#let's file this under Books day

[saintobio]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.

rule #1: even if the world crumbles down in front of you, never, ever trust sylus with your heart. because even the fiercest flames can't match the danger of loving a man like him.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. villain!reader, reader works for onychinus, reader is not l&ds!mc, set in the N109 zone, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, baby doll, darling, sweetie), unprotected sex, throatfucking (m!receiving), cunnilingus (f!receiving), cum-eating, slight dom/sub play, spitting, hair-pulling, spanking, biting, choking, overstimulation, bondage, blindfolding, lots of jealousy, possessiveness, yandere themes, stalking, blood, violence, usage of guns, allusions to prostitution, killings, death, *coughs* that one harley+joker scene.

♱ notes. 8.2k words. inspired by this song bcos i can’t stop thinking abt him for days

“Boss is looking for ‘ya.”

It was already nighttime when you emerged from the library, only to encounter the eccentric twins, Luke and Kieran, lounging on the window sill as if they had been waiting for you to come out of your bat cave. They always donned their signature uniforms of leathered attire and beaked masks, an outfit reminiscent of Sylus’s mechanical crow, Mephisto. Behind their silhouettes, the red glow of the blood moon poured through the window, casting an eerie, crimson hue across the dimly lit hallways. Any normal person would have found such an atmosphere disturbing. 

But that was the N109 Zone for you—a dark, lawless, enigmatic place you called home.

“Is he in his room already?” you asked, quietly closing the door behind you. In your arm was a thick book, an archival file you had spent nearly two hours searching for. It contained records of historical events, of life before the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034, before the Deepspace Tunnel was opened. Sylus had tasked you with finding the file for reasons he didn’t care to disclose.

A curious Luke tilted his head and swung his feet in the air as he pointed at the book. “Let me guess,” he began with a teasing tone, “Is that book some sort of Kama Sutra?”

Kieran’s snigger followed. “I bet it is, since it’s her birthday in a few hours.”

“Very funny,” was your quick retort. “It’s a history book, you idiots. Sylus needs it for something.”

The twins then let out a teasing coo. “Aww, so no birthday ‘fun’ for you?” asked Luke, “I thought sleeping with your boss would have its perks, too.”

Although his comment was meant to be a joke, you bristled at his jab at your professionalism. It had been a few years since you started this kind of relationship with Sylus, with him being your boss and the leader of Onychinus, and with you as his personal assistant and, well… escort. 

In and out of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a popular man for both good and bad reasons. His notoriety was mostly for his influence, and sometimes for his crimes. He was known to be unforgiving—a brute man who carried no conscience towards his enemies. One wrong move and you’d find yourself six feet under. Perhaps, that was what you admired so much about him. His aura, his domineering persona, his dangerous charm. He had mastered the art of seduction, the sin of hunger and desire. His power. There was no one like him. 

And so, you were the happiest woman alive when what began as an unrequited admiration eventually blossomed into something more. Spending more time with your boss played a pivotal role in gaining his interest towards you, because day-by-day he started to learn how much of an asset you could be for him. You were his prized possession. You were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Despite Luke and Kieran’s constant warnings of the abyss you were throwing yourself into, you were willing to be a pawn in Sylus’s game of chess. You wanted to be the Queen next to a King. Because that meant you were too valuable to simply set aside.

Yet Sylus was never one to clarify the nature of your relationship. He’d often say there was no need to clear up such a silly thing. All you knew was that when Sylus needed you, he had to have you. In all ways. He’d still act professional and distant depending on the audience. But behind closed doors, he spoiled you like a princess, treated you like a queen, and worshiped you like a saint. He was a sadistic, draconic man towards others, but he always had a gentle spot for you. Only for you. 

And that was a spot you would never, ever share with anyone else.

“Whatever. I gotta go see him,” you excused yourself from the two, just as one of them tossed a black box to you. “Is this my present?”

The twins jumped down from the window sill in perfect sync. “Advance happy birthday to the princess of Onychinus. Make sure to open the gift when boss is around.”

Your lips spread into a smile as you held the box in your free hand. Luke and Kieran giving you a gift was the last thing you would expect from them. “Why, thank you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You should go see him now,” said Kieran, pushing you forward by the shoulders. “Can’t keep boss waiting.”

By the time you reached Sylus’s door, the twins’ distant, mischievous chuckles then echoed down the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head before grasping the door handles, stepping inside of Sylus’s bedroom with slow, measured steps. You didn’t know why you were nervous. As the door shut behind you, the familiar scent of leather, cardamom, and sandalwood immediately enveloped you like a fragrant, hallucinatory mist. However, his king-sized bed lay empty with the sheets still perfectly arranged. There were no signs of him anywhere, until the sound of cascading rainwater drew your gaze toward the bathroom, where his tall figure was visible through the frosted glass. He was engaged in a steamy shower, clearly unaware of the intruder that entered his room just now.

“Boss?” you called out, standing by his bed. “I’ll leave the file on your nightstand.” 

Receiving no response, you placed the book on the bedside table and waited for him patiently. Should you stay or should you leave? It usually depends on Sylus’s mood. There were nights where he wanted to be left alone, and nights where he craved your presence. His lack of response may be a sign to exit his room. But as you prepared yourself to leave thinking that Sylus purposely ignored you, a certain black velvet box resting on his nightstand suddenly caught your eye. Unlike the typical small box that might hold a ring, this one was more rectangular in shape and you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was your curiosity that led you to touch the soft surface, wondering what lay beneath it.

Is it for me…?

“They say curiosity kills a cat.” Sylus’s deep, resonant voice broke your trance as he stepped out of the shower. Wrapped in nothing but a white towel around his waist, his muscular form was on full display as he approached you with assertive footsteps. Every curve of his muscle flexed as he moved. And his carnelian eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his thin, pinkish lips curving upward when he walked closer to you. “Touching my things without permission. Are you asking to be punished, kitten?”

Your heart raced as he closed the distance. Yet, maintaining composure around Sylus was a skill you had honed since the day you began working for him. “Oh, forgive me, master,” you merely teased. “It caught my attention.”

“Curious about the box or who it’s for?” he taunted, raking his fingers through his damp gray hair. Beads of water glistened on his bare skin, and you found your gaze wandering to his perfectly sculpted abs until you felt his finger lifting your chin up. “Eyes on me, honey. Don’t tell me you thought that velvet box was for you?”

So it isn’t? You suppressed a disappointed expression, but your clouded eyes betrayed you. “No, I… just curious.”

“Is that a sad kitten I see?” he asked, tilting his head to catch even the slightest changes in your expression. “You wanna open the box?”

“No, thank you.” Your stubbornness prevailed this time.

Sylus’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and turning you gently. He then went on to open the velvet box and fastened a silver necklace around your neck. “Happy birthday, my darling,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he planted a tender kiss on your shoulder. “That’s a red beryl crystal—one of the rarest gemstones in the world.”

Your eyes sparkled in awe as you touched the red pendant, feeling its exquisite value beneath your fingertips. Oh… to receive such beautiful, rare gem from the boss of Onychinus himself. You were too overwhelmed with appreciation as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Sy!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling at his effort. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He returned your gaze with a smug look. “You better love it. I sacrificed two gold bullets just to get that for you, sweetie.”

“You…” Your eyes widened at the implication behind his words. Someone’s life was lost in exchange for your birthday gift. It was beyond your expectations to know that Sylus went to such macabre lengths just to surprise you, but banality was his worst enemy, and the last thing he would do was be called boring over things like birthday surprises. “...Well, thank you. I’ll treasure it forever, my love.”

“Now,” he said, abruptly breaking the sweet moment as he glanced at the other box on his bed. You realized he was scrutinizing the gift from the twins, which you had unwittingly left behind when you hugged him. His expression darkened slightly, clearly displeased at the foreign object on his bed. “Care to tell me where this is from? Or did some other bastard get you a present before I did?” he questioned, “Tell me his name, his identity. Give me his location.”

Chuckling, you cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s not what you think. Luke and Kieran gave it to me before I came here.”

Still unimpressed, he raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the box. “Who told you to receive gifts from other men?” 

“I…”

“Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?”

“I’m sure it’s just some…” you began, hurriedly untying the ribbon at the sight of Sylus’s growing pique. But as you opened the box, your mouth dropped in shock upon seeing a black lingerie set inside. An awkward laugh forced its way out of your mouth. Those two! “I… Ha-ha! They fool around too much. Don’t mind it. I’m just gonna throw it away.”

Sylus’s frown quickly transformed into a deep chuckle as he lifted the lingerie by the strap, his eyes widening with interest as he examined the lace corset. “Why don’t you try wearing it first, baby doll?” he suggested, an idea clearly forming in his mind. “It’s rude to toss aside a gift.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, you thought, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze. You almost lost your mind when he looked down at you with a roguish smirk, like he was an animal who’s about to devour his first meal in a long time. “You really want me to put it on?”

“Since it’s your special day,” he insisted, settling at the edge of his bed while keeping you positioned between his legs, “Let me help you with that.” His tone was more command than suggestion as he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, peeling it away from your body. “That’s it, be a good kitten. Just follow your master’s orders and you’ll do just fine.”

You felt his cold fingertips brushing against your chest as he slipped your blouse down, his hands reaching behind to unclasp your bra and set your breasts free. Instinctively, you shied away from the intensity of his gaze and covered your chest. But he was quick to grab your wrist, an eyebrow raised at your disobedience. “I’m sorry…” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he mumbled in a deep, orotund voice before continuing to undress you. His hand now fiddled with your pants, unzipping and sliding it down your legs in a painfully slow way. To your surprise, he had also pulled your underwear down along with your pants, leaving your lower body as bare as it could be. “Looks like my kitten’s prepared,” he said with a lowly chuckle, his gaze locked on your freshly waxed lady part. “But I’ll take my time before I devour you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on where his shoulder and neck met. All your clothes were discarded on the floor and you were nothing but naked in front of the very man you so deeply adored. He alone was the most perfect gift for you. “Boss…” your voice came out like a whisper, “About your upcoming transaction with Mr. Davis. H-He agrees to meet at the nightclub this Friday.” 

Sylus displayed a devilish smirk, noticing your effort in opening a subject to distract yourself from the compromising situation he had put you in. Though, instead of shaming you further, he had decided to play the part. “I’m surprised you managed to bargain with him,” he praised, slipping in a black, lace underwear up your legs. It barely covered your folds, and with Sylus’s warm breath tickling your cunny, you knew that your underwear would only be ripped apart sooner or later. “But then again, it must be your… irresistible charm that made him agree to meet up,” with a pause, he made a twirling gesture with his finger. “Turn around for me, sweetie.” 

You did as told, chest rising and falling deeply as your boss began to tie the corset behind you. It was too tight, but he seemed to have liked it that way, because your breasts were almost popping out of the padding. “I-I… Is it supposed to be this tight?” you asked, hesitantly, “I can’t breathe.” 

“It’s perfect.” He let out a deep chuckle before suddenly pushing you down on his bed. The sudden force left your heartbeat somersaulting, the anticipation and nervousness rising deep within you as you looked up at his predatory gaze. “Now, for the best part.” 

Sylus whipped out a handcuff and a blindfold from his drawer, and his first action was to grab your wrists and lock it within the silver handcuff around the headboard. The very next thing he did was cover your eyes with the blindfold, tying it neatly behind your head to deprive you of one of your five senses. 

“Sylus—?” You weren’t sure what was happening now, and hated that you couldn’t see his handsome face because of the blindfold. Your vision offered nothing but darkness, blinding you from whatever Sylus was planning to do with you in his king-sized bed. There were sounds of fabric rustling around you, the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, and the wet, sloppy noises near your face. When you felt the tip hitting your cheek, you realized it was Sylus touching himself, leaving you to imagine how he was stroking his hard length in front of your face, preparing his cock for a wild night ahead. “Are you—”

“Shh.” Your voice was cut off after he held a strong grip around your jaw, forcing your mouth open before the taste of his cocktip started entering your mouth. Not even halfway in, you already gagged from his cock. He was too huge for your mouth—too thick, too veiny, too lengthy. But nonetheless, despite the threads of saliva that waterfalled on the sides of your mouth, Sylus still shoved his entire length in. He didn’t care if you had started choking from his monstrous cock. He was too focused on burying his member in and out of your mouth, hitting your uvula, and allowing for tears to escape your eyes. “That mouth of yours is heaven for me, honey,” he said, your chin on his hand as he released a deep, guttural groan. “Move your tongue around it.” 

“Mmh—ngh!” Even if you were getting asphyxiated, fucking your throat was one of Sylus’s favorite foreplays. And so, like the obedient kitty you were, you started bobbing your head along to the rhythm of his thrusts. You also moved your tongue in circles around his shaft, and Sylus’s moans got louder, turning you on knowing that you were doing great at pleasuring the love of your life. You couldn’t even taste him enough, your mouth was too sore and numb at that point. 

Not even long after, he started angling his cock to your cheeks as if he was desperate to feel every inch of your mouth. When he pulled away, you released his member with a pop, and the string of saliva ended up coating your chin. While you couldn’t move your hand to wipe it off, you did try to move your wrists around the handcuff wondering if you could set yourself free. 

“Trying to break free?” Sylus’s voice was so near your right ear, the weight of his body becoming heavier on top of you. “We’re not done yet, darling.” 

A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss quickly calmed you down. You allowed Sylus to explore your mouth with his tongue, letting him lap you up like a meal he couldn’t stop eating. And with every bite on your lower lip, you were whimpering like a helpless cat. “S-Sylus,” you begged, “S-Sy… I…”

“Hmm?” His mouth was now on your neck, suckling and nibbling on the skin until they would leave purple marks all over. 

“Mmh… I want you.” 

“Not so soon, birthday girl.” Sylus’s teasing led to him pulling away from you. Now, you were unsure of his next move. But your chest only continued to move in an unsteady rhythm, the lack of sight heightening your auditory sense as a compromise. 

The next thing you knew, his manly hands started kneading at your breasts. He cupped them with such a force that made you stop breathing for a moment, focusing the sensation of his touch as he slightly pulled the padding of your corset to peek at one of your tits. In an instant, his mouth was attached to your nub. His tongue licked around your nipple, flicking it playfully before sucking and biting on your mounds. 

“Haaah!” 

“The twins did well in delivering this gift to you,” he made a subtle remark, releasing your tit from his mouth. His movements suggested he was moving down south, down to where your crotch was, and he only confirmed your thoughts when he began spreading your legs open and pulling your underwear to the side. “Look at how wet that pretty pussy is.” 

You moaned at the feeling of Sylus’s finger toying with your entrance. “T-The twins,” you barely said, squirming from the coil you were feeling inside your body. “What do you mean they delivered… the gift? Was it your idea after all?” 

Too bad you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure as hell that there was a triumphant smile spreading on it. “How else would they know your bra size, kitten?” he replied in a low voice before surprising you with the feeling of his tongue moving inside your slit, “Only I have access to your body.” 

Fuck, fuck. You were going insane. “Mhm—ngh! Aah!”

Sylus’s mouth was rough against your cunt, the tip of his nose tickling your clit as he continued spreading your labia apart to give himself better access inside your pussy. He completely devoured your sopping cunt, grunting and growling like a rabid dog as he alternated between french-kissing your pussy to burying his digits inside. His three fingers orchestrated deep and fast movements against your walls, with each stroke inside earning a wild whimper out of you. 

“Haaah—! Sylus, I… I can’t hold it… anymore.” 

He found your sweet spot soon enough, and chuckled darkly as you tried to squirm like a pathetic little kitty under him. With your legs dangling on his shoulders, he resumed abusing your sore cunt by fingering your vulva until you were at your seventh heaven. And as soon as you felt the need to pee, you knew he’d only pick up the speed of his fingers even more. 

“I-I… Please, Sy… I’m…”

For the first time in your life, you felt yourself squirting all over his bed. Your hips raised itself involuntarily, legs shaking violently on top of his shoulders. The overstimulation was sending you to ecstasy, as if you were in a place where every pleasure in the world was given to you. In your extremely vulnerable state, Sylus chose to grab the opportunity and forced all eight inches of his member inside. He hushed your moans and whimpers by kissing you on the mouth, his lips encasing yours in a loving and passionate exchange. 

This was the most erotic you had been with him. 

“You’re so fucking sexy to me, Y/N.” His cock moved fast and hard inside you. You could even feel his member twitching as your tight walls gripped him like vacuum, milking him of his every seed until he was fully drained. His lips then trailed around your jawline, then onto the valleys in between your breasts while he went on to thrust even rougher than the last. He plowed his cock inside you like there was no tomorrow, rutting and rutting and rutting like he was desperate to reach his own climax. “This pussy… Can’t get enough of your sweet pussy, kitten.” 

“Ah—aah! Mmh—ngh.” 

“More?”

“Y-Yes… please!” 

“Harder?”

“Mhmm!” 

“Faster?” 

“S-Sylus!” 

“Such a nasty girl you are,” he quipped, your hips now gripped by his strong hands as he sat in bed, readying for the final position. “Next time, I’m gonna eat your ass.” 

Gosh. You were already feeling limp under him. And when you felt his hands ripping your panties off, you knew it was game over for you. He was a hungry beast whose desire for lust would make him the worst sinner in hell. You couldn’t contain the loudness of your moans and whimpers as Sylus started thrusting into you at an otherworldly speed, your cunt feeling the soreness of his every slam. The skin-slapping sound dominated his entire room as your slick coated his entire length. At that point, he began biting on your lower leg, his cock doing its last twitch deep inside your cavern. He was balls deep inside, his bollocks slapping against your pussy with every jostle. 

“C-Cum…” you pleaded, “Inside me… Please.” 

But to your disappointment, Sylus pulled out. You didn’t know where he was releasing his seed until you felt the warm liquid shooting at your stomach. Three times you had asked him to cum inside, and he still continued to refuse. You thought your birthday would have been an exception, but Sylus was too smart for that. He knew knocking you up would ruin his plans. Getting you pregnant would make him lose his chances with her. 

“You can sleep on my bed tonight, darling.” Sylus easily released your hand from the cuffs with his evol, and did his own effort in untying the blindfold around your eyes. Little did he know that your tired eyes actually carried pain inside. “Close your eyes now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You watched as he walked toward his nightstand, oblivious to the pessimistic thoughts swirling in your mind. If only she never existed in his life. If only she was you instead. 

“Sylus.” You fixed your gaze on his face. “I love you.”

His eyes widened in panic for a moment before he masked it with indifference. It was as if your declaration had caught him off guard, as if your years of devotion hadn’t already made it clear how deeply in love you were. 

“You shouldn’t.”

~~

The N109 Zone’s most famous nightclub was alive with pulsating lights and thumping bass on a Friday night, a den of excess and shadows where shady deals and dangerous liaisons were also par for the course. Sylus was dressed in his signature dark attire, leaning against a plush booth in the corner, and the red glow from the neon lights flickering off his white hair and crimson eyes. Meanwhile, you, draped in a red revealing dress that accentuated your every curve, moved with foxy grace as you joined Sylus at the booth.

Let’s just say Sylus didn’t exactly approve of your dress tonight. He thought it was revealing too much skin that was supposedly for his eyes only. But ever since the night of your birthday where he didn’t return your declaration of love, you started rebelling against your boss. Everything he disliked, you did out of spite. You did them out of the bitterness boiling inside you. 

Across from you two, in a secluded corner of the club, sat Sylus’s business partner, a man whose sharp suit and cold gaze reflected a ruthless demeanor. The table between you was littered with documents and blueprints, a clear indication of the shady business transaction underway—an armory deal of massive proportions, weapons, and munitions that could alter the balance of power in the underworld. Sylus’s arsenal of weapons could already destroy Linkon City if he wanted to, but there was no fun in that. It would be too much an easy disposal.

Nonetheless, Sylus’s eyes sparkled with approval as he glanced at the stacks of weaponry displayed before him. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he remarked with a sly grin. “The quality of your armory is unparalleled, Davis. You really outdid yourself this time.”

The business partner, clearly pleased, gave a curt nod. “I aim to please. But payment in cash alone doesn’t always satisfy, does it?”

Sylus leaned back, his gaze shifting to you. You were just settling next to him, your quiet presence commanding everyone’s attention as the low neckline of your red dress drew admiring glances from his business partner. Sylus was quick to notice the man’s eyes lingering on your breasts, a hint of predatory interest flickering in the old man’s gaze.

“Seems like my partner here is quite taken with you,” Sylus mused, hinting at a dangerous edge in his voice. “How about it? Would you like something other than money for your trouble?”

Mr. Davis’s eyes never left you as he smirked, a flicker of greed clouding his gaze. It was obvious to everyone in that booth that the old geezer was undressing you with his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

Sylus’s smile grew sharper. “Y/N here is quite the treasure. If you’re interested, she could be yours for the night. Do what you want with her. What do you say?”

Unbelievable! Stunned by his words, you quickly turned to Sylus in protest. You couldn’t believe he was offering you like some whore to that old man, but you had to hide your disgust after meeting Sylus’s glowing carmine eyes shooting you a knowing look. Just play along and stay quiet, you could almost hear his voice in your head. 

Mr. Davis’s perverted gaze remained fixed on you, clearly tempted as he battled with the demons in his head. And at your boss’s signal, you were ordered to walk towards Mr. Davis apprehensively, sitting on his lap while keeping the disgust you were feeling from showing. His hand soon grazed your thigh, the other squeezing your breast. “That’s a tempting offer,” commented the old man, a triumphant grin on display, “But I’d be a fool to refuse a bad bitch like her.”

“Good,” Sylus said, his tone suddenly serious as he slid a sleek, black gun from the table. He idly toyed with the handgun, clearly unfazed. “Let’s finalize our deal then. I’ll just take this gun you’ve provided. Don’t mind if I do a little ‘quality testing’,” he added with a chilling smile, loading the magazine with .45 ACP bullets.

The business partner’s eyes widened in realization as Sylus’s hand tightened around the weapon. Panic soon flashed across Mr. Davis’s face before he desperately pushed you off his lap and scrambled to his feet, hoping to de-escalate the rift he had caused with the Onychinus leader. “Wait, Mr. Sylus! I-I didn’t mean to offend. I’m not going to steal your lady, I swear! Don’t—”

But just as you expected, Sylus’s expression remained cold and unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was sharp and final, cutting through the pulsating music and leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Mr. Davis quickly dropped to the floor, his eyes wide open and the hole on the side of his head leaking with dark, red blood. 

