For all of the delicious foods and alcohol you consume, you wake with hazy memories, only ever recalling you looked into the eyes of...something before you fell. Was it a snake? Maybe... but Kalim is always there in the morning to smother you in affection, so maybe it's not so bad.

You are Vil's newest pet project. He goes in with metaphorical fork and knife and cuts into you with his criticism, all of which is completely valid. You were clumsy when you broke that artifact. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings. You were completely oblivious, so in your own world. Epel would feel bad for you, but finally he gets to relax just a little bit now that Vil's eyes are mostly off of him and centered on you. Vil is going to put you through a reformation of sorts. You will come out of it your best, most elegant self! A wonderful improvement from your earlier carelessness. Only then will he forgive your previous transgression.

You and Vil get on like oil and water. That is, you don't mix at all. You are subjected to curses left and right because Vil is so strict. Suddenly, you can't eat certain foods and if you try to sneak them you find they've all been cursed (courtesy of Vil). If you try to slack on the work he has you do, even when you know he's not around, somehow word gets back to Vil. That creepy hunter always seems to know everything you do even when you're alone. It's troubling. Vil likes to think his heart is an iron fortress, so it's impossible to fathom when he falls for you first (and so hopelessly, at that)!

Idia doesn't put as much value in that artifact as he does in his own anime collection. If you broke something from his collection that was limited edition, he'd be far more upset (and then proceed to pull out the second one he got as back-up for this very specific moment). But this is an easy fix, really. He has the technology to make it good as new and, if that can't be done, he can always build a new one. Upgrades are important and necessary in some cases, especially when things get too outdated. It's a little awkward having a real 3D girl in his room all the time, though. >_< kick his ass in the twst equivalent of Smash and he's looking at you in a completely different light (hearing you trash talk him is so arousing; he's never been more hard).

Let's say the thing you broke in this case was a gargoyle. You're not sure how it happened, but it's headless now and Malleus is just staring silently at you. You can't read the emotions on his face, but with the way Sebek is shouting at you to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness you think you're about to be burnt to a crisp. It's so uneasy and awkward, and all you can do is apologize profusely, insisting you didn't mean to break it. It's Lilia who comes to your rescue: "Now, now, Malleus. You'll scare the poor child if you keep frowning so. Mistakes happen, do they not?" Silver also comes to your aid, adding that it wasn't your intention to break this gargoyle. It was an accident.

So now here you are, the second member of the Gargoyle Studies Club, accompanying Malleus for club activities while he teaches you all about gargoyles so that you can gain a better appreciation for them. It was Lilia's idea in the first place. He is Malleus's unofficial wingman. One way or another, you're going to find yourself alone in the woods with Malleus while Lilia is in the bushes belting out "romantic" love ballads from the old ages. T_T someone put peepaw to bed... at the very least, it lessens the awkward tension between you and Malleus, and it even gets the both of you laughing.

[mybelovedsylus]

Another day another smutty drabble. You know the drill, no minor interactions please. I’m a Sylus girlie who still quite enjoyed the unhinged Caleb - so I got to thinking. Sylus would definitely want to make sure Caleb knew that you were taken - granted a little OOC cause he likes these intimate moments to be private, but I couldn’t get the idea of him calling Caleb while fucking MC to prove a point… so well that’s what this shit is and that’s your warning. Hope you like it - not edited as always. I'm still working on my smut writing too so forgive me

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Sylus knew he was a possessive motherfucker. Of that he had no doubt, but if he did he knew for sure when he had your ankles draped loosely over his shoulder as your phone dialed next to your head on speakerphone.

"You can not be serious right now," you gasped, hands clutching against nothing as Sylus' evol kept them pinned to the bed. Couldn't have you hanging up prematurely now could we? Not when there was a point to be proven.

"Pipsqueak, what's up?"

Sylus sneered as soon as he picked up, like that wasn’t exactly what his intention was. He looked from the phone to you and raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to respond. As you opened your mouth, he slammed all the way home causing a moan to rip out of your throat, which you were quick to try and muffle by biting down hard on your lip. Sylus looked downright gleeful, the red of his eyes practically glowing.

"You okay over there?" Caleb's voice came through gentle but questioning.

"Ye-yeah, just stubbed my toe?" you gasped out but it sounded unsure. Well now that wouldn't do. Sylus leaned down, essentially folding your knees into your chest, which in turn pushed him even further into you which you couldn't help but groan at. His mouth latched on to your peaked nipple, flicking and tweaking it as his hand reached up to lavish the other with similar attention.

"You must have really stubbed it good, do you need me to bring dinner and some medical aid?" Caleb offers sweetly.

"NO!"

There's silence on the line and you glare as Sylus chokes back a laugh as he leans back, resuming a lazy pace and wiping the hair out of your eyes. The sweet gesture is a stark contrast to the debauchery happening here. Sylus is drawing it out, giving slow lazy thrusts that drag every vein and inch over your sensitive spots, dragging you closer and closer to that precipice. You need Caleb to hang the fuck up before that happens.

"I appreciate the - fuck - offer, but really I'll be okay."

You know it comes out like phone sex, airy and deep, but that's because it's like Sylus can read my mind and is trying to get me over the peak as quick as he can - like he wants Caleb to hear just what he does to me. This possessive motherfucker - but also what does that say about you that you find yourself getting wetter at the idea?

"Uh, okay, was that all you called to tell me? That you stubbed your toe, but otherwise you are fine?" Caleb asked. You could tell he didn't believe a word of what you were trying to sell.