Your eyes remained cool and detached as you watched the scene unfold, your expression too unreadable for the killer next to you. You’ve seen worse things while living in the N109 Zone, right? was Sylus’s inner thoughts as he placed the gun back on the table, his gaze steady while regarding the now lifeless body of his former business partner. The carpet was now drenched with an unsightly amount of blood. 

Just then, the twins, Luke and Kieran immediately swung the door open with a guarded stance, worried that something had happened to the Onychinus leader whom you all served under. But upon looking at Mr. Davis’s fresh corpse sprawled out on the floor, both twins merely shrugged it off, praising their boss for dealing with the old man in a brutal fashion. 

“Leave us for a while,” Sylus instructed the twins, pulling you closer by gripping your waist, “If any of Davis’s men try to come in, kill them with no mercy.” 

“Roger that, boss.” 

As soon as the door was closed, Sylus turned to you, you recognized a demonic glow in his eyes as he tugged at the neckline of your dress. “You,” he spoke under his breath, “are testing my patience.” 

~~

You weren’t sure how to feel about it.

Heck, you couldn’t tell if you were even turned on by it, but Sylus fucking you in front of a dead man did bring in a rush of adrenaline in you. This was the fourth time he had killed a man for desiring you, and while he would usually play it off and say he was just feeling bloodthirsty at the time those incidents happened, this was the first time he was compelled to actually touch you next to a man he had just mercilessly shot. It was as though he was trying to prove a point, that dead or alive, no other man would have the pleasure of having you. 

“S-Sylus,” you let out a whimper, knees beginning to feel sore as your boss continued to hit you from behind, hips snapping against your bum in a rough, merciless manner. A stinging sensation was soon felt on your butt cheek as Sylus sent a hard, crisp slap on your ass. “Mmh—!” 

His nails dug into your hips, jostling you forwards and backwards so your ass could meet the base of his cock with how deep he was plowing himself into you. You had already creamed around his member multiple times that night, too satiated by the possessiveness Sylus was showing towards you, and yet, the signs of him stopping seemed to be a far end of the line. 

“Did you enjoy my show, kitten?” he asked, a question borne from feelings of spite, “Did you like how he was gawking at your tits? Look at his pathetic face now. You see that?” 

Sylus grabbed you by the face and forced you to look at Mr. Davis’s lifeless body for a good minute. A minute to remember such a ghastly image for the rest of your life. And only after he was satisfied at the fright in your eyes did he start pulling you by the hair, only to then wrap a tight hand around your neck. You couldn’t breathe. You were choking from his hand, restrained to receive any bit of air down your throat. The strong smell of iron, gun powder, and leather was also beginning to intoxicate you, and you knew you were a minute away from passing out. But Sylus was too enraged to stop, his mind was a toxic fire you couldn’t easily extinguish and the only thing you could do was allow him to take his anger out on you. 

“Hnngh! Sy… Sylus…” you cried, moaning as his hard thrust almost sent you forward to his business partner’s corpse. The pressure on your windpipe was too strong that barely any sound came out of your mouth. “Sylus, I’m all y-yours, my love. Ah—aah! All… yours.” 

He did loosen his grip on your neck, because he had pulled you by the chin to spit into your mouth. A string of saliva connected your tongue to his, your chest undulating in heavy breaths as he began to grope your tits from behind. “Dress like a whore again,” he whispered a warning into your ear, “and I wouldn’t hesitate to treat you like one.” 

Your mind, too numbed by the overstimulation all over your body, couldn’t fully grasp the words he had just spoken. All you knew was that he pressed you further down the carpeted floor, with your ass high up and your body down low. The next thing he did was to spread your butt cheeks apart to gape at the exact hole he was destroying. 

Sore. Too sore. Too numb. Too… Too… “Sylus, I’m g-gonna…” 

“Fuck,” he cussed, accelerating his thrusts at an animalistic speed, his deep breaths turning into a guttural groan as he chased his high. His cum was thick when they landed on your face, and the taste was sweet and salty when he forced the rest of his cum onto the back of your throat. You gagged as he hit your uvula, drool oozing at the corner of your mouth as you choked and yet managed to swallow every drop of his semen. 

Like a good girl, for him. Always. 

You didn’t exactly black out afterward. You were caught in a liminal state, not fully awake but not unconscious either, as you collapsed onto the floor. Sylus discarded you like a toy he’d grown tired of. If you had been more aware, you would have immediately noticed the abrupt shift in his behavior. The sound of his fading footsteps made you realize that the man you loved so obsessively had just left you in that booth, right next to a dead man.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N. Hey, you okay?” 

The coat soon enveloping your body wasn’t Sylus’s; it belonged to one of the twins, and you could feel yourself being carried in his arms. 

“Luke…?” you murmured weakly. 

“No, it’s Kieran,” he clarified, since his older brother was occupied with disposing of Mr. Davis’s body. “I’m taking you home.” 

You clung to his shoulder, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for Sylus’s distinctive white hair. “Wha—? Where’s he? Where is Sy—” 

“Boss already left.” His words felt like a blow. “You know he’s dangerous when he’s angry, so you should just go home for today.” 

You tried to wriggle free from Kieran’s grasp, confused by the sudden turn of events. “But what did I do? Why is he angry with me?” 

“It’s not you, just… complicated,” were the last words you heard before exhaustion overtook you, unaware that you were now outside the nightclub. 

Continuing to squirm from Kieran’s hold, you cried, “What do you mean complicated!”

“Luke and I tried to warn you, Y/N,” he said, grimly, as if he felt bad for you. “You’re not supposed to mess with his emotions. Those feelings are reserved for another.”

~~

The night air in the N109 Zone felt heavy and suffocating. It had been a month since Sylus had abruptly cut off contact with you, leaving you in a state of uncertainty, overthinking, and anger. When he had asked you to take a break from work, you already found his command suspicious, and then the silence that followed was a deafening confirmation of your suspicion. No texts, no calls, and every attempt to visit Onychinus’s base was continuously met with cold dismissal. 

With this, you found yourself at your makeshift gun range, the repetitive bang of the shots echoing in the dimly lit space. The targets were riddled with holes, each bullet a release of your pent-up frustration. Your thoughts were a tempest of spiteful musings: how you should have maxed out his credit card for everything it was worth if you had known he was going to just dump you. The thought of doing so now felt petty, but it also served as a bitter reminder of how easily he had discarded you that night.

But amid your rage, a more serious thought began to surface. Sylus’s avoidance wasn’t merely a cruel game or a sudden whim; it seemed to hint at something deeper, something more troubling. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Had something happened that he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain?

You should probably confront him, but you needed a sign. Barging into Onychinus’s base without prior notice would be a suicide wish, so you had to have a reason on showing up unannounced. A sign. You desperately needed one, and perhaps the universe was toying with you, but the very sign you were looking for came in the form of a mechanical crow that landed on the lightpost. Its red eyes glowed like lasers through the night, tilting its head as it looked at your way. 

“Caw! Caw!” 

“Mephisto,” you breathed a sigh of relief. Did Sylus send him to watch over you? 

With your confidence growing back, you decided to finally confront the situation head-on. This cold war would bring you nothing but a painful whirl of overthinking. And so, you returned to Onychinus’s base that night, your anger tempered by a new, steely resolve. As usual, the base was as imposing and foreboding as ever, its corridors silent except for the occasional echo of footsteps.

Where is everyone? 

As you neared Sylus’s quarters, your heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation. You approached his door, and through the thin walls, you could hear soft, unfamiliar voices. Your breath was caught in your throat as you recognized a woman’s voice, distinct and unfamiliar, but laced with a strange resonance that made your skin crawl.

“From the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said we’re ‘the same’... One wouldn’t treat a stranger like that, so… don’t tell me you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?” 

…

“You’re so gullible, kitten.” 

The twins, who were lounging nearby and keeping an eye on things as usual, saw you by their boss’s door and exchanged knowing glances. Luke, with his usual smirk, leaned in. “Oh, look who decided to show up. You’re just in time.”

Kieran, with a more serious tone, added, “He’s got a guest in there. A hunter from Linkon, with an Aether Core, no less.”

Your heart sank. The mention of an Aether Core was a dagger to your already shattered heart. Sylus’s connection to you had always been complex, but it was a lot different with this other woman he had been keeping an eye on for the longest time. They were marked by their shared Aether Core, which tied them together in ways you could never fully understand. To hear that he had met the girl he had been searching for with the same rare core was like a death knell.

“Since when did Sylus bring her here?” you asked the twins, struggling to keep your emotions in check. This was the real reason Sylus had asked you to take a break—he knew that the presence of this girl would push you to the edge of losing all sense of morality. For the first time in your life, he saw you as a threat. An enemy. 

Luke responded with a shrug. “A couple weeks ago after she leaked her information in The Nest. Boss has been trying to resonate with her, you see. So don’t mind their little bonding moments.” 

Kieran took the initiative to drag his older brother away. “We gotta get going. Don’t cause a scene, Y/N. You won’t like it when our boss is angry.” 

Disregarding the twins’ words, you pressed your hand against the door, the muffled sounds of conversation and the soft rustling of fabric seeping through. The realization of what this meant was crushing. Sylus’s soul was bound to this new woman in ways you could never compete with. And the anguish of this discovery broke you inside. 

Why? Why can’t it be me? 

With trembling hands, you turned the knob and pushed open the door just a crack to peer inside. The sight that met your eyes was enough to confirm your worst fears. Sylus was there, his attention fully on the woman from Linkon that he had pinned down on his bed, a tenderness in his gaze that had never been directed at you. 

Unable to bear the sight any longer, you quietly closed the door and retreated, and Sylus’s head turning in your direction only made you hide even further. You were already taking hurried steps before he could catch up to you. But then again, what kind of idiot would he be to leave that fragile girl alone to run after a woman he didn’t even care about? You were nothing but a placeholder for her, warming her seat temporarily before she finally came into the picture. And now that she was here, you were easily cast aside like worn-out clothing, no longer bearing any purpose for him. 

“…I hate you,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper as they escaped from your trembling lips. Running through the hallways had quickly become exhausting, each step felt like a drag with the weight of your emotions. “I hate you, Sylus.”

Your hands, shaking uncontrollably, grasped the Beryl pendant that hung around your neck. The sharp pain from the necklace’s chain digging into your skin only added to your anguish. And with a frustrated cry, you yanked the pendant off and hurled it down the hallway. The pendant skittered across the polished floor, its once-beautiful gleam now discarded like mere rubbish.

“What did we tell you?” The twins’ imaginary voices were mocking you in your head, their taunts reverberating through your thoughts as you headed out of the base with no footsteps following you behind. It became clear to you that Sylus had chosen to stay with the girl instead of chasing after you. “Just because boss gave you a chance, doesn’t mean he’ll actually date you! You poor thing! You’re just a game he likes to play!” 

“Stop. Stop!” You had to press your hands into your ear, suppressing the torture that your mind was creating.  

You decided to run away. Far, far away from Onychinus’s base. Far away from Sylus’s reach. 

Your footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, your mind still reeling in jealousy from the events you saw earlier. The image of the woman pinned under him, her dark hair and fair skin, had your hands shaking from the anger in your heart. She was as beautiful as he described, as radiant as he’d often whisper about in his dreams. And now that she was within his reach, did you really think he would let her go? 

~~

The night was cold, the air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, lost in a whirlwind of emotions and tortuous thoughts. The betrayal, the hurt, the lingering sense of being used—all of it churned within you, making your steps heavy and your heart even heavier.

“I… hate you,” you murmured under your breath. 

As you turned down a dark alley, a sudden prickle of unease crawled up your spine. You quickened your pace, but the sound of a second set of footsteps followed closely behind you. Panic set in as soon as you realized you were being stalked. 

Before you could react, however, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, blocking your path. The man’s eyes gleamed with malice, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You no longer have Sylus to protect you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with menace. It was one of Davis’s men. “You're all alone now, and I'm going to make you pay for the death of our master.”

Fear gripped you like a tightrope, but before the man could take another step, a swirling mist of black-red enveloped him. The pressure of the mist seemed to squeeze his entire body, forcing him to his knees, his screams of terror cut short as if the mist were obeying commands from an unseen master.

You turned around, your heart pounding, to see Sylus standing at the edge of the alley. His domineering eyes bore into yours in a mixture of curiosity and cold calculation. “Should I kill this guy? Yes or no?” His voice was low and raspy. “My decision depends on you, kitten.”

Your gaze hardened after hearing the term of endearment he was now recycling with the hunter girl from Linkon. “I can handle him,” was your cold reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. You drew your gun with a swift motion and fired repeatedly, each shot bouncing in the narrow alley. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Sylus watched you with an appraising look. “Impressive. Still feisty as ever.”

You then pointed your gun towards him, but keeping a safe enough distance. “Why were you following me?” you demanded, your tone cold as ice.

A chilling laugh echoed through the alleyway. “My own assistant wants to kill her boss? Now, isn’t that a spectacle?”

“Shut up!” you yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t care if one bullet won’t kill you. I can shoot you enough times to make sure you’d at least feel some pain.”

Sylus sighed before reaching into his pocket and revealed the necklace, the red beryl pendant glinting in the dim light. “You forgot your gift,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

You stared at the necklace, feeling a sting in your heart that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m not worthy of such a gift,” you replied monotonously, “Give it to her if you want. And also, take this night as my formal resignation as your assistant."

Sylus’s eyes widened, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It seemed as if he was truly, genuinely stunned, caught off guard by your decision.

I can’t back out now. You repeated it like a desperate mantra in your mind as you turned and walked away, leaving Sylus standing alone in the dark alley, the necklace still clutched in his hand. You were done with his games, done with being played. You were determined to leave him behind, until suddenly, he vanished into a puff of black smoke. Dark feathers floated in the spot where he had stood moments ago. To your shock, he reappeared behind you, his hand forcefully grabbing your chin to make you look up at him.

You struggled, trying to wrench his hand away. “Let go—”

But he silenced you with a bruising kiss, locking his lips around yours despite your desperate punches to his chest. He only pulled away when he felt your warm tears streaming down your face, looking at you with a gaze full of unwanted sympathy. Sympathy that cut deeper than any blade.

“Are you happy she’s back in your life?” you choked out, your voice trembling as you stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

Sylus responded with a hesitant hum. “I am.”

You inhaled shakily, his answer shattering your heart. “Then, why are you here?”

“...I don’t know.” His crimson eyes reflected the sorrowful glow of the moon peeking from behind his head.

“Do you intend to keep me as your lover?” you asked, forcing him to confront his true intentions.

Sylus took a long, agonizing moment to respond, as if wrestling with a tumultuous storm of emotions—the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs. Finally, he spoke, and his words were a dagger to your soul.

“No,” he said at last, his hand retreating from your face. He stepped back and turned the distance between you into a chasm of heartbreak. “It’s been nice working with you, Y/N. I’ll send you a year’s worth of salary for your dedication to me. This should be the last time we meet.”

The weight of his words crashed down on you like an earthquake, and the full reality of your situation made it hard for you to breathe. Yes, it was a gut-punch. You were breaking in half, your heart shattering beyond repair because the pain was too much. It was all too much for a person to take, and it twisted something dark inside you.

“If I can’t have you,” you began, your voice shaking with an amalgam of rage and despair, “then no one can.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Y/N, you won’t dare—”

“I’ll kill her,” you spat, your tone dripping with venom. Your vow was laced with a genuine resolve, as if it were a promise you had embedded in stone. “The next time I see her, I’ll end her in the most brutal way I can. I swear it.”

His eyes flashed with a sinister light, one eye emitting a faint glow like a candlelight in a dark room. “If you try to go near her,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “I’ll kill you first.”

A twisted smile spread across your face, and madness began to gleam in your eyes. Driven to the brink of insanity, you laughed—a wild, almost feral sound that scared even the rats hiding in the darkest places.

“Then, do it,” you challenged, the final thread of your sanity snapping as he raised a finger, and the tendrils of his black-red mist soon swirling around you and crushing your bones with its pressure. “You’ve already taken everything from me, Sylus. Finish what you started.” 

SECOND PART

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States

The vast majority of America's debt collection targets $500-2,000 credit card debts. It is a filthy business, operated by lawless firms who hire unskilled workers drawn from the same economic background as their targets, who routinely and grotesquely flout the law, but only when it comes to the people with the least ability to pay.

America has fairly robust laws to protect debtors from sleazy debt-collection practices, notably the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA), which has been on the books since 1978. The FDCPA puts strict limits on the conduct of debt collectors, and offers real remedies to debtors when they are abused.

But for FDPCA provisions to be honored, they must be understood. The people who collect these debts are almost entirely untrained. The people they collected the debts from are likewise in the dark. The only specialized expertise debt-collection firms concern themselves with are a series of gotcha tricks and semi-automated legal shenanigans that let them take money they don't deserve from people who can't afford to pay it.

There's no better person to explain this dynamic than Patrick McKenzie, a finance and technology expert whose Bits About Money newsletter is absolutely essential reading. No one breaks down the internal operations of the finance sector like McKenzie. His latest edition, "Credit card debt collection," is a fantastic read:

https://www.bitsaboutmoney.com/archive/the-waste-stream-of-consumer-finance/

McKenzie describes how a debt collector who mistook him for a different PJ McKenzie and tried to shake him down for a couple hundred bucks, and how this launched him into a life as a volunteer advocate for debtors who were less equipped to defend themselves from collectors than he was.

McKenzie's conclusion is that "paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States." If you stand on your rights (which requires that you know your rights), then you will quickly discover that debt collectors don't have – and can't get – the documentation needed to collect on whatever debts they think you owe (even if you really owe them).

The credit card companies are fully aware of this, and bank (literally) on the fact that "the vast majority of consumers, including those with the socioeconomic wherewithal to walk away from their debts, feel themselves morally bound and pay as agreed."

If you find yourself on the business end of a debt collector's harassment campaign, you can generally make it end simply by "carefully sending a series of letters invoking [your] rights under the FDCPA." The debt collector who receives these letters will have bought your debt at five cents on the dollar, and will simply write it off.

By contrast, the mere act of paying anything marks you out as substantially more likely to pay than nearly everyone else on their hit-list. Paying anything doesn't trigger forbearance, it invites a flood of harassing calls and letters, because you've demonstrated that you can be coerced into paying.

But while learning FDCPA rules isn't overly difficult, it's also beyond the wherewithal of the most distressed debtors (and people falsely accused of being debtors). McKenzie recounts that many of the people he helped were living under chaotic circumstances that put seemingly simple things "like writing letters and counting to 30 days" beyond their needs.

This means that the people best able to defend themselves against illegal shakedowns are less likely to be targeted. Instead, debt collectors husband their resources so they can use them "to do abusive and frequently illegal shakedowns of the people the legislation was meant to benefit."

Here's how this debt market works. If you become delinquent in meeting your credit card payments ("delinquent" has a flexible meaning that varies with each issuer), then your debt will be sold to a collector. It is packaged in part of a large spreadsheet – a CSV file – and likely sold to one of 10 large firms that control 75% of the industry.

The "mom and pops" who have the other quarter of the industry might also get your debt, but it's more likely that they'll buy it as a kind of tailings from one of the big guys, who package up the debts they couldn't collect on and sell them at even deeper discounts.

The people who make the calls are often barely better off than the people they're calling. They're minimally trained and required to work at a breakneck pace. Employee turnover is 75-100% annually: imagine the worst call center job in the world, and then make it worse, and make "success" into a moral injury, and you've got the debt-collector rank-and-file.

To improve the yield on this awful process, debt collection companies start by purging these spreadsheets of likely duds: dead people, people with very low credit-scores, and people who appear on a list of debtors who know their rights and are likely to stand on them (that's right, merely insisting on your rights can ensure that the entire debt-collection industry leaves you alone, forever).

The FDPCA gives you rights: for example, you have the right to verify the debt and see the contract you signed when you took it on. The debt collector who calls you almost certainly does not have that contract and can't get it. Your original lender might, but they stopped caring about your debt the minute they sold it to a debt-collector. Their own IT systems are baling-wire-and-spit Rube Goldberg machines that glue together the wheezing computers of all the companies they've bought over the last 25 years. Retrieving your paperwork is a nontrivial task, and the lender doesn't have any reason to perform it.

Debt collectors are bottom feeders. They are buying delinquent debts at 5 cents on the dollar and hoping to recover 8 percent of them; at 7 percent, they're losing money. They aren't "large, nationally scaled, hypercompetent operators" – they're shoestring operations that can only be viable if they hire unskilled workers and fail to train them.

They are subject to automatic damages for illegal behavior, but they still break the law all the time. As McKenzie writes, a debt collector will "commit three federal torts in a few minutes of talking to a debtor then follow up with a confirmation of the same in writing." A statement like "if you don’t pay me I will sue you and then Immigration will take notice of that and yank your green card" makes the requisite three violations: a false threat of legal action, a false statement of affiliation with a federal agency, and "a false alleged consequence for debt nonpayment not provided for in law."

If you know this, you can likely end the process right there. If you don't, buckle in. The one area that debt collectors invest heavily in is the automation that allows them to engage in high-intensity harassment. They use "predictive dialers" to make multiple calls at once, only connecting the collector to the calls that pick up. They will call you repeatedly. They'll call your family, something they're legally prohibited from doing except to get your contact info, but they'll do it anyway, betting that you'll scrape up $250 to keep them from harassing your mother.

These dialing systems are far better organized than any of the company's record keeping about what you owe. A company may sell your debt on and fail to keep track of it, with the effect that multiple collectors will call you about the same debt, and even paying off one of them will not stop the other.

Talking to these people is a bad idea, because the one area where collectors get sophisticated training is in emptying your bank account. If you consent to a "payment plan," they will use your account and routing info to start whacking your bank account, and your bank will let them do it, because the one part of your conversation they reliably record is this payment plan rigamarole. Sending a check won't help – they'll use the account info on the front of your check to undertake "demand debits" from your account, and backstop it with that recorded call.

Any agreement on your part to get on a payment plan transforms the old, low-value debt you incurred with your credit card into a brand new, high value debt that you owe to the bill collector. There's a good chance they'll sell this debt to another collector and take the lump sum – and then the new collector will commence a fresh round of harassment.

McKenzie says you should never talk to a debt collector. Make them put everything in writing. They are almost certain to lie to you and violate your rights, and a written record will help you prove it later. What's more, debt collection agencies just don't have the capacity or competence to engage in written correspondence. Tell them to put it in writing and there's a good chance they'll just give up and move on, hunting softer targets.

One other thing debt collectors due is robo-sue their targets, bulk-filing boilerplate suits against debtors, real and imaginary. If you don't show up for court (which is what usually happens), they'll get a default judgment, and with it, the legal right to raid your bank account and your paycheck. That, in turn, is an asset that, once again, the debt collector can sell to an even scummier bottom-feeder, pocketing a lump sum.

McKenzie doesn't know what will fix this. But Michael Hudson, a renowned scholar of the debt practices of antiquity, has some ideas. Hudson has written eloquently and persuasively about the longstanding practice of jubilee, in which all debts were periodically wiped clean (say, whenever a new king took the throne, or once per generation):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/24/grandparents-optional-party/#jubilee

Hudson's core maxim is that "debt's that can't be paid won't be paid." The productive economy will have need for credit to secure the inputs to their processes. Farmers need to borrow every year for labor, seed and fertilizer. If all goes according to plan, the producer pays off the lender after the production is done and the goods are sold.

But even the most competent producer will eventually find themselves unable to pay. The best-prepared farmer can't save every harvest from blight, hailstorms or fire. When the producer can't pay the creditor, they go a little deeper into debt. That debt accumulates, getting worse with interest and with each bad beat.

Run this process long enough and the entire productive economy will be captive to lenders, who will be able to direct production for follies and fripperies. Farmers stop producing the food the people need so they can devote their land to ornamental flowers for creditors' tables. Left to themselves, credit markets produce hereditary castes of lenders and debtors, with lenders exercising ever-more power over debtors.

This is socially destabilizing; you can feel it in McKenzie's eloquent, barely controlled rage at the hopeless structural knot that produces the abusive and predatory debt industry. Hudson's claim is that the rulers of antiquity knew this – and that we forgot it. Jubilee was key to producing long term political stability. Take away Jubilee and civilizations collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

Debts that can't be paid won't be paid. Debt collectors know this. It's irrefutable. The point of debt markets isn't to ensure that debts are discharged – it's to ensure that every penny the hereditary debtor class has is transferred to the creditor class, at the hands of their fellow debtors.

In her 2021 Paris Review article "America's Dead Souls," Molly McGhee gives a haunting, wrenching account of the debts her parents incurred and the harassment they endured:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

After I published on it, many readers wrote in disbelief, insisting that the debt collection practices McGhee described were illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

And they are illegal. But debt collection is a trade founded on lawlessness, and its core competence is to identify and target people who can't invoke the law in their own defense.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” today (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in, fresh tears dripping down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling could be heard on occasion. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply.

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

“Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax, the cursor blinking on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moans. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. Hell, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you cum from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you could only giggle in exhaustion, voice too raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[batfluffs]

🍰[OPEN] 3D PIXEL COMMISSIONS!🍰

i have comms open for little low poly 3d models!! i can do humanoids and anthros, whether its fanart or your own characters/OCs! feel free to message me with any questions 💗

if you would like a model of something that doesn't fall under the basic humanoid/anthro shape, message me and we'll see if it's something I'm able to do! :D

the base price for a character model is £45 !

to order, you can message me on tumblr or order through vgen ~

my prices are in GBP, but your payment method will be able to convert it from the currency you use :)

more info/full order form below "keep reading/read more" !!

[ keep reading / read more . . . ]

💗 please make sure that you have read and agree to my terms of service before ordering! i know it's a bit lengthy, but these are always to protect me as the artist and you as the client. even if you choose not to read it, these terms will still apply to you.💗

IMPORTANT: since these are low-res models, i may have to simplify designs/omit minor details, but i'll let you know if that may be the case!~

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

ORDER FORM

when you're ready to order, please copy/paste the headings with the heart bullets, fill out your answers, then message the finished form to me!

under each heading i've included some information to provide more context to help you answer the form! you don't need to copy/paste those chunks of text.

if you have any questions about anything at all, feel free to message me first!~

❥ CHARACTER(S) (£45 each):

please include images/art of your character(s) for me to reference, and a description of their personality if you'd like!

❥ PROP(S) (+£10 each): yes / no | how many

anything you would like your character to hold, or have in the image! for example, food, weapons, books, small simple pets/creatures, etc.

❥ SIMPLE ANIMATION(S) (+£10 each): yes / no | how many

i can do various simple looping animations such as idle, walk/run, sit, spin, dance, float, etc.

if you have any other ideas or more complex animation requests, feel free to send me a message before ordering!

if you order multiple characters, please specify whether you would like them to be animated together or separately! having them together/interacting in the same animation is +£15 on top of the base fee to animate each character. (for example, 2 characters interacting would be £20 (£10 per character) +£15, for a total of £35).

(!!!) if no animation is desired, you will receive a tpose turnaround .gif of your character.

❥ PERMISSIONS: yes / no (+25% privacy/NDA fee)

i like to share my finished models to promote my artwork & commissions, and may also stream commissions as i work on them! for these, i'll give credit to you as the character owner.

if you would prefer to keep your commission and artwork private, you may do so with an additional fee of +25% of the commission subtotal added onto to the final price.

❥ OTHER ADD-ONS: (optional)

commercial use (+£30): for streaming, YouTube, anything where you may gain profit from it. if you select this option, please state what it will be for. if you have intentions to use my art for merchandise, please contact me first as this will have different pricing!

rush fee (+£15): i will complete your model within 2 - 3 days of purchase!

model files (+£15): i will send you the blockbench file & texture for your completed model to do as you wish for personal use only, unless you have also paid for commercial use.

3D print compatibility (+£30): i will create a version of the model without planes, making it compatible for 3D printing. the full charge includes both the fees for sending you the model files, and 3D printing compatibility.

❥ PAYMENT PREFERENCE: paypal / kofi

paypal: i'll create an invoice for you that outlines your order details!

kofi: i'll ask you to send the payment as a one-time donation after we've discussed the commission info!

[please avoid ordering through the commission page with kofi if you can! it takes payment instantly after you fill out the form without letting us discuss the commission details first. i prefer to review the finished order form & answer/ask any questions before payment since sometimes that affects the estimated pricing, and just ordering straight through kofi might make you pay less or more than what the actual total is. thank you for your understanding! <3]

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

i take payment upfront via paypal or kofi before i will begin working!

estimated turnaround time will be 1 month, though it tends to be shorter than that! however, i'll update you with delays or if it's expected to take any longer than that <3

thanks so much for reading this and for all your support!! 💗

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

> you can find more examples of my pixel models/animations here! <

[moongreenlight]

Headcanons for Captain John Price and his VERY young housewife.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Like unsure if you’ve graduated university yet young. Like he’s gotta be 13 years your senior at minimum. And he eats that shit up. Loves the way people stare and whisper when he parades you around, massive hand planted just above your ass

He’s like Simon in that he prefers you stay at home where he can keep you safe. Hires maids and housekeepers and cooks so your only responsibility is lounge and look pretty. You’re his biggest trophy. Like a prize show cat. Keeping you groomed and pampered and happy. Purring into his hand the moment he comes home.

Lowkey gets so sour when you send the cook home for the day and make dinner yourself. Not that you aren’t a fantastic cook, he just doesn’t want you to lift a finger. Doesn’t like the idea of you accidentally cutting yourself with a kitchen knife or burning yourself on a hot stove. Wants you to just be a trophy on his shelf.

Doesn’t even like the idea of you showering by yourself. Gives you bubble baths so that he can be sure you’re perfectly preened because obviously he’s the only one that knows exactly how to take care of you.

LOOOOOVES that even though you’re so young you fit in perfectly with the other housewives in the neighborhood. Going to spin classes in the early morning, book club, brunch, shopping at the most expensive grocery stores.

Literally treats you like a pedigreed cat. Weekly manicures and pedicures that he’s put his card on file for. You just walk in and they know you’re Price’s wife and that your appointments are prepaid.

And pre-tipped obvi. GENEROUS with his money when it comes to you. And there’s probably a note under your profile that you’re to be paid careful attention. God forbid they accidentally graze your skin with the nail file and hurt his pretty kitty.

Facials and hair appointments biweekly that are the exact same way.

Your picture is posted at the gate of the base because all the guards are expected to know their chain of command and wave them in without question. He just loves that your status as his wife is enough to get you the VIP treatment you deserve.

His ultimate goal is to make you a young mom. Even though you’ve only been married for a year and you’re like 22 he’s actually so pissed that you’re not bouncing a baby on your hip.

Bet he loves the idea of his kids getting bullied because their mom is hot.

Brings you around base for the sole purpose of showing off. Purposely leaves his lunch at home just so you come see him.

The first time you ever met the task force boys he’d asked you to bring something DUMB up. Like a water bottle or something. Who cares. You end up accidentally interrupting the meeting they’re having and Price pulls you onto his lap before introducing you as his wife. Soap and Gaz are kicking each other under the table. Swear to god Gaz does that cartoon gulp. Soap looks like he’s about to explode.

Probably calls you his ‘old lady’ but with the most disgustingly smug smirk on his face.

Btw if you even care you’re such a trophy to him and he’s so invested in his team that he wants to share you with the guys. There’s no ‘I’ in team. So confident in knowing that he’s the only one that can truly pamper you properly that he doesn’t mind using you as leverage to get them to perform well.

Oh Soap did really well on the last mission? He can come to dinner with you guys. Price will dress you up nice and let Soap wrap his arm around your waist when you walk in. Then Price will invite him back for a nightcap and instruct you to drop down between his thighs. Coaching you through the process of palming him through his trousers, unzipping them, springing his cock free from his underwear, taking just the tip into your mouth. Being soooo nice about letting you take your time adjusting your throat. “It’s different, doll. I know. Being so good.” Until he finally snaps and fists the back of your hair, pushing you all the way down so that the room is echoing your lewd, wet gags and moans. He doesn’t let Soap come in your mouth, though. That’s a luxury only he can afford.

And you’re soooooooo happy to do whatever John asks. He treats you so well. The least you can do is oblige his requests every once in a while. He asks so little of you. Plus no other cock compares to his. Even after getting fucked dumb by Ghost, drooling down your chin, you find it in you to look for him. Pupils blown-out, whining softly up to him. Weak and slurring “Need you, daddy. Need you.”

That last part is only if you care tho. I’m normal about it. It’s fine.

[baeshijima]

— hsr men in a royalty au

INCLUDES : blade ; dan heng ; gepard ; jing yuan ; luocha ; sampo + gn!reader

A/N : what started off as a duke!blade word vomit became a hsr royalty au brain dump. sighs. also once again pushing my knight!reader agenda bc the lack of royalty aus with knight!reader is criminal.

genshin ver.

imagine you're the personal guard for emperor!jing yuan, picked by his hand when he was still just a mere crown prince learning the ropes of what it meant to rule an empire. in truth, there's not much for you to do other than stand close behind when in public settings or indulge in his whimsical nature when in private and within the confines of the palace walls. in spite of that, you can't help but to wonder whether it's necessary to be his partner when he practises ballroom dances, despite never actually dancing in the banquets. well, who are you to question your duties, right?

there is no destination without a journey; jing yuan would know this best. having been thrust onto a pedestal from young, he's witnessed more types of people than he can count on his fingers: those who act nice in order to gain, those whose eyes cannot hide their contempt, those who are kind out of fear, those who act on behalf of others, those who hold respect without ulterior motives... he has seen them all. his view of the world grew dull, the predictability of those around him bringing only disappointment to the young heir. the days passed in a blur with nothing of note, other than a lingering emptiness which kept him awake at night and a passion which only emerges when sparring with his instructor. and so when he was told it was time to choose a personal knight after countless assassination attempts, he trudged through the halls with poise ingrained into his stride and a blank gaze reflecting his thoughts. but when he arrived at the training grounds to oversee the potential candidates his attention was immediately seized by another, his usually stagnant heart thundering. for the first time in his life, jing yuan discovered what it meant to want something as he watched you strike your training sword against your opponent, his world bursting into colours he never knew existed before then.

jing yuan sometimes finds himself envying those who can dance without care at banquets. he has an image to maintain in front of his people while you tend to be a stickler for this kind of thing, often refusing a dance in favour of maintaining your post. he supposes it's fine if you're both together, despite the numerous times he's imagined what it would be like to dance with you in front of everyone, as opposed to the privacy of the palace under the guise of “not becoming rusty”. but as he casts his gaze over to where you rest, having fallen asleep after a particularly thrilling game of starchess with your body tucked within the protective embrace of his ever-dutiful lion, he finds himself engraving moments like these into his memory and filing them away to look back on when nights to himself become a little too lonely for his liking. it's one of the many sides to you which only jing yuan has been privy to; one of which he takes immense pride in and vows to shelter from the danger which lurks around every corner.

(he will never let you know how your bright eyes is what set his once monotonous life ablaze in colour all those years ago — the aloof crown prince utterly besotted with a starry-eyed rookie knight. he will also never let slip how he still thinks back on the warmth he felt when you took his trembling, slumped form in your arms after he fought his stricken teacher all those years ago, the aftereffects of your touch still lingering on his skin even to this day.)

despite being duty-bound beside the impish emperor, there are times where you, too, are in need of some peace away from his scheming mind and watchful eyes. in these moments, you find yourself finding respite within the royal library built into the palace, a stack of books typically used as your makeshift pillow. and even if librarian!dan heng gives you a death stare from his designated place, you know he appreciates your company when he drapes a blanket over your shoulders and replaces the book pile with a cushion or two. although, you can’t shake off the feeling you’ve seen him from somewhere before…

for as long as he can remember, dan heng has always been on the run. from what? he’s not even sure anymore; it has been that long. it is but a mere shadow, a phantom which haunts him under the glowing sun and the gleaming moon. he can run — run until his body is weak and heavy with fatigue — but he can never hide, for it follows close behind and lurks around unseen corners. as unnerving as it may be, he has grown used to the chilling gaze and staying on edge. after all, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to blend in, there is no escaping a shadow. maybe that is why he felt a churning sensation stir in his gut when he first met the emperor to discuss his newly appointed position as the librarian, whose gaze held an unfamiliar sheen of conflict veiled behind an amiable disposition upon making eye contact. amidst the eyes of the sun held a glint of familiarity, one which dan heng couldn’t put his finger on the longer he dwelled on the thought.

dan heng didn’t know what to expect when he first met you; you, the personal guard handpicked by jing yuan himself. with all the duties he’s sure keeps you busy, it wouldn’t surprise him if he never met you past the glimpses he catches here and there when in official spaces. perhaps that is why it came as such a surprise when you stumbled into the library one day, all bleary-eyed and attempting to stifle your yawns, and he could only watch in a daze as you pulled out a random set of books from the shelves, plop yourself down at the nearest table, set the books on the surface and slam your head atop the pile, your soft snores filling the once-quiet room. dan heng wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring at you for, but it was long enough to wake you up and inform you of the library’s closing hour when the day’s hues bled into the night. what he thought would be a one-time thing soon became a regular occurrence — a routine — and he has become accustomed to your unceremonious visits and wonderful laughter and draping the blanket he now keeps under his desk over your slumbering form and admiring your peaceful expression over the rim of his novel. it’s come to a point where he can no longer imagine a life without it; without you.

(sometimes he wonders whether you enjoy the time spent with him as much as he does with you, in which he cannot help but to compare himself to the emperor you have pledged your life and devoted your loyalty to. amidst those thoughts, dan heng finds himself hoping you would favour him over the shine of the empire’s revered sun.)

royal guard captain!gepard is someone you have always admired, ever since you were just a rookie knight trying to prove your worth amongst a sea of prodigal candidates like him. he is kind as he is strong, a formidable ally and a terrifying foe. however, you can't help but wonder whether you’ve done something to offend him, what with the way he sometimes avoids you if you happen to bump into each other amidst the palace grounds and speedwalks in the opposite direction with hasty apologies trailing behind him.

the landau dukedom. it is known for its military prowess and defending the borders, but infamous for the strict duke landau. as well-respected he may be by the nobles of the court, gepard only knows a strict man more like a superior than a father. it wouldn’t be a lie to say duke landau was just that; a superior — a teacher, one who viewed his children as either heir candidates or a foundation to bolster the territory’s military power. while it may be a strict method, the respect gepard holds for his father is undeniable, feuling his desire to make him proud and carry out his teaching in the name of the honourable landau duchy. he stuck to harsh training regimens, endured countless trials of tactics and wit, witnessed his elder sister begin to refute against their father’s suffocating hold upon returning from the academy, watched as she left the duchy to have control over her own life with a promise to keep in touch with him and their youngest sister. these moments were fleeting, passing in a blur until he entered the ranks of the elite, eventually promoted to captain as he remained steadfast in defending the borders.

it took gepard countless sleepless nights tossing and turning in his bed and a highly amused serval laughing at his predicament to finally understand his feelings for you. love was an unfamiliar concept to him. he knew of camaraderie between fellow knights (which was what he assumed he felt for you, but just a bit more… intense?) and familial bonds between family, so this new experience of his heart palpitating, hands clamming up, words stuck in his throat and an incessant heat clinging to his cheeks was unfamiliar, thus his avoidance. though that didn’t sit well with him, as a longing ache only seemed to replace it instead. and so, despite the apparent awkward flair his body language carried, gepard decided to follow his heart when it came to matters pertaining to you. he quickly came to discover your likes and dislikes, your miniscule habits when practising swordsmanship, the subtle cues you display when uncomfortable, the smile you showed upon seeing something you liked and the grin you displayed upon besting him in a duel. they were all segments which made up the very being you are, and the pieces which fit within his heart to establish this newfound love he holds for you.

(as your direct superior there are many things he notices when watching from the sidelines. among many, the one which stands out are the eyes which follow you — some gaze at you with envy, others regard you with awe, but there are a few which regard you in the same adoration he does. love and jealousy were never something gepard thought he would experience; not until he met you.)

with your role as one of the empire’s royal knights and the emperor’s personal guard, it comes as no surprise to be inflicted with injuries of varying severities. as a result, you are well-acquainted with royal physician!luocha through your numerous visits. you’ve come to find his pleasant visuals and soothing voice does wonders to heal your fatigue, even if he does tend to go a little overboard in his lectures when you come to him with less-than-fine wounds.

being able to wield elements and being able to use divine powers are two different things; one is widely accepted, the other is not. at least, that’s the case in the xianzhou empire. those born with the ability to use divine powers have fled into hiding, unwilling to be outcasted — or worse, executed — for being afflicted with the cursed power of the divinity. as such, having lived the majority of his life in concealment, luocha is no stranger to hiding his abilities. curse or blessing, it’s an irrevocable part of him. still, he didn’t want to stop helping others the way the nature of his powers could. and so he resorted to learning medicine. he soon became a renowned travelling doctor sought after for his vast knowledge, all of which garnered the attention of the emperor when he stopped by in the capital and was offered the position of royal physician. with little drawbacks, handsome pay, and a grand place to stay without needing to be on the run, luocha accepted and became the sole royal physician of the empire.

there was very little luocha found himself to be afraid of. with no one but himself to rely on, he’s crossed many bridges on his own without care. there was no need for such sentiment in survival. or so he thought. in all his years, luocha doesn’t think there was anything more terrifying than the day you were rushed in by a frantic jing yuan, your complexion sickly and covered in sweat and breathing laboured. as it turned out, you were poisoned, having drank it in place of jing yuan upon sensing something suspicious. he doesn’t recall anything making his heart drop as quickly as the situation then had, his mind blank yet frantic as he forced the panic-stricken emperor out of the infirmary and laid you on one of the beds. your symptoms were dire, he noted, and there was nothing in the cabinets suited for this kind of quick-acting poison. your condition was worsening, a pained furrow of your brows and haggard appearance being clear indicators. a bright glow then illuminated the room, and luocha came to the belated realisation he had used his abilities for the first time since concealing them, for the thought of losing you was far more torturous than his will to hide his abilities.

(there was no thought to the act, just sheer desperation to not let you die. it took him a long few days to realise that, all of which were spent looking after you by your bedside. he never spoke of how he cured you when you asked, eyes bleary with confusion on how you’re still alive, instead choosing to keep it to himself as he chided you for being so reckless. you will never know of the inner turmoil he endured, even praying to a deity he never once believed in to ensure your safety. should you sustain more severe afflictions, luocha has no qualms using his abilities again — if it means you live, he will make an exception.)

thinking about duke!blade, whose… less than pleasant disposition does little to help refute the fearful rumours surrounding his name. you've met him a handful of times when he visits the palace under jing yuan's summon or catching him at the odd banquet or two, and even back when he used to train with jing yuan before his visits suddenly ceased. even so, you find yourself doubting those rumours, especially when he seems to wear an expression akin to peace more often than he does of one resembling disdain.

the cold duke remains an enigma to those around him — even those who work under him. is it due to his quiet hostility? or is it perhaps something no one knows, such as a secret known only to him, his butler, his family physician, and the emperor? a curse; one of immortality where his soul is torn to shreds only to be stitched anew before he can succumb to the paradise known as death. it's a never-ending cycle, one which causes him to no longer track the days when they all feel the same. the days out on leading monster subjugations and expeditions are just a temporary means of escape — an outlet for his pent up frustrations to let loose without worry. no one knows what truly goes on in his mind, only ever witnessing or hearing tales of his brutal yet awe-inspiring deeds on the blood-soaked battlefields, and the origin of his adopted alias: blade. his true name evades him, having been discarded the moment he lost his humanity.

he has always noticed you. it was hard not to when the favour you received was blatantly obvious, even from when you were just a fledgling knight and he the young heir of his duchy. there weren’t many opportunities for him to talk to you, what with the way jing yuan always seemed to divert his attention back to their instructor when noticing his wandering gaze to your distant figure, and even more so after the curse struck him full-force and he stopped visiting altogether outside of summons and banquets. it wasn’t until he returned from a monster subjugation as the sole survivor did he first properly meet you. with his mind torn and body regenerating itself, he failed to notice someone rush towards him, an unfamiliar warmth encompassing his bleeding torso as his conscience began to fade. an unfamiliar ceiling and an unfamiliar room was what greeted him when he awoke, but a warmth he registered as familiar gripped his calloused hand. what met his gaze then was your dozing figure, your head smushed against the duvet beside his leg with even breaths giving way to your unconscious state. his typically chaotic mind was silent as he stared at you. it was an odd feeling, one which elicited a sharp inhale when you shifted in place, your grip on his hand loosening as you sought out a more comfortable position, before exhaling in relief when you resumed your rest. it was an odd feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant. and, for the first time in his life, blade experienced what it meant to be at peace.