"Mhm," you gasp out as Sylus draws tight circles over your clit, picking up the pace of his thrusts. You are starting to wonder if the slap of skin and the rough slide through your wetness is echoing on the phone like it is in your ears.

"Okay," he draws out, suspicion evident in his tone, "I'm just gonna let you go then."

It's too late though. Between the bruising and pistoning pace,and the flicking of your clit, there's not much you can do to hold it back. You try to bite your lip to hold the noises at bay, but Sylus pulls it free with his other hand. He holds your cheeks in a grasp that holds your mouth open, and you cry his name out as your vision goes white and everything in your body pulls taught with your orgasm. He laughs breathlessly, leaning down to suck at the skin of your neck. He turns his head slightly towards the phone, groaning out your name as his hips stutter and he meets you at the peak. He leans more deeply on you, keeping the two of you joined as he reaches over for the phone.

"Aw, looks like your “gege” hung up," he mutters, tossing your phone off the bed as he looks down at you with what you can only say is a boyish smile.

"You are such a possessive asshole, oh my god, how am I ever supposed to look him in the eye again?"

"You can protest all you want, but you were gushing- looks to me like my kitten might have a bit of an exhibitionist in her," Sylus responds with a sly grin, his hand giving a lazy tweak to your overabused clit that makes you jump. You try to pull away and he makes a tsk noise as he follows, ensuring he remains firmly within the snug confines of your walls.

"Where do you think you're going, when did I say I was done with you?"

[14dayswithyou]

Ren's favorite color is black!!!

So you can totally say no to this if it falls too heavily into spoiler territory, but I constantly see with all the angel centric questions that are trying to find a way to break past the wall of Ren/REDACTED changing themselves to angels preferences and get some different response than he "wouldn't care" or they'd just try again but what I really want is just some pathetic yandere Rendacted content of him doing everything he can to keep us with them, if Angel in some way didn't want to be with them and like all his previous personas have failed in some way, shape or form, it doesn't really matter the reasoning.

I know he's like super patient and would be willing to try again and again till he makes a persona Angel likes the most, but I really just want to see this dude in peak yandere form, beyond the dead ends we see within the game. So like if that's either like just a list of stuff he'd do or an actual story fic idrc I just need him being the worst fucking version of themself, begging, crying, hell even threatening just to stop angel from leaving cause his patience has been exhausted PLEAAAAASUHHH

⌞♥⌝ I've said this many times, but Ren genuinely has all the patience in the world for Angel, and there really isn't anything that would make it snap!! ^^ He's not a short-tempered, emotionally-driven*, or verbally abusive kind of yandere either; Ren is extremely manipulative, clever, and deceptive — and often relies on making Angel be the one who sabotages their relationships with others.

If you wanted to see Ren crying and begging, you would have to run his self-esteem into the ground and treat him the exact same way his father did.

But even then... Ren would still show endless restraint for Angel. I've had people try to (unintentionally) convince me otherwise via asks of their own, but I'm quite literally his creator, and I mean it when I say that Ren has the patience of a saint. There's nothing Angel can possibly do to make him lose his temper. Ren is endlessly forgiving and more than desperate to prove his worth, so no matter how many times Angel tries to test him, it won't work. So... Please stop trying to convince me otherwise ;v;

* = When I say "emotionally driven", I mean like... Ren won't physically lash out or do anything crazy just because he's angry or upset with Angel. I hope this makes sense gsgsjh ^^; I know he's driven by love (he is a yandere and love is an emotion), but it's not like he'll want to yell or take his anger out on Angel just because he's in a bad mood.

[r0ugesun]

Hi I was wondering if i could request (pure smut) of Aemond going to the brothel to meet Sylvie and instead finding reader and continuously going back just to see the reader instead and then maybe when Aegon finds out and starts mocking him, reader defends Aemond and Aemond just walks away as if reader meant nothing to him even though he was inlove with reader?

Pls and thank you 🥺

Thank you so much for requesting forgive the delay I kept re writing to make sure it was what you wanted I hope you enjoy it <3

Aemond Targaryen x Brothel! Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen seeks solace at the House of Kisses and encounters you, a captivating courtesan. A night of intense passion reveals his hidden vulnerabilities, leaving both of you grappling with unspoken desires and the lasting impact of your brief, powerful connection.

Aemond strode through the Silk Streets, his boots thudding rhythmically against the cobblestones, a steady thump echoing in the narrow alleys, his destination clear in his mind. The brothel was not a place he frequented often, but tonight was different. He had arranged to meet Sylvie, the madam, for an escape from the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He entered the dimly lit corridors of the House of Kisses, his long cloak trailing behind him. The upscale brothel was a place of sinful indulgences and hidden desires, a sanctuary for those seeking pleasure in the arms of another. He had come to see Sylvie, the madam, for reasons he barely understood himself.

"Prince aemond" Sylvie purred as she approached him, her hips swaying provocatively.

“Come, I have something….special prepared for you."

as he entered the private chambers, he found not himself and the sultry proprietress alone, but you a young woman draped in silk, your eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and confidence.

"Prince Aemond," you purred, reclining on the plush cushions with a grace that spoke of practiced allure. "Sylvie told me you might be in need of something… different. I know it’s not to your usual likings but I assure you, I can be of great service to you."

Aemond paused, his icy gaze sweeping over you. There was something different about you, something that stirred a flicker of interest within him. He had meant to leave, to dismiss you with a curt word, but found himself rooted to the spot.

"You are not what I expected" he said, his voice cold and measured. Sylvie only smirked and looked between you two.

"Disappointed?" you asked, a sensual smile playing on your lips as you rose to your feet, the silks clinging to your curves in a tantalizing display.