(while he never spoke of that incident to you again other than a brief thanks for giving him (unnecessary) medical attention, he found himself drifting towards you more frequently — whether it be conversing with you during those bothersome banquets, stretching out the time you escort him before he enters jing yuan’s office-slash-meeting room, sharing specialties from his territory during garden strolls, or even requesting you to spar with him. the victory from either side is sweet, but the strained expression he catches from notable figures is even sweeter.)

amongst the many you’re acquainted with, merchant!sampo is the one you’re most on edge around in spite of the years you have known each other for. it’s not that he’s a bad guy, but there’s something about his easy smile and ever-searching eyes and his words that always seem to form into something people want to hear which all seem… off. well, maybe you’re reading too much into his demeanour. after all, if he truly did have sinister intentions, you’re sure he would have acted on them by now — he’s had plenty of time to.

there’s a certain level of cunning one must have in order to survive. whether that be wits, deceit, getting one’s hands dirty, it doesn’t matter. they are all just a means to an end, after all. sampo has long since tread on the path of deceit, a game of cat and mouse with unassuming clients and authorities. but business is business, and what better way to make use of that than exploitation? disguised in a bar known as “masked fools” mapped across the globe sits a wealth of knowledge, hidden behind a secret code only known by those who covet wealth or revenge. it’s a fun pastime; the information-slash-mercenary guild receives money, the client has their request done. sampo quickly discovered playing the unassuming fool in front of the target only for them to discover they were the fool all along to be exhilarating. it was a rush like no other, even more so when he mastered the art of disguise and blended in with the crowd, building connections and biding his time as the airheaded merchant.

sampo admits, he was a tad hasty in his judgement of you. just a little. well, when compared to the ever-imposing figure of the royal guard captain chasing him down when he makes his weekly medicinal run for the palace’s physician, you weren’t all that impressionable at first glance. maybe it was the way you passively regarded him before walking off which led him to that belief, or perhaps it was the unassuming expression you always carried despite being the famed personal guard of the emperor. whatever the case, he was wrong. he realised that when his balance was tilted, back flush against the grass with your body pinning him down. the tip of your sword was against his throat and your eyes burned so brightly when asking what he was doing sneaking around a forbidden area to outsiders. he doesn’t remember what he said or did in response; all he does remember is the adrenaline rushing through his veins at the stern countenance you bestowed upon him. unconventional as it may have been, sampo thought you were the most breathtaking in that moment, a wondrous sight for his heart which only knew of cunning and deceit.

(it would be no lie to say money talks. in his line of business, it does all the talking. the only exception, sampo discovered, was when an ignorant fool attempted to hire him and have you… removed, to put it lightly. sampo couldn’t help the laugh which escaped him at the expression on the man’s face after his carefree refusal, a sound which ceased as he pointed his weapon to the man’s throat and demanded he spill the identity of the one who sent him. after all, a mere small-fry like him doesn’t have the ability to even dream of hiring someone against you — mercenary or assassin.)

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[celestialspritz]

💿softerhaze' LiS record store conversion 4t2💿

yet another set i needed for my game - i did not convert everything, just the things i wanted

no polys exceeding 2k. the highest i reckon is the cd mesh with all the cds combined (not pictured but its literally just the separates as one mesh).

the bargain box (first pictured) comes in three sizes; small, medium and large. stuff is repo'd, textures range from like 256px to 1024px. cds had to be 1024px but there's like 5 textures for those, and the furniture is also 1024px. sucks but it is what it is lol

i did major remapping on a lot of the items, most notably the cd box (i wanted higher res cds in the box without altering the size, it's like 1024x512) and the record label header thingy (second pictured) - it used to be a huge 1024px texture, but only one square of the texture changed so i cropped it down to 256px and voila. it has a wide range of genres written on them so u'll never run out!

the shelves are deco shelves but i positioned the height of the cds accurately so they'll slot in perfectly even without slots, no omsp required :D

the cds and cd box are in the audio section, the shelves are in shelves, magazines are in books, the clipboard and the bargain box are in deco/misc

the shelves are recoloured in goat's woods and in some pooklet naturals, master files have a volatile base (swatch included)

i did not convert the vinyls from this set as i already have vinyls in my game that i uploaded the other day here. if ur looking for music posters, i made some here and here. let me know if anything's wonky and most importantly have fun!

collection file is included :] and some no-reshade'd pics under the cut

dl @ sfs

credits - softerhaze, thanks for converting to ts4!

[kestrelteens]

Whew! I really really loved this set so much that I had to convert, well, almost everything?

The Nostalgia Living by @awingedllama has been my fave ever since it came out and I was just waiting for an ounce of my converting motivation to come back to get down to business. And it finally happened!

Because there are 50+ items in this set and it would take me 2 hours to list all of them, I will link this handy dandy catalog the original creator made so you can see what you're getting: RIGHT HERE. All of the objects are fairly low poly so you don't need to worry about that.

Some important information + previews can be found under the cut!

Enjoy & have fun! ♥

download (sfs) // alt download (mediafire)

grab the collection file here

There is a gaming console override included! Well, the console is buyable in the catalog and the override is for the controller so you need that package. It will conflict with any other overrides you have!

ALSO, 'cause there are some adorable vintage frames included in the set, I thought I could make them into changeable sim portraits! Now your sim family's portraits can match the fireplace (which is functional, also).

A lot of the items are repositoried to eachother! The shelving system, the couch, I did make note of that in the folders so you know what to download. Also, all the shelves have 10+ slots, the 'Dad's library' books function as bookshelves (and have slots on top of them).

The items I haven't converted and why (BUT I will look into them in the upcoming days I was just way too tired now lol sorry): draperies (the mesh appeared broken in the game); drink coaster (I forgot about this little guy); grand mirror (I still have to learn how to convert them lol); triangular shelf (I'm sorry but I really wasn't feeling this shelf, I remember it from my childhood and I always hated it in other ppl's houses lmao);

I also wanted to make the ceiling fan animated so it can spin and function as a light at the same time, but unfortunately right now that is above my converting capabilities! But I will look into that as well.

Right now I'm working on converting the build mode items! Precisely the doors, but the wallpapers + the carpets are included now. I will also convert the Nostalgia kitchen but it might take me a while 'cause I'm learning stuff about animating objects so I can also fix the CHALK kitchen I know it's ass, bear with me pls lmao ♥

AND this set is huge so I just know that I have forgotten about something or I have misplaced something in the folders, my adhd is having a field day SO please let me know if anything is missing or might not be working as intended! ♥

AND I mustn't forget to thank @tvickiesims for helping me out with the shelves and solved the issue of them not being recolorable, thank you Vickie! ♥

[etherealyoungk]

love between the lines | chwe vernon

SUMMARY: despite the initial nerves of your new gig as an english literature TA, you’re ready to tackle the new job. that’s where you meet vernon, the computer science TA, and he’s interesting to say the least. he’s all about coding and numbers while you live and breathe poetry and novels. it’s clear that you both have contrasting interests and personalities - but they say opposites attract, right?

PAIRING: TA!vernon x TA!reader

THEMES: opposites attract, strangers to lovers, chaotic x calm dynamic

WARNINGS: fluff, kissing, silly antics

WORDCOUNT: 12k

A/N: this is part of the SVT TA collab hosted by @camandemstudios. and thank you to @gyuswhore and @highvern for hosting this collab and inviting me to join! i've been so excited about this, i hope you all enjoy reading! and do check out everyone else's work on this collab as well!

it’s been a week since you got the gig as an english literature TA at the university and you were thrilled despite the nervousness. you adjust the stack of poetry books and textbooks under your arm as you walk, feeling both excitement and nerves as you head to your fourth class of the week. thankfully it seemed like the students really liked you and your teaching methods, which you were utterly grateful for, otherwise you might have just quit then and there.

you’re so lost in your thoughts, that you collide with someone coming from around the corner. papers fly and scatter in all directions, and you look up to see the stranger in front of you, wide-eyed. “woah”, is all he says as he looks at you, rather calm despite the chaos that you seem to have caused around him.

“oh god, i'm so sorry!" you exclaim, bending down to help gather the papers, his papers, which were now scattered all over the floor.

the stranger doesn’t say much as he kneels beside you and reaches out to collect the sheets of papers. "no worries, it's not like these papers were organized to begin with”, he says, which somehow seems to ease your nerves. 

you let out a small nervous chuckle as you collect the stray papers, your hands brushing accidentally. you glance down nervously, picking up your scattered books. 

“are you new around here?”, he asks, recalling that he’s not seen you around before.

“yeah, i just joined the english literature department as a TA”, you tell, but he had sort of already deciphered that information with the stack of books you were carrying. he’d heard that someone had filled in that position last week, but never got around to being introduced to the person, until now.

“i’m vernon, the computer science TA”, he says and you smile softly at that piece of information. “nice to meet you”, you reply and you hand him the papers you had gathered. you tell him something about how you were running late for a lecture and part ways as he nods and goes back to his way. 

it’s another work day and you’re in your office, typing away on your laptop as you plan some material for the next lecture. but your laptop seems to be glitching and working slower than usual. you furrow your brows in confusion as the file seems to be taking a little too long to download. you sigh and stare at your laptop screen, watching the download bar stay stuck at the same percentage for ten minutes now. you click your tongue in frustration and lean back in your chair. that’s when your mind wanders to vernon - he’d probably know what was going on. sure, you barely knew the guy, never spoke to him after you had bumped into him that day, but hey, was asking for help a crime? besides, maybe you could use this opportunity to get to know him better, plus he seemed like a decent guy. so you carry your laptop and head to vernon’s space, knocking on the slightly open door. 

“come in”, he says, without looking up, his brows furrowed in concentration as he stares at his laptop screen.

“if this is about an extension on the deadline then oh-”, vernon starts but stops when he looks up and sees you. 

“hi, sorry i hope i’m not interrupting anything?”, you ask as you stand in front of vernon with your laptop open in your hands.

“oh, no-no, what’s up?”, he asks, as he leans back in his chair a little.

“my laptop is acting kinda weird, it’s become really slow and stuff is taking ages to download. i thought you might know what’s the issue”, you tell, setting your laptop down on the table next to him.

he moves his laptop aside and brings yours in front of him as he tries to figure out the issue. your eyes wander to his laptop adorned with stickers and you read one of them.

why do programmers prefer dark mode? because light attracts bugs, you read in your mind and furrow your brows as it takes a few seconds for the joke to make sense before you smile softly at the joke.

you read another programming joke sticker that was slapped on his laptop and you laugh to yourself. “i think i’ve found the problem”, vernon says, snapping you back to reality and your eyes find him as you walk over to see what he was talking about. 

“your storage is almost critically full, that’s why your laptop has slowed down. you should probably transfer some files to a hard drive and clear up some space on your laptop”, he explains and you nod at the new information vernon provides you with. see, it was a good idea you asked vernon for help or god knows what you might have done otherwise, thinking it might have been some other issue.

“oh, okay, i’m glad it’s not a major issue”, you add, relieved because you did not need your laptop dying out on you right now.

“no worries”, he says as he hands you back your laptop. you would have very much liked to stay back and talk to him more, but he looked so busy with whatever he was doing. you didn’t want to be a bother, so you leave, telling him thank you as you leave. 

after that, you seem to see vernon and bump into him more, whether it be at the hallways or between classes. the one thing you couldn't help but notice was how vernon's constant companion was his laptop. he carried that thing everywhere like his life depended on it. and the condition of his laptop? that thing was covered in stickers, some with obscure programming jokes and others, which were a random mix of stickers that you were convinced he just slapped on there because he had nowhere else to put them. the other thing that was always a constant with him was the pair of headphones that adorned his neck. you swear you had never really seen him without those two things.

in your first two weeks as a TA, you discovered a new talent: bumping into people. apparently, your talent for bumping into people was unparalleled. why? because reading a book and walking down the hallways was definitely not advised. you might as well have been walking blindfolded with the number of students and faculty you accidently bumped into your first two weeks. that’s one way to make a first impression. 

you were glad it wasn’t anything worse, but you needed to get your act together and you were hoping that things would ease up and smooth out soon. but if only you knew how wrong you were. it was like the universe was purposely conspiring against you to not have your TA gig go smoothly. you’re packing up to leave when you realize you can’t find your novel anywhere. you swear you had bought it along with you today to read on the bus, but now it was nowhere to be seen. you try to think of where you could have misplaced it and decide to check the lecture room since you might have left it there. you had rushed out of the room after the lecture so maybe you had forgotten it over there. 

you walk to the lecture hall (without bumping into anyone thankfully) and enter, spotting vernon there. you walk in quietly, not wanting to disturb him since he looked really focused on whatever he was doing. the door closes behind you and your eyes scan the room for your book and voila, you spot it on the edge of the table where vernon was sitting. you quietly go up to him and grab your book when vernon looks up.

“i just forgot my book here”, you say immediately, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t be before you turn around. you mentally slap yourself because why were you so nervous? you walk towards the door and your hand reaches out, grabbing onto the handle. but when you push the handle down, it doesn’t budge. you try again but it still doesn’t seem to move. you try to pull the door open but still no luck. what the hell?

you take a deep breath and try to open the door again, but find it stubbornly jammed. you wiggled the handle, pulled, and pushed it, but it remained immovably shut. vernon finally looks up with all the commotion you seem to be causing and he looks at you with a puzzled expression.

“is everything okay over there?” he asks as he looks at you. 

“yeah totally, just on my way out”, you lie as you try the door handle again but it refuses to budge and you sigh. 

“um, i think the door’s stuck,” you finally admit, your voice tinged with frustration as you turn to look back at vernon.

“oh”, is all he says before he closes his laptop shut with a soft thud and stands up. you watch as he walks over in your direction and tries the door handle, only to find it jammed like you said.

“i told them this door handle needed to be changed, it was bound to get jammed one day or the other,” he says.

“so we’re locked in,” you declare dramatically, eyes wide as you look at vernon.

“yeah, i guess,” vernon responds with a nonchalant shrug, as if being trapped in a room is just another regular tuesday evening for him. 

“but how do we get out?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch as you look at vernon.

“i guess i could try to pick the lock, but since it’s jammed i don’t think that would work”, he says.

“pick the lock?”, you ask, almost horrified at his suggestion. “are you serious? we should call security or something”, you say instead. 

vernon leans against the wall, clearly unfazed. “yeah, sure, but calling security sounds so... formal. plus there’s no guarantee they’ll actually come on time, so i guess we’re stuck here for a while”, he says with a light shrug of his shoulders.

you didn’t like the way vernon was so calm about this entire situation right now. you look at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “are you seriously this relaxed about being trapped in here?”

vernon tilts his head, as he looks at you. “yeah, why not? it’’s not like we’re in a life-or-death situation, it’s just a door, we’ll get out eventually.”

“eventually?” you repeat, your agitation growing. “what if ‘eventually’ turns into hours? what if we’re stuck here until everyone goes home for the day? do you really think that’s okay?”

“someone is bound to find us in the morning”, he says like he’s had experience being locked in a room before and is totally okay with spending the night trapped in here. 

“i’m calling security”, you declare, as you dig your phone out of your jeans pocket, unable to comprehend vernon’s suggestion. as you explain the situation to the security, you can’t help but glance over at vernon, who’s back by the desk, perfectly calm and composed unlike you. 

“alright, so security’s on their way,” you announce after a few minutes once you get off the phone. “they should be here in about... well, soon i hope”

“cool”, is all vernon says before silence envelops you both again. you walk up and take a seat in one of the lecture hall chairs up front. 

“what are you working on?”, you ask vernon, in an attempt to make conversation because the awkward atmosphere in the air right now is killing you.

“just the assignment for the students”, he replies and you nod. “right”, you reply, fidgeting with your hands and fingers, trying to find some sort of distraction or thing to ground yourself back to reality. 

you both stay quiet and time drags on. you’re praying for security or someone to come and save you because you couldn't do this any longer. 

you’re sitting in silence, staring at the ground, lost in your thoughts when suddenly a loud sound erupts, jolting and scaring you and you end up knocking your ankle on the table leg and you yelp in pain. 

you hear some voices outside the door and realize it must be security as they tried to forcefully open the door. vernon glances over at you.

“are you okay?”, he asks, standing up, looking a little concerned.

“y-yeah i’m fine”, you tell, waving your hand so he wouldn’t come closer, mostly embarrassed and desperately trying to convince him you weren’t a klutz.

once the door is successfully open, you almost make a run for it and make it back to your office, out of breath, suddenly rethinking your life choices and cursing. once safely inside, you collapse into your chair, mentally cursing for once again making a complete fool of yourself in front of vernon. it’s only after another minute you realize you had left your novel behind - again.

once your ankle feels a bit better and isn’t throbbing in pain anymore, you decide to go back to fetch your book. you’re in half a mind to just leave it there and go home because you did not want to see vernon again, not after what happened. but of course, the universe hates you and as fate would have it, you see vernon by the door of your office, holding your novel.

“hi, um you left your book back there”, he says as he takes a step inside.

you blink at him, then at the book, and finally manage a weak smile. “oh, silly me. thanks,” you say, taking the book, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt.

a few days later when you’re walking through the hallways, there seems to be a buzz in the air. you spot vernon walking in the hallways, headphones in as he seems to bob his head along to whatever music was playing. you watch as a few students approach him in excitement and speak to him. he keenly takes off his headphones and listens, smiling a little and you can hear him say “thank you” before walking off. this seems to happen a few times and you’re really starting to wonder why. you turn around as you ask your friend and fellow TA.

“why is everyone going up to vernon? did something happen?”, you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

“you didn’t hear? he got first place in the hackathon competition. it’s a pretty big competition, so it’s a pretty big deal”, they fill in. 

“oh”, you reply. after your friend tells you. you later look up the competition and find out that it was indeed a really big deal. you’re walking to the cafe to get your daily caffeine fix when you spot a florist shop opposite the road. why not give vernon a bouquet to congratulate him? but then the second thoughts come; he wouldn’t think you were weird if you gave him flowers right? but then again, you saw the other faculty gave him a plant too, so you guessed there was no harm done if you gave him some flowers. so that’s how you’re walking back to your office with a small bouquet of flowers in your hand. 

(expect no one told you that that he was allergic to flowers and you were blissfully unaware of what chaos you were about to cause)

just as you were about to enter the lobby, you notice vernon walking towards the building from the opposite direction and for some reason, your heart skips a beat. his hair is a little messy today, but falls cutely over his forehead.

“vernon!”, you call out and he looks up, surprised to see you as he eyes the flowers in your hands.

“hey”, he asks and you smile before you notice the way he was keeping a small distance between you both. 

“congratulations on winning the hackathon! i thought you might like these, something for your win”, you say as you extend your hand out, holding out a small bouquet of flowers to him.

vernon eyes the bouquet, his expression shifting from surprised to slightly worried as he tries to maintain his composure as he reaches out to take the bouquet from you.

“oh, um, thanks. they’re really... nice”, he says to you and you beam, happy that he likes them.

but before vernon could say anything further, a sneeze erupts from him—loud and dramatic. he quickly tries to stifle it, but he sneezes again, and again and again.

“oh my gosh, are you okay?”, you ask, worried about the way he was sneezing all of a sudden.

vernon tries to wave off your concern, but the flowers were making it worse. his attempts to hide his discomfort were futile as he let out another series of sneezes.

“i-i’m fine! just a bit of… pollen...” he says before he sneezes again and your eyes widen in realization.

“oh my god, you’re allergic to flowers??’, you ask, reaching for the bouquet and nearly plucking it out of his hand, placing it on the bench that was nearby, hoping that the distance would make him feel better before you turn to face him again.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you were allergic to flowers”, you say, mortified, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  

vernon manages to find some tissues in his pocket and dabs his nose, managing to give you a weak smile.

“it’s alright”, he says, waving his hand in the air. 

“what do you mean it’s alright?” you repeat, your voice rising in panic. “no, i almost killed you! oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you tell, horrified. 

“it’s the thought that counts really. just maybe... no more flowers?”, he says through sniffles and you nod your head vigorously. 

“of course, i’ll get you something else”, you add in a rush and vernon sneezes once more. you offer to grab him a coffee or something to help him recover from the unexpected pollen assault.

“how about i get you some coffee? i feel terrible about this”, you ask, biting the bottom of your lip in nervousness as you look at vernon with a hopeful look in your eyes. vernon, now recovering, manages to chuckle between sneezes. 

“coffee sounds good”, he says, sniffling, his sneezes seeming to have gotten under control. 

“again, i’m so sorry”, you tell, feeling bad about the incident earlier. it felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against you whenever you interacted with vernon.

“no worries, i’m all good now”, he says, giving you a small reassuring smile that seems to ease your heart. you get vernon his coffee and walk back to the university, both of you walking in silence now. 

“again i’m so so sorry”, you repeat, still feeling bad about earlier, your voice filled with genuine regret.  

“it’s really not a big deal,” he reassures you again. “i’m just glad it wasn’t worse. some people are really sensitive to that stuff”, he says. the silence between you now feels more comfortable, a mutual understanding hanging in the air. you appreciate his easy going nature and feel a bit of the tension melting away.

unbeknownst to you, vernon had taken the bouquet of flowers back to his office, carefully placing it in the corner of his room. even though he was still sneezing occasionally, he couldn’t bring himself to toss the flowers away. each time vernon glanced at the bouquet, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, being reminded of you. 

a week later, as you’re wrapping up your day and heading out of the university. through the glass window of his door, you catch a glimpse of him sitting at his desk, rubbing his temple with a look of evident stress. concern nudges at you, and you decide to stop and check in on him.

you peek your head into the room. “hey, not heading out yet?” you ask, your voice gentle but curious. vernon looks up from his laptop, his eyes finding yours as he lets out a small sigh.

“no, i’m still here,” he replies, frustration evident in his tone. “i’m trying to figure out why this website keeps crashing.”

you step inside, curiosity piqued. “website?” you prompt, your mind quickly connecting the dots. you remembered that vernon does freelance work on the side, a detail you found impressive and one that explained why he carried his laptop practically everywhere. 

“yeah,” he continued, frustration clear in his voice. “it’s this website that crashes whenever too many users try to access it at once.”

you nod thoughtfully, drawing on your own experience. “you know, maybe you should take a break. sometimes when i get stuck on a piece of writing, stepping away and coming back to it later helps me see things more clearly”, you say.

you watch as vernon nods slowly, as he considers your suggestion, a small smile of appreciation flickering across his face. “yeah, i guess you’re right.”, he replies as he closes his laptop with a resigned click, and begins to pack up his bag. you both walk out of the office together, the weight of the day lifting slightly with each step. 

you could sense that vernon was a bit tense, perhaps still unwinding from a long day or just not fully at ease because of the problem he couldn't solve earlier. the silence between you was starting to feel a bit heavy, and you wanted to lighten the mood. you racked your brain for something to break the ice. but you didn’t know what to say, not wanting to say anything silly again so you kept quiet.

“well, i hope you can solve that issue soon!”, you tell after a few seconds of silence and he nods. “me too”.

the next day, you decide to take a little break before your office hours and head out, deciding to grab a coffee. you’re armed with the copy of two books, one that you were reading for class and another that you were reading on your own. you’re about to turn the corner when you bump into vernon - again.

“woah”, he says, just like the first time, still cool as a cucumber.

“shit, i’m sorry”, you tell, laughing softly. “no worries”, he says, his eyes falling on the two books in your hands. 

“you seem to always be in a rush”, he tells, adjusting his cap on his head. “i guess my mind is always racing and my feet somehow follow that”, you tell, joking and he nods again. it was like that was his default reaction.

“oh, by the way, i managed to fix that issue”, he tells, his face seeming to light up when he spoke to you this time.

“the one where the website kept crashing?”, you prompt and he nods. you start walking in the direction of the cafe and he follows beside you.

“that’s great, what was the issue?”, you ask, completely oblivious of all the technical terms that vernon was about to use.

“it turns out that the issue was with how i was managing the server resources. i had to optimize the code that handles incoming requests and i found this bottleneck where the server was getting overloaded, so i streamlined the process”, he explains and you furrow your brows as you try to make sense of what he was saying but who were you kidding, you had no idea what he was talking about.

“oh, that sounds…challenging”, you tell, hoping it didn’t sound like you were an idiot somehow.

“kind of, but i monitored the server's performance metrics and analyzed the logs and i was able to figure out where the issue was. once i made those tweaks, the website started handling traffic like a pro and didn’t crash anymore”, he tells proudly and you nod along.

“woah, that’s impressive”, you add, giving him a thumbs up as you walk, hoping it didn’t seem obvious that you didn’t really understand what he just told you and the only thing you actually managed to understand was that he solved the issue.

he turns to glance at you and the confusion is clear on your face as you nod along and praise him. he looks down and smiles to himself before looking back up at you, finding this whole situation funny and maybe a little cute because of you.

“you didn’t understand a word i said did you?”, he prompts and you feel the tips of your ears getting red out of embarrassment. “i did..i-i understood that you solved it”, you tell quickly. but you give in after a few seconds. “okay fine, i have no idea what you said but whatever it was, it sounds impressive”, you confess.

“it’s basically like having a rush hour at a store and there’s not enough staff to help around”, he starts off, explaining it to you in more simple terms. “so i had to make a code that handles requests run smoother. i also found a spot where everything was getting stuck, like a traffic jam. once i fixed it, it was like organizing a line so everyone gets their food faster without bumping into each other”, he tells and you nod in understanding this time.

“oh wow, that’s cool, that makes so much sense”, you repeat, impressed.

you reach the cafe and step inside, vernon beside you. you order a latte and ask vernon if he wants anything but he denies. so you just wait for your drink and he waits with you.

“how are you liking being a TA so far?”, he asks as he meets your gaze, adjusting the usual blue cap on his head.

“i think it’s going well, i have a knack for teaching you know”, you say with a small smile, happy. “i’m enjoying it, though sometimes it does test my patience a little”, you add and he chuckles as he nods along in understanding.

you grab your coffee when it’s ready and you both walk back to class, parting ways in the hallway as you head to your lecture and vernon to his.

it’s after office hours and the hallways were quieter. you’re making your way towards the library, the weight of your laptop bag and a stack of books pulling on your shoulders as you walk. your notebook and pens were carefully balanced in one hand. you spot vernon walking down and you give him a small wave when you reach closer. he stops, giving you a small nod of acknowledgement as he takes in the books and laptop you’re carrying, or lugging around again. 

“going somewhere?” he asks, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, adjusting the stack of books so they don't topple over. “i’m heading to the library to finish up some work.” vernon’s eyes follow you as you speak. “cool,” is all he says, his usual nonchalant reply that seemed to be his standard for everything.

you continue on your way to the familiar space of the library, navigating through the shelves and pathways to find your favorite spot - it was hidden in the back, right next to the window and was the perfect cozy spot to study, read or just hide in fact. you set down your laptop and open up your notebook to plan your next lecture and assignment. you open your laptop and are ten minutes into your work session when you hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching. you glance behind, eyes widening when you see who was stepping into your little hideaway.

you don’t expect to see vernon there. it was a rare and almost jarring sight; vernon and the library didn’t seem to mix well. his usual hangout was more likely the the local coffee shop or staying holed up in his own office, definitely not the library. you hesitate, caught off guard by this unexpected encounter. vernon looks at you and there’s a hint of something in his eyes.

“hey”, you say softly, trying to keep your tone casual despite the curiosity lingering inside you. “didn’t expect to see you here”. 

vernon shrugs, his relaxed demeanor unshaken. “yeah, i guess i needed a change of scenery.” he shifts on his feet, his eyes glancing over the empty space next to you. you reach out and bring your books to your side of the table.

“you can join me if you want”, you add and vernon nods, taking a seat next to you. “thanks”, he says, placing his laptop down before opening it and getting to work. it was strange, trying to focus on your work while sharing the space with someone who seemed so out of place here. the silence between you both was punctuated only by the rustling of pages by you and the soft but steady clacking of vernon typing away on his laptop.

you lift your head up and peek into what he was doing too curious for your own good,  only to see him effortlessly writing some code. in your eyes, it was like he was almost writing gibberish, making no sense to you whatsoever. to you, it looked like a jumble of incomprehensible characters, a stark contrast to the structured organization of your notes. but there was something so fascinating about the way he worked, and you find yourself staring into his screen for a little longer than you’d have liked before you realize, averting your eyes back to your own laptop.

after a while, you start to get sleepy. all the late night you pulled were starting to catch up to you and you felt your eyes drooping slowly, unable to concentrate or write anymore. you rest your chin on your hand as you slowly start to doze off. 

vernon, who was engrossed in his coding, notices your struggle to stay awake when. he tries to stay focused on his work, but every so often, his eyes dart back over to you, noting how you seemed to be fighting a losing battle against sleep. he wasn’t quite sure what to do so he just lets you be. in the end you seem to lose and you end up dozing off. your pen falls out of your hand, rolling onto the floor. 

quietly, he slips out of his chair and retrieves his jacket, picking up your pen too, placing it on the table. he gently drapes his jacket over your shoulders as you sleep, hoping it would make you more comfortable. the jacket was a bit oversized, but he hoped it would do the trick. however, in his attempt to make you more comfortable, vernon found himself in a tough spot. you shift and find a new resting place - right on vernon’s shoulder. he’s caught off guard, his eyes widening in surprise as you snuggle right into his shoulder and he freezes, unsure how to react. he tries to remain still, not wanting to wake you or disrupt the surprisingly cozy situation. he makes the quiet decision to wait it out, not sure whether he should wake you up or not. he focuses back on his laptop screen, though his attention keeps drifting back to you. with the weight of your head resting on his shoulder, vernon couldn't seem to focus at all. 

finally, after what felt like an eternity of indecision and awkwardness, you stir awake. your eyes flutter open, initially disoriented by the dim light and the unfamiliar feeling of having drifted off to sleep in the middle of your work. lifting your head from vernon’s shoulder, you blinked in surprise at the sight of him. 

“oh, i didn’t mean to fall asleep”, you mumble as you come back to your senses. it’s only after a few seconds later that you put two and two together.

“oh…OH…i’m so sorry”, ” you exclaim, rubbing your eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “i didn’t mean to—” 

vernon doesn’t say anything, though his face is still a bit flushed. “it’s alright. you looked like you needed sleep. i just wasn’t expecting you to use me as a pillow.”, he says matter of factly. 

you try to laugh it off, but your face is burning with embarrassment. “i hope i didn’t sleep for long”, you ask, unaware of how much time had passed. 15 minutes? 20 minutes?

“you slept for almost two hours”, vernon fills in and your hand flies up to cover you mouth in shock. no way. you had not just slept on vernon’s shoulder for almost two hours? what was wrong with you?

“yeah, i wasn’t sure if i should wake you or let you sleep. it seemed like you really needed it.”, he says like it was no big deal and you feel a wave of mortification wash over you.

“i’m so sorry for making you sit here like that. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  you tell, and that’s when you notice vernon’s jacket draped around you. you slide it off your shoulders and hand it back to vernon, but there’s still the lingering warmth it’s left behind on your shoulders. the fabric still holds the faint scent of him, a mix of cedar and something faintly sweet. 

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the blush from earlier now a persistent warmth in your cheeks. “i didn’t mean to make you wait so long,” you stammer, trying to regain some composure. “i must have really zonked out”, you tell, feeling bad about having our vernon in an awkward position. “it’s alright,” he says. “sometimes you just need a good nap”. 

the next morning is bright and clear, but you can’t shake the feeling of awkwardness from the previous day. the campus buzzes with its usual mix of students rushing between classes and professors hurrying to meetings. you on the other hand are  mentally preparing for a day full of avoiding vernon—mostly because you’re still embarrassed about falling asleep on him. 

but your plan goes down the drain the moment you see vernon. you’re about to turn around but his gaze finds you before you can, and turning around now would make it seem like you were actually running away. instead, you slow down and he makes his way towards you. he’s dressed in his usual laid-back attire—jeans and a university hoodie. 

“morning”, he says once he’s close enough and you give him a friendly smile. “morning,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact. vernon, unfazed by your clear attempt to escape a conversation, continues talking.

“did you sleep well?”, he asks and you swear there was almost a hint of humor in the way he asked it. 

“oh, uh, yeah, great,” you stammer, trying to sound calm and collected. “i slept really well”, you say, giving him a thumbs up before mentally cringing, forcing your hands down. vernon chuckles, the sweet sound of his laughter filling the air between you both. he smiles at you and you swear your heart almost skips a beat, two maybe, before he speaks again.

“i’m just teasing you”, he adds, the corners of his mouth still lifted up into a smile and you feel your cheeks heat up as you blink at him. “see you around”, he adds, before walking ahead, leaving you behind, your heart a fluttering mess.

the next week you, when you’re walking down the hallway, you spot vernon. but you didn’t expect him to look so good. he was wearing a light baby blue hoodie, his dark hair was tousled in that effortlessly cute way. but the thing that made you do a double take was the pair of glasses he was wearing. they sat perched on his nose, framing his eyes in a way that was somehow both endearing and charming, making him look adorable. for a moment, you can’t tear your gaze away. your heart skips a beat and it’s like your brain short circuited and stopped working for a second because the next thing you know, you’re walking right into the wall instead of turning the corridor. the sudden impact jolts you back to reality, and you blink, staring at the blank wall in surprise. 

you turn around to see vernon’s amused, but also concerned, his glasses perched at just the right angle to make his eyes twinkle. he waves at you, closing the gap between you both. shit, vernon didn’t see you walk into the wall right? he totally did.

“are you okay?” he asked, clearly trying to stifle a laugh.

you could feel your cheeks flush as you rub the spot where you’d collided with the wall. “yeah, i’m fine,” you manage to reply, trying to regain some semblance of composure. 

“just a little distracted, no big deal.”, you tell, trying to play it off. a smile still tugs at the corners of vernon’s lips. “i-i should go”, you tell, turning around and walking away, mentally preparing to dig your own grave and bury yourself because why did you have to be such an idiot in front of vernon.

“well, watch where you’re going”, he calls out as he watches you walk away. 

after office hours you decide to retreat to the familiar space of the library again. somehow being surrounded by books always seemed to ease your mind. on your way to library, you bump into vernon, his laptop tucked under his arm like always. he, in fact, had been looking for you. he’d dropped by your office but when he didn’t find you there, he thought you had gone home. but he decided to scan the library once since knew you spent a lot of time here as well. his eyes light up when he spots you here in your usual spot.

“hi”, vernon’s voice floats in, making you look up to see him. “h-hey”, you say, caught off guard by his presence again, the events of last evening flashing through your mind. “mind if i join you again?”, he asks and you shake your head, indicating he could sit. you both settle down at the back corner of the library, occupying a small table. you open up the book, the one you were re-reading for the nth time. you bring out your sticky notes and pens, ready to make notes and mark important points or quotes from the book since this was a book that was assigned for class reading. 

vernon opens up his laptop and starts working on trying to debug the code for a program he was building. you both work in silence, vernon typing away on his laptop while you read the book, making notes. after almost 30 minutes, vernon stretches and looks over at you, admiring the way you were engrossed in the book you were reading. he could see the expressions you made as you read - a soft smile when something funny was happening or the way your brows furrowed when something intense was happening. he thought it was cute. 

you seem to notice his gaze on you and look up. you glance at the time and decide to take a break too, closing your book. 

“what are you up to?”, you ask, recalling what you saw on his screen yesterday. “you were like writing a million lines of code the other day”, you tell and he nods. “yeah, i’m debugging this program”, he explains.

“how’s it going?”, you ask, leaning forward. “i think i’ve almost solved it”, he says, satisfied.

"don't you ever get tired of reading the same book over and over?" he asks after a few seconds of silence, genuine curiosity lighting up his face. you pause for a moment, considering his question. it wasn't the first time someone had asked you this.

"never" you say, a smile spreading across your face. "in fact, it's quite the opposite.whenever i re-read a book, it's like going on a treasure hunt and every time i re-read the pages, i uncover something new, stumble upon details i missed before, and uncover deeper meanings.", you start to explain.

vernon leaned back in his chair, his curiosity piqued, and you continued to speak.

you grab the well worn copy of the book you were reading and hold it out to show vernon. "take this book for example. each time i read it, i connect with the characters in a different way”, you add on.

he nods, his eyes reflecting understanding. "so, it's like the book grows with you," he says, intrigued by your perspective.

"exactly!" you reply, nodding eagerly.

“and i’ve been thinking about how programming and literature seem like polar opposites  at first glance, but actually have some similarities”, you tell, suddenly overcome with passion and vernon watches the way your eyes light up as you explain your theory to him. 

“you just think about it—both fields involve decoding and interpreting systems, just in different forms. for you,it’s deciphering algorithms and building code and for me it's analyzing and breaking down a characters' motivations and feelings”, you tell.

vernon nods as you talk, taking it all in. “that's an interesting way to put it, i never thought of it that way”, vernon says as your words sink in. “and the best part? there’s creativity in both”, you add like the cherry on top. as you continue, the flow of conversation feels so natural that you don’t immediately realize you’re starting to ramble. 

“it's fascinating how different disciplines can share common ground. we may approach problems from opposite ends of the spectrum, but our goals are surprisingly similar”, he says and you smile with the way he gets you. 

“exactly! so maybe we both aren’t so different after all”, you add, laughing softly. the enthusiasm in your voice only grows, until suddenly, you catch yourself in mid-sentence, your words faltering and growing softer until you stop speaking and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. “sorry, i didn’t mean to bore you with all this”.

vernon’s expression shifts from one of engaged interest to gentle reassurance, shaking his head. “bore me? not at all. i actually find it really interesting.”

you let out a relieved sigh, feeling a bit more at ease. “really? i just felt like i was going on and on. sometimes i get a bit—well, you know, enthusiastic about these things.” 

you glance at the time on your phone before looking back up at vernon. “wanna take a break and grab some coffee?”, you ask and he nods. “sure”

there was just something about vernon that made you look around for him in the hallways as you stole glances at him. maybe it was the way he was so cool, calm and collected unlike you - a mess.

 

a few months pass and you and vernon slowly get closer, talking more, hanging out more and it was like you were slowly bringing vernon out of his shell. you got to know a completely different side to him and he was fun, sweet and really cute as well.  

“have you noticed how vernon is acting so differently these days?”, one of his students say. “yeah, you know the other day i saw him in the library!”, the other one explains.

“what? that’s insane”, the other student fills in. “there’s something definitely up. i remember him telling me that the wifi in the library was shitty so he didn’t like to work there”, the other student adds on. 

“oh my god”, the second student tells as realization dawns. “what?”, the other two ask.

“i think vernon has a crush on the english TA”, they say. “wait, that’s so cute. that would make sense. i’ve seen them hanging out a lot and he’s been acting different too. he’s not holed up at his desk like before and i swear he smiles more when he’s talking with the english TA”, the first student adds.

vernon never expected to be so intrigued by someone like you. he was a computer science major, someone who thrived on structure and logic. but then there was you, an english literature major, always in some world or another, lugging around books everyday like it was nothing. despite their differences, he couldn't help but feel drawn to you. you seemed to have entered his life, bringing a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

you’re helping a student, because shakespeare was proving to be difficult for some students.  “if you need more help on how to structure the essay, let me know, i can give you some guidelines”, you explain to the student in front of you. 

“miss yn, i think vernon has a crush on you”, your students says, making you snap your head up because how did vernon suddenly come up?

“what? don’t be ridiculous”, you tell but your student just gives you a look.

“i’m serious! you know he never used to wander around the halls much, but ever since you joined, he has. he hangs out with you alot”, your student adds.

“that’s because we’re good friends”, you correct, giving them a look, but it was like they knew better.

“and he’s totally crushing on you, my friend does computer science and she can read all the signs”, your student explains further. 

“what signs?”, you ask, confused. “that he’s crushing on you. he’s hanging out with you, he smiles more often, he’s not wearing hoodies all the time and he’s hanging out in the library with you? he is totally crushing on you miss yn”, your student explains and suddenly you find yourself at a loss for words.

“maybe if you put this much effort in your essay you’d score higher marks”, you tell with a straight face, bringing the attention back to the topic at hand. you student only seems to sigh in defeat. 

“you both would make a really cute couple you know”, you student tells with a small chuckle as they walk out, leaving you shy but also wondering…did vernon really have a crush on you?

the idea of something like that seemed impossible. you both were so similar yet so different so the idea that he might like you, the possibility that he might have a crush on you stirred something in your heart. it would be a lie to deny that you didn’t like him or have developed a small crush on him too. but the thought that he might feel the same way? that’s something you hadn’t seriously considered until now.

tonight you find yourself staying late again to grade the papers that were given last week. vernon stood hesitantly outside the office door, his hand hovering over the handle as he took a deep breath to steady himself. he wasn't used to feeling nervous—usually, he was the calm and cool guy who approached situations with a quiet confidence. but tonight was different - he was nervous. summoning his courage, vernon knocked softly on your door, his heart beating a little faster than usual.

you looked up, surprised yet pleasantly so, as vernon entered. your smile widened at the sight of him, a welcomed interruption from the monotony of grading.

“i heard you were working late and bought some snacks”, he says, holding up a bag of food and you smile at the thoughtful gesture. 

“you’re a lifesaver, i was actually so hungry”, you tell as vernon opens the bag and hangs you a pack of chips, which surprisingly in your favorite flavor. you take it, telling him a small thank you as vernon takes a seat in front. his eyes wander to the papers on your desk.

“tough class?”, he asks. “yeah but it’s rewarding in a way”, you tell as you bite on a chip and chew.

“do you have lots of paper’s left to grade?”, he asks, looking at the stack, feeling unsure because his plans might fall through otherwise.

“oh, just two more actually, those are all done”, you tell, following his gaze and he looks relieved.

“i’ll wait for you, we can head out together”, he says and you smile softly, nodding your head before you get back to grading your papers. vernon watches at you grade the papers in concentrations, your brows furrowed slightly as you read through the essays your students had written, your pen marking places that were good, or need improvement. 

once you finish, you pack up your things and you're walking with vernon outside as he offers to walk you to the bus stop. you’re mind wanders to vernon and what you students were telling you earlier. was it that obvious you had a crush on vernon? you briefly glance at him before looking down at your feet, feeling your nerves rise up. you reach the bus stop and you both are standing there. vernon looks at you, noticing your distant expression, like something was weighing on your mind. 

“everything alright?” he asks, slightly concerned. 

you snap back to the present, giving him a slightly awkward but genuine smile. “oh, yeah, everything’s fine. just... thinking about stuff.”, you say as you dig your hands in the pocket of your coat.

vernon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. “well, if you need to talk about anything or if you just want to grab a coffee and chat, let me know.”

you nod, a smile playing on your lips. “sure, that sounds nice. i’ll definitely take you up on that offer”, you reply as you see your bus come. as you sit in the bus, you can’t help but replay vernon’s words in your head. did he mean that as a friend or something more? 

as you spend more time with vernon, both of you spending more time hanging out in the library, you start to notice the subtle changes in your feelings, how your heart flutters a little more each time vernon flashes that easygoing smile of his or how you look forward to those quiet moments spent with him in the library. the more you get to know him, the more you appreciate the effortless way he balances his laid-back demeanor with a genuine interest in your thoughts and feelings.  

as vernon spends more time with you in the library, he can’t help but notice how his feelings have evolved from casual admiration to something more. he’s used to being reserved and laid-back, but you’ve managed to stir something in him that he didn’t quite expect. your energy is infectious, and despite his usually reserved nature, he finds himself drawn to you more and more. 

seungkwan leaned forward in his chair at the café, taking a hearty bite of his sandwich. his eyes flicked up at vernon, who was sitting across from him with just an iced americano. 

“so, how’s the TA thing going?” seungkwan asks, his mouth still half-full. he was genuinely curious about how things were unfolding for his friend. he’d considered becoming a TA too, but he didn’t think he had the patient to teach.

“it’s going good,” vernon replies, taking a sip of his drink and meeting seungkwan’s gaze. he tries to sound nonchalant, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a lightness that seungkwan couldn’t quite place.

“who was the person with you earlier? the one you were chatting with?”, seungkwan prods.