"Intrigued" he admitted, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

“I’ll leave leave him in your care then y/n, do tend to him properly”

You moved closer, your steps deliberate and confident. "Then stay a while, My Prince. Let me show you that there's more to life than duty and discipline."

"And what might that be?" he inquired, a skeptical eyebrow arching.

"Pleasure" you replied simply, your voice a seductive whisper. "A man like you needs more than just sex, I can do so much more."

Aemond's gaze lingered on you, the warmth of your proximity sending an unexpected shiver down his spine. "You speak as if you know me."

"I know enough" you said, your fingers lightly brushing against his arm. "Enough to see a prince burdened by expectations, hiding behind a mask of indifference."

"And you think you can see through that mask?" he asked, his tone both challenging and curious.

"I can see the man beneath it" you replied confidently, your eyes meeting his with unwavering intensity. "A man who craves more than what‘s been given to him, what he thinks he’s been denied."

"You're bold" he remarked, though there was no disdain in his voice.

"You appreciate boldness" you countered, your lips curving into a playful smile. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

Aemond couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps you're right."

"Let me show you how right I am," you said, stepping even closer, your breath warm against his skin. "Trust me, My prince. I can show you exactly what you need."

He hesitated, a war of thoughts playing out behind his eyes. But the allure of your confidence and the promise of something more something he had denied himself for so long proved too enticing to resist.

"Very well" he agreed, his voice softening.

You took his hand, guiding him to the plush seating area. "Tell me, Aemond," you began, your fingers deftly unfastening his cloak, "when was the last time you let yourself lose control?"

He watched you, captivated by your every movement. "It has been... a long time."

"Then let tonight be different" you whispered, your lips grazing his ear. "Let go of all your burdens and lets lose ourselves, together."

"And what makes you think I can do that?" he asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

"Because, deep down, you know you want to" you replied, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Why else would you be here? So, tell me, my prince, what do you fear more: losing power or never gaining it?"

He regarded you with a mixture of admiration and wariness. "You play a dangerous game."

"Mm I do love to play" you said biting your lower lip. "And I believe you are a more than willing participant."

"You presume much," he said, though his tone lacked any real reproach.

"Do I?" you challenged, running a finger down his chest. "Or perhaps I'm just giving voice to what you already know to be true."

"indeed?" Aemond, catching your hand and holding it gently. "But there is more to me than you might think."

"And more to me than meets the eye." you replied with a smile. “Let’s unveil those layers together.”

You guided him to the bed, sitting him down, the silken sheets cool against his skin. As you began to unbutton his shirt, he caught your wrist, holding it firmly but gently. “Sylvie brought you for me….but you’re unlike all the others around here…” he murmured, his gaze intense.

"And you are unlike any man I usually service" you replied, leaning closer, your lips a breath away from his. “Let’s find out what occurs when two contrasting worlds collide.”

Aemond's breath hitched as you kissed him, the sensation a mix of softness and fire. He responded in kind, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of tongues and lips, each trying to outdo the other in passion and intensity.

You pulled back slightly, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered softly, "Tell me, my prince, what can I give you? What do you desire?."

"You," he breathed, the word escaping his lips before he could stop it. "All of you."

"Then take me" you urged, your voice low and enticing. "Take what you think you deserve."

He needed no further encouragement, his hands moving to your bare back, peeling away what little cloth covered you to reveal the smooth, warm skin beneath. You moaned softly as his lips found your neck, his hands exploring every inch of you.

Aemond groaned when his lithe fingers found his way to your cunt, feeling your warmth and wetness. His touch was both gentle and demanding, sending shivers through your body. You gasped, arching into his hand, your own fingers digging into his shoulders as he teased and caressed you.

His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "such a wet cunt"

You rolled your hips on his fingers gasping, most men never bothered with your pleasure and if they did they were clumsy and left you unsatisfied, this was different, he was different.

A smile curled on your lips as you gazed darkly into his eye, “your fingers are skilled” you whispered teasingly. “But it’s not your fingers I truly ache for”

You shifted, pushing him back against the bed, stripping him of his clothes, your movements slow and deliberate. Aemonds eye widened and his lips parting slightly at the sight of you, he watched with a mix of lust and fascination as you undid the laces of his small clothes, freeing his throbbing cock.

Your hands caressed his chest soothingly, your nails scraping lightly over his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Look at you...you resemble a marble statue come to life, like a god in human flesh” you said in awe.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable.

“They say Targaryens are closer to gods than men” you whispered.

“And what do you think?” His voice coming out more gentle than he intended.

“I think-” you guided his hands to your hips, you spread your knees further apart until your entrance was right above his cock. “If the gods truly look as divine as you, I’d spend my life begging for a glimpse of their glory”

Aemond groaned when you slowly lowered yourself onto him, moaning as you did, inch by inch, savoring his length and girth until you finally reached the base, you both sighed in pleasure.

You leaned forward until your lips almost grazed his “Tell me My Prince, are you going to take what’s rightfully yours?”

He groaned, gripping your hips tightly “yes, that and so much more”

Your lips curved into a smile, leaning back once again, you sat on the heels of your feet and began bouncing on his cock “A-ah fuck” he rasped out, the pleasure of your tight cunt overwhelming him. “Fuck just like that” he hissed.

You couldn’t help the moans that escaped your lips at the feeling of his throbbing cock inside of you, unlike the rehearsed moans you usually make for gold, this was no act. The thick head of his cock dragged deliciously against that sweet spot inside you.

“so big, feels so good inside of me my prince” you whimpered.

Aemonds moans grew louder, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he tried to match your rhythm, the lewd sound of wet skin slapping against each other echoed around the room.