“oh,” vernon said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “they’re another TA at the university.”

seungkwan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued at the information. “you guys see each other a lot then?”

vernon’s smile grows a little wider, though he tries to keep his tone casual. “yeah, we hang out pretty often. they’re fun to be around.”

seungkwan doesn’t miss the way vernon’s eyes soften when he mentions you. his curiosity is piqued and he leans in slightly, his grin widening as he sets down his sandwich, wiping his hand with a tissue. “fun, huh? you don’t usually talk about people like that”, seungkwan says as he looks at vernon with that look in his eyes, like he knew something more.

vernon hesitated, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “well, they’re just… different. you know? they make everything feel a bit more… lively. it’s a nice change from my usual routine.”

seungkwan’s grins wider and he gives vernon a look. “sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush. i’ve never seen you talk about anyone like this before.”

vernon’s eyes widen at seungkwan’s statement, caught off guard by his words. he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “it’s not like that. i just… enjoy their company”, vernon defends, but really, it’s no use against seungkwan.

seungkwan chuckles. “sure, sure. i’m just saying. i’ve seen you deal with enough spreadsheets and code to know when someone’s making a difference. you seem happier these days.”

there’s a hint of a smile still lingering on vernon’s face. “i guess you could say that.”

the conversation shifted to other topics, but vernon’s thoughts lingered on you. seungkwan’s observations were spot on, despite his attempts to keep things casual, he had to admit that you had brought a spark of excitement and unpredictability into his life. and as he looked at seungkwan, he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to these encounters than he had originally thought.

it’s the final week of classes before summer break rolls in. the campus is abuzz with students rushing to finish assignments and prepare for exams. you’ve been swamped with work, grading papers and wrapping up last-minute things. by the time you finally pack up and leave the office, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the campus.

the campus, usually lively with students and faculty, has quieted down. you walk briskly towards the exit, your thoughts occupied with a mix of relief and anticipation for the summer break. you could really use a break. as you step outside, you spot a familiar figure standing by the edge of the path, bathed in the soft light of a nearby lamp post - vernon.

he stands there with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed as he stands there. as soon as his eyes meet yours, his face breaks into a warm, welcoming smile.

“hey,” he calls out, his voice carrying easily across the still evening air.

“hey,” you reply, walking towards him. “what are you doing here?”

“i was just… waiting for you,” he says, a touch of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “i thought i’d see if you wanted to grab a coffee or something before you head back home. i know things have been pretty hectic with the end of the semester and all.”

you nod, giving him a smile at his thoughtfulness. it’s moments like these that make your heart skip a beat, and you realize that the time for the conversation you’ve been dreading is now. you’ve been meaning to ask vernon out for weeks, but each time you gathered the courage, you found yourself faltering, your intentions falling short of actual words.

but the idea of not seeing him over the summer, of leaving things as they are, feels unbearable. you don’t have it in you to wait that long. the thought of waiting until after the break, when you’ll have more time to analyze, second-guess, and overthink would drive you crazy instead. so you’ve decided that tonight is the night. as you both walk together towards the coffee shop, the casual conversation flows easily, but you can’t shake the knot of nervous anticipation in your stomach. vernon orders the coffee, his calm energy making you feel a bit more at ease.

as you wait for your drinks, the silence between you seems charged with unspoken words. vernon looks over at you, a curious expression on his face. “something on your mind?”, he prompts and you shake your head in a hurry, feeling nervous all of a sudden. it’s only after you finish your coffee and you’re walking back that you finally pluck up the courage to ask him.

“hey vernon”, you start, your voice bright but slightly hesitant. he looks up at you, eyebrows raised in curiosity, clearly waiting for you to continue. you fidget with your hands, then look up at him, trying to meet his gaze directly.

“i was wondering if you were free sometime next week? we could grab dinner or something?”, you ask, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as the words tumble out of your mouth. you can see the surprise and curiosity in vernon’s eyes as he processes what you’ve just said.

“me?”, he asks as he points to himself. you let out a soft laugh, trying to ease the awkwardness. “yes, you, silly. who else?” you say, letting out a nervous smile. you felt your cheeks warm up as you waited for him to answer. 

oh…wait was yn asking me out?

“oh um…”, vernon’s eyes widened, and he suddenly seemed very interested in the cement footpath, his gaze darting around, flickering everywhere but you as he shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but directly at you, trying to process what you just asked.

“i’m not sure, i might be busy”, he finally says, but he doesn’t miss the way your smile seems to fall off your face. you try to keep your tone upbeat despite the slight disappointment. “oh, okay. no worries,” you say, trying to sound casual. had you just been rejected? 

you go home, feeling embarrassed because what if vernon would avoid you now? you’d hate that and maybe you were starting to think you shouldn't have asked him out on that dinner offer. had you just blown things between you both? maybe you’d misunderstood his feelings after all. 

vernon sat opposite seungkwan, but his attention was somewhere else. seungkwan, his friend, was chatting animatedly about something that vernon was barely registering.

“vernon? are you even listening to me?” seungkwan’s voice floats in, shaking vernon from his thoughts.

“huh? yeah, i’m listening,” vernon replies, as he tries to focus his attention back on seungkwan.

seungkwan narrows his eyes. “what was i talking about?” he challenges, clearly not buying vernon’s half-hearted attention.

vernon’s mouth opened and closed as he scrambles to recall the conversation, but nothing came to mind. “uh… i, um…” he stammers, looking sheepish.

“you okay? you seem really lost,” seungkwan probed.

vernon sighs and looks down, a bit embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck in nervousness. “you know that TA i told you about? they asked me if i was free next week to have dinner”, vernon slowly explains.

seungkwan’s eyes widen in surprise. “so, what did you say?” seungkwan asks in anticipation.

vernon only shrugs, “i wasn’t sure, so i told them i might be busy”

seungkwan’s jaw drops in disbelief upon hearing his friend’s words.  “WHAT?” he almost yells, startling vernon. “dude, they were totally asking you out!”, seungkwan says and he was practically vibrating with excitement.

vernon’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ as realization hit him. “oh,” he said quietly, as it  dawned on him.

seungkwan’s frustration seemed to escalate. “are you kidding me? they asked you out on a date, and you what? you said that were busy? oh my god”, seungkwan exclaims dramatically at his friend's cluelessness.

“i didn’t know they meant it like that,” vernon defends, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“you’re an idiot, that’s what you are, an idiot”,” seungkwan mutters, shaking his head in disappointment and disbelief. “you better go on that date man, seriously.”, seungkwan threatens as he points at vernon with a mix of exasperation and encouragement.

“yeah, i’ll think about it, i guess” vernon mumbles, his mind already racing. “there’s no thinking, you’re going and it’s final”, seungkwan says like he had the final say in the matter, looking vernon up and down, baffled at his friend’s idiocy. 

that night, as vernon lay in bed, he couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that he had missed a golden opportunity. every time he replayed the conversation in his head, he felt like a complete fool. the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he wanted to go on that date with you.

“i’m such an idiot,” he mutters to himself, tossing and turning as images of you flashed through his mind. the more he thought about you, the clearer it became: he definitely wanted to go on that dinner date with you.

by morning, vernon is determined and he would figure out a way to make it up to you. but as classes go on, vernon can’t seem to focus on anything. he couldn't stop thinking about you.

the hours dragged by, each minute stretching longer than the last as vernon tried to get through his lectures and office hours. every time he glanced at the clock, he felt a pang of urgency. finally, when the last class was over, he packed up his things with an unusual sense of determination.

as he made his way across campus, his mind raced. he had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn’t let the opportunity slip away. he spots you just outside the university building, chatting with a couple of friends. his heart pounds as he approaches you, the sound of his footsteps seeming louder than usual.

“hey, vernon!” you greet, your voice warm with familiarity. your friends took the cue and started to drift away, saying they had to head to the other department, leaving you both alone.

“hey, um…” vernon began, his voice shaky but filled with resolve. “can i talk to you for a second?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

you’re still bummed about last night’s rejection, unsure of what vernon might say. “sure, what’s up?”

vernon took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “about last night…” he starts, fumbling with his words, glancing around as if seeking reassurance from the familiar surroundings. “i was thinking about what you asked me, and, um-”, he starts but you cut him off, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” you blurt out quickly, trying to mask your own anxiety. you were suddenly aware of the awkward tension between you both and wanted to avoid making things worse. “i mean, you don’t have to feel pressured or anything. we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, so”, you say, the nerves getting to you.

vernon blinks at you, looking even more confused. “wait, what?”, he asks, his brows knitted together as he tries to make sense of your words.

you sigh, feeling your cheeks grow even hotter as you scramble to find the right words. “i know i asked you out, and i totally understand if you’re not interested or if you feel weird about it. i just don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes because—” you trail off, suddenly feeling defeated.

vernon’s confusion only deepens. “actually, i came to say yes”, vernon finally says and you lift your head up to look at him. “yes to the dinner date”, he adds and your eyes widen in surprise.

“wait, really?”, you ask as you continue to look at him.

“yeah, really,” vernon affirms, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“oh”, is all you can say, the word coming out in a surprised whisper before you let out a nervous laugh.

vernon chuckles along, rubbing the back of his neck as if to chase away his own nerves. 

“yeah, i was kind of an idiot about it, but i’m glad we’re on the same page now.” he adds bashfully.

you try to hide the smile on your face, but you can’t help it and a small smile grows on your face at his confession. the awkward atmosphere between you both is replaced with relief.

“so, it’s a date then?” vernon asks, his tone playful as he raises an eyebrow.

you nod, feeling a little shy but also excited. “yes, it’s definitely a date”, you reply, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you and vernon’s grin widens as he nods his head along to your words, meeting your gaze and smiling even wider. 

it had been almost two months since you and vernon began dating, and things had turned out to be quite charming. the students seemed to love the idea of you two being together, some even going so far as to place bets on whether or not you’d end up as a couple or not. the playful speculation had become a running joke, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how obvious you both must have been about your feelings.

“see, i told you vernon had a crush on you,” one of your students chimes in during office hours. you roll your eyes, trying to maintain a professional demeanor.

“please finish your essay on time, no more deadline extensions,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to academic matters.

“but you guys are really cute together,” your student adds, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.

“alright, aren’t you going to be late for class?” you ask, glancing at the time. as the student hurried out, you spent the rest of the day preparing notes for the next lecture, enjoying the quiet solitude of your office.

later, as you nestled into your favorite corner of the library—a spot you’d claimed as your own hiding place—vernon appears at the entrance. his eyes scan the room before landing on you with a grin.

“i thought i might find you here,” vernon says proudly, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and affection.

“my hiding spot has been busted,” you declare dramatically, making a show of pretending to be disappointed.

vernon chuckles at your antics. “i think if you were given permission, you’d practically live here.”

“maybe,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “the idea doesn’t sound all that bad. don’t tempt me.”, you prompt and vernon only laughs more.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m here to keep you company. how’s the work coming along?”

you pat the empty space beside you. “better now that you’re here”.

vernon settles next to you. “just promise you won’t fall asleep again”, vernon asks and you look at him, feigning offense. 

“it’s called taking a power nap”, you defend and he laughs. 

“yeah, just don’t use me as a pillow because last time you drooled on my shirt”, he says, making you give him a look.

“i did not!”, you retort. “you totally did, i took a picture as proof”, he says. 

“yeah right, you’re lying”, you say, rolling your eyes.

“wanna bet?” vernon asks as he pulls out his phone, flipping through his photos with an air of mischief. “here it is.” he shows you a blurry, yet unmistakable photo of you snoozing peacefully, a small droplet evident on his shirt.

you feel your cheeks heat up and you swat his phone playfully “you’re the worst. i was just trying to get a bit of rest”, you tell. 

“fine, i’ll make it up to you,” you say after a few seconds, your eyes sparkling with an idea as you looked at him.

vernon raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you. “how?”

without missing a beat, you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. for a moment, vernon’s entire body went still. his eyes widened in surprise, and he gulped down his nerves, trying to process what had just happened.

“what was that?” he finally managed to stammer.

you pulled back slightly, your heart racing as you tried to maintain a casual demeanor. vernon’s cheeks turn into a soft shade of pink, and he blinks, clearly caught off guard. 

“oh, um, thanks,” he says, his voice coming out in a hesitant mumble, trying to steady his racing heart. “i wasn’t expecting that.” 

you bury your face in your hands, trying to hide the growing blush, though you couldn’t suppress the playful grin tugging at your lips. from behind your fingers, you peek through the gaps to look at vernon, who now had an almost straight, serious expression, though his eyes held a soft gaze as he looked at you. 

“do you want another kiss?”, you ask and he looks at you, surprised, his resolve faltering. 

“if you want to”, he says before he glances around the library, peeking over the shelves to make sure no one was watching. “i just don’t want people thinking we’re up to scandalous things in the library,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“we are not doing anything scandalous over here,” you say, giving his arm a playful smack. “you’ve clearly never read any romance novels, have you?”, you ask as you look at him. “this is like the least scandalous thing we could be doing in the library right now, i’ve read worse, trust me”, you say, while vernon just looks at you with a fond gaze. 

“alright, if you say so”, he says. he leans in slightly, his eyes searching yours as he looks at you.

you smile softly, getting nervous. the moment felt suspended in time, and his hand found its way to your cheek, his touch both tender and reassuring. he hesitated just for a heartbeat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, before finally leaning in. the kiss was soft and tentative at first. his lips were warm against yours, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile as he deepened the kiss just slightly, moving his lips against yours. you kissed him back, your fingers curling around his arm as you pressed closer. 

when you finally parted, you both linger in the space between, and the quiet of the library seemed to embrace you both. vernon’s eyes meet yours, his expression a mix of adoration and amusement. “see? not scandalous at all,” he whispered with a playful tone.

you laughed softly, the sound mingling with the ambient silence of the library. “definitely not scandalous,” you say, agreeing, your voice equally soft as you hold vernon’s gaze, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

taglist: @paindivinemp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @blue-jisungs @icyminghao

@wheeboo @wootify @joshuaahong @fallingforshua29 @n4mj00nvq

@itsveronicaxxx @ihrtboo @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @aaniag

[hellishjoel]

talk me down

3.7k / therapist!joel x f!reader

← masterlist

Summary: You’re finally ready to sit down and discuss your obvious daddy issues. Your therapist, Joel, has his methods. 

Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, abuse of position (therapist!joel), discussions of parental divorce, daddy issues, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names, cursing/swearing, age gap, handjob (for a lil bit?) unprotected p in v, cockwarming (if you squint?), breathplay (I’m running out of breath typing all this are we good to go?) 

A/N: this is my first fic wow how exciting, I can’t thank my new friends enough for the brainstorming and helping make it to tumblr so let’s just get on with it yeah? tell me if you want more, my requests are open x

“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.   “So fuckin’ wet… were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.  He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist. 

“So what brings you here today?”

Your eyes shyly evade his, instead choosing to graze over the belongings of your new therapist’s office. It looked like a small library the way books were lined up and stacked on the shelves. The desk behind him was a dark oak, and everything had its place, not a pen out of line. After you deliberately ignore his question, he probes you again.

“It says on your intake form that you have... A distant relationship with your father due to your parents' divorce. Is that something you want to talk about with me today?”

His voice is sweet like honey, but you’re the only one dripping. You failed during your extended research on therapists to check his picture because you had no idea you signed up for someone so fucking handsome.

Your jaw was tight as you clamped your legs tighter together one draped over the other, trying to conceal your growing arousal. Talk, or he’ll think you’re mute!

“Yes.” You say, clearing your throat as you readjust your skirt over your lap, tugging at the hem.

You confide in Joel about the hardships of your parents growing up. The house was never quiet, always fighting, tearing each other down, and it just wasn’t healthy. You thought you’d thank the lord the day they filed for a divorce. You didn’t expect to lose the relationship you had with your father in the midst of it all.

You were still young, trying to grow up and learn, his absence mattered to you, even if it didn’t to your mother. He came around a lot at first. He’d pick you up from school and steal you away for a few hours, getting ice cream to celebrate your reunion with him.

But then, he got a new girlfriend. You weren’t sure how she managed to replace both you and your mother, but she did. You saw him less, he started not meeting your expectations. Soon, he became a weird distant memory. Now, as a young adult, you combat all the unjust things the wake of his departure caused. You couldn’t bear the thought of dating someone your age. Everyone was young and immature, asking for nudes over text after the first date if they even got your phone number at all. Now it was all just over social media or dating apps.

“Older men are just more... Refined. They have their priorities and goals, and they’re like... Actually accomplishing shit. Guys my age are just..” You paused, your eyes meeting his own to fill in the gaps.

“.. Not meeting your expectations?” Joel asked, his pen clutched in his hand as he scribbled something in his notepad.

“Right.” You let out breathily, your eyes falling to the chest hair you could see exposed by his button-up shirt.

This was a perfect example because look at Dr. Joel Miller! His Ph.D. decorated the wall with numerous other accolades on his shelves, so you knew he was smart. Being a therapist made him a good listener, you’d never have to feel like you were the therapist to a frat guy again.

You let out an involuntary whimper, a white-hot flash soaring through the pit of your stomach. You were dripping for him, and you could feel it against your clenched thighs.

“I know talking about these topics is difficult, but you’re doing a good job.” He praised you as you felt your chest and cheeks flush red with his attention.

Your breathing was staggered, you needed to release the tension between your legs desperately.

“You-- uhm, you think I’m doing a good job?”

His eyes flashed up to you with the question, something dark and tantalizing about the way he looked over you now. It was like a predator meeting prey the way his eyes began to rake over you.

Your arousal was obvious in the way your knee anxiously bounced up and down, continuing to readjust in your seat, begging for him to tell you that your time with him was up so you could go home and use your vibrator on your clit, thinking about Dr. Joel Miller between your legs.

You watched as he stood up from his chair across from you, your eyes tracking him as he nodded slowly. He clasped his hands behind his back, his strong biceps fighting the material of his shirt for dominance. The hand closest to you came down and did a delicate sweep around the rim of the chair you were sitting in.

“You’re doing great, baby girl.” He praised again, stopping to stand next to you. You were eye-level to his waist, your lips parting at the sight of the bulge in his pants. Oh, fuck me, so that’s what he’s been hiding behind his notepad.

His hand gently reached out to you, two straight fingers under your chin as he tilted you up to look at him. Your long eyelashes batted at him, teeth piercing down into your bottom lip. You let out an involuntary sigh as his hand moved up your cheek, bringing you in to rest against his thigh.

He was warm, and he smelled like Old Spice, god, you could swear it was the same one your dad used to use. You whimper at the thought, digging your face gently further into his protection. You felt his hand gently caress the back of your head, stroking back your hair from your face.

You wanted him, your pussy wanted him, and the throbbing need for his attention and affection was incurable. You began to press kisses into the material of his pants, losing all pride as you fell to your knees in front of him and palmed your hand over his growing erection.

You braved looking up at him, his face watching you in adoration, like he was proud of you.

“Is this what you want? I’ll do whatever you want.” You say meekly, desperate to please.

“You know what I think you need?” He asks, his voice dropped an octave, and it was making you purr. He was more sultry now, his hands finding yours and guiding you up off of the floor. You finally shake your head, your hands gently moving up his chest and feeling his toned pecs and broad shoulders.

Seeing him this close made your heart flutter. He was so handsome, so grown. His wispy curls were adorning the same salt and pepper as his beard. He had worn lines by his eyes and on his forehead, his curious mind must always be causing his brows to furrow. He had you breathless at the mouth and achingly wet down below.

“I think you need me to take care of you. Is that what you want, baby? Someone to show you how much they care about you? Someone to be where you need them most?” His strong hand is traveling down your front now, Joel’s pointer finger curling into the front of your skirt. Your lips part as he tugs so hard that you’re falling into him, your small hands clutching the landscape of his biceps.

“Yes-- fuck, please Joel, yes.” You nearly beg. Be there for me, be inside me.

He let out a heavy grunt of satisfaction, closing the distance between you as he cradled your face in his big hands and connected your lips. You felt safe, letting your walls fall down as he took care of you.

You melted in his hold, Joel’s tongue carefully gliding over your bottom one in a request for you to part yours for him. You followed his lead, a whimpering moan leaving you as you felt his tongue invade your mouth. He was moving you backward methodically until the back of your thighs hit the desk you previously admired. Your hips shook the frame, hearing pens and some papers clatter to the floor.

You felt overwhelmingly hot, you needed to shed some layers. Like the mind reader he was, Joel’s hands moved down to the hem of your top, breaking your heated kiss to discard the material in his way.

He generously cupped your breasts held away by your bra, another desperate moan leaving you as you watched him through hooded eyes admire your body. His hands were quick to settle on your hips, fingertips burning into your skin as he lifted you up onto the desk with ease. Fuck, he had the kind of strength that looked effortless.

Joel was taking charge, and it was so nice, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and you didn’t have to worry about anything. His legs nudged your own open, cool air finally greeting your needy pussy. The sensation had your head falling back, accidentally breaking your kiss once more.

“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.

“So fuckin’ wet… were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.

He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist.

“You want daddy to take care of that for you with his cock?” His foul words had you at a loss of your own, your jaw slack as he pressed his hips into yours and you could feel his dick pressed right up against your pussy.

“Take daddy’s belt off.” He grumbled his orders, a quick nod leaving you. You didn’t want to waste his time.

“Yes.” You whimpered.

“Yes, what?” His voice was stern and articulate, making you bend your will as his close proximity flooded your senses. You couldn’t find his belt soon enough. You popped the button of his jeans and nearly tore off the zipper at his ask.

“Yes, daddy.” You whimper, a greedy smile on your lips to see you earned his favor. He adoringly cupped one side of your cheek as both of your heads rested against one another’s to watch you pull down his dark briefs.

He let out a strained grunt at the release, his flesh going to slap against his tanned stomach. He was already unbuttoning his shirt as you made a fist around him, watching his face to see how he liked it. Too fast? A little slower? Too rough... You paused and spat down on him, your eyes darting back up to his as he let out a satisfied sigh. Let me do it perfectly for you, Joel.

“So good for me.” He purred, his thumb brushing down the slope of your nose and over your swollen bottom lip that you had bruised from biting down so hard on it. He pushed the tip of his thumb past your lips, the intrusion a surprise but you eagerly sucked to appease him. The action made him swell in your hand to fullness, even beginning to feel too heavy in your hand as you continued to work over him.

“Is this all for me?” You asked eagerly, a sweet smile gracing your face.