“You and this little wet cunt” he hissed, his voice dripping with lust. Catching you by surprise In one swift motion, flipped you over on your back, he lifted your thighs up and positioned you into a mating press.

His hips pistoning his cock into your cunt with a fervent urgency, each thrust stretching you to the fullest.

Aemonds breathes where heavy and ragged, his eye locked onto yours as if looking for a sign of feigned satisfaction. “Tell me” he demanded in between labored breaths, “tell me how much you want this”

You arched your back, meeting his thrusts with just as much desperation, with a wicked smile you moaned out “I want to feel your cock inside me all night, my prince, I’d even beg if it wasn’t so beneath me”

He growled, your little act of defiance sending pleasure straight to his cock head “what if I told you I could make you beg?” He teased.

“It’s usually the other way around for me, my prince” biting your lips as his thrusts grew harder. “But i would be more than happy to let you believe I would if you keep this up”

Aemonds eyes darkened with pure desire “you need not say anything your body is all the praise i need”

Your moans grew louder, you could feel your cunt clenching around his cock “I’m so fucking close” he said voice rough, all you could do is moan in response.

With a final, breathless cry, you reached your climax, the intense waves of pleasure crashing over you and pulling Aemond with you. His release followed moments later, his body shuddering as he came inside you, his grip loosening as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation.

You both lay there, your labored breaths and chests heaving in unison. The room was filled with the afterglow of your passion, the once frantic rhythm now replaced by the slow, steady cadence of both your breaths.

Aemond's hand gently stroked your side, his touch tender and reassuring.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile on your lips.

"That was quite the experience," you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of playful satisfaction.

Aemond's eye, still heavy with the remnants of his desire, softened as he looked at you.

his voice was low and filled with admiration. "I don't think I've ever felt like this before."

You traced a finger along his jawline, your touch light and teasing.

"You’re not what I was expecting when the madam told me about you" you replied with a smirk "but I’m not complaining."

He chuckled, his breath still uneven but his expression relaxed, pulling you closer. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“You’d be wise to,” you said, tracing your fingers lightly over his chest. “I’m usually not this generous.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he regarded you with a mix of amusement and admiration. “And here I thought I’d be lucky to impress you.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely impressed me,” you said, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Just remember, next time you might have to work a little harder to keep up.”

He smiled, his hand gently caressing your back. “That’s a challenge I’m looking forward to” he said with a grin.

Each night after that was a blur of passion and desire, each touch and kiss pushing you both to the edge and beyond. Aemond had never felt so alive, so free from the constraints of royal duty and expectation. With you, he could be himself, and that was a gift beyond measure.

As dawn approached, you lay entwined in each other's arms, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat. Aemond traced patterns on your back with his fingertips, his mind awhirl with thoughts and emotions he had long suppressed.

"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

"Do what?" you asked, your head resting on his chest.

"Live this life," he clarified. "A life where you give so much of yourself to others."

You sighed softly, your breath warm against his skin. "It’s not a life I chose for myself willingly. It’s hard But in giving, I also receive. I have bread and a roof over my head and I even have my fill of baubles and trinkets, that’s more than a women like me deserves.

"I think you are deserving of more than you realize" he remarked, a hint of tenderness in his tone.

"And you are kinder than you appear," you replied, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "There is much more to you, Aemond. More than you let on"

"And you think you understand me?" Aemond finished, his voice tinged with curiosity and vulnerability.

"I understand enough," you replied, your fingers tracing the scar over his sapphire eye. "Enough to see the man behind the mask."

From that night onward, Aemond found himself returning to the House of Kisses more often than he cared to admit. Each time, it was you who greeted him, your witty banter and sensual touch breaking through the walls he had built around his heart.

One evening, as you lay tangled in the sheets, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, Aegon burst into the room startling you both, he was reeking of wine. "Little brother," he slurred, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You've become quite the regular here. ‘S unusual for you to indulge in another whore." He laughed crudely

“Did you tire of the hags old cunt, is that it??

Aemond's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, you sat up, your eyes flashing with defiance. "Prince Aegon," you said voice steady,

“If you’ve come to belittle and provoke, you’re not going to find what you’re looking for”

Aegon laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Defending him, are you? How sweet. But tell me, does he care for you as much as you care for him?"

Aemond stood, his expression a mask of indifference.

Aegon chuckled, his eyes filled with malice. "Don’t tell me that my dear brother has fallen for a common whore" he doubled over laughing.

Your temper flared, and you sprang from the bed, standing between the two brothers

“Aemond doesn’t come here to entertain your drunken taunts.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Touchy, aren't we? Tell me, how much coin does he pay you for your loyalty?"

You stepped closer to Aegon

"Enough, Now, leave this is a place of business." You said through gritted teeth.

“You’re right brother I shouldn’t keep coming….ive strayed far from my duties”

Aegon looked between you and Aemond, his amusement gone and replaced with boredom, he sighed and walked out.

the room fell silent. You turned to Aemond, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. His face was now a icy mask of stoicism

“Aemond…” you began.

Aemond’s gaze was unwavering, his voice as cold as ever.

“This is not the place for personal entanglements. My position… they come first.”

The hurt in your chest was sharp and immediate, but you fought to maintain your composure. “I see,” you said, forcing yourself to sound calm. “I understand Prince Aemond.”

the sting of his rejection burning deeply. But you didn’t let it show. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the pain.

You’ve been at the mercy of men with fragile egos in the past. Never again. Not with him.

you saw Aegon’s squires entering the room, their eyes full of youthful curiosity and a hint of mischief.

With a practiced sultry smile, you approached them. “Gentlemen, I see you’ve come to visit, is it your first time? I’m more than willing to accommodate your needs.”

The squires, clearly taken by your beauty, looked at each other with a mix of nervousness and eagerness. You offered them your services with a grace that belied the pain you felt inside, focusing on your work and pushing the hurt to the back of your mind.

“Prince Aemond, if our business is concluded could you make your way out please?”

Aemond watched the interaction helplessly, the tension between you palpable. Then, without a word, Aemond walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you with the bitter taste of unspoken and unresolved longing.

You had defended him, shown him your heart, and yet he had walked away, as if you meant nothing. But in your heart, you knew the truth. You had touched a part of him that he kept hidden from the world, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, he loved you.

[madelynraemunson]

NEED…MORE…EX-HUSBAND!EDDIE…I AM FERAL AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE BLESS US MORE I’M BEGGING

IT’S ANGST O’CLOCK!!!

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

ex husband! eddie x fem!reader

“all that still matters is ‘love ever after’ — after the life we’ve been through” — life after you // daughtry

WC: ~950 words

3AM. The witching hour.

The air smells of twilight musk and marinating dew. It's pitch black all around you, the nearest gas station being an agonizing 1.3 miles away. You're also 10 miles from Hawkins, pulled over in nothing but platform heels, a black mini dress, and expired pepper spray in your purse. To make matters worse, the only friends up who seem to be up at this hour are hungry bears and obnoxious, chirping crickets. And skinwalkers if you're where you think you are.

A horrible ending to a girls night out. Just what you needed.

Alone and afraid, you decide to call the number one person on speed dial, whose gradual distaste towards you renders itself very evident from the moment he answers the phone.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep."

"Eds." you whimper into the phone. "I need you."

There's a long pause in response to your petrified sobs, followed by the clicking noise of a phone keyboard before you hear cursing and the frantic ruffling of sheets.

"I’ll be there."

"Well?"

You watch as Eddie crinkles his forehead in concentration, examining your car while his soot-tainted hands explore every crevice of your hood. Routine maintenance has never been as issue because you've always had a personal mechanic at your feet. But since the divorce, you've gotten pretty bad about it. Otherwise, the you and Eddie wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Obviously.

"Weeelp." Eddie sighs, stretching out every bit of the syllable. He slams the hood shut. "She's just about blown out. You're lucky that thing didn't overheat too much with you in it."

You've prided yourself in not needing a man to change your tires, wiper fluid, OR oil nowadays. But in the midst of your journey towards self love and independence, you somehow forgot that your car could also overheat.

"Oh..”

You try not to watch intently as Eddie cleans his hands off with his hanky, the one he keeps neatly tucked into the back pocket of his flattering dark, denim jeans. Your eyes then trail towards his leather jacket, which housed his broad shoulders and delicious waist so nicely, you would've thought it had been tailored just for him. And you could just about fall right into him when he angles his torso towards you, his sculpted jawline glistening in the moonlight — but nearly not as glistening as those gorgeous chocolate eyes, the ones he used to his advantage during your marriage to get you to forgive him for whatever mistake he seemed to make that week. Before you could fawn any further, Eddie snaps you back to reality.

"When was the last time you put some coolant in this thing?"

"Some what?"

"You keep Prestone at the house?" Eddie pesters. "Antifreeze? Peak?"

Cheeks reddening, you shake your head. "No.”

"You get this thing examined often?"

“Not unless you do it," is what you shamefully admit. “For the most part…”

Eddie's face scrunches out of frustration. He knew this would happen.

"God, I hate when you do shit like this," he snaps. "For all I know your engine light could've been on for weeks."

"But it wasn't." you mutter softly. You're already scared. This is the last thing you need.

"You know your car in particular needs to be serviced every half year?" Eddie mutters. "Oil changes, tire rotations. Your break pads have also seen better days. Which is concerning."

"Ok.”

"And how many times do I have to say you gotta pay attention to this fucking radiator?!" Eddie hisses, slapping at the hood again with his open palm. You shudder at the loud *THUNK* noise that echoes across the woods. "We wouldn't be out here in 3AM if you had just taken proactive measures.”

"Stop YELLING at me!" you whine, a piece of your inner child spewing outwards to combat Eddie's belligerent word vomit.

"I'm not yelling." Eddie firmly insists.

He turns his back to you and starts towards your car again.

"Yes, you are, you always do." you croak miserably, balling your fists up in frustration. “You always do Eddie, and I'm sick of it! You always want to be right, and you always kick me when I'm already down to-"

“Okay, okay, okay." Eddie hushes you. He runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Agh, fuck, okay — I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with guilty, glimmering eyes as you shift your body away from him. Guarded, tense. Closing up all access of you towards him because he lost those rights a long time ago. Muttering to himself now, Eddie scrapes at the pebbles beneath his feet, fiddling with the chain of his wallet before he dares to speak to you again.

"I just worry about you a lot."

You peer back over at him. "Deadass?"

He snorts. "Well yeah."

With your permission Eddie stalks closer to you.

"I don't want to wake up to a phone call talking about my wife's car bursting into flames — with her inside." He rolls his eyes. “All because she hasn't been maintaining her shit.”

"I have been," you fib just a bit, though most of it rings true. just forgot to iron out some little details."

Eddie relaxes his shoulders.

"I know," he surrenders. “I guess there's a part of me that secretly hopes you'll still need me somehow. Some way, or another."

"I'll always need your presence," you reassure him.