You watched as he leaned in, your eyelashes fluttering closed as he came to press his warm lips against the crown of your head. “All for you, baby girl.” He mumbled against your forehead.

“Oh,” you let out in a sweet surprised little moan, your hand working over him eagerly faster. You didn’t care if you got off at this point, as long as he did.

“Lie back, baby.” His voice was rocky like gravel, you could already see his chest heaving at the attention of your hands. You did as he asked, but not before he unclipped your bra so your tits were on full show for him.

You reached one of your hands back, already gripping the edge of the table as you braced yourself for him. He was so large, easily the largest you had ever been with. You wanted to feel every inch of man that he was inside of your throbbing cunt.

Your skirt was merely an obstacle in his way, watching him toss it up to show your lacey panties underneath. You bit down on your lip with a wide smirk on your face, he really liked the lace.

“So fuckin pretty,” he admired, your hands coming to rest over his own, your nails gently grazing down his forearms to his fingers. His pointer finger and thumb grazed over the soaked material, admiring how he could see your pretty pussy underneath it. The lace was so dainty and fragile in his hands, he could just--

You gasp as his large hands rip the delicate lace right open, a messy opening of broken threads but now, he had unlimited access to your sex. He was so strong, you hoped he would split you open the same way.

His hands took a grip on the tops of your parted thighs from the outside, taking one foul yank as you felt him press his cock between your wet folds. You were back to gripping and stroking over his forearms, your delicate hand coming up to feel his stubbled cheek.

“Joel please, I need you.” you whimpered out, his head nodding against yours as a few of the curlier strands on his head fell onto his forehead. He was so handsome when he was turned on.

Joel’s heavy huffs broke the eye contact of his cock gliding up and down your arousal, the slick lubing him perfectly. He was perfectly glazed over now, all because of you, his heavy thumb coming down to gently circle over your throbbing clit.

You let out a cry at the much-needed attention, your walls pulsing for him to fill you up.

“Joel!” You whined out in anticipation, your jaw dropping as he finally guided his tip to you without warning and slammed into your depths until he bottomed out in one thrust. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, stopping you from letting out a sobbing moan as tears started to swell at the brim of your eyes.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, princess,” His voice was broken by grunts and loose breaths, his palm swallowing your hot high pitched whines. “Or else we’ll have to stop.” You did not want him to stop!

You quickly shook your head and clasped your wrist around his which kept your mouth shut. I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you Joel. A tear slipped as you peppered apologetic kisses to the inside of his palm, your eyes desperately connecting with his in a silent ask for him to please continue fucking you.

Joel swiveled his hips back, his jeans clinging to his upper thighs as he rolled back into you. You couldn’t help but clench your eyes closed and let out a broken moan. He filled you up in all the best ways possible, he was perfect inside of you, every goddamn inch. You didn’t realize how loud you had gotten, his hand pushing your head down further into the desk and squeezing into your cheeks until you snapped out of it.

“What did fuckin’ tell you?” He punched out. God, you could feel him pulsating inside of your tight walls.

“God, this tight pussy feels so-- fuckin’ good.”

You moaned quietly at the compliment, a blissed-out smile on your lips still against his palm as he started a steady rhythm rocking into you.

You whimpered as the desk started to creak with each of his heavy thrusts, pinching your ass against the desk but he felt too good to complain. Sure, you’d have a red line imprinted on your cheeks, but hell, it was so worth it. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, little angel for me-- fuck,” he grunted as he used the hand wrapped around your mouth as leverage, holding your head down as his hips snapped into you mercilessly. You were crying out moans into his palm, but nothing loud ever left the room, just like he wanted.

Your hands are clenching at the desk now, desperate not to fly off. Through blurry eyes, you saw his face, tight and twisted as he admired the way your breasts bounced with each of his thrusts.

You bravely reached up to take his hand around your mouth, shifting it down to wrap around your windpipe. You gave him an angelic little smile, biting down on your lower lip to hold in your dirty moans.

Joel watched you in awe, nodding with his sick little half-smirk as he started to squeeze at the sides of your throat. Fuck, he’s done this before, he knows exactly what he’s doing. The heightened experience turns you on, he’s not some 20-something idiot who cares only about getting his dick wet. Joel wants you to cum.

“You look at me baby.. fuck--, don’t break eye contact until you wanna breathe, darlin’.” His accent drawled in your ear and made your pussy even wetter for him. One of his hands squeezed at the sides of your delicate windpipe, his other hand snaking between you two as his electric fingers found your buzzing clit.

The attention was a lot, but you were a whore for it.

His thrusts grew sloppier, but he was pacing himself, Joel wants you to cum first.

You whimper at the idea of him putting you ahead of his own interested and needs, your head growing foggy as your wrist wrapped around his own that held you down but you didn’t look away from his amber eyes. He licked his lips in desire watching you, your lips parting for air as you finally looked away.

He followed through on his promise, his strong hands going lax as your head fell to the side, eyes closing in bliss while your pussy fluttered around his dick.

“Fuck baby girl,” he panted through a mumble as his spare hand massaged over your breasts. “Got me losin’ my goddamn mind.” He moaned something that resembled your name, pinching at your sensitive peaks until he had you whimpering.

“Joel I- oh god,” your stomach dropped as the tip of his dick massaged at your sweet spot, a cry threatening to spill from your lips but you knew he didn’t like you being too loud in his office so you hold it in, your cheeks going hot red.

It was all too much. Your foggy head, his hands on your sensitive bits, his fucking dick slamming into you. You felt so small in his hold, his body shielding you from the outside world as he drove you face-first into your earth-shattering orgasm.

“Joel-Joel please, fuck, I’m gonna-,” Your chin tilted up and your back arched, his hand instantly moving back up to your throat so you could feel even more floated during the crash of your orgasm.

“Cum for me princess. Cum for me now.” He demanded in a mumble.

It coursed through your body like an electric current, your body short-circuiting from the amount of pleasure it was receiving all at once.

Your lips were parted, but nothing came out. You couldn’t hear a thing, only Joel, only him as he ruts himself against your core and you feel him spill his hot cum into the depths of your sex. You lazily smirked as you made your walls flutter around him, your core pulsing. Could almost feel him in your belly.

His breaths were heavy, heavenly. It made your skin clammy, the both of you so fucked up that you were stuck in place. You didn’t realize it, but you had reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently gliding down the curve of his crooked nose. Your lips gently came together as your head came up, kissing the tip of his nose before going to lay back down on his desk.

“Oh, baby girl,” Joel purred in adoration, his mouth coming down to greet yours in a delicate kiss. “Did such a good job.” Both of you were so drunk on your orgasms, everything was so perfect.

You lazily kissed him back, your arms wrapping around the tops of his shoulders with your fingers lightly fisting the hair at the nape of his neck to keep him close as he softened inside of you. You could stay here like this forever.

You glanced over just in time, seeing the last grain of sand fall down in his glass sand timer. Your session with Dr. Joel Miller was over.

He helped you hop off his desk, your wobbly legs needing to find their strength again. His cum was already meeting the tops of your inner thighs, your face blushing at the feeling. You were quite literally gaping for him.

Joel cleared his throat and easily pulled his jeans back up to the top of his hips at his waist, securing his belt and zipper before he fisted your discarded, ripped apart panties.

“Oh,” you whispered a bit embarrassed at the sight of them. You had just finished pulling your shirt back onto your torso, stuffing your bra inside your purse. No way you were going to try and put that thing back on. You reached out for him to hand them over, your eyes widening as he pulled his hand away and stuffed them into his pocket.

“For safe keeping…” He trailed off, his eyes still dark as they looked down at your wide ones. Well, you weren’t getting those back any time soon. They were his now, your torn to threads black lace panties. You nodded and weakly smiled, still trying to catch your breath.

Joel walked you out, tapping his absentminded secretary’s desk to tell her to find something in both of your calendars for a future date.

“I think I can really help you work this out.” He told you on your way out.

As you left his office, you felt like everyone knew what you had just done. But for now, it was just a secret for you and your therapist, Joel.

---------------- taglist: let's be fr lol If you liked talk me down, check out pretty little thing!

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Safe and Sound.....Kinda" pt. 1

You went M.I.A and the LADS Men are stressed!

Zayne

MC: Lets get dinner when I get back from this three day mission Zayne: Im not sure whether you're brave or idiotic MC: What do you mean? Zayne: A hunter with ample heart issues agreeing to go on a three day excursion its risky MC: I'll be fine besides I have you to take care of me Dr. Zayne Zayne: How many of you are going on this mission MC: There's eight of us in total and I'm partnered with Tara

Two days have passed since Zayne spoke to you. Just one more day and he'll see your pretty face again. He smiled to himself "How childish" he mumbled to himself as his leg bounced with anticipation of seeing you soon. Just then his work phone rang "Dr. Zayne speaking"

"Dr. Zayne we need you in the ER stat" Yvonne's voice was much more stern compared to her soft easy going tone. This was serious. He stood quickly moving around his desk; throwing on his white coat not missing a beat as he made his way to the ER.

"Give me a rundown of the situation" Zayne said as Grayson jogged the catch up with him. "We have seven patients, two unconscious, and all severely injured, the hunters association told us they were on a mission that went wrong a frenzy of wanderers appeared through a rift"

Time seemed to slow as Zayne's mind swam through the possibilities that this could be for squadron. "Give me the names"

"Ceila 21, Terrance 24, Mico 21, Tara-"

"Tara? is MC among these patients?" If looks could turn someone to stone Grayson would be a statue in the courtyard by now. He quickly flipped through the pages on the clipboard searching for your name. "I don't see her name here"

"You said there were seven ... is someone missing?" Zayne asked as he could feel his blood pressure rising.

"Zayne!" Someone was calling his name. "Zayne!" The voice was coming from a pale woman with short brown hair. She had lacerations scattered across her body; her torn uniform hanging on by a thread. She was covered in bruises and was about to pass out from blood loss any minute. "You have to help her..."

"Help who?"

"MC ... she's still ... she's still fighting ....... alone .......... you have to find her" Time seemed to slow as reality set in. MC was alone with the wanderers who did this to her team. All the oxygen left Zayne's body in an instant.

"Dr. Zayne they're calling for you in the operating room" Yvonne yelled snapping Zayne out of his mental spiral. "Right, right tell them I'm on my way"

Your profile was flagged as M.I.A. after that day no one knew where you were

Three days.....

Five days.....

One week....

One week three days twenty seven minutes....

Time ticked by slowly tormenting Zayne. He couldn't sleep and his appetite was non existent. Dark shadows formed under his eyes from his late nights going out and searching for you. "Where did you go?" He dropped his head in his hands trying to control his emotions. Just then an unknown number flashed across his phone screen.

"Hello?"

???: Hello, this is Jenna I'm MCs Captain you are listed in her file as an emergency contact. I'm just calling to let you know that we found her, but she's unresponsive. She's being transported to Akso Hospital now......she has a faint pulse.

Zayne dropped his phone and booked it out the door heading straight for the hospital. You were battered, bruised, and bloody but you were breathing and that was enough for Zayne. You had to be put in a medically induced coma so he and the other doctors could stabilize you.

Zayne stayed by your side adjusting your pillows, checking you vitals, and settling into his nightly position sitting bedside with his head in your lap. Rubbing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb as you lay there motionless. Slow steady breaths with nothing but the sound of the heart monitor melodically singing in the otherwise silent room. He'd wait as long as it would take for you to wake up. You have to wake up.

Rafayel

You were supposed to be back two days ago. Rafayel was losing his mind. "She has twelve hours to contact me before I burn the hunter association headquarters to the ground" he seethed through gritted teeth.

Thomas stood back as Rafayel's anger was radiating off him in waves. He could almost feel the heat of his evol burning his skin.

Next day...

"Are you even looking for her?" Rafayel yelled in Jennas face.

"You're not the only one worried about her sir she's M.I.A. with a damaged hunters watch we're having trouble getting a lock on her coordinates" Jenna smoothed her skirt as she stood from her desk to size up Rafayel. "If you have any suggestion I'm all ears"

"Find her or you can say goodbye to this entire organization"

"Is that a threat?" Jenna stood tall under Rafayel's searing gaze anyone else would have cowered away.

"Its a promise"

One week later...

There's a loud bang on the door of Rafayel's art studio. The sudden noise startled him. "Raf....." The softest voice came from the other side just as he could hear the person sliding down the door and the soft thud of them hitting the ground.

He rushed to the door recognizing your voice. "MC!" You fell backwards as he opened the door. He managed to catch you under you arms. "What happened? Where were you? Don't tell me this is your blood" A blood trail tracked the path you took he could tell you'd fell a few times just trying to get to the door. Blood was smeared down the door and was now slowly pooling underneath the two of you.

"I was so badass" You smiled as you looked up at his blurry face going in and out of focus. "This is not the time for jokes" Your eyelids were so heavy. You tried to respond, but your words came out slow and slurred. "I just....wanted.......to see...........you.....before I.........died" Your head fell back as you passed out from blood loss.

Rafayel scooped up your bloody body and rushed out the door trying not to slip. You were dead weight and your breaths were shallow he knew he didn't have any time to waste. He ran with you in his arms to the nearest hospital begging for help as he fell to his knees with you in his arms.

Like I said safe and sound....kinda.

Xavier & Sylus here ♡

[tlou-reid]

!smut, mdni!

thinking about spencer reid who has had a crush on the pretty BAU agent at the desk across from him ever since she started. she has been so swamped with work and paperwork and life recently and spencer notices the small changes in her behaviors because he notices every little thing about her. he sees the tighter grip she holds on her pens, making the ink bleed through the paper just slightly. he notices the way she starts to slam her coffee cup on the desk as opposed to gently sitting it down. he notices the heavy uptick of the amount of cups she’s having.

and it’s worse when they’re given a case. naturally, since they get along so well and since they’re probably the two smartest people in the world, hotch pairs spencer and his crush up throughout their time in phoenix, arizona. spencer sees the way she’s always cracking her knuckles and rubbing at the small of her back. he hear the tone in which she talks to the officers.

so, when they’ve finally caught their unsub just 6 days later, spencer makes sure to pick up her case files before she can even make it from her hotel room. he tucks them neatly under him as he sits down on the jet, carefully hiding them from her. he holds them hostage, knowing if she doesn’t see them, she won’t worry about them. out of sight, out of mind, as they say. she falls asleep quickly in the seat across from spencer. he can’t help but ogle at her beautiful sleeping form, knowing she really needs the rest.

and, once they returned to the musty bullpen that belongs to the BAU, spencer stays with her. he watches as she starts the paperwork he’d sneakily put on her desk, not letting her catch on to the fact that he’d taken it. he tries his best to focus on his own work, but the way she keeps groaning as she rolls her head back has him completely distracted. he’s barely three pages in when hotch emerges from his office, bidding both of them a goodbye and complimenting their work on the case

that just leaves spencer and the pretty agent across from him in the space.

time moves slower now, spencer thinks, which makes it even more agonizing to listen to her try to work out her over-exhausted muscles by herself. he can’t help himself as he breaks the comfortable silence that had been established.

“hey, y/n,” he inquires, knowing she probably doesn’t want to be disturbed right now. his suspicions prove to be true when she doesn’t look up, letting out a less than enthusiastic “hm?”.

“do you know the benefits of getting a massage?” this piques her interest, wondering where spencer was going to take this. sure, the recent stress in her life had her muscles aching at every hour of the day, but she didn’t think anyone had picked up on it. “i know the basics, spence.” she giggles, finally looking over at him.

he can’t dwell on the fact that this is the first time she’s smiled in about two weeks because his brain starts moving too fast for his mouth to keep up, “yeah, most people know they helps with muscle aches but they actually have a lot of benefits. massages help improve circulation and joint mobility. there’s also research that connects them to cosmetic effects, like improved and more even skin tones.”

he doesn’t expect her to still be paying attention to him, but he’s pleasantly surprised at the small smile spreading across her face. “hm, that sounds amazing. if only i wasn’t trapped here doing paperwork at almost three in the morning.” she answers sarcastically, turning back to her work. “i could give you a massage.” spencer stumbles out.

her cheeks start to heat up as she makes eye contact with him, wondering where he would take this. “i mean,” he backtracks, “i’ve read books on how to do shoulder and back massages. my eidetic memory means i could probably do an almost perfect one, if you’re interested. i’ve noticed the way you’ve been struggling with muscle aches.”

her face feels like it’s on fire with the way he’s making her blush. “um, sure, spencer, if you don’t mind.” she stutters and stumbles as she tries to accept his offer. he excitedly pushes himself of his hair, pulling up a closer one behind her.

his large hands start to knead at the knots at the base of her neck. he can feel the tension she’s built up over the past couple of weeks and tries to recall the techniques he’d read about so long ago.

this quickly becomes a challenging feat, as he moves his hands along the expanse of her back. she lets out light moans when he massages a particularly tight part of her muscle. the moans and grunts she’s making are going right to spencer’s cock. he’s so glad he’s behind her, because the tent in his pants continues to grow as he reaches the base of her back, where most of her pain had been.

her light moans have now increased in volume, and spencer is sure he should stop. he was not expecting to have this reaction from her, or react this way to her. his mind is cloudy and beginning to fill with filthy images that match the sounds she’s making now.

and god, he should stop. he knows he should pull his hands away from her, especially as he feels his stomach tighten and his dick throb in his pants. but he can’t. he needs to reach his release so bad, so he presses his fingers harder into her back, listening to the joyful sounds she’s letting out.

he doesn’t pull his hands away until he finally cums in his pants, too embarrassed to keep going. “thank you, spence. i feel a lot better. a lot less tense now.” she thanks him as he turns away from her, pushing in the chair he’d pulled over. he makes a few exclamations, saying it was no problem at all, before dashing off to the bathroom to try and get himself cleaned up.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Penguin Random House, AI, and writers’ rights

NEXT WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

My friend Teresa Nielsen Hayden is a wellspring of wise sayings, like "you're not responsible for what you do in other people's dreams," and my all time favorite, from the Napster era: "Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side."

The record labels hated Napster, and so did many musicians, and when those musicians sided with their labels in the legal and public relations campaigns against file-sharing, they lent both legal and public legitimacy to the labels' cause, which ultimately prevailed.

But the labels weren't on musicians' side. The demise of Napster and with it, the idea of a blanket-license system for internet music distribution (similar to the systems for radio, live performance, and canned music at venues and shops) firmly established that new services must obtain permission from the labels in order to operate.

That era is very good for the labels. The three-label cartel – Universal, Warner and Sony – was in a position to dictate terms like Spotify, who handed over billions of dollars worth of stock, and let the Big Three co-design the royalty scheme that Spotify would operate under.

If you know anything about Spotify payments, it's probably this: they are extremely unfavorable to artists. This is true – but that doesn't mean it's unfavorable to the Big Three labels. The Big Three get guaranteed monthly payments (much of which is booked as "unattributable royalties" that the labels can disperse or keep as they see fit), along with free inclusion on key playlists and other valuable services. What's more, the ultra-low payouts to artists increase the value of the labels' stock in Spotify, since the less Spotify has to pay for music, the better it looks to investors.

The Big Three – who own 70% of all music ever recorded, thanks to an orgy of mergers – make up the shortfall from these low per-stream rates with guaranteed payments and promo.

But the indy labels and musicians that account for the remaining 30% are out in the cold. They are locked into the same fractional-penny-per-stream royalty scheme as the Big Three, but they don't get gigantic monthly cash guarantees, and they have to pay the playlist placement the Big Three get for free.

Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

In a very important, material sense, creative workers – writers, filmmakers, photographers, illustrators, painters and musicians – are not on the same side as the labels, agencies, studios and publishers that bring our work to market. Those companies are not charities; they are driven to maximize profits and an important way to do that is to reduce costs, including and especially the cost of paying us for our work.

It's easy to miss this fact because the workers at these giant entertainment companies are our class allies. The same impulse to constrain payments to writers is in play when entertainment companies think about how much they pay editors, assistants, publicists, and the mail-room staff. These are the people that creative workers deal with on a day to day basis, and they are on our side, by and large, and it's easy to conflate these people with their employers.

This class war need not be the central fact of creative workers' relationship with our publishers, labels, studios, etc. When there are lots of these entertainment companies, they compete with one another for our work (and for the labor of the workers who bring that work to market), which increases our share of the profit our work produces.

But we live in an era of extreme market concentration in every sector, including entertainment, where we deal with five publishers, four studios, three labels, two ad-tech companies and a single company that controls all the ebooks and audiobooks. That concentration makes it much harder for artists to bargain effectively with entertainments companies, and that means that it's possible -likely, even – for entertainment companies to gain market advantages that aren't shared with creative workers. In other words, when your field is dominated by a cartel, you may be on on their side, but they're almost certainly not on your side.

This week, Penguin Random House, the largest publisher in the history of the human race, made headlines when it changed the copyright notice in its books to ban AI training:

https://www.thebookseller.com/news/penguin-random-house-underscores-copyright-protection-in-ai-rebuff

The copyright page now includes this phrase:

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

Many writers are celebrating this move as a victory for creative workers' rights over AI companies, who have raised hundreds of billions of dollars in part by promising our bosses that they can fire us and replace us with algorithms.

But these writers are assuming that just because they're on Penguin Random House's side, PRH is on their side. They're assuming that if PRH fights against AI companies training bots on their work for free, that this means PRH won't allow bots to be trained on their work at all.

This is a pretty naive take. What's far more likely is that PRH will use whatever legal rights it has to insist that AI companies pay it for the right to train chatbots on the books we write. It is vanishingly unlikely that PRH will share that license money with the writers whose books are then shoveled into the bot's training-hopper. It's also extremely likely that PRH will try to use the output of chatbots to erode our wages, or fire us altogether and replace our work with AI slop.

This is speculation on my part, but it's informed speculation. Note that PRH did not announce that it would allow authors to assert the contractual right to block their work from being used to train a chatbot, or that it was offering authors a share of any training license fees, or a share of the income from anything produced by bots that are trained on our work.

Indeed, as publishing boiled itself down from the thirty-some mid-sized publishers that flourished when I was a baby writer into the Big Five that dominate the field today, their contracts have gotten notably, materially worse for writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/19/reasonable-agreement/

This is completely unsurprising. In any auction, the more serious bidders there are, the higher the final price will be. When there were thirty potential bidders for our work, we got a better deal on average than we do now, when there are at most five bidders.