Your ex husband softens up. He always thought that during your separation you had found another Superman to save the day. Some other handsome devil to fix your car and maintain all the leaky faucets inside your once shared home. But as you've always insisted, nobody has your back like Eddie. Your very own George Reeves. At your disposal for you and you only.

He suddenly wraps his arms around you, and as you predicted you ease right into him, the comfort and familiarity of Eddie melting away any ounce of hostility you guys have ever harbored against each other. You both have your days, but the love you two have for each other has always remained the same. Just changed form, is all.

"I'm glad you're okay," is all he says.

'I'm glad you're here," you sniff. "Always playing hero, per usual..."

"Well for you, always."

He plants a gentle kiss on top of your forehead as you two sway around in unison. You hum to showcase your endearment.

And he'd do it again.

———

🏷️ tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe 🫶🏼✨ thank you guys for reading :)

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths

[inafever]

On how much Aziraphale has learned since season one:

This is about character development. Inside of a story, everything that happens, happens for a reason. It's meant to tell you something, to teach you or the character of your story, something.

So if the story continues and your character repeats the same mistakes again you know that they are bound to be doomed this time, and even worse the audience is going to certainly lose respect for them, cause they have made the same mistake twice, they haven't learned anything, they're gonna do it again another time, they don't deserve a happy ending. (yes I'm talking about good omens here) So you don't do that to a character that matters to you and you respect even the tiniest bit.

A Lot of us here are thinking that this is what has happened to Aziraphale's character at the end of season two, that he has done it again, repeated the same mistake again and has left Crowley to join heaven and it's been because of reasons like wanting to change Crowley (not true, see this post), still believing in heaven's goodness (not true at all), not being on the same page with Crowley (I'm gonna talk about this one especially in this post) and such likes. But these are the things he should've known better about after 6000 years and all the events that we've learnt about especially throughout season two. (It seems to be rather the whole point doesn't it?)

But we all seem to rather believe that he's made that mistake again nonetheless. so what we're doing here is trying to find reasons to justify the mistake and somehow make the reason behind the wrong actions something relatable to ourselves so we can forgive him when the time comes.

In fact I don't believe that he's made a mistake. for Aziraphale's character to be redeemable, what he has done, must be the only option that he's had for saving them both. I don't care what kind of situation could have resulted in him making this decision, but the only reason, the one and only reason, must be his love for Crowley. Otherwise it'll prove that he hasn't learnt his lessons or doesn't love Crowley enough to make a compromise, and in both cases, he's not worthy of love. He won't earn his happy ending by being tortured and feeling sorry and doing the apology dance for Crowley if he's hurt Crowley out of selfishness and stupidity again

But I'm sure he'll earn his happy ending and I'm sure he's learnt his lessons and it's too late for him to have unlearned them all in a matter of a few seconds. (He is an idiot but he's not stupid) and it's mostly because of this, that I believe the reason why he made that decision, must be very different from what it appears to be on the surface.

Anyway, this post is about what Aziraphale has learned and how he's changed.

I have made a post about their moments of conflict from both season one and two, it's here and you can look it up. This is where you begin to understand how Aziraphale has changed since season one because these are his dialogues after he's had a fight with Crowley in the bandstand, season one:

"even if I did know where the antichrist was I wouldn't tell you we're on opposite sides"

"friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you"

"there is no our side Crowley. Not anymore. It's over"

And then there's season two, when they disagree on what to do with Gabriel, Aziraphale is the one to point out that they both rely on the life they've built together

He's asking him to help him take care of Gabriel together and in response Crowley leaves

In the final scene he asks Crowley to come back to heaven

"work with me" "We can be together as Angels, Doing good" "I need you."

He says anything he can think of literally to convince him to stay with him and it doesn't work

We start from "we're not friends" and arrive at "work with me. we can be together"

Even if we don't know the reason why he's insisting on taking Crowley back to heaven with him, this is an Angel that has picked up the pace. That wants them to be an us. No matter what.

But these are only a few dialogues. I think there's more than that. I think the show in five and a half episodes (out of six) has tried its hardest to make the point quite clear about how Aziraphale feels about Crowley (or how strongly he feels those emotions). all through the way he looks at him and through his gestures and soft touches from time to time

I'm gonna make another post of those moments separately and I'm gonna link it to this when I do.

update: (here's the post. not just average moments of Aziraphale looking cute, it's something about the way he looks at him)

And I'd like to even compare those wishful glances to some of those from season one, but I can't, cause they are nonexistent in there.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Being new to Gardenview

Aka "I had fun writing the long slender mansion posts that I wanted to do something similar with other fandoms

Note that requests are still limited to 3-4 characters max

Notes: reader is gn, toon reader, vague what the readers interests are unless implied otherwise for a character, you're freshly baked, pre game, no pebble or coal, you came around Christmas for the holiday toons anyone else can be any time of year, platonic for everyone since you're brand spanking new, long post, written on mobile, couldn't tag everyone but everyone is here minus pebble and coal

CWs: none

DANDY

He's probably the first one to greet you, honestly. He's like... THE toon. The show is named after him, he's the poster boy after all!

Surely he won't be at least a little annoyed that someone already beat him to the punch.... right...? Right??

He's a very busy toon, not only is he a main but he's also again, THE main. Getting to talk to him for more than a minute while there's visitors is nearly impossible... but he'll be sure to drop by your room for a hello once everything calms down for the day! ...maybe...

ASTRO

It's not that he's overstimated- mostly- it's just that he's tired by the time the day is over with... so it'll take him a while to approach you to welcome you... and he may seem out of it if you approach before he's ready

He's nice! A little accidentally... distant.. but he truly is happy to see a new toon added to gardenviews lineup. Who wouldn't be happy to have a new potential friend?

Ignore how he's seemingly nodding off where he stands... ts not that you're boring. He's simply a little sleepy...! You'll have to get used to that..!

VEE

Oh cool, a new toon. She's not going to be all over you but she's not going to ignore you if you come say hi. Small talk before she's swept away by the visitors.. or you're snatched away

If you seem like the smart type she might just invite you onto her show... she's not usually so quick to let someone on but what the hell! Who wouldn't want a new face to spice things up!

She is quick to set some boundaries up of you're pushing buttons or pose any risk to her techy bits

SHELLY

She doesn't let the fact you didn't notice her at first effect her... at least not outwardly. She's more forgiving in this instance anyways, you did just arrive afterall

Gives you a nice welcome- she's just happy to have someone new to talk to... if you ever want to have a nice camera hang out she's your girl to go to..! Just.. don't forget that she's just a call away..!

There's more time to talk to her during the day due to her being not as popular as the other Mains :( or even some of the non mains...

SPROUT

Oh heeeeeeeey you! He's probably already heard about you! If not from another toon than through one of the handlers!

He's not gonna be all over you but he's at least going to make you feel welcome enough- at least a normal amount of welcoming! He doesn't strike me as the type to be overly buddy buddy with a new toon just because they've just come out of.... wherever the toons are made...

He does seem to perk up a little if you express an interest in the ktichen... common ground can go far!

BOXTEN

It takes him a minute to approach you... he's gotta work himself up to it- he's not the boldest toon out there.. and he seems a little proud of himself that he didn't stumble over his words...! He will be overthinking his first impression later that night though...

The fact you're getting swarmed also puts him off a little... it's just so many people- it's overwhelming. Makes him wonder how he pulled through the initial hype when he was new.. silently sympathizes with you- tried to quietly give you reassurance from across the room but the voice in the back of his mind tries to tell him it looks like he's mocking you

He doesn't really talk.. not really a rambler either, especially with an acquaintance... but he does take note of any questions you have and tries to direct you to who could possibly help you once it becomes clear that he might not be the best fit

BRIGHTNEY

Her light burns a little brighter when she catches a glimpse of you... she didn't think she'd be seeing you so soon!

Wastes no time in walecoming you to gardenview, and hardly any time to bring up the boom club to see if you're interested... if you are, great! If not, that's okay!

If you ever need a hand to keep track of what you need to do and how things work around here she's more than happy to draw up a list for you and give you a hand where she can!

CONNIE

Oh she probably knows about you already... she's sneaky like that...! She's just trying to get a feel for your vibe before revealing herself. Totally. Definitely. Mhm!

She can't help herself- it's always so fun spooking new toons who don't know about her ability yet- she doesn't mean to be.. well, mean..! It's just funny!

She's got like... details on everyone! She's your gal to go for some gossip or to figure out what everyone else's deal with... though she may be biased against/for some toons so it's best to do your probing yourself to form your own opinions...

COSMO

He doesn't carry Boxtens shyness so he is more likely to approach you within a shorter time frame if you end up in the same area! He may trip over his words but that's just because he wants to make a good impression..!

If you ever need a little pick me up you can find him in the kitchen! Alongside Sprout and maybe Boxten-- and if it's the holidays ginger too...! It's a real nice place to hang out that's not too overstimulating-!

Similar to Boxten he will attempt to guide you to anyone who could help you with anything- except he's likely to physically bring you to someone or someone to you than simply... telling

FINN

Bold of you to assume he's not going to open up with a joke. "OH it's so nice to sea you," he'd wave but he wasn't sure if you'd he able to see him over the stream of visitors!

If you can bare through his constant puns he's actually not that bad. He's nice. Passionate about his interests- and of course he's going to be asking about yours!

Moderate popularity with the visitors so you can hang around and talk to him when you're not getting swarmed. He does share a good laugh about it with you- you'll get used to the attention... or find your footing once the hype dies

FLUTTER

Oh she's right by your side the second it looks like you need a breather from the swarm of visitors- you can come decompress with her until you need to get back out there..!

She's kind... a good listener. You're not sure how you can understand her when she's yet to speak a single word but you feel she's already been questioned about that a lot.. you don't want to possibly pester her with it

She lingers around you until closing to help you get through the day and the sea of visitors!

GIGI

She's friendly..! Really she is..! It's just that freshly baked toons can sometimes be fun to mess with... and she's taken a page out of Connie's book... she's not going to be a bully but she won't be able to help herself- telling you that you should totally do (x) which definitely won't make you look at least a little silly

You... might want to keep an eye on your belongings. She's usually not mean enough to nab someone else's things... maybe.. but by God the episode where she had to learn that lesson only slightly shook that habit

If you don't meet her through Connie, you'll be introduced to Connie through Gigi... as well as some other toons!

GLISTEN

Hes.. nice enough! Sure he may be... well himself.. but he's not going to ignore you if you approach him for help... though he is just a hint envious of the crowd you've made for yourself- but he's not going to fault you for it. Makes him miss the days where he was brand new and had all the attention

He's at least a little interested in finding out what your deal is... even if he's waiting to properly introduce himself- and he's definitely going to make a little show of it to make sure you don't forget his name!

Not intense.. but he does mellow out over the next few times you bump into each other once the desire to impress the newbie backs off a bit

GOOB

He's like an excited puppy when you meet each other! A new toon! Yay! A new friend, hopefully?

He's very physical- he doesn't mean to make you uncomfortable... if he is making you uneasy just say the word and he'll back off! He's not the best with subtle cues...

Oh oh oh you've gotta come with him to go meet his sister! Oh oh and you've gotta meet- you're going to meet so many toons through him...

LOOEY

Oh! New guy (/gender neutral)! He... actually doesn't lean into the clown act during an introduction. At least he doesn't rely on it- he definitely slips in a few jokes here and there if there's time but he's more focused on getting names exchanged and overall having a quick chat before he needs to go back to performing with the rest of his circus act

He's more than happy to let you come watch those acts! It'll give you a place to unwind after such a busy day! Or... if something calmer is more your style, he'll direct you to other toons

Generally a sweetheart- his cheerful demeanor comes in handy when meeting someone new- child and toon alike!

RAZZLE & DAZZLE

POPPY

Wastes zero time in introducing herself- even if you don't end up being friends in the future she's going to make sure you at least have fun on your first day

She introduces you to other toons as you come across them- she's real... bubbly. Pun only partly intended! She's going to make sure you meet just about everyone- or as many toons as possible!

And of course, she makes it clear that you're always welcome to come hang out with her and her group of gals- she'll make sure to put in a good word for you!

Similar reactions different energies! Razzle is more upbeat and open to talking. He tends to take the lead... not that he doesnt let dazzle speak of course. Dazzle also greets you! He's just lower energy

You're always welcome to their stage... or their room... if you express an interest in stories or books, Dazzle may tell you about Brightneys book club! Maybe he can help you get in... will be embarrassed if you tell him you already knew about the club

You do end up making a lot of friends through each of them- they both have their own groups of friends so double the introductions!

RODGER

A warm and polite welcome! He may ask a few questions... ice breakers mostly... and also because, well... you know...

You may or may not be spared from an interrogation- really it depends on how guarded you are with new people... and what all is going on at the moment- hes not the most popular toon but you're new... you're definitely going to be swarmed until the hype dies down

You... get the feeling it's going to be hard to keep secrets to yourself for long with him around... maybe... surely he'd respect boundaries and privacy (he does!) (At least he fully does when there's no mystery that may or may not put others in danger)

SHRIMPO

SCRAPS

She's not as... excitable or cheerful as her brother. She's definitely still cheery but she's more reserved about it. If you need a break from the visitors she can try to snag some away with the promise of arts and crafts so you're not all smothered

Arts and crafts is actually a gold way to open up to someone- a great ice breaker activity! So of course she's also going to invite you to come make something alongside her brother and toodles! It's a nice wind down activity after closing and before bedtime

Give her some time and she'll make you a welcome gift!

You hardly get a word in before he yells at you that he hates you already... you unfortunately don't know that that's his whole... thing.. so you don't know not to take it to heart or to not be confused

No like seriously what did you do you hardly introduced yourself- he cut you off after the first word... did you look at him wrong??

You quickly find out that he's just a hater, though... he's very open about his hatred for everything

TEAGAN

It doesn't take long at all for her to invite you to have some tea with her once the day calms down and all the visitors have left... it's all to get to know you better and make you feel more comfortable!

If you're comfortable with it, they will invite more toons... it'll give you a chance to get to know more of them! But if not... Teagans more than happy to just have it be the two of you

So so kind and patient with you as you get the hang of how everything works. If you ever need someone to talk to as you adjust to gardenview she's more than happy to let you vent to them

TOODLES

TISHA

It's not that she meant to ignore you... it's just that sometimes the visitors can be a little... messy... and it drives her nuts! But rest assured she will make it right once gardenview closes for the day and everything is cleaned up- and with Tishas speed and efficiency it won't take long after closing for her to stop by your new room!

Pleased that your room is- at least for now as you've yet to have a proper chance to make it a living space- neat and tidy... if you ever need a hand with things let her know... she'll at least let you know where the cleaning supplies are

You quickly pick up on a lot of tricks to get stains out and keep everything looking spick n span... Tisha is more than a little proud of herself that she's rubbed off on you

She's another easy one to get along with! There aren't many toons that Toodles outright dislikes or doesn't get along with

Talks... a lot... but that's to be expected from a kid.

You learn everything and nothing. The kid who's got dirt on everyone but doesn't have the mind to realize that it's dirt. Drops it randomly in conversation and moves on to something else like it was nothing... it's a little funny..

BOBETTE

Wastes no time at all in trying to become your friend- what's your favorite color? Music? When did you join Gardenview? What's your gimmick? She wants to know!

She's definitely gonna give you an extra gift this year for Christmas! Think of it as a "welcome to Gardenview!" Housewarming style gift! She WILL be watching you like a hawk to figure out what you like... as well as lightly interrogating everyone else for ideas

Genuinely so easy to befriend her. Not very judgy, very cheerful.. come decorate with her

GINGER

Oh... shy... she's shy... she doesn't avoid you but the first few conversations with you is... dry. Awkward. She really doesn't mean to make it that way it's just that she wasn't expecting to meet a new toon after being taken out of... where ever they keep the holiday toons

Not to mention you have a limited time to get her to warm up to you before having to put things on hold until next year... she really does try to befriend you or at least get to know you...!

Come join her with Cosmo and Sprout in the kitchen! You don't even have to bake..! You can help her decorate..! She becomes a ramblerer if you get her talking about an interest!

RUDIE

It's a Christmas miracle! A new toon has arrived! And he's definitely going to treat you like a gift... even if you were added to the toon roster before Christmas..

Not that he'd care all that much, a miracle is a miracle! And he's going to make sure you know his beliefs! Overall a joy to talk to even if he's caught up in the holidays

He is a little sad when he has to leave when the holidays end, but he promises he'll come talk to you the second he can again! He'll tell you all about what he did when he was away! Not much happens, but...!