Though this is self-evident, Penguin Random House insists that it's not true. Back when PRH was trying to buy Simon & Schuster (thereby reducing the Big Five publishers to the Big Four), they insisted that they would continue to bid against themselves, with editors at Simon & Schuster (a division of PRH) bidding against editors at Penguin (a division of PRH) and Random House (a division of PRH).

This is obvious nonsense, as Stephen King said when he testified against the merger (which was subsequently blocked by the court): "You might as well say you’re going to have a husband and wife bidding against each other for the same house. It would be sort of very gentlemanly and sort of, 'After you' and 'After you'":

https://apnews.com/article/stephen-king-government-and-politics-b3ab31d8d8369e7feed7ce454153a03c

Penguin Random House didn't become the largest publisher in history by publishing better books or doing better marketing. They attained their scale by buying out their rivals. The company is actually a kind of colony organism made up of dozens of once-independent publishers. Every one of those acquisitions reduced the bargaining power of writers, even writers who don't write for PRH, because the disappearance of a credible bidder for our work into the PRH corporate portfolio reduces the potential bidders for our work no matter who we're selling it to.

I predict that PRH will not allow its writers to add a clause to their contracts forbidding PRH from using their work to train an AI. That prediction is based on my direct experience with two of the other Big Five publishers, where I know for a fact that they point-blank refused to do this, and told the writer that any insistence on including this contract would lead to the offer being rescinded.

The Big Five have remarkably similar contracting terms. Or rather, unremarkably similar contracts, since concentrated industries tend to converge in their operational behavior. The Big Five are similar enough that it's generally understood that a writer who sues one of the Big Five publishers will likely find themselves blackballed at the rest.

My own agent gave me this advice when one of the Big Five stole more than $10,000 from me – canceled a project that I was part of because another person involved with it pulled out, and then took five figures out of the killfee specified in my contract, just because they could. My agent told me that even though I would certainly win that lawsuit, it would come at the cost of my career, since it would put me in bad odor with all of the Big Five.

The writers who are cheering on Penguin Random House's new copyright notice are operating under the mistaken belief that this will make it less likely that our bosses will buy an AI in hopes of replacing us with it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

That's not true. Giving Penguin Random House the right to demand license fees for AI training will do nothing to reduce the likelihood that Penguin Random House will choose to buy an AI in hopes of eroding our wages or firing us.

But something else will! The US Copyright Office has issued a series of rulings, upheld by the courts, asserting that nothing made by an AI can be copyrighted. By statute and international treaty, copyright is a right reserved for works of human creativity (that's why the "monkey selfie" can't be copyrighted):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

All other things being equal, entertainment companies would prefer to pay creative workers as little as possible (or nothing at all) for our work. But as strong as their preference for reducing payments to artists is, they are far more committed to being able to control who can copy, sell and distribute the works they release.

In other words, when confronted with a choice of "We don't have to pay artists anymore" and "Anyone can sell or give away our products and we won't get a dime from it," entertainment companies will pay artists all day long.

Remember that dope everyone laughed at because he scammed his way into winning an art contest with some AI slop then got angry because people were copying "his" picture? That guy's insistence that his slop should be entitled to copyright is far more dangerous than the original scam of pretending that he painted the slop in the first place:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/artist-appeals-copyright-denial-for-prize-winning-ai-generated-work/

If PRH was intervening in these Copyright Office AI copyrightability cases to say AI works can't be copyrighted, that would be an instance where we were on their side and they were on our side. The day they submit an amicus brief or rulemaking comment supporting no-copyright-for-AI, I'll sing their praises to the heavens.

But this change to PRH's copyright notice won't improve writers' bank-balances. Giving writers the ability to control AI training isn't going to stop PRH and other giant entertainment companies from training AIs with our work. They'll just say, "If you don't sign away the right to train an AI with your work, we won't publish you."

The biggest predictor of how much money an artist sees from the exploitation of their work isn't how many exclusive rights we have, it's how much bargaining power we have. When you bargain against five publishers, four studios or three labels, any new rights you get from Congress or the courts is simply transferred to them the next time you negotiate a contract.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism:

Giving a creative worker more copyright is like giving your bullied schoolkid more lunch money. No matter how much you give them, the bullies will take it all. Give your kid enough lunch money and the bullies will be able to bribe the principle to look the other way. Keep giving that kid lunch money and the bullies will be able to launch a global appeal demanding more lunch money for hungry kids!

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

As creative workers' fortunes have declined through the neoliberal era of mergers and consolidation, we've allowed ourselves to be distracted with campaigns to get us more copyright, rather than more bargaining power.

There are copyright policies that get us more bargaining power. Banning AI works from getting copyright gives us more bargaining power. After all, just because AI can't do our job, it doesn't follow that AI salesmen can't convince our bosses to fire us and replace us with incompetent AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Then there's "copyright termination." Under the 1976 Copyright Act, creative workers can take back the copyright to their works after 35 years, even if they sign a contract giving up the copyright for its full term:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

Creative workers from George Clinton to Stephen King to Stan Lee have converted this right to money – unlike, say, longer terms of copyright, which are simply transferred to entertainment companies through non-negotiable contractual clauses. Rather than joining our publishers in fighting for longer terms of copyright, we could be demanding shorter terms for copyright termination, say, the right to take back a popular book or song or movie or illustration after 14 years (as was the case in the original US copyright system), and resell it for more money as a risk-free, proven success.

Until then, remember, just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side. They don't want to prevent AI slop from reducing your wages, they just want to make sure it's their AI slop puts you on the breadline.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/19/gander-sauce/#just-because-youre-on-their-side-it-doesnt-mean-theyre-on-your-side

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[moonwoodhollow]

The Crimson Mare & Boulangerie Colmar - a cc lot by moonwoodhollow

It's finally time for another lot! I feel like I've been teasing this one for far too long, but it's here now and that's all that matters!

The Crimson Mare & Boulangerie Colmar is a bar and boulangerie/café that works gameplay-wise as both a bar and a café and is best placed in Britechester. I've wanted a really nice pub feeling for The Crimson Mare and I hope I succeeded in making it ~classy~, yet also cool enough for university students to visit and have a drink with friends. Boulangerie Colmar is partially inspired by some boulangeries I've visited over the years in France and Southern Germany, it has a lot of charm and is the perfect place to meet for a coffee date or with friends to study gossip.

This is also A BIG THANK YOU to all you lovely people on simblr for being the reason I had the best 1st simblr anniversary ❤️

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

So what do you get?

The Crimson Mare is a 20x20 lot best placed in Britechester on the Pepper's Pub lot. The building is mostly furnished, meaning only the ground and 1st floors are fully furnished, while the others are empty. It's also been playtested.

The left/corner building is The Crimson Mare - a long-established pub loved by students of Britechester University and residents of the town alike and the building on the right is the Boulangerie Colmar, a café in which your sims feel as if they're in a cute street café in France.

If you want you could add a flat above the café for a sim who'd have it as their own business, or maybe just for storytelling purposes! (just an idea btw)

Uses items from the following packs: Cottage Living, Snowy Escape, Discover University, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats and Dogs, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, Werewolves, Realm of Magic, Strangerville, Djungle Adventure, Vampires, Dine Out, Home Chef Hustle, Laundry Day, Kids Room, Romantic Garden, Cozy Bistro, Book Nook, Blooming Rooms & Courtyard Oasis

Download: Google Drive (400 MB) | Also up on the gallery: aeromantica (but you’ll need the cc files from the Drive folder!)

Is the CC included? Most is! There’s an Excel file with all CC that you’ll need to download manually, but it’s not many files. Deco Sims are NOT included.

Also a BIG THANK YOU to all the CC-creators, without their creations, I wouldn’t have been able to build this!

@bramblefinch, @syboubou, @surely-sims, @softpine, @softerhaze

@madameriasims4, @lumenniveus, @ccbybudgie, @awingedllama, @myshunosun and many more!!

-> Info: I’ve included a few merged files, BUT! I’ve prepared a little note, about which ones are hard requirements, so it’s up to you whether you’ll include them.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues (wrong/missing files, etc.) please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the building, I’d love to see it in your games.

If you like what I do and want to show your appreciation, I have a ko-fi!

[reiding-writing]

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?��

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

[reiderwriter]

Here Isn't Where I Wanna Be

Chapter Four of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With Spencer gone, you find yourself spiralling into anger again until a new friend - and a silver lining to your entire situation - appears.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, mentions of the smut in the last chapter in detail, no explicit smut.

A/N: And so we get to it - the plot!! If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the replies or in my inbox, and feedback is greatly appreciated~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist

With Mondays back to normal, you were surprised to find yourself still under the weather the day after Spencer had left you. 

Walking into your office, your body anticipated the fight, muscles tensing, heart beating, blood pumping as you opened the door to your office. Logically, you knew he wouldn't be there. He'd practically shouted it at you the Saturday before. But seeing the vacant desk left you angry once again. 

Tense for a fight, you couldn't stop pacing back and forth in your office as the hours ticked on. A small part of you had hoped that the activities you'd indulged in during the weekend - and indulged was the word for whatever it was you'd done - had simply been your over active imagination once again. 

But even though Spencer has cleaned you up to the best of his ability, had left you in your bed in fresh clothes and tucked under the covers, he couldn't erase the traces of himself on your skin or in your apartment. 

The files you'd both thrown around on the tables were still strewn haphazardly around, the tangle of last night's clothes still discarded suggestively in a line to your couch. He'd washed you up, sure enough, and you'd found a towel and wash cloth in your laundry basket the next morning, but he'd not done a thorough job and you found yourself washing all traces of your activities away from your inner thighs still. 

So, yes. You paced in your office, and you waged a silent war against the empty desk. 

The first week, you were sure they'd come to collect it, to move it elsewhere. 

After all, his time with you - with the university - was done. 

After two weeks, you started spreading yourself out across both desks, twisting them around into an inverted L space so you could roll your chair between the two of them. You stacked books on the stupid reminder of him, you used it as a dining table on late nights and short lunch breaks, you kicked your feet up on it as you read and acted as though it were yours and had never been anyone else's. 

And then you got angry enough that you unblocked Spencer Reid's number. 

You were raging and suffering this torment alone, and why should you be? You'd made a mistake with the case files, sure, but you'd been driven to it by his cockiness, his actions. You deserved the chance to make his life hell one last time as well. 

You took yourself home that night, wrapped yourself in a blanket and pulled your laptop in front of you, and unblocked his number. 

Immediately, you put the phone down and opened your emails. 

You'd take responsibility for the messages, sure, but you had not blocked his email. Searching through the files, you looked through your department database for his work email, searched your inbox for his messages, and came up blank. 

It took you two hours of traipsing through each email - admittedly, you'd probably signed up to one to many mailing list - just to be sure. You finally turned to your spam folder, and there it was. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered under your breath as you looked through ten emails. Ten emails from his FBI email account. No wonder they hadn't gotten throug, it was an unauthorised email on a company server. 

You only grew angrier as you read through the messages. 

“Y/N, I have reason to believe you have a file I need as soon as possible. Please message me back as soon as you get this. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I haven't received word from you in 24 hours. If there's something wrong, please reach out. If you're being stubborn, I hope you see reason. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I have your address. If you don't reply in the next four hours, I will be paying you a visit to collect the file myself. You have blocked my number and resisted adult conversation, and I am tired of playing these games. Spencer.”

Sick of playing games? 

From the man that had been playing jenga and scrabble with your bookshelves, that was absolutely rich. You may have worked out that nights frustrations with him easily, but you found yourself angry all over again.

You hadn't even checked your phone yet either, sure that he'd blown that up too until he figured out his number was blocked. 

He'd found your address. He'd practically stalked you to get what he wanted, and then he'd just washed his hands of you the night after? 

It had been a month, and you were still frustrated. 

Your stomach flipped, bike rising in your throat as your anger burned through you.

If he could find you, you sure as hell could find him. You'd assumed he'd found your address through work, and realised it was just as easy to find his as well.  

Before you could stop yourself, you were loading yourself into a car at 8 pm. and driving across the city to Spencer Reid's apartment. 

The red blurring your vision didn't fade until you sounded against his door and were greeted with an entirely too feminine “I'm coming!” 

The woman who opened the door was blonde and cute and sweet, and she had a wonderful smile. You were going to rip Spencer Reid's throat from his chest. 

“I-I’m sorry, I was told this is Spencer Reid's apartment,” you said, trying your best to disappear into the night.

“Oh, yes. Can I help you?” 

“No. No, I'm sorry, I- I don't need help.” 

You must've looked uneasy in that second because before you knew it, the woman was inviting you inside for a hot drink, taking your few seconds of hesitancy to push down your guards completely. 

“Spencer doesn't keep much here in terms of food, but I know there has to be some…aha! Coffee!” 

“No, thank you, really I'm alright, I should leave-” 

In another two minutes, she'd talked you into sitting down and had put a mug in your hands. In a miracle turn of events, you'd actually relaxed enough to take in your surroundings. 

It was like you'd stepped back into your work office. Spencer's apartment, or at least the main living space, was filled with books. There were stacks everywhere, the shelves alphabetised - obviously - and looking neatly chaotic. 

You wanted to examine everything, every picture, every trinket on the shelf, every weakness he had that you could exploit. You wanted to know him. 

“S-So,” you started, turning back to the woman who'd sat herself down in a chair opposite you, staring at you excitedly. “How long have you and Spencer been dating?” 

The woman spluttered her coffee before sending up a howl of laughter that had your cheeks heating. 

Okay. Misunderstanding. You were less pissed at Spencer, but only a fraction.

“Oh, god, the idea of me and the good doctor is incredibly ridiculous. No, it feels incestuous, actually. Really, like shivers down my spine type stuff.”

“So you're his sister?” You asked, even though you knew the answer. Spencer was an only child. You had spent three months with him, you knew at least that much about him. 

“I'm Penelope, I work with Spencer. He's on a case right now, and I came to find him a book.” 

“A book?” You asked again, taking another sip of your drink. Mistake aside, you felt comfortable sitting with her. The couch was comfy, the entire apartment was damn cosy, and it smelt….

Your spine straightened when you realised it smelt like he did, when you realised that thought was somehow a comfort to you. Your stomach had settled for the first time in a week, and the nausea leaving your body after four weeks of anger had made you sick. 

“Yeah, we've been working back to back cases, so he didn't have time to come back and pick up materials, so here I am as his little fairy godfriend to send him a care package.” 

You laughed gently and pulled your feet underneath you on the couch, curling up again. 

“He doesn't deserve you.” 

“What makes you say that?” Her face was open. Her tone was light  but you felt that you'd just walked into a trap. Even though Penelope had described her role on the team to you (not a profiler, not a big risk), you couldn't help but feel as though you were walking into a trap. 

“Well, he's… he's… You know the man better than I do, right? He's infuriating.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave you a smile but didn't say a word. 

“He's domineering. He thinks his way is the best way, he- he- he rearranged my bookshelves!” 

And my guts, you thought to yourself, holding your tongue just quick enough to not let that slip out. You still weren't sure where you stood on the sex. It was good. It was great. It was more than great, and yet you'd hated him until the very second he put his lips on yours, and you hated him again when you'd woken the next morning. Surely that meant that you'd still hated him while fucking him, that you'd just been temporarily blinded by lust? 

“Your bookshelves?” 

“At the university. Sorry, I- I didn't introduce myself, did I?” You told her your name, how you'd met Spencer and regaled her with tales of your office antics. 

“Penelope you, you should've seen the look on his face. It was priceless! Like a deer in headlights, his eyes were so wide, it was adorable,” you said, recounting the run-in with the student. 

“And then, infuriating man, he said he'd spent all day looking at me, but like, with the books-” 

You realised after five minutes of talking that Penelope had gone completely quiet, just grinning. Uncharacteristically quiet. You'd known her less than an hour, and you knew it was uncharacteristic for her to be so quiet. 

“So you hate him?” She asked, noticing your abrupt stop. 

“I- yes. Yes, I did. I do."

“It doesn't sound like you-” 

“We- we parted on really bad terms. I think. I took one of your files accidentally, and he was very angry, we both said some things-” And did some other things, you thought. 

“Things that I'm sure we both regret.” 

“Oh my god-” the other woman said, suddenly going wide-eyed and jumping up from the couch. 

“You're the- you're the reason he was late! He's never been late, never, apart from - well anyway he's never late but he was late and… oh Miss Y/N, you're not telling me everything!” 

“What? N-No, I don't know what you're-” 

“Luke owes me $20. This is wonderful. Look at me, I'm not even a fancy shmancy profiler or anything!” 

“Penelope please-” 

She heard the plea in your tone and sat down again, zipping her lips up and throwing away a non-existent key. 

“While we were…arguing, he accused me of having blocked his email, ignoring him on purpose. I found out today that he emailed from his FBI account and not his university email-” 

“So it was sent to your spam folder? Yeah, it happens all the time.” 

You shot her a tired look, and she repeated her action. Lips zipped, key thrown.

“I came here to….” To what? Fight with him again? See him again? To one up him? To kiss him again, feel his hands on you, feel his fingers inside of you, his tongue on your clit as you rode his face again, his hands around your throat as you came on his dick, as he blew his load inside you, filling you with his cum- 

“Shit.” 

“Shit? What's… what is shit, Y/N? Please enlighten me, because everything seems very not shit to me right now, other than the fact that I'm due a video call from our boy wonder soon and I haven't located this book yet.

You counted in your head and then recounted again as all the blood drained from your body. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that you'd come here just to see him again  using whatever old excuse you could find to get back into his arms (or more accurately, his bed). 

You counted, and you counted again until your brain fogged, and you couldn't even hear Penelope asking you if you were alright anymore. 

“Penelope, I- I think… Penelope, can you keep a secret?” 

“Yes, I can absolutely keep a secret. I'm a great secret keeper. Everyone says if you want a secret keeping, Penelope is your girl-” 

“Okay, that's- that's enough. I need to- shit, I need to go and get…” 

For the thousandth time since Spencer left, you stood up and started pacing. 

“Okay, now you're worrying me, friend I just made. Please don't freak out on me.” 

“I'm sorry, I'm going to freak out, I think I'm pregnant. Very much freaking out.”

All of a sudden, Penelope was up and pacing beside you. 

“Pregnant! With a baby? You think you're pregnant with a baby?”

“I don't see how I could be pregnant with anything else?” 

“You're sure?”

“No! I need a test or a sign from God or something.” 

The woman took a deep breath herself and then grabbed your shoulders, hauling you to her side. 

“Okay, breathe. You sit here, I’ll go pick up a test. Don't go anywhere and don't spiral. Rearrange the bookshelves of you must but don't. Leave. Okay?” 

You nodded, and she rushed out of the door in a whirlwind.

For at least ten minutes, you stayed completely still. It had been roughly seven weeks since your last period and 26 days since you and Spencer had sex. He hadn't pulled out. He hadn't worn a condom. He hadn't asked if you were on birth control. As much as you wanted to be angry, though, you hadn't told him to pull out. You hadn't stopped him and asked him to put on a condom, and if you were telling the truth, you enjoyed it all the more when he'd finished inside you. You'd forgotten that you'd gone off your birth control when you'd started your job, knowing that tenure came with health insurance and wanting to get the implant cheaper or included in your premium. 

What a brilliant plan.

Still, you weren't expecting this, and you were in a haze. 

Seven weeks. You'd missed a period, and you hadn't even noticed. 

You stopped spiralling when you paced into the bookshelves and started actually looking at the things laid about on his shelves. 

There were chess pieces, small rooks placed here and there, as if dropped and forgotten. Paper stuck out of the books at all different angles, and you noticed his looping scrawl on a few of them, his notes brief and indecipherable, but still bringing a faint smile to your lips. 

Then there were the pictures. There were a lot with an older woman you instantly recognised as his mother, and your heart softened as how they looked very protective of one another. Others showed him with his team, with Penelope, and a stern looking middle-aged man, two women, a happy looking, well-built man. There were weddings, faces that popped up here and there. There was a very young, very vulnerable looking Spencer playing chess with an older man. 

The room was filled with family, and you couldn't stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you took in how much Spencer could love. 

He cared, and he cared deeply, and there were all these people in his life that enjoyed being around him. And he hated you. 

Your heart sank, and you were about to leave when Penelope appeared again, test in hand and gently pushed you into the bathroom. 

You took the test and waited. Penelope waited beside you, clutching your (clean) hands in hers as she talked you through her day, distracting you in the only way she could.

But your brain resisted everything, focused only on how you were about to grow a family with a man you knew didn't enjoy your company. 

“What am I going to do, Penelope?” You whispered, suddenly afraid of what your future looked like. 

“I can't - I can't raise a baby with a man that doesn't love me the way-” 

You ran a hand through your hair, biting your tongue quickly. 

“You don't have to answer me, but is it… is there a chance it could be Spencer's?” 

You nodded before you could even think of lying, too wrapped up in your mental to-do list building up and up and up. 

“It could be negative? This could just be panic and stress and-” 

You heard the alarm you'd set for the test go off and jumped up, sprinting into the bathroom. 

Two lines. What did two lines mean? Two lines meant baby. 

Baby. You were having a baby. 

“Y/N, what does it say?” Penelope asked from behind you. 

“It's… I'm…shit.” 

She came up behind you and looked herself, cursing the same way you did as she watched you for your reaction. 

There was a baby. You were going to have a baby. 

Okay. You could have a baby. You could bring a baby into this world. You just had to figure out how, and write a to-do list, and avoid telling your boss until you got tenure, and tell your parents, and tell Spencer. 

Spencer. 

You had to Spencer. You collapsed to the ground, mumbling to yourself as Penelope fanned you with her hands, squeaking at your unresponsiveness. 

“Spencer…” you mumbled. “I have to tell Spencer.”

You blinked the fog out of your eyes and stood quickly, absent mindedly making a note to check if sudden movements were good for the baby or not. 

“Penelope, I need some help,” you said, moving to the living room and pulling our your phone. She trailed behind you, sending you a worrying look, and you thanked the heavens that you'd managed to run into the most forgiving angel of a woman on quite possible the best/worst day of your life. The jury waa still undecided. 

You snapped a picture of the shelves, and then, throwing your phone down, you started tearing each stack apart. 

Once you'd made a large enough gap in the stacks, you turned back to Penelope. 

“We're going to tell Spencer. Like this.” 

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen