#like that's not a joke or anything like for real if you keep treating people as 2 dimensional

[pa-pa-plasma]

I feel like too many people don't understand that a bad person having normal human traits does not suddenly make them a good person

[girlivealwaysbean]

dni.

[yanderenightmare]

Deku - Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere

gn reader

Thinking about being childhood friends with Izuku, who’s always had a bit of a crush on you. 

You’ve always known, but you’ve never humored it. He’s your friend – anything else would just be awkward. If you had to put it in any other term, you’d say he felt more like a little brother.

You wish he’d allowed the two of you to grow apart – as normal people do.

There wasn’t really any reason for the two of you to stay friends after middle school. His quirk suddenly manifested, and he got into UA – became a pro-hero – and then the symbol of peace. And you were still… kind of just doing your thing – studying, working, struggling to pay rent – struggling to keep a date…

The two of you never had much in common anyway, and you never really knew what to talk about with him anymore – only knowing to ask him how his mother was. After all, you grew out of your otaku phase a long while ago – and otherwise, you felt out-educated in any and every conversation the two of you had with each other. You swear talking to him makes you feel like a toddler learning your first words – it’s humiliating, and you don’t understand how any of it’s remotely stimulating for him, either.

Still, he’ll text you when he has the time, asking if you’d like to meet up at a café – talk, catch up – and you, not wanting to be rude, always accept.

You’d gone wide-eyed the first time you’d met him after middle school. Jeez Louise – he’d had to have grown twice his size – jacked and scarred to no end. It only got worse over the years. Now, adults – he must be twice your size. Bigger even.

You blush now when he flirts with you. But not so much for the reasons he wants.

Honestly, it’s more uncomfortable than it’s flattering. It was Izuku, after all – Deku – no matter how little he resembled the crybaby from your childhood – he’d always be that same nerdy loser friend who’d chased after you ever since you first met.

He might have grown up, but his crush on you hadn’t.

His doe-eyed look of longing and adoration had always made you feel a little awkward – a little sorry for him. And now that he’s become a man, it’s only become even more… desperate… a little pathetic, actually…

Bedroom eyes that make you laugh nervously, pretending to brush it off as a joke but really wishing he’d just give it a rest already. Surely, as a pro-hero and public figure, he could get a date? One of the many screaming fans that pine for him everywhere he drags that awful golden cape he has on his shoulders. And if not any of them, then maybe a model. A movie star even.

Why is he so hung up on you?

The funny thing is, you’d tried vying him of his crush by telling him about hook-up after hook-up, boyfriend after boyfriend – treating him like a girlfriend you could gossip with.

But it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge – talking and helping you through your relationships, giving his input and advice – just like a real friend would… only… always implementing something… something condescending, something suggestive, something saying you ought to be with him instead – he’d never treat you like that, he’d never do you wrong, you’d be taking good care of with him.

You’d made the mistake of saying you were struggling with a class at university – just to make conversation – just to talk about something trivial. But of course, he’d seen it as an opportunity – quick to offer his help, saying he’d taken that class as an extracurricular – just for a bit of fun, he’d said, light reading material he’d done on the side of his internship.

You don’t know why it’s so hard to tell him no.

Suppose it’s the possibility of being wrong – the guilt of thinking he has impure intentions when he’s supposedly the purest person in the world.

But you should have trusted your instincts.

“Please, Izuku-” You’d immediately restored to begging. Who wouldn’t? He’s a two-meter-tall monster of a man – jacked with muscles fatter than a bear.

Your phone’s been missing since you came back from the bathroom – your lips wet with his unwanted kisses – your neck sore from having his fist wrapped around it when you tried stopping him.

You’d only managed to break free after biting – blood salty in your mouth. You nearly vomited, choking on a mix of bile and fear.

Fuck – your legs are so weak, you might just buckle from the dread alone – feeling like a bunny snagged on fox teeth.

“You used to take me when we’d play wrestle... you remember?”

The comment is pulled out of nowhere.

He stalks you, a fond look on his face as though the two of you were reminiscing good old times. As though his eyes weren’t a nocturnal green like foxfire on the fen. As though he wasn’t radiating black whip – ready to snare you.

“Think you can take me now?”

You had your hands raised apprehensively – but the hopelessness took its toll and made your entire body shake on the spot.

Your only hope was to talk him out of it. If only you could think past the fear and string a sentence together that wasn’t along the lines of “Please-”

But something about that look on his face told you he wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. Not manic, not like a person who’d finally snapped – but controlled – resolute – and playful even. Nothing like you’d ever seen. Nothing you could understand.

“What’s wrong, hm?” He smiles, head tipped in that charming way that used to make you want to pinch his cheek. Now it just makes you sick to look at – swallowing thickly as you tack another step back away from it. “I’ll go easy – so don’t worry… I know it's not exactly a fair fight anymore…”

Your better judgment failed you – fight-or-flight kicked in, and you made a break for it. 

Budging into the couch on your way, it’s a messy scramble for the door – but you manage. Feeling feverish with dread and pumped full of adrenaline, you brush the cold handle with just your fingertips before something wraps around your midriff in a snug grip – pulling you back into the living room.

You’re lifted from the ground, kicking – now screaming – flailing in the air before you’re flipped on your back against the couch.

“Don’t be like that~” He murmurs. “Always so wishy-washy~” Voice in a low purr that makes you feel like coughing up your heart – squirming beneath him and his heavy hands as they paw your thighs – manhandling you like nothing you’d ever imagine him to do.

Raking his fingers through the dough before squeezing your ass greedily – kneading his fat crotch against the thin fabric protecting your sex. 

“Complaining about all your weak-dicked boyfriends as if begging me to come fuck you myself – yet such a flighty little slut when it comes down to it.” He sneers, and blackwhip tightens some around your limbs. “Let me help you out.”

One hand tugs your underwear until it rips, whilst the other hand pulls up to grab your face – squeezing your cheeks to keep you still when forcing his kisses on you.

“After all… what are friends for?”

♡ DEKU - MIDORIYA IZUKU masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[steddielations]

Steve acts on instinct.

There’s this guy in all black walking in front of him, he’s too busy looking down at his phone to notice, but Steve doesn’t trust that lamppost. He’s been going for daily runs, he likes to keep it simple during the off-season, and that post has been getting more rickety every day. Now it’s swaying dangerously in the wind and he knows it’s about to tumble.

There’s no time to call out to the guy, so Steve just plows forward and tackles him out of the way.

They fall in a messy heap and Steve unfortunately lands heavily on top.

“Holy shit! What the— ugh!” The guy heaves in pain and Steve hurries to scramble off of him.

“Sorry, that post was about to fall on you, man. You alright?”

Pieces of grass stick to the guy’s long hair as he takes stock of Steve and what happened. With a labored breath, he surprisingly jokes, “Guess I’m lucky the best football tackler alive happened to be right behind me.”

It’s sarcastic as shit but Steve smiles with a tug of amusement as he offers his hand. “Baseball, actually.”

“You’re in the wrong league, man,” he lets Steve pull him to his feet and groans on the way up. “Well, nice to meet you, Baseball, you pack a hell of a first impression. I’m Eddie.”

Steve would appreciate his ability to joke so soon after taking a hit, but people are starting to gather around. There’s already phones pointed at them that probably caught the whole thing on camera. Steve’s used to public attention by now, knows the press is going to have a field day with this and he hates causing a scene, but he wants to make sure Eddie is okay.

“Just Steve is good. You wanna…? This way,” he gestures toward the sidewalk and thankfully, Eddie seems just as eager to get out of there too, shuffling next to Steve as they round the corner.

He’s wearing so much metal jewelry, it’s like a costume, the jingle jangle of his every step accentuating how shaken up he seems. They get far enough behind a building and Steve stops to have a real look at him and… well he’s interesting to look at.

It’s like he hopped off the album cover of an 80s rock band, or one of Steve’s Bon Jovi posters that he hid under his bed in high school. Way too much leather and way too much hair for the California sun, all disheveled with grass and dirt.

“You sure you’re okay? Here, you got a little…” Steve’s hand hovers until Eddie nods that it’s okay from him to pluck the grass from his hair and lightly brush the dust from his shoulders. Eddie watches him the whole time, his eyes big and dark, an intensity in them that Steve can’t quite read but he can feel. “Didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?”

Steve lowers his hands, stepping back a little when he realizes how close they are. Eddie’s eyes follow him, a slight quirk to his lips that makes Steve feel the heat of the sun a little warmer on his face.

“I’m touched by your concern, sweetheart, but my brain has been through worse damage than a little bump.”

Steve frowns at the ladder, but the first bit definitely makes him feel the heat. He’s admittedly a bit out of practice but he can still recognize a come on. One that he definitely invited with all the touching and indulgent looks.

Then Eddie starts profusely thanking him for the whole ordeal, asking to treat him somewhere nearby for lunch. It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to, he’s very interested actually, and thankful that out of all the jewelry Eddie’s sporting, there’s no wedding ring. That’s why he’s reluctant because he’s all sweaty at the moment. Not to mention, he didn’t finish his run yet.

“Surely saving my life was enough cardio,” Eddie jokes lightly and Steve snorts.

“I saved you from a minor concussion, maybe,” and okay he’s gotta accept now.

The place is small and unassuming, burgers and sodas type joint. Steve’s likely to be recognized there, which he doesn’t mind meeting fans in public just preferably not now, it might be jarring for Eddie.

He heads for the booth tucked in the back corner, the most private looking spot that Steve had his eyes on too. They get a round of sodas from the waitress and right away, Eddie starts thanking him again.

“I noticed that lamppost wobbling days ago,” Steve sparks a conversation instead of accepting any more thanks, “I was planning to let it fall on me so I could sue the shit out of the city.”

He’s pleasantly startled by the big cackle that gets out of Eddie, “Any chance to stick it to the man. I admire that.”

“‘Course I would’ve really stuck it to ‘em and donated it back to the community,” Steve adds.

“Giving the people’s money back to the people, imagine Big Brother’s horror. Noble guy.”

Eddie seems to bubble with contagious delight that doesn’t match his whole leather and chains thing at all, but it fits into the somewhat magic of him. It's a wonder to Steve.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Eddie ventures, a glint of recognition in his eyes that Steve’s seen a thousand times. He doesn’t ping Eddie as much of a sports guy and he’s not vain enough to assume everyone knows who he is. Eddie’s probably seen him while flipping the channel past ESPN or something. Or maybe an ad for that Netflix thing he did documenting last year’s season.

“I think I’d definitely remember you.”

Steve didn’t mean it as a come-on, just that Eddie’s appearance really isn’t forgettable, but he can tell by the wicked little grin Eddie sports that it was taken as one. Steve likes that even better.

“Have you ever modeled, or anything? You’ve got the looks for it.”

Biting back a smile of his own, Steve shakes his head. “I bet you say that to everyone who saves your life.”

“None of them were half as good looking." That sounds concerning but Steve’s distracted by Eddie swirling his straw in his drink, regarding him with a long look. “Really though, I just feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Steve’s done a few covers of Sports Illustrated, but he doubts Eddie has ever picked up a copy of that, so he shrugs. “Must’ve been in your dreams.”

Eddie laughs softer this time. “You trying to sweep me off my feet or something?”

“Already did.” Steve leans back, enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes follow him.

Conversation sparks and it never really dies out. Eddie just grabs topics out of thin air, talking about the city and what they like to do and movies and his amazement that Steve knows all about D&D because he’s a nerd magnet. Eddie’s personality spills through everything he says like it can’t be contained. He’s talkative in a good way, not to a point where Steve can’t get a word in. He listens intently, has a way of putting all his attention onto Steve like he’s the most interesting person he’s ever spoken to.

It’s surprisingly easy to relax. Not because Eddie has a super calming presence or anything, his energy is just all-encompassing, it’s hard for Steve not to get sucked in and hang on to every word he says. It’s one of the rare times in public that he’s not hyper-aware of everyone around him and too paranoid of having a photo snapped and taken out of context to even enjoy himself.

That happens a lot, being one of the only professional athletes who’s open about his sexuality. The media is extremely invasive with his private life. If he’s seen with any guy friend, there’s a whole press storm about Steve Harrington’s “secret beau” within the hour. It’s ridiculous and he tries so hard to keep his lovelife under wraps that maybe he’s been neglecting it entirely, at least that’s what Robin says.

Of course, that’s when his phone lights up with a message from her. His heart sinks a little when he sees the title of the article she sent to him. He quickly shoots her a text and locks his phone without reading it.

“Everything alright?” Eddie notices the shift in Steve’s mood right away.

“Yeah just,” he sighs, bracing for the inevitable part when Eddie realizes Steve isn’t worth the hassle of all this, “Someone filmed us earlier and now it’s all over the press. I’m really sorry, I totally get it if—”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I figured that would happen,” Eddie brushes it off, but Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t think you understand, it’s—”

“Wanna bet?” Eddie smirks for some reason, “I’m fine with it, I promise.”

He tosses a chip into his mouth and picks right back up with the story he was telling.

Steve is stunned for a moment, wary that maybe Eddie doesn’t fully grasp how deep this goes. But he stays there with Steve, seemingly thrilled to keep talking with him even when a family comes in and keeps staring their way, obviously building up the courage to come over and ask for a picture. Eddie’s acting like Steve’s the only person in the room and that’s enough to assure Steve that he’s really fine with it.

He’s so locked into Eddie, he barely registers when the older son from the family’s table finally wanders over and asks for a picture.

Steve is in the middle of wiping his face with a napkin, about to greet him when suddenly, Eddie pops up and asks Steve to excuse him for a minute.

“C’mon little man, let’s do it,” he says and much to Steve’s confusion, the teen excitedly goes with Eddie to his family’s table.

Steve watches, utterly baffled, as they start snapping photos and expressing what big fans they are and Eddie takes it with such bravado, laughing and chatting like he’s with a group of friends.

What the— Steve grabs his phone, opening the article Robin sent him at lightning speed.

At first, he wonders how the press was able to find out Eddie’s full name so quickly, then he sees the words "troubled rockstar" and "recovering star" so many times, it becomes abundantly clear.

Oh.

He’s not so worried about the troubled part, everyone has their shit and he doesn’t read into any of it. Those are Eddie’s stories to tell Steve if he chooses, not some tabloid. But the rockstar part connects a lot of dots that have come up in the last couple of hours since meeting Eddie and—

Yeah, just. Oh.

Part 2

[dunmeshistash]

Saw someone describe Mithrun as a "Disabled right wing veteran who is convinced hes just as capable as he was in his prime" and also that he would "complain about immigrants" and I'm very confused.

Where did this type of interpretation for Mithrun came from? There's nothing about him that indicates he's "right wing" or any more racist than the average elf and due to his condition he literally isn't able to care about that.

The sentiment of "Mithrun is a racist grandpa" seems to have gone from an absurdist joke based on him saying a "slur" into a real interpretation of the character??

First of all he's 37 in tallman years he is not a grandpa, I know it was a joke based on him being rough and the fact he's an elf (185 years old) but I'm starting to think some people really think he's grandpa age? He isn't, he's about as old as Senshi and Chilchuck, Senshi is actually older than him being 47 in tallman years if he's a grandpa they are too, it's going from funny way to call him into ableist territory pretty fast.

Second he doesn't have the ability to be actively racist anymore, racism implies a sense of superiority compared to someone else from another race, which all the elves have. (althought he still benefits passively from this racism as an elf even if he doesn't actively feel it) Let's go thru his anime appearance and what happens.

Kabru shows up and tries to speak to the elves and convince them to try his way. The elves think the short lived people are all ignorant and treat them condescendingly, even Tansu because they live more than any other race

Then they go from "Short lived people are too stupid to know anything" into "Oh my god this poor baby come on have some cake :)" which is ALSO condescending, nobody is taking Kabru or the governor seriously because they're short lived. These elves are RACIST they're treating Kabru like he's a confused kid "come eat some cake and let the adults talk"

Mithrun is the only authority figure that wants to listen to Kabru

He is a shell of who he used to be, right now he ONLY cares about defeating the demon, if there is a chance this kid (who has had experience with dungeons before) knows another way to get him what he wants he will listen to it, cause he *doesn't* have the capability of being like the other elves.

This doesn't mean he's anti-racist, it means he literally doesn't care, he lets the other elves mistreat Kabru in every other scene unless it has something to do with defeating the dungeon, cause he *doesn't* care. He's not gonna complain about immigrants cause he doesn't care he's not gonna treat short lived people like kids cause he doesn't care, he cannot care, he lost the ability to care.

Past Mithrun was the one that was both racist classicist and a bitch, but that part of him is basically dead.

He said the slur because they asked him not because he thinks is appropriate, the other elves aren't 'casual racists' and him the 'real racist' they are all just as bad he just doesn't have the "desire to be socially acceptable" I guess, they asked, he answered and that was it.

If it would make it easier try to think about it in terms of real life bigotry and how people keep going "you can't even say (...) because of the woke" they aren't any less racist they just worry about being socially acceptable racists.

Anyway, please don't just repeat what other people say as jokes as if they're true especially when you're saying it about a disabled character. Acting like he's worse than his peers because he doesn't have the capability of being socially aware is ableism, calling him a grandpa because he has had a rough life that made him look disheveled is ableism, saying he's past his prime is also ableist considering he learned how to fight *after* he became disabled.

Correct me if anything I said was wrong but I really got peeved after reading several people misinterpreting Mithrun as some sort of bigoted old man who must be taken to a retirement home as if he just causes trouble for people who care for him.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic Yandere Jason w/ Batsis darling

A/N: This is supposed to be post death and all that.. Like he's just trying to integrate back into his family and society but it's been hell. His batsis is the one thing that is actually helping him through it thus becoming over attached. He's obsessed with being normal again..for you. (Any Jason Todd)

Warnings: Rather soft yandere actually. but i guess obsession and possessive tendencies.

Requests: always open. please read pinned post which is the masterlist

Masterlist

Yandere Jason Todd who finds an immeasurable amount of comfort and stability in his Batsis. He doesn't particularly understands or even knows why he does but he does.

He still feels awkward and out of place with the rest of batfam. He feels anxious, judged and annoyed around them. It overwhelms him and stresses him to the point of mental breaks. But you ground him. You don't make sudden movements or loud sounds. You don't ask invasive questions or bring up past memories. You're gentle and mindful of him.

The others try bonding but they never fail to eventually overstep boundaries and cause more wounds. He's appreciative of you.

Yandere Jason who cannot help but get possessive over you. He hates when his other siblings command your attention over his. It boils him. I like to think he's constantly comparing himself to them. How normal and fun they are in contrast. He wants to be just like them and do fun things again...but he just cant...not yet. He especially despises Dick and just how pretty and perfect his older brother is. This often causes fights between the two. You and him have tons of inside jokes, secret handshakes and hangouts often. Jay wants that too.

Jason is fearful of going in public with you. He's been craving that local diner spot and love to treat you as a thank you but he doesn't want the stares. He's riddled with scars and looms over everything. He really don’t want his sis to be ridiculed and questioned on his behalf.

Jay tries his best to keep you locked in the house with him. He tries pulling you away from them as much as possible but he feels guilty. This is a miserable life and he doesn't want that was misery on you too, but he just cannot bear you being with them instead. Sometimes he'll offer to sneak out late at night and hang on rooftops with you, but he knows it's nothing compared to the arcades and parties you're missing out on.

He does try very hard to come out of his shell on your birthdays or times like Christmas ect.. He wants to be a good brother and give back how kind you've been towards him. Whatever will make you happy, he'll power through it.

Yandere Redhood who goes after the people that make you cry or feel unsafe. He knows what he promised Bruce but it's to keep is sibling safe. Bruce would understand if he went through even half of the traumatic experiences he did. You have to cut off potential threats at the roots. That's how you prevent lunatics like the joker and to keep souls like you pure.

Yandere Jason Todd who is adorably obsessed with your room. He hasn't done much decorating to his. It's boring and bland, he doesn't remember much of what he liked as a kid before everything happened. But yours is covered in personality. Books, figures, plushies and tons of posters...it's cute. He likes it a lot. Sometimes he just sits in there, even when you're not home because it makes him feel nostalgic? In a good way, it gives him a warm glimpse into what his life could've been as a teen/young adult. Plus it's filled with all the things you love which by default he loves it too. I like to think he steals trinkets from your room that you love the most when he's anxious.

Like you've come home before to him in the corner of his room with one of your big plushies in his arms during an episode. It smells like you it grounds him back into reality. Whatever he's seeing in his head isn't real, but you are. You signify safety.

Yandere Jason who mimics anything you do to learn how to act normal. He doesn't mean to but he spends so much time either with you or lurking near by. Your food options are a major thing is copies. He's often overwhelmed by the many choices in store so when he's hungry, he'll just pick up anything he's remembered you eating. Even if he didn’t like it much.

He doesn't realizes these habits are a bit strange. enviably, one of the other siblings poke fun at him for how his face scrunches up at the taste of your favorite snack. They laughed how he should just get things he likes instead of trying to copy you all the time. They weren't trying to be cruel, just playing like siblings do but it made his world crumble. Was that really strange? Jason didn't mean to make you feel weird. Did you feel weirded out by it, have you been telling the other siblings how bothered you were by his antics?

"Jason, its okay. It's seriously not a big deal, it's slightly odd but i don't mind." You tried reassuring him but it just confirmed his thoughts.

You did think it was weird. That he was weird. You laugh about him behind his back all the time, don’t you?

He knows he's a bit off the drum. He knows he's an embarrassment but a deluded part of him thought maybe the difference wasn't as big as he made it out to be. It was just paranoia. guess..not. He's shattered. His one safe space wasn't real. He wasn’t good enough like the others….yet.

Yandere Jason has to become like a normal brother for you. He needs to be like Dick and Tim. He needs you to think he's cool and fun to be around. He needs to be a good brother...one you're not weirded out by.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Like Real People Do

Summary: After you fill in for JJ, Spencer has to deal with seeing you everyday at work.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes: nondescript smut (16+), sexual tension, suggestive content, angst, arguing, ignoring feelings, repressing emotions, consumption of alcohol, Jemily, bisexual Penelope, brief discussions of cases and danger

Word count: 13k

a/n: the asked for part two to Too Sweet !!! will also be writing a part three oops lmao

main masterlist

part one part three

Spencer avoided you as much as possible during your first week with the team, and it pissed him off relentlessly that you didn’t seem to care. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, you were chatting easily with Emily, sharing a laugh with Derek, or diving into casework with the kind of enthusiasm that made everyone around you smile. You treated him just the same as you treated everyone else on the team—detached, professional, and completely unfazed by the tension he was sure hung between you. Spencer hated it.

He found himself watching you out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign that you were affected by his presence, by the shared history that he couldn’t seem to forget. But you remained infuriatingly composed, your demeanor perfectly neutral. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, no trace of the woman who had shared an intimate night with him only to disappear without a word. You were the perfect liaison—competent, friendly, and utterly professional. Spencer hated it.

One afternoon, you approached his desk with a bright smile, holding out a case file. “Hey, Doctor Reid, here’s the case file Hotch asked me to pass out. He specifically wants you to work on the geographical profile.”

“Thanks,” Spencer muttered, barely looking up as he took the file from your hand. His voice was clipped, his tone dismissive, but if it bothered you, you didn’t show it.

“You got it!” you replied cheerfully before turning to Derek’s desk, completely unbothered by Spencer’s curt response.

Spencer watched as you handed Derek his file with the same effortless professionalism. “Derek, here’s your file. Hotch asked that you look at the victimology.”

Derek grinned, leaning back in his chair as he took the file from you. “You bet, sweetcheeks,” he said with a wink, clearly pleased with the new nickname he’d given you.

Spencer bristled. He hated that you already had a nickname, that you’d integrated so seamlessly into the team. Everyone loved you, and why wouldn’t they? You were a lovely person—to them. You were always friendly, always helpful, always the first to crack a joke or lend a hand. To them, you were the perfect addition to the team. But to Spencer, you were a constant reminder of the hurt, confusion, and anger that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

He couldn’t understand how you could be so detached, so unaffected by everything that had happened between you. It gnawed at him, fueled his frustration every time he saw you laughing with Penelope or discussing a case with Hotch. How could you be so calm, so professional, when he was struggling to keep his emotions in check every time you were in the same room?

It made him furious, how easily you seemed to fit in. The way you spoke to him was exactly the same as how you spoke to Derek or Emily—there was no trace of recognition, no hint of anything beyond the professional. You didn’t flinch when he was cold, didn’t react to his clipped tones. If anything, you treated him with the same detached politeness you offered to everyone else. And that, more than anything, drove him crazy.

As the week dragged on, Spencer’s frustration simmered beneath the surface. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were doing it on purpose—that you were deliberately pretending nothing had happened, just to get under his skin. Every time you walked past his desk with a smile, every time you handed him a file with that same calm demeanor, it was like salt in the wound. And the worst part was that you seemed completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

But Spencer wasn’t going to let it go. He wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. He’d confront you when the time was right, make you face the mess you’d left behind. But for now, he had to swallow his anger and focus on the case, even if it killed him to be in the same room with you.

As you moved on to distribute the rest of the case files, Spencer’s eyes followed you, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He couldn’t stand how professional you were, how detached, how much he wanted you to acknowledge him in some way that wasn’t wrapped in pleasantries and polite distance. The unresolved friction hung heavy in the air, and Spencer knew it was only a matter of time before it boiled over.

—

It was a typical Friday afternoon in the bullpen, the atmosphere lighter as everyone looked forward to the weekend. Spencer sat at his desk, his eyes flicking over the case file in front of him, though his mind was far from the details of the case. He was hyper-aware of your presence across the room, the sound of your voice carrying just enough for him to catch snippets of your conversation with Derek.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, you got any plans tonight?” Derek asked, his tone playful as always.

You grinned at him, clearly enjoying the banter. “Hello, Derek,” you replied with a teasing lilt in your voice. “I do, actually.”

“Ohhh, what’s up, a hot date?” Derek continued, the playful edge in his voice making it clear he was just having fun.

Spencer’s ears perked up at that, his focus shifting entirely to your conversation. He kept his eyes on his file, pretending to be engrossed in his work, but he was listening intently.

“Oh yeah, super hot date,” you smirked, your tone dripping with mock-seriousness.

Spencer’s jaw clenched involuntarily, and an unexpected wave of jealousy surged through him. The idea of you with someone else—laughing, smiling, sharing moments like the one you had with him—made his chest tighten with a mix of anger and hurt. He kind of wanted to slap you, though the rational part of his mind quickly reminded him that he would never do such a thing, especially not to a woman.

“Damn, Y/L,” Derek said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Wish it was me.”

You laughed, leaning in slightly as you replied, “Oh, I know, and it could be easily.”

Spencer’s stomach twisted at that. He couldn’t take it anymore. The easy way you flirted with Derek, the way you brushed off everything that had happened between the two of you as if it were nothing—it was too much. Without another word, he abruptly stood from his desk and took off, leaving the bullpen in a rush, his emotions boiling over. He was pissed, hurt, and tired of pretending like everything was fine.

Meanwhile, Derek tilted his head, intrigued by your response. “How do you mean?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“My hot date?” you replied with a mischievous grin. “Is my bathtub with salts and bubbles, baby.”

Derek burst out laughing, clearly amused by your response. “Ah, I see how it is. Gotta pamper yourself, huh?”

“Always,” you winked, feeling pleased with yourself for the playful banter.

But, of course, Spencer didn’t hear that part. He was long gone, too caught up in the idea that you were going on a date, too overwhelmed by the emotions he couldn’t seem to shake. He didn’t know the full story, didn’t realize that you were just playing around. All he knew was that you seemed to be moving on without a care in the world, while he was stuck in the unresolved mess of his feelings.

As you and Derek continued your conversation, completely unaware of Spencer’s reaction, the tension in the bullpen grew. Spencer’s departure didn’t go unnoticed by the others, though no one quite knew what had set him off this time. 

—

The team was gathered in the precinct in Atlanta, waiting for Hotch to hand out assignments for the day. The atmosphere was tense, everyone on edge due to the gruesome nature of the case. Hotch’s voice was calm and authoritative as he began assigning tasks.

“Reid, you go with L/N to speak with the family,” Hotch instructed, his tone leaving no room for questions—at least, that was usually the case.

“What? Why?” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.

The sudden outburst caught everyone off guard. Derek, Emily, and Rossi all looked at him with surprise, their eyes widening slightly at his uncharacteristic challenge to Hotch’s authority. It had been a long time since Spencer had questioned Hotch like this. Something was clearly wrong.

Hotch’s gaze narrowed slightly, his expression hardening as he addressed Spencer. “It’s your assignment, and you will take it. Go.”

The finality in Hotch’s tone left no room for arguments. Spencer knew better than to push further, but the pressure in the air was palpable. His frustration was obvious, and it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, especially you.

You knew things were tense between you and Spencer, but you hadn’t realized it had reached the point where he would openly question Hotch. 

“Uh, I can drive if you want,” you offered, trying to bridge the gap. You had noticed that Spencer preferred not to drive, often handing over the keys to someone else.

For the first time, Spencer saw a crack in your usually cheery demeanor. You looked a little sheepish, almost uncertain, as you made the offer.

“Great, let’s go,” Spencer said curtly, tossing the keys to the SUV at you without another word.

The drive was awkward and quiet, the strain between you almost suffocating. Spencer sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the file in front of him, while you focused on the road, trying to ignore the uneasy silence. The only sound was the occasional rustle of paper as Spencer flipped through the case notes, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between you.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence. “I can go in alone,” you offered, your tone neutral, almost indifferent.

Spencer looked up from the file, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, you clearly didn’t want this assignment,” you replied, glancing at him briefly before returning your attention to the road.

“That had nothing to do with speaking to the family,” Spencer snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

“Ah, got it,” you said, your tone calm, almost detached, as if you were simply acknowledging the fact and moving on.

Your nonchalance in that moment, the way you brushed off his anger like it was nothing, made Spencer’s temper boil over. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice rising with frustration.

“I'm sorry?” you responded, genuinely taken aback by the sudden outburst.

“You should be!” Spencer retorted, his words laced with bitterness. “How are you acting like everything is fine?”

“Did I do something to upset you, Doctor Reid?” you asked, your tone still calm but now tinged with an undercurrent of confusion.

“Uh, yeah, you did,” Spencer shot back, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. He could feel the anger bubbling up, hurt and frustration that had been festering for weeks.

You pulled the car to a stop at a red light, turning to face him with a steady gaze. “Then tell me what it is,” you said, your voice no longer as detached as before. 

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to lay everything out, to tell you how hurt he was by the way you left him that morning, how angry he was that you acted like nothing had happened between you two. But another part of him was conflicted, unsure if it was even worth bringing up now.

“You left,” Spencer finally said, his voice lower but filled with raw emotion. “You left without a word, without even a note, and then you just show up here like it meant nothing. And now, you’re acting like we’re strangers. Like none of it mattered.”

You stared at him, processing his words. The light turned green, and you started driving again, your grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. For a moment, you were silent, weighing your response.

“It wasn’t nothing,” you said quietly after a long pause. “But it wasn’t something I thought needed to be addressed. We had a night, Spencer, and that’s all it was. I didn’t think it would turn into… this.”

Spencer shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You really don’t get it, do you? You just left, Y/N. No explanation, no closure. And now I have to work with you every day, pretending like I don’t care, when it’s driving me crazy.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in the car thickening as you both realized how deep the wound had become. The professionalism that you had clung to suddenly felt like a flimsy shield, barely holding back the storm of emotions between you.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice softer now, almost apologetic, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought it would be easier for both of us to just leave it behind.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Spencer replied sharply, his voice trembling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “Because I can’t just leave it behind.”

Silence fell over the car again, but this time it was different. It was charged with unresolved feelings and the weight of words unspoken. The friction that had been simmering between you had finally boiled over, and there was no going back to how things were before.

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, unsure of how to navigate the mess that had been laid bare. The case awaited you, but the real challenge was the emotional minefield you were both now walking through.

One thing was clear: this conversation wasn’t over, and neither was whatever it was that had started between you and Spencer.

—

When the case was finally closed and the team arrived back in Quantico, Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, calm but firm. “Reid, can I see you in my office?”

Spencer froze for a moment, then nodded silently and followed Hotch into his office, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. As soon as the door closed behind him, Hotch turned to face him, his expression stern.

“Do you want to tell me what has been going on with you?” Hotch asked, his tone leaving no room for deflection.

“Nothing is going on,” Spencer replied, his voice clipped and defensive as he tried to brush off the question. He avoided Hotch’s gaze, focusing instead on a spot on the wall just over his shoulder.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unimpressed with Spencer’s attempt to deflect. “We both know that’s not true, but if you’d like to ignore it, that’s fine. Just stop letting it affect your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer responded, his tone stiff as he nodded, eager to leave the office and put this conversation behind him. He turned to leave, his hand already on the doorknob.

“And Reid?” Hotch’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yes?” Spencer replied, turning back to face his unit chief.

“Give Y/N a chance,” Hotch said, his tone softening slightly. “I know you don’t like change, but she’s doing a great job. Don’t be so hard on her.”

The words hit Spencer like a punch to the gut. He felt a wave of anger surge through him, his emotions boiling over once again. Without a word, he turned on his heel and slammed the office door behind him with more force than he intended.

The sound echoed through the bullpen, drawing the attention of his teammates, but Spencer didn’t care. He stormed away, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and conflicting emotions. Hotch’s words replayed in his head, only serving to fuel his anger further. 

It wasn’t just about Y/N doing a good job or fitting in with the team. It was about the unresolved mess between them, the feelings he couldn’t shake, and the fact that she seemed completely unaffected by it all. He knew he was being irrational, but that only made him angrier.

—

The team was out for dinner, a well-deserved break after the grueling case in Atlanta. Everyone had already gathered around the table, chatting and laughing, when you and Spencer arrived—separately, of course. But as fate would have it, you walked in at the same time, an awkward coincidence that neither of you could avoid.

Spencer, despite everything, was still a gentleman. He held the door open for you, and you offered him a polite smile and a nod of thanks. The gesture was small, but it was the first sign of normalcy between you two in weeks. For a brief moment, you both seemed to fall back into your natural roles—Spencer being courteous, and you being gracious.

But when you reached the table, you both quickly realized that the rest of the team had already taken their seats, leaving only two spots open—right next to each other. The air between you immediately grew tense as you took in the situation. Spencer’s eyes went wide, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, and he heaved a deep sigh. He quickly moved to sit in the seat closest to Emily, hoping that sitting next to her would be a safer option than being near Derek, who was sure to stir the pot.

Unfortunately for Spencer, this left you next to Derek. As you settled into your seat, Derek flashed you a playful grin. “Hey, sweetcheeks. You clean up nice,” he said, his voice full of flirtatious warmth.

Before you could respond, Penelope’s voice rang out in mock indignation. “Derek Morgan, are you openly flirting with another woman in front of me?” she demanded, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You laughed softly, turning to Penelope with a wink. “Oh, it’s okay, Pen. I won’t take your chocolate thunder. But maybe you can spare me a taste?” Your playful response sent a ripple of laughter around the table, everyone enjoying the lighthearted banter—everyone except Spencer.

Emily, who had been quietly observing the interaction, noticed the way Spencer’s shoulders were tense, his posture stiff as he stared down at the table. “You good, Reid?” she asked, her voice gentle with concern.

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as he looked up. “Hmm? Yeah, just trying to decide what to get,” he mumbled, clearly distracted.

Emily raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the unopened menu in front of him. “You haven’t even opened the menu…”

The observation made the rest of the team go quiet for a moment, all eyes subtly shifting to Spencer. It wasn’t like him to be so off-kilter, especially with the team. The strain between you two hadn’t gone unnoticed, and now, with everyone watching, it was clear that something was bothering him.

Spencer quickly realized that all eyes were on him, and he felt his face heat up even more. He fumbled for the menu, flipping it open with a little more force than necessary. “I’m just… still thinking about the case,” he said, his voice sounding a bit too forced.

Derek, always one to poke fun, leaned in with a grin. “C’mon, man. We closed that case days ago. What’s really on your mind?”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you for the briefest moment before he looked away, but it was enough for Derek to catch. The playful grin on Derek’s face widened as he put two and two together. “Ah, I see,” he said with a knowing nod, but he didn’t push further—at least, not yet.

The tension at the table eased slightly as the team returned to their conversations, but the underlying pressure between you and Spencer remained. You could feel his discomfort radiating from him, and though you tried to focus on the conversation around you, it was hard to ignore the awkwardness.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this uneasy dynamic would last. The team was clearly aware that something was up, and sooner or later, it would come to a head. 

Derek had noticed Spencer’s mood throughout the evening, and when it was time to leave, he realized that Spencer had taken the bus to dinner. With a casual smile, Derek offered him a ride home, which Spencer accepted, grateful for the gesture. But as soon as he climbed into Derek’s car, he began to regret it.

They had barely pulled out of the parking lot when Derek broke the silence with a teasing grin. “So, you got it bad for the new girl, huh?”

“What?” Spencer bit out, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to Derek, his eyes wide with surprise and irritation.

“Oh, come on, we can all tell there’s some tension there,” Derek continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I don’t like her like that,” Spencer snapped, his tone defensive as he stared out the window, avoiding Derek’s gaze. The street lights flickered by in a blur, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you.

“Oh no?” Derek’s voice was laced with amusement, but there was also a hint of curiosity. “Then what is it? Just want to sleep with her?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists on his lap. “Drop it, Derek,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Alright, alright,” Derek said, holding up one hand in a gesture of surrender while keeping the other on the steering wheel. “I’m just saying, kid, you’re a catch, and she’d be lucky to go out with a guy like you.”

Spencer couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The idea of you being “lucky” to go out with him was laughable. As if you hadn’t already shown him exactly where he stood by leaving him behind without a word. As if you weren’t the one who had made him feel like a fool for even entertaining the idea that there could have been something more between you.

“That’s absurd,” Spencer muttered, shaking his head. “She’s not interested, Derek. Trust me.”

Derek glanced over at Spencer, noticing the bitterness in his voice and the tension in his posture. Something deeper was going on here, something that went beyond the usual awkwardness Spencer displayed around women he liked. But Derek knew better than to push too hard, especially when Spencer was clearly on edge.

“Alright, man,” Derek said more gently this time. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. No judgment, just listening.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, grateful for Derek’s attempt at understanding but unwilling to open up about the tangled mess of emotions he was dealing with. He appreciated the offer, but this was something he wasn’t ready to discuss, not with Derek or anyone else.

—

“So, we’ve got to set them up, right?” Emily asked conspiratorially, leaning in close to Penelope as they sat together at the end of a busy day. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she was already imagining how this little plan could unfold.

“Obviously!” Penelope giggled, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Spencer has it so bad for her. It’s like watching a rom-com, except the leads are way too awkward to realize they’re in one.”

“But does Y/N even like him?” Emily asked, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s nice and friendly to everyone, but I’ve never seen her look twice at him. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Penelope paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. “You’re right, she’s hard to read. But maybe she’s just being professional, you know? She’s still new to the team—maybe she’s keeping her cards close to her chest.”

Emily nodded slowly, considering the idea. “True, but if we’re going to play matchmaker, we need to know where she stands. We can’t push them together if she’s not interested.”

A mischievous grin spread across Penelope’s face as an idea struck her. “What if we have a girls’ night?” she suggested, her voice full of excitement. “Get to know her better, loosen her up with some drinks, and ask about boys!”

Emily’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Yes! That’s perfect. We can make it a casual thing, just us girls hanging out, and see if she spills anything about her love life.”

“And if she does like Spencer, we’ll know exactly how to help them along,” Penelope added, already planning the evening in her head. “Plus, it’ll be fun to get to know her better. I’m sure she’s got some interesting stories.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, already imagining how the night would go. “This could be great. We’ll find out what makes her tick, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get her to admit she’s got a thing for our favorite doctor.”

Penelope clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Operation Girls’ Night is officially a go! We’ll plan it for this weekend—drinks, gossip, and maybe a little matchmaking.”

The two women exchanged a conspiratorial grin, pleased with their plan. They were determined to figure out what was going on between you and Spencer, and they weren’t above using a little friendly interrogation to get the answers they wanted. After all, if there was even a chance that you liked Spencer back, they were going to make sure you both got the push you needed.

—

The jet hummed softly as it cruised through the night sky, the team returning to Quantico after wrapping up another tough case. The mood was subdued, everyone lost in their own thoughts, until Emily decided to break the silence.

“Hey, Y/N,” she called out casually, her tone light as she turned to face you. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

You looked up from the book you were reading, slightly surprised by the sudden question. “Uh, not that I can think of,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Why, what’s up?”

Before Emily could respond, Spencer, who had been unusually quiet during the flight, mumbled something under his breath without looking up. “No dates?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

The question hung in the air for a moment, the friction palpable as everyone exchanged glances. It was a rare moment for Spencer to say something so directly, and the team silently noted it, but decided to let it slide for now, choosing not to address the awkwardness.

Emily quickly picked up the conversation, steering it back on track. “Well… Garcia and I were thinking we could have a girls’ night!” she said brightly, her tone full of enthusiasm. “You know, just us ladies—drinks, snacks, maybe some bad movies?”

Your face lit up at the suggestion, your smile widening. “Oh, that sounds fun! I would love to!” you replied, genuinely excited at the idea. The past few weeks had been intense, and a girls’ night sounded like the perfect way to unwind and bond with your new teammates.

Penelope, who had been sitting across from you, perked up at the mention of girls’ night. “Yay! I’m so glad you’re in, Y/N! We’ll have the best time—trust me, you won’t want to miss it.”

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick, satisfied glance, their plan already in motion. Spencer, on the other hand, remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the book in his lap, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. The subtle tension in the air didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team, but they all pretended not to notice, keeping the atmosphere light.

—

You arrived at Penelope’s apartment armed with pajamas and a bottle of wine, ready for a much-needed girls’ night. The warm, welcoming atmosphere was exactly what you needed after the intense cases and whatever had been brewing between you and Spencer. As soon as you stepped inside, you were greeted by the delicious scent of snacks, the soft glow of string lights, and the comforting sound of a movie playing in the background.

Penelope, Emily, and you quickly settled in, surrounded by cozy blankets, a spread of snacks, and plenty of wine. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter as you all relaxed into the evening.

“So, Pen, how are things between you and Kevin? Still awkward?” Emily asked with a teasing grin as she took a sip of her wine.

“Oh yeah, not touching that again. Messy!” Penelope replied, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust. “We’ve officially moved on to the ‘friendly but distant’ phase.”

Emily chuckled and leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anyone else tickling your fancy?”

Penelope’s face lit up with a shy smile, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, there’s this girl… I met her at my book club. She’s new, and she asked me out!”

“What! Penelope, that’s great!” you exclaimed, joining in on the excitement.

“Thanks, you guys,” Penelope said, beaming with happiness. “It’s still early days, but I’m really looking forward to seeing where it goes.”

Penelope turned her attention back to Emily. “How about you, Em? Anyone special in your life?”

Emily laughed softly, shaking her head. “Hmm… well, JJ is at home with our child right now, so I’m pretty set in that department.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What?? I didn’t know you and JJ were together!”

Emily grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yeah, we’ve been together for a while now. We don’t talk about it much at work; we try to keep it professional, you know?”

“Of course, I just can’t believe no one mentioned it,” you replied, still a bit stunned by the revelation.

Penelope giggled, taking another sip of her wine. “I guess it’s common knowledge around the team. We forget not everyone knows.”

You leaned back against the cushions, feeling more comfortable now that the ice was broken. “Is it hard working with your partner?” you asked, genuinely curious about how they balanced their personal and professional lives.

Emily and Penelope shared a quick look before Emily answered. “No, not at all. If anything, it makes work easier, knowing I get to be with her all day, every day. And she motivates me to do better too.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” you said, smiling at the thought of such a supportive relationship. “It must be nice to have someone who understands your job so well.”

“It is,” Emily agreed, her eyes softening as she thought about JJ. “We’ve had our challenges, but in the end, we’re stronger for it. And it’s definitely made me appreciate how important it is to have someone who’s in your corner, both at work and at home.”

A comforting silence fell over the three of you, the kind of quiet that only comes when people feel truly at ease in each other’s company. The sound of the movie playing softly in the background mixed with the occasional clink of glasses, creating a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

After a few moments, Penelope broke the silence with a gentle, curious question. “What about you, Y/N?”

“Me?” you replied, looking up from your glass, slightly caught off guard.

“Yes, you!” Penelope grinned, her eyes twinkling with interest. “Any suitors in your life?”

You let out a small laugh, a mix of amusement and self-deprecation, as you tried to shrug off the question. “Oh, hah… none that last longer than one night,” you joked, though there was a hint of uncomfortability behind your words that you couldn’t quite hide.

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick glance, both of them picking up on the undertone of your response. The lightness in the air dimmed just a little, the laughter fading into a more contemplative mood.

“Ah, the elusive one-night wonders,” Emily said with a wry smile, trying to keep the mood light while acknowledging the hint of vulnerability in your voice. “They can be fun, but they’re not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.”

Penelope, ever the compassionate one, leaned in a bit closer, her voice soft and reassuring. “You know, Y/N, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying those nights, but if you’re looking for something more… well, you deserve that too. Sometimes it just takes time to find the right person.”

You smiled gratefully at Penelope, appreciating her kindness. “Thanks, Pen. I guess I’m just not even sure what I’m looking for.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked, her tone gentle but curious as she leaned in a little closer, genuinely interested in what you had to say.

You sighed, trying to put your swirling thoughts into words. “I don’t know… I thought I knew what I wanted, but then something changed, and now I’m even more confused than ever.”

“What happened?” Penelope asked, her curiosity piqued. There was no judgment in her voice, just a soft encouragement that made you feel comfortable enough to share.

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “Well, I met a man, and we spent a night together. It was… amazing, not just the sex, but the conversation, the connection. It felt different, you know? Like it could have been something more. But I’ve got some stuff—baggage, I guess—and my mind is a mess. I think I might have ruined it by running away before it could become anything. But the thing is, I’m not even sure if I would want anything more right now. It’s just so complicated.”

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick, subtle glance, both of them piecing together what you were saying. Given the recent tension between you and Spencer—his unusual behavior, your guarded interactions, and the awkward moments when you were in the same room—it wasn’t hard for them to suspect that Spencer might be the man you were talking about. 

They had to play this cool and casual, though. If you were talking about Spencer, the last thing they wanted to do was push you too hard and make you shut down. But if it wasn’t Spencer, they needed to know that, too, because it would affect how they approached their little matchmaking plan.

Penelope leaned in slightly, keeping her tone light. “It sounds like you’re in a tough spot. But it’s okay to feel unsure, Y/N. Sometimes things are complicated, and it takes time to sort through what you really want.”

Emily nodded in agreement, adding, “Exactly. And no one’s saying you have to have it all figured out right now. It’s okay to take things slow and figure out what you need for yourself.”

You looked at both of them, feeling a sense of relief that they weren’t pushing you for more details or making assumptions. “Thanks, you guys. It’s just hard when you feel like you’ve found something special, but you’re not in the right place to pursue it.”

Penelope gave you a warm smile. “Whatever you decide, just know that we’re here for you. And if it’s meant to be, it’ll find a way to work out, even if it’s a little messy.”

You smiled back, feeling a bit lighter after sharing your thoughts. “I hope so. I just need to figure out what’s going on in my head first.”

The conversation shifted to other topics after that, but Emily and Penelope couldn’t help but keep an eye on you, silently wondering if Spencer was the man you were talking about. If it was him, they knew they had to tread carefully. But if it wasn’t… well, their plans might need some adjusting.

As the night went on, the three of you continued to bond over wine, laughter, and shared stories. But beneath the surface, both Emily and Penelope were already plotting their next move, determined to either help you sort through your complicated feelings or figure out if you were talking about someone else entirely.

—

The team had been called out to Florida to investigate a string of brutal murders that had the local authorities stumped. The unsub had a specific and chilling pattern: targeting young, straight, white couples, forcing the boyfriend to murder his girlfriend before disposing of the bodies. The case was as gruesome as it was urgent, and the BAU knew they had to act quickly to prevent more lives from being lost.

After reviewing the case details, Hotch gathered the team in the conference room of their makeshift command center. “We believe the unsub is selecting his victims from a specific nightclub in the area,” Hotch began, his voice steady. “He’s likely using this location as a hunting ground, identifying couples that match his preferred victimology. We need to draw him out.”

Hotch turned to Spencer with a serious expression. “Reid would you be comfortable playing the part of the boyfriend in an attempt to get the unsub’s attention at the club?”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This was far outside his comfort zone, but the urgency of the situation left him with little choice. “If it’s what’s needed, I’ll do it,” he agreed, though his voice was a bit tighter than usual.

Hotch nodded, appreciating Spencer’s willingness. “Thank you, Reid. We’ll ensure you have all the backup you need.”

Hotch then turned to Emily, intending to ask her to be Spencer’s counterpart. “Prentiss, I’d like you to play the role of the girlfriend. We can work on the cover story and—”

Before he could finish, Emily shook her head, interrupting him. “Hotch, I think I’m too old to fit the unsub’s victimology. He’s targeting younger couples, and I wouldn’t blend in as well as someone closer to the profile.”

Hotch paused, considering her words. She had a point—the unsub’s victims had all been in their twenties. He needed someone who could convincingly pass as a target (Emily could let’s be real). His eyes drifted toward you, and though he was hesitant, he knew you were the best option given the circumstances.

He turned to you, his expression serious. “Y/N, I know this isn’t what you signed up for as a liaison, and I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. But with Prentiss being right about the victimology, you’re our best option. I can give you a quick debriefing and some coaching if you agree.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden request. You were used to working in the field, but this was different—this was personal and dangerous. The thought of working so closely with Spencer made your stomach tighten. But you also knew how high the stakes were. If your participation could save lives, you couldn’t refuse.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “If you think it’s the best course of action, I’ll do it. Just make sure I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch offered you a reassuring nod. “You’ll have all the support you need. We’ll work through the cover story and logistics before you head out. And remember, the entire team will be watching your backs.”

With the plan in motion, the team began preparing for the undercover operation. The pressure in the air was thick as Hotch pulled you aside for a quick but thorough debriefing. You could feel the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders, but you steeled yourself, determined to do whatever it took to help catch the unsub.

“Okay, Y/N,” Hotch began, his voice calm and authoritative, “this is what you need to do.”

He handed you a small earpiece. “You’ll be wearing this the entire time. We’ll be in constant communication with you and Spencer. The team will be monitoring everything from the van outside, so if anything feels off or if you sense any danger, just signal us, and we’ll intervene immediately.”

You nodded, slipping the earpiece in and adjusting it. The idea of being so closely monitored was both reassuring and nerve-wracking, but you pushed those feelings aside.

Hotch continued, his tone serious. “When you get to the club, you need to act naturally—like a couple out for a night of fun. The unsub is methodical, and he’s likely watching for couples who fit his victim profile. You and Spencer need to blend in, but you also need to be aware of your surroundings. Stay close to Spencer, and don’t let your guard down.”

He paused, looking you in the eye. “Remember, the unsub likely approaches the couples he targets with charm and subtlety. You may not recognize him right away, so trust your instincts. If anyone seems too interested in you or Spencer, report it immediately.”

You swallowed, feeling the gravity of the situation. “What if he tries to separate us?”

“That’s unlikely at first,” Hotch replied. “He’ll want to gain your trust before making his move. But if he does try, make it difficult. Stay close to Spencer. Your job is to make sure the unsub believes you’re a real couple. Your cover story is that you’ve been dating for a few months, and this is a special night out for you.”

You met Hotch’s gaze, feeling nerves and determination. “I understand. I won’t let you down.”

Hotch gave you a reassuring nod. “Good. We’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

With that, the briefing was over. You felt the weight of the mission settle more heavily on your shoulders, but you also knew you had the full support of the team behind you. As you walked back to where Spencer was waiting, you mentally prepared yourself for what was to come. 

You approached Spencer with hesitation and resolve, knowing that this conversation needed to happen before you both went undercover. The tension between you had been simmering for weeks, and now you were about to put on an act that required you to be convincingly in love. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“Spencer…?” you began, your voice cautious.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone clipped, already on edge.

“This is going to be awkward, and I’m sorry for that,” you continued, trying to break the ice. “Can we just keep this professional? We can act like we like each other to save lives, right?” You attempted a light-hearted joke, but it fell flat.

“Of course, Y/N. I’m not a child,” Spencer snapped back, his irritation clear. So much for pretending to like you.

You winced slightly at his tone but pressed on. “Okay…um, I also wanted to say that—well, nothing is off the table. Whatever it takes to catch this guy, get his attention, make him believe we’re a desirable couple in love…let’s do it.”

Spencer’s eyes softened just a fraction as he realized you were serious. He took a deep breath, nodding. “Okay, I agree. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

The conversation was brief and tense, but at least you had established some ground rules. There was still a thick layer of unresolved emotion between you, but you both knew that when it came down to it, the mission took priority. 

—

You and Spencer had gotten ready separately for the club, knowing that you needed to look the part if you were going to convincingly play a couple that the unsub might target. Emily had been by your side as you prepared, her encouragement and sharp eye ensuring that you looked hot as hell. She may have had a hidden agenda, hoping that something real might spark between you and Spencer tonight, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

When the time came, you both met in the hotel lobby, the plan ready to be set into motion. But as soon as you laid eyes on each other, the seriousness of the situation was momentarily forgotten, both of you sent mildly for a loop by each other’s appearance.

Spencer’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way your outfit hugged every curve. The tight, red top and matching skirt, revealing just enough to be teasing, had his mind reeling. He was suddenly, and quite vividly, reminded of the night you’d spent together, the memory of you beneath him flashing in his mind. The sight of you now, looking so effortlessly sexy, made his throat go dry.

Meanwhile, you were having a hard time picking your jaw up off the floor. Spencer, who usually favored his vests and button-ups, had ditched the formal wear for a more relaxed look. The simple gray t-shirt clung to his lean frame, accentuating the lines of his shoulders and chest. The addition of the chain around his neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat. You had always thought Spencer was attractive, but seeing him like this—so casual, so effortlessly confident—had your pulse racing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, both caught up in the unexpected surge of attraction. It was clear that the night ahead was going to be challenging in more ways than one. But as the mission loomed over you, the strain between you simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.

Finally, Spencer broke the silence, clearing his throat as he tried to regain his composure. “You… uh, you look great, Y/N. Ready for this?”

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Thanks, Spencer. You clean up pretty well yourself. Let’s do this.”

With that, you both turned toward the exit, the air between you charged with unresolved feelings and unspoken words. The night had just begun, and already, it was clear that the lines between your undercover roles and your real emotions were going to be dangerously blurred.

—

Inside the club, the pulsing beat of the music and the flashing lights created an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. The energy of the place was infectious, but your nerves were on edge. The thought that someone in this very crowd might be eyeing you as their next victim sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to keep your cool, but it wasn’t easy. The low light, the thrumming bass, and the knowledge that you were essentially bait made the situation feel far more intense.

But it wasn’t just the case that had your nerves frayed. As soon as you and Spencer stepped out of the car, you felt his big, warm hand press gently against the exposed skin of your lower back, guiding you toward the entrance. The contact was electrifying, sending a fire through your entire body. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves, the proximity, or the tension between you two, but every nerve ending felt like it was on high alert.

“Alright, Y/N, stay calm,” Spencer’s voice cut through your thoughts, his tone soothing yet firm. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke just loudly enough for you to hear over the music. “Let’s go to the bar. We can get some non-alcoholic drinks.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. But it was hard to concentrate when his hand stayed firmly on your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing. You reminded yourself that this was all part of the act, but the effect it was having on you felt far too real.

As you made your way through the crowd, the lights flashing in sync with the music, you did your best to play the role. You leaned into Spencer slightly, letting yourself appear relaxed, as if you were just another couple out for a good time. But inside, your mind was a whirlwind of anxiety and an unexpected attraction that you hadn’t anticipated.

When you reached the bar, Spencer ordered two non-alcoholic drinks, keeping his voice low and calm. He was good at this—better than you’d expected. His demeanor was confident, protective, and even though you knew it was all part of the cover, it was hard not to feel a sense of comfort from it.

As the bartender handed over your drinks, Spencer’s hand finally left your back, and you couldn’t help but miss the warmth. You took a deep breath, focusing on the mission. You needed to look natural, to draw attention without appearing out of place. It was all about selling the image.

“Here,” Spencer said, handing you your drink. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between you. “We’ll just hang out here for a bit, see if anyone takes notice.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink and trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. The club was filled with people dancing, laughing, and flirting, and for a brief second, you almost wished you were here under different circumstances—no case, no danger, just you and Spencer, enjoying a night out.

But the reality was far from that. You were here to catch a killer.

“Baby, do you want to stand at that high top by the dance floor?” Spencer asked, his voice louder to be heard over the thumping music. The term of endearment threw you off guard, your mind momentarily blanking at the unexpected sweetness in his tone. It sounded so natural, so right, coming from him, and it sent a flutter through your chest.

You quickly recovered, trying to keep up the act. “Uh, yeah, babe—let’s go,” you replied, the word feeling a bit foreign on your tongue but surprisingly easy to say. Spencer responded by taking your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he led you toward the high-top table near the dance floor. His grip was firm, comforting, and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but notice how well your hands fit together.

Once you reached the table, you positioned yourselves so that you had a good view of the club. It was all about the mission—watching the crowd, spotting anyone who might be a threat—but Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and intimate as he spoke.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he mumbled, his words almost lost in the din of the music. “No one can keep their eyes off of you. This is going to be difficult.”

His compliment was unexpected, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if it was part of the act or something more. The way he said it, with that soft, almost shy tone, made your heart skip a beat. The intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes lingered on yours, made you wonder if there was more truth to his words than he was letting on.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you hoped the dim lighting would hide it. 

He nodded, his expression serious again as he scanned the room, his hand still holding yours. “Let’s just stay close and make sure we don’t separate. If anyone approaches, we stick to the story—dating for a few months, here for a special night out. We can’t let our guard down.”

You agreed with a nod, though your thoughts kept drifting back to the way his hand felt in yours, how effortlessly he was playing the role of your boyfriend. The line between acting and reality was starting to blur, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment, despite the danger lurking somewhere in the club.

But you quickly refocused, reminding yourself of the stakes. This was about catching a killer, not exploring whatever confusing feelings you might have for Spencer. Still, as you stood there, fingers intertwined with his, it was hard to ignore the fact that pretending to be in love with him didn’t feel like much of a stretch at all.

As you stood at the high top with Spencer, you couldn’t help but notice how close the other couples around you were. Some were practically glued together, their bodies pressed intimately against one another. A few had their arms wrapped around each other, sharing whispered words and secret smiles, while one particularly bold couple was making out with such intensity that you were sure they’d forgotten they were in public. The contrast between their closeness and the polite distance you and Spencer were keeping was glaringly obvious.

You knew you had to sell the illusion more convincingly. Taking a deep breath, you dropped Spencer’s hand and moved in closer, turning so your back was pressed firmly against his chest. The move was bold, and it had the intended effect. Your ass brushed against his crotch, the contact sending a shockwave through both of you. You could feel his body tense behind you, the sudden intimacy making your pulse quicken.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer whispered harshly in your ear, his voice low and strained as his hands instinctively gripped your hips to keep up the charade. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

“Acting like a couple,” you murmured back, keeping your tone casual despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Look around.”

Spencer glanced around the club, taking in the other couples who were much closer, more intimate, and clearly far more convincing as lovers than the two of you had been up until this point. He realized you were right—if you were going to catch the unsub’s attention, you needed to sell the act. Still, the sudden proximity was rattling him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the mission instead of the way your body felt pressed against his. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, his grip on your hips tightening just slightly. “But don’t go too far.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his discomfort, but you knew he was right. You needed to maintain control, but you also had to look convincing. Leaning back into him, you let your body relax against his, your movements slow and deliberate as you adjusted to the new position.

Spencer’s hands remained on your hips, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your skirt as he tried to ignore the way your warmth seeped into him. Despite the uncertainty between you, there was an undeniable connection in the way you moved together, a rhythm that felt strangely natural.

The music thumped around you, the lights flashed in time with the beat, and as you swayed in time with the music, the line between act and reality blurred even further. It was becoming harder to remember that this was just a cover, just a mission. And from the way Spencer’s grip on your hips lingered a little too long, you wondered if he was feeling the same way.

“Reid, L/N, five o'clock, guy in a gray hoodie, looked past you. Step it up,” Hotch’s voice crackled through your earpieces, snapping you both out of the momentary haze that had settled over you. The reminder of the mission sent a cold shiver down your spine, the gravity of the situation crashing back into focus. This wasn’t just an act; this was a dangerous game with real consequences.

You blinked, forcing yourself to stay calm. The intimacy of your position was suddenly charged with a different kind of tension. You could feel Spencer tense behind you, the same realization dawning on him.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice soft, trying to keep the fear out of your tone. “Can I turn around? We can dance?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, then nodded. “Sure,” he replied, his voice a bit strained.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart beating fast in your chest. As you did, you were met with his intense gaze, those pretty hazel eyes locking onto yours. The club lights flickered across his face, casting shadows that only seemed to make him look more striking. 

“Hi,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

“Focus, Y/N,” Spencer gritted out, his jaw tight as he forced himself to stay on task. His hands slid back to your hips, pulling you taut against his body with a firmness that was more grounding than intimate. He wasn’t playing around anymore—he was in full profiler mode, and he needed you to be too.

You swallowed hard and nodded, pushing the swirling emotions aside. There was no room for hesitation or distraction now. You both began to sway to the beat, your bodies moving together in a way that was meant to draw attention, but also to look like a couple deeply connected.

As you danced, you could feel the tension in Spencer’s body, the way he was torn between the necessity of the mission and the undeniable pull between you. The pressure of his hands on your hips was both reassuring and unsettling, grounding you in the moment while reminding you of the line you couldn’t cross.

But even as you tried to focus on the task, the proximity, the warmth, and the intensity of his gaze made it difficult to separate the act from reality. You were dancing for a purpose, but the way your bodies moved together felt far too natural, far too easy.

The man in the gray hoodie lingered in your peripheral vision, and you knew the stakes were high. You had to sell this, had to make him believe you were just another couple in love, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

“Hotch, you can see us, right?” you asked into the earpiece, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves gnawing at your insides.

“Of course,” Hotch’s calm voice responded. “Morgan and Prentiss are inside too, keeping an eye on everything.”

The reassurance helped, but only slightly. You knew the team had your back, but that didn’t make the situation any less intense. You glanced up at Spencer, noticing how his eyes kept darting around the room, scanning for threats.

“Okay, Spencer, look at me,” you said firmly, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music. “Stop looking around—you’re in love with me, remember?”

Spencer’s gaze snapped back to you, and he gave you a playful glare, clearly annoyed by the reminder but unable to argue with the logic. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair. The move brought you closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that was far too reminiscent of your last intimate encounter. You could feel the tension coil tighter between you, but you ignored it, focusing on the mission.

“Y/N…” he warned low, his voice strained, the memory of that night flashing in his eyes. The way your fingers brushed against his scalp was too familiar, too charged with unspoken emotion.

“Just doing my job,” you whispered back, your tone light but your heart pounding in your chest.

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced but playing along nonetheless.

Before either of you could say more, Derek’s voice crackled through your earpieces. “Reid, grab lower—you look too stiff.”

Emily smothered a laugh from where she stood across the club, clearly enjoying the situation more than she probably should. But Spencer, ever the professional, did as he was told. His hands slid down your back, settling on your ass with a firm grip. The sudden, bold move sent a jolt through you, and you couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips.

“Payback,” Spencer mouthed, a mischievous glint in his eye as he held your gaze, not wanting the others to hear the exchange.

You narrowed your eyes at him, biting back a smile despite yourself. He was getting into the role now, playing the part of the devoted boyfriend with a bit more enthusiasm than you expected. But there was still that undercurrent of uncertainty, that sense that the line between acting and reality was growing thinner by the second.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. The man in the gray hoodie was still in the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t afford to let your guard down. But as Spencer’s hands remained on your body, his touch far more intimate than necessary, you found it increasingly difficult to keep your own emotions in check.

The moment you heard Spencer’s voice through the earpiece, directing, “Prentiss, Morgan, keep your eyes on gray hoodie,” you barely had time to register what was happening before Spencer’s lips pressed down on yours.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was intense, full of urgency and purpose, catching you completely off guard. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you even closer. The heat of his body against yours made your head spin and you let out a whine that Spencer felt more than heard. There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed you—his mouth moved against yours with a fierce determination, as if he was trying to communicate everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Your initial shock melted into the moment as you found yourself kissing him back just as fervently. The crowded, noisy club seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you locked in this sudden, passionate embrace. It was more than just a distraction for the unsub—it felt real, too real, like all the friction that had been building between you both had finally erupted.

Your hands fully fisted his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you let yourself get lost in the kiss and Spencer’s deep groan. There was a desperation in the way Spencer’s lips moved against yours, a need that mirrored your own, and it was impossible to tell where the act ended and the truth began.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Spencer’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, still holding you close. There was a moment of silence between you, the world seeming to stand still in the aftermath of what had just happened.

But then reality came crashing back in. The club’s pounding music, the mission, the danger—it all returned in an instant. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, reminding yourself why you were here.

“That should do it,” Spencer muttered, his voice low and rough as he glanced over your shoulder, checking for any reaction from the man in the gray hoodie.

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you couldn’t quite find the words to respond. The kiss had shaken you, and you could tell it had affected Spencer too, though he was doing his best to remain composed.

“Good job, gray hoodie is making his way over. Prepare to talk to him,” Hotch’s voice came through your earpieces, calm and commanding as always.

You barely had time to catch your breath, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Spencer’s kiss. But there was no time to dwell on it now—the mission was moving forward, and you needed to be ready.

“Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek added, his voice laced with amusement. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone, and you knew he’d have something to say about that kiss later. But for now, all you could do was roll your eyes and focus on what was coming next.

Spencer’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, a subtle reminder that he was right there with you, in more ways than one. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Remember, we’re just here to have a good time. Stay calm, and let me lead the conversation.”

You nodded, your heart still racing but your mind sharpening as you prepared to interact with the man who could very well be the unsub. You glanced up at Spencer, his eyes meeting yours with determination and something else—something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.

The man in the gray hoodie approached you and Spencer, his eyes scanning the area before focusing on you with a predatory gleam. Sensing his intent, you and Spencer stayed close, maintaining your cover as he made his move. As he began to get aggressive, subtly trying to lead you away from the crowd, Spencer tightened his hold on you, ready to react.

But before the situation could escalate further, Prentiss moved in quickly, her handcuffs at the ready. The moment the unsub tried to take control, she was on him, expertly restraining him before he could do any harm. The takedown was swift and decisive, with the unsub barely registering what had happened before he was secured.

“Great job, you two,” Hotch’s voice came through the earpiece, filled with genuine praise. You could almost hear the relief in his tone as he acknowledged how smoothly the operation had gone.

“Yeah, nice work, lovebirds,” Derek interjected, his playful tone impossible to miss. You could practically see the teasing grin on his face, and you knew he wouldn’t let either of you forget this night anytime soon.

“Who knew our boy genius could lay it on thick?” Emily added, a laugh in her voice. “Maybe we should send you two undercover more often.”

Rossi, who had been observing quietly from the sidelines, simply smiled knowingly. His eyes twinkled with understanding, as if he could see right through the situation, recognizing more than just a job well done. There was something in his expression that suggested he knew this was more than just a successful operation—that perhaps there was something else between you and Spencer.

As the team began wrapping up, gathering evidence and securing the unsub, you felt a strange sense of relief and uncertainty. The mission was over, but the kiss, the tension, the way Spencer had held you—it all lingered in the back of your mind.

For now, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the successful outcome of the case. But as you glanced at Spencer, you knew you couldn’t ignore what had happened between you two forever. There would be time to address it later, to figure out what it meant, but for now, you were content to let the night end on a high note, with the unsub in custody and your team’s playful banter filling the air.

—

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the occasional hum of the air conditioning unit in your hotel room. You lay there, unable to sleep, your mind replaying the events of the evening over and over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer—his touch, his kiss, the way he had looked at you as if there was something more.

Then, just as you were beginning to drift off, you heard a soft knock at your door. It was so faint that you almost thought you imagined it, but then you heard it again, followed by your name whispered in a voice you knew all too well. Spencer.

You shot up in bed, your heart racing, quickly and quietly making your way over to the door. You opened it, and there he was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

“Spencer? What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Spencer didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his hands reaching for your face, pulling you into a fierce, urgent kiss. The force of it took you by surprise, and you stumbled back into the room, the door shutting softly behind him.

His hands were on you, impatient and demanding, as he began to strip away your clothes, tossing them aside as he moved with purpose. You knew deep down that you should stop this, that it was dangerous to blur the lines between your professional and personal lives even further. But the need in his kiss, the desperation in his touch, made it impossible to resist.

Before you knew it, you were both undressed, and he was pushing you down onto the bed. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Spencer?”

His response was immediate, his tone firm, almost commanding. “I really don’t want to hear you talk.”

And then you felt it—a fabric pressed against your tongue. You recognized the taste, the feel of it. Your underwear. He had stuffed them into your mouth, silencing you as he leaned over you, his eyes dark with intent.

Your body reacted to his dominance, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you as you surrendered to the moment. Whatever this was between you two, it was undeniable, unstoppable. 

You nodded quickly, the realization of what was happening sinking in fast. You were ready to submit, ready to give in to Spencer completely, knowing that, in some twisted way, you owed this to him after everything that had transpired between you. The strain, the unresolved emotions, the unspoken words—all of it led to this moment, and you were helpless to resist.

You let Spencer maneuver you with ease, guiding you until your head was resting on the pillows, your body laid out beneath him. His touch was firm, deliberate, as he held your wrists above your head in one of his hands, his grip possessive yet reassuring. There was a weight to his movements, a sense of control that sent a shiver down your spine. 

As he began to enter you, the sensations overwhelmed your mind. You felt the warmth of his body, the intensity of his focus, and the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you. For the night, you allowed yourself to believe in the fantasy that you were still dating Spencer, still wrapped up in that intoxicating bubble from the club where the world outside didn’t exist. It was a dangerous illusion, but one that you clung to, desperate to feel something other than the emptiness that had plagued you for so long.

You knew, deep down, that this was temporary, that you would regret it when the sun rose and the reality of your situation came crashing down. The intimacy, as fulfilling as it was in the moment, would leave you more vulnerable than ever before. But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, letting the connection with Spencer fill the void that you had been ignoring for years.

In the quiet darkness of the hotel room, with only the sounds of your shared breaths and the gentle rustling of the sheets, you gave yourself over to the moment. The rawness, the passion, the way Spencer took control—it all felt like an escape from the complications of your real life, a brief respite where nothing mattered but the two of you.

But even as you lost yourself in the sensations, a small part of you knew that this night would leave a mark. The ache in your chest would linger long after the pleasure faded, and the distance between you and Spencer would only grow wider once the night was over. Yet, despite the inevitable pain, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not tonight.

—

When you woke up the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, you found yourself caught in a strange, bittersweet limbo. There was a part of you that wanted to laugh at how absurd it all was—how quickly things had escalated, how out of control it had felt. But there was also a part of you that wanted to cry, to let out the frustration and the hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

You had fallen asleep in Spencer’s arms, his warmth and presence offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved so desperately. In those moments, nestled against him, you had felt something—an undeniable emotion, one that was both comforting and terrifying. It was a feeling you weren’t ready to admit, not even to yourself. But it had been there, undeniable and potent.

But now? Now you were alone. The space beside you in the bed was empty, the sheets cold where Spencer had been. He had left, and the realization of that hit you harder than you expected. You sat up slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of what had transpired. The room was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside, and it only amplified the hollowness inside you.

You glanced around, half-expecting to find some sign that he hadn’t really gone, but there was nothing. No note, no trace of him. The memories of the night clung to you, the way he had kissed you, the way he had dominated you, the way he had made you feel. But those memories were all you had left. The reality was that he was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces of whatever this was.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to make sense of your emotions.  In the end, you took a deep breath and pushed the emotions down, burying them deep where they couldn’t hurt you—at least not right now. There was no time to dwell on what had happened, no time to analyze the why and the how. The team would be leaving soon, and you needed to get ready, to put on the facade of professionalism and normalcy.

—

On the jet ride back to Quantico, you had slipped seamlessly back into your professional persona. You weren’t ignoring Spencer, but you were treating him just like everyone else on the team—polite, distant, focused on the job. The mission had gone well, and the team had hoped that the tension between you and Spencer might have eased after last night. But as the hours passed and you continued to keep your interactions with him strictly business, it became clear that whatever barrier was between you wasn’t going to crumble that easily.

Once back at Quantico, you quickly packed your things at your desk, eager to get home and sleep in your own bed. Hotch had given the team the day off, and everyone had cleared out quickly, tired from the case. The bullpen was nearly empty, save for you and Penelope, who was still working in her batcave.

As you were turning to leave, your thoughts occupied with getting home, Spencer suddenly appeared in front of you, startling you.

“Spencer! Jeez, hi,” you said, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected presence.

His expression was unreadable, his eyes hard as he looked at you. “How did it feel?” he asked, his voice low and cold.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“To wake up alone?” he repeated, his tone sharp and biting. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the bullpen, leaving you standing there, stunned and reeling from his words.

For a moment, you were too shocked to move, the tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of his accusation sank in. He knew exactly how to cut you, and his words had hit their mark, reopening the wound you had tried so hard to ignore.

“Y/N…?” Penelope’s voice broke through your thoughts, gentle and concerned. She must have heard the exchange, though you hadn’t realized Spencer’s words had carried.

You turned to look at her, the tears spilling over as your emotions finally broke free. You tried to hold them back, to keep it together, but it was no use. The pain, the regret, the guilt—it all came crashing down at once.

“Can I have a hug?” you choked out, your voice trembling.

Penelope didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in a heartbeat, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. Her arms were strong and steady, grounding you as you let the tears flow. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push you to explain. She just held you, letting you cry in the safety of her embrace.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Penelope murmured, rubbing your back soothingly. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

You clung to her, grateful for the comfort she offered, even as the ache in your chest remained. Spencer’s words still echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you. But for now, in Penelope’s arms, you allowed yourself to grieve—to grieve the connection that had been lost, the pain that had been caused, and the uncertainty of what the future held.

—

The next workday at the Bureau felt oddly normal—too normal. Spencer walked in with a knot in his stomach, dreading what he might face after his outburst the previous day. He knew what he had done was wrong, petty, and incredibly immature. But in the moment, the release had felt good. It had felt like a small, bitter victory, even if it was at your expense.

But as he walked through the bullpen, he couldn’t shake the unease. He hadn’t seen you yet, and the thought of running into you now, after everything, made his chest tighten. He hesitated as he passed the liaison office, taking a deep breath before stealing a glance inside. To his surprise, instead of seeing you, he spotted a familiar blonde head bent over a file.

“JJ?” he said, his voice filled with confusion as he stepped into the doorway.

She looked up with a bright smile, her blue eyes warm and welcoming. “Hey, Spence!”

Spencer blinked, still trying to process what he was seeing. “I thought you were on maternity leave for another month?”

JJ laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was, but I just had to come back. I was going stir-crazy at home. You know me—I can’t stay away for long.”

“That’s—well, that’s great,” Spencer stammered, caught off guard by her unexpected return. “It’s really good to have you back.”

JJ’s smile softened as she looked at him. “Thanks, Spence. I missed you guys. But don’t worry—I’m not back full-time just yet. I’m just easing back into things.”

Spencer nodded, still trying to wrap his head around the sudden change. “Well, it’s good to see you. We missed you too.”

As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Spencer’s thoughts kept drifting back to you. If JJ was here, it meant you were probably somewhere else in the building, avoiding the BAU office. The realization filled him with a mix of relief and guilt. He knew he should apologize, should try to make things right, but he wasn’t sure where to begin.

For now, though, he focused on the small comfort of having JJ back. It was a welcome distraction, even if it didn’t erase the tension that still lingered between you and him.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[disabirbity]

What are some things other psychotics do to differentiate between hallucination and reality? And what are ways some of you hold off symptoms? Looking to get a nice thread for people to help each other going here, this stuff isn't posted about enough.

Ways we prevent symptoms/stop them from progressing:

Make background noise to prevent auditory hallucinations. Most of ours start by hearing something that we can't identify the cause of in the background, and our brain starts the spiral from there. So we listen to music all the time and sleep with a fan on every single night, even in the winter. We just point it away from us if we don't want it making us cold.

Blame the cat (or other pets). Any weird movement, scratching, crunching or thumping? That's just Jerry, don't worry about it. He's a silly cat that does cat things even while we're sleeping. Any noise can be blamed on pets or the wind, which stops the paranoia from setting in and making everything bad.

We also tell ourselves that if there was an actual issue like an intruder or monster, the cat would hiss or scream, and the dog would be barking or making noise. This can be applied to many pets.

Stay busy. Focus on something--art, video games, tv shows and films, craft, gardening, anything that keeps you thinking. Don't let the anxiety get to you, just stay focused on your regular life.

Laugh at it. You're hallucinating a monster in your peripheral vision? Name it Fred and tell him to pay rent. You hear weird noises? Tell them to come back with a warrant. For us, treating symptoms like they're jokes or not serious makes us less anxious and therefore makes it easier to get back to a point where we're okay.

Having a friend or a pet near you can help. We feel safer and less alone when we see another living thing near us that's safe. We don't feel as much like we're trapped in another dimension that way.

How we differentiate between reality and unreality:

Touch it. This one only works for things you're not scared of, and if you don't have tactile hallucinations. It's not foolproof! But when we're seeing things like bugs and stuff, reaching out to touch them causes them to fade away so we know they're fake.

Ask friends and other trusted people if they "heard that" or "saw anything". If they're psychosis friendly, feel free to explain and be specific. If not, be vague and keep it to simple things like "hey did you hear anything? I couldn't tell what it was", if that will be safe enough. Having people to ground you can be great.

Look at how others around you are acting. Are they running or interacting with the thing in question in any way? Do they seem to look at it or no? If no one is noticing, it's less likely to be real.

These won't work for everyone and some of these might be harmful to others, but they're helpful to us. You know best what will help you!

Please feel free to add your own! We need more discussion around psychosis that isn't "scary evil person disorder and how to deal with people who have it".

[soulren]

Go spend some time on male pattern baldness or male(AMAB) balding forums/subreddits and such. I did after realizing it is happening to me and the ammount of people who truly don't realize how BRUTALLY it tanks people's confidence and mental health is insane.

There's no cure to baldness by the way, and it can start at any time and there's no way to predict how fast or slow it will go. The only real working option is a daily pill that usually just halts it, but it can stop working or just slow it down or cause major side effects. To regrow you have to use a daily topical solution, or use a roller to wound your scalp. None of these are surefire by the way, and if you stop them you'll just lose your hair and whatever you regained. It's a daily involved thing that might not work and often at best just retains. The best drug, the one that occasionaly gives regrowth, also causes shedding at the start, and can have side effects from growing breasts to brain fog to EDsyfunction(sorry, censoring cause tumblr). Now, those are INCREDIBLY rare and almost never happen but it weighs heavily on the mind of those already spiraling.

But that's just background. What I'm here to talk about is the pure woe you'll see on those forums. People speak as though their lives are over, as though they've lost every chance of finding a woman(predominantly, there's a running idea in such places that women don't like bald men or like them less) or doing anything. You can read countless stories of people who describe that they no longer go outside, are now filled with anxiety and self-hate, have gone from extroverted to never showing their face. And some of these people are kids who lost their hair in high school or even before, or are holding as best they can to a very receded hairline and feel like there is nothing they can do.

And then there's something touched upon far less in those communities, but is important to bring up here; baldness and masculinity. There's the horror of knowing so much of society sees a bald guy as a very masculine guy, at seeing that the best advice for being hot and bald is "grow and beard and big muscles bro". Imagine now you're AMAB balding and nonbinary, or a trans woman who doesn't want to be on hormones.

Just genuinely take the time to look at those forums no matter who you are. Understand what these people go through, what I am currently going through. It is soul-crushing, spiraling, brutal. I have the dream of one day being like Brennan Lee Mulligan or Matt Mercer and starting to lose my hair made me feel like I could never. I felt like and still feel like I would have to be masculine, have to be a bro-y dude, have to look older than I was(I'm fuckin 22). It was the feeling that I could never dress feminine again, never present as a woman when I wanted to again, that I'd always be viewed as a bald guy before anything else.

This is an incredibly vulnerable post for me, and I hope it reaches you all as well in a kind and understanding mood. There's a tendency online for people to joke about baldness, to make fun of it, to treat it as a playfull silly thing but it fucking ruins lives, and it shouldn't. It happens to half the population's sort of bodies and very often. It should just be a neutral thing. You don't need long hair to be feminine, you don't need hair to be feminine. You don't need hair for anything. I guess I'm just saying in general that everyone should be kinder about balding, more understanding, and view it with as much import as they'd view the pixels between this sentence and the next. None at all, I mean.

And for those like me, very feminine guys who wanna keep that and don't want a beard and are terrified of balding, here's some names and I do hope others that see this will add more; Mr. Bruce (also in The Correspondents(band) Alex Ward in LA By Night Jason Carl in LA By Night Cecil Baldwin of Welcome To Night Vale Bob The Drag Queen RuPaul(in looks alone, I know about the whole fracking stuff but this post is about looks) tananasho on instagram Also your mannerisms and style of dress will convey femininity far more than your hair. Yea sure a front-on neutral shot of you may not and maybe you need makeup and stuff, and hell maybe a lot of people might reject you more but it'll just filter down to the people for you.

And to all you artists and writers and creatives; make more bald characters. Try it out. Feminine ones, masculine ones, all sorts. None of the copout nonhuman sort, just dudes and girls and mates and individuals who are all sorts of things and also bald. It might make a few of the people going through the various vortexes of pain that balding causes feel a bit better.

And to those noticing I did not adress female hair loss much here, that was intentional. I am AMAB and currently a nonbinary guy who goes by any pronouns but often likes to present as fem. I learned I was possibly losing my hair and lost two months of my life, no work or going or anything, to male hair loss forums and research and spiraling. Checking my hair twenty times a day, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to think. And my situation was NOT unique, but it also did not give me any experience or understanding of female hair loss and what AFAB people may go through with that, so I don't feel knowledgeable enough to speak on it. Also living with baldness WILL get easier and you will find something that works for it, by virtue of simply living with it. Things get easier with time.

[astrow1zar6]

Astrology Observations- 013

I notice Cap Mercurys think so maturely even from such a very young age. These were those kids that always wanted to hang around people older than them. They are old souls at heart and sometimes it’s harder for them to connect with more childlike energies. People their age can see them as boring because of their serious demeanor.

Leo Risings never like to show the sides to them that make them look bad in anyway. These people have big egos so any assumption from others that they aren’t anything but great can take a big toll on their self esteem. They come off so confident but most are really insecure & don’t think they are interesting so they tend exaggerate a lot of facts about them to keep people thinking they are really interesting and amazing. (U guys don’t need ti do that people already think you are before you even speak)

Capricorn risings always look so annoyed when people are speaking to them. Most of the time they are. They have very honest expressions and when someone says something stupid or uninteresting they are more willing to show their uninterested while most are just willing to smile and take it out of being polite. This is why they can come off as rude or snobbish but really the just don’t have time for bullshit. (I definitely think Wednesday Addams has this placement) many don’t know they are being rude but most don’t have the energy to be fake if they really don’t like what the others saying. Very Real people many mistake them for being Scorpio risings.

Venus in Scorpios were probably shamed a lot for their their sex appeal/drives. I notice these people have a very provocative vibe to them that causes a lot of ppl to sexualize them ( especially the women). I’ve seen women with this placement be virgins and still get slut shamed. People always assume they sleep with mad people even if it’s not true.

Moon in 5th housers are actually very secretive about their talents. A lot are so talented but most tend to keep their hobbies and interests to themselves unless they really trust you.

When someone with Venus in the 7th house likes you they will talk about their future a lot with you. This one guy had a big crush on me and would always joke about getting married and starting a life someday ( he made it sound as a joke but in a way I can tell he meant it). Also can be obsessed with weddings. I have a friend with this placement who says she’ll only wanna get married to experience having her dream wedding lol

Venus in 2nd house women always have people buying them things bro. They don’t even have to ask and men will be buying them expensive gifts or paying for their food or trips. Definition of pretty privilege.

Mars in Aquarius like very eccentric things in bed. It’s almost like they enjoy the opposite of what should be expected in bed. Like the women would like to take normally the male role in bed and vice versa a man with this placement could like a very submissive role. The weirder and more out of place the more turned on they get. Can also be really experimental they are willing to try anything once even if it’s outlandish.

Mars in Aries are usually natural athletes. They have amazing endurance and can become pros faster than most.

Virgo moons usually have bad stomach problems or eating disorders. They are also always giving unsolicited advice no one asked for. They feel this need to solve everything but it can come off as kinda judgmental.

Mars in Pisces are usually victims to bullying. They usually have a hard time asserting themselves and standing up so they get pushed around a lot easier by stronger more dominant energies.

Cap moons are always in denial of their feelings

Mars Square Venus synastry can be really awkward at times in a friendship. Theres this bizarre sexual and touchy tension usually that both aren’t fully comfortable with. The mars person can come off a little too strong and can treat the Venus as if they own them. This attraction can be one sided sometimes with the mars person wanting the Venus and the Venus getting repulsed and distancing themselves. I’ve seen the mars person get jealous if the Venus would hang out with others whether it be other friends or family. And if the Venus is dating someone else this can get really heated on the mars end. Venus will feel the attraction but I notice it’s not as strong.

Venus in 5th house synastry is soooooo flirty. These are those cheesy cringey couples that are always acting like little kids around eachother. It’s actually a really sweet placement. This person will be able to bring out your inner child.

Venus in Libras are always crushing on someone. They jump into relationships I think faster than people with Venus in Aries the only difference is that they can maintain longer term partnerships & don’t bore as quick (even if their feelings are a little superficial). They just don’t know what to do with themselves when they are alone.

Scorpio risings I notice get really strong reactions out of people (like Lilith/asc people) their words make others blood boil even if they really don’t say anything offensive or rude. Most people are jealous of their authenticity which is why a lot of Scorpio risings are quiet and not as willing to open up. People just hate on them so intensely for the littlest things. They also have this ability to know if people are genuine or not which can be intrusive to certain people causing intense reactions. They can see thru everyone’s mask which can make other feel uncomfortable to be around them. This is why they usually have few friends and the friends they do have are as authentic as themselves. Literal human lie detectors

Men that have a water sun with a water moon are BIG SIMPS

Cancer sun women will be passively rude to you if they don’t like you or are jealous of you. They won’t straight say it but they will say little comments in a nice way that’s actually really rude. Then usually play victim if confronted

Everyone’s crush in high-school was either a Scorpio sun or a Libra sun/rising. Tell me I’m lying

[serpent-benediction]

[TW: SAGAU Imposter stuff, death, some detailed descriptions of wounds and stuff. Don’t expect anything amazing].

Some would call this development a cliché of sorts, wrapped in the illusion of perfection. You knew better than to allow yourself respite in the face of trickery.

———————————————————

Chains and ropes entangled and dug into your limbs, keeping you stationary under the gaze of thousands of people. A majority of them were unknowns - real somehow, but never essential to your eyes. Blanks with no sense of self before you got here.

Other than the ‘NPC’s’ ; numerous vision holders from across the continents were here to witness this display.

The more prominent members of the Knights of Favonius were present, alongside the Adepti watching from the sidelines. Itto’s Gang were barely spotted from your position,

Roaring cheers echoed from every side, like waves crashing against a sea. Drowning. Even like this, you couldn’t gather the will to make out words as your body was dragged down dirt and concrete, scraping skin against the ground. The pain was numb, though perhaps that could be attributed to the amount of drugs they put into you — or the blood you’ve lost on the way here.

An abrupt stop forces your head upwards to finally observe where they’re taking you - and the sight is not pretty. A statue of gold wearing your face stretches into the sky ; a teasing reminder that this world was made for you.

Venti and Zhongli stayed within the confines of the crowd, keeping their identities hidden whilst the puppet Ei stood ahead, her signature blade at the ready. . . That costed a pretty penny out of your pocket.

“Do you have any words you’d like to say in your final moments, Imposter? Perhaps our Lord will take mercy upon you.” The nobody that was dragging you eventually speaks up. A Millelith member - Yan-something.

Venom seeped throughout every word spoken, only being comparable to the poison-tipped arrows that nearly nicked your skin on numerous occasions. If you were younger, more naive, you’d answer with pleas for your life - begging for forgiveness or some half-assed mercy.

The current you knew why this was happening. It was like a bad joke, akin to all those ‘self-aware’ stories you had the ‘pleasure’ of reading all those years ago.

Years in this hellhole. The memories of your first day here were engrained in your mind and the reason you survived this long. Suspicion was your ally in the first weeks, allowing your continued survival up until now.

Until you got sloppy. Careless. Attached.

An attempt at gaining a friend unfettered by deceit. A slow and gradual process at first, but the results were expected. Betrayal in the middle of the night, after months of back and forth, between moments of care and affection - only to have it ripped away. Perhaps you should have stayed in Snezhnaya. At least the Fatui were direct in what they were doing, and Childe was a good friend before. . . all of this.

You held valid, human emotions, but they treated you like an animal. Your rights were stripped in an instant, and you were forced into a cage - trapped amongst the worst dredges of society for what seemed like an eternity. Food was scarce, water even more, and the punishments. . .

Even if you survived, the scars would never fade. Flesh torn asunder with blades and scalpels, subjected to inhumane torture as they froze, electrocuted and burnt skin away ; red blood adorning the walls in a sickening mockery of your false form. The healing afterwards was just a formality, just so you wouldn’t die in their ‘humble care’.

You held the same face as their beloved idol, the being of all their affections and worship, yet they couldn’t handle the fact that your blood wasn’t a precious golden. Truly ridiculous to have the next best thing, but treat it like a third-rate gift, no?

“You and your… God, can go fuck themselves.” Vulgarity came easily, and sarcasm came next. You had no love for these… false people. They weren’t real. This was all a mere dream, or perhaps a coma, or maybe even the dying remnants of your brain already coming to an end.

Pain enveloped your face in an instant ; blood immediately trickling from the newfound wound. It wasn’t a crushed nose this time around, but it still fucking hurt.

“Don’t ever disrespect The Creator!”

How ridiculous. Aren’t you supposed to be ‘God’ here? Where’s Nahida? Where’s Xiao? Where’s the plot point in where you’re safe and sound with unbearable, psychological trauma?

Where’s your savior?

Was. . . was this really it? Years of your life wasted, struggling to survive in this backwater hellhole? You forced yourself to change just to fit in with the rest of these… people. You didn’t have a vision or some godly set of skills honed by A Player — you were normal.

What a damn joke.

— More of your crimson blood splattered against the ground as you were forced before the Shogun ; her outside face neutral, though you could sense that she was seething on the inside. A useless puppet through and through.

“For your transgressions against The Creator for daring to masquerade as them, I hereby sentence you to death.” — She didn’t even offer you a moment to say a final word. Tsk. Worthless bastard.

“KILL THEM! KILL THEM! KILL THEM! KILL THE IMPOSTER!” The chants roared louder and louder.

. . . But, you weren’t going to grant them the satisfaction of begging. You were scared, deathly so, but maybe release wouldn’t be that bad. . .

“When I get down to the abyss, hell, or whatever it’s called. . . I’ll make sure I give Makoto my thanks for being such a shitty sister.”

A singular movement, and everything shifted.

The sensation of having your head severed from your body ended quickly ; the disconnection of your brain from your spine bringing your story to a close. In the last, fickle moments before inevitability kicked in - only then did you notice the anger and sadness on Ei’s face.

It was. . . beautiful to see her cry.

. . . Perhaps they’d wonder why you died with a smile on your face. Perhaps they’d discover you were their God after your demise, grieving over your body with the fervor that only a cult could do.

Or maybe you were never special. A nobody like the NPC’s who happily spat and kicked you when you were down, insulting you with no end in sight.

Was this real—

——————————

You’re awoken to another cold breeze ; akin to the first time you’ve had the displeasure of arising here.

[mr-ribbit]

this isn't meant to soften or reduce the objective transmisogyny + additional hate action going into this, but since the people running these harassment campaigns are acting like they're literal baby children who need their hands held to understand anything, maybe this needs to be said:

what you're doing and how you treat trans women on this website is fucking MEAN. if you want to sit there and honestly convince yourself that you're *not* a transmisogynist or a transphobe or a misogynist or any other type of bigot - like if you genuinely believe that and are confused why people are calling you these things - then maybe we need to start from little primary colored building blocks and tell you that you're being fucking mean and rude and actively harmful to real people who read the things you say. im not sure why we need to start off with "trans women have feelings" - just kidding I know exactly why we need to - but maybe you don't.

no matter who you're talking to, do you honestly think accusing someone you do not know of being a pedophile, en masse, behind their back /and/ in a public forum, is a reasonable way to treat someone for making a tumblr post about video games or political opinions? even if you strongly disagree with the post, you think someone deserves to be treated like that by people they don't know? take a second please and sincerely imagine how that would feel. wouldn't it be scary? wouldn't you wonder who the people were who thought this about you - if they're people you know - if they're just a few people that will continue saying mean things to you forever or if there are thousands of people who choose to dedicate their time and energy specifically to making you feel bad? if you accidentally write a post in the wrong tone or unknowingly interact with a shitty person, that there are uncountable people that will keep track of that just to hurt you later? that's fucking horrifying

and to zone in on what's specifically happening here: do you think randomly accusing people of being pedophiles or sexual abusers has no effect on them? like a lot of you tend to excuse yourself in these discussions by saying "I didn't actually see the context of what they were saying" or "I didn't see that they apologized already" or "I didn't actually understand the post was a joke" or whatever other kneejerk response to make sure *you* aren't seen as a bad person. do you realize that makes you look even meaner? you didn't bother to actually follow up on a thought you had about someone before sending them hateful messages or making public accusations about them? those actions are harmful whether or not you like the victim at the end of the day.

believe it or not some people you send this shit to are survivors of abuse themselves, or have their own historical personal reasons to be weighing in on a touchy subject. when you baselessly decide it's ok to call someone an abuser of any type, that person is probably *also* disgusted by whatever horrible shit you're accusing them of. as someone that hates these things as much as you do in order to attack someone for them: what do you think it's like to have complete strangers think that about you? how many eggshells would you walk on if random people thought so little of you that they were ok doing this?

it's mean. it's heinous, cruel bullying, and if you genuinely think you are not doing it from a place of transmisogyny or hatefuk bias over the victims' identity, then you need to understand that that's not an excuse. "i didn't even know she was trans" ok, it was still mean to call her a pedophile with 200 of your closest friends in public. "im trans so it can't be transphobia" ok it was still mean to assume someone was endorsing abuse when they were talking about being accused of abuse. "i didn't see the post where she said it was a joke" ok it was still mean to actively harass someone without bothering to look into the full context.

at the end of the day, yes, obviously I still think you're all transmisogynist assholes who are clearly willing to gang up on a woman who has nothing to do with your problems simply because she dared to speak on them. i think you're bigoted and unwilling to examine that if it means giving up your vitriol against someone who doesn't like your favorite video game or whatever excuse of the week. but like even if you were just doing it for love of the hate game, it's fucking weird heinous shit and i hope you're happy having that be a central part of your life

to be clear: im not transfemme and if I'm overstepping or talking over anyone please let me know. im not speaking for anyone's actual experiences except my own, which is the experience of being angry at how much literal bullying and harassment I see excused on this so-called progressive queer blogging website

[woso-dreamzzz]

Torn

Kewis x Child!Reader

Summary: No one tells you anything

Something bad happens to Mom when she's away with Chelsea.

She comes back with crutches and a bandage around her leg. It's pretty bad, you gather, but no one tells you what exactly is wrong with her.

"Careful, chook," Mom says as you round the corner chasing after Helen," Don't run so fast. I'm delicate."

You give her an unimpressed look at interrupting you but don't say anything because she's hurt. You have to do that a lot now. Mom is very busy trying to recover, Mommy tells you often, and that you shouldn't interrupt her while she's doing that.

Mommy is trying to clean up around the two of you while muttering to Auntie Sam on the phone. You think that's a little funny sometimes, that you have an Auntie Sam and the Mom's adult name is Sam too.

It's kind of funny but you don't dwell on it for long because Helen pops her head up over the coffee table that Mom's using to stretch her boo-boo leg. Helen gives you a look that says 'keep-playing-with-me' so you hurry to follow her, grabbing the jingly bells on a stick to wave at her.

It's her favourite toy and you shake it for her to paw at.

"Hey," Mommy moves past and takes it off you," Mom's trying to relax. How about we play quietly?"

You huff but don't argue. Helen mews rudely at Mommy as you go to sit in your play corner.

Mommy's packed away all your loud, interesting toys so you're forced to play with the boring princess toys Grandpa got you for Christmas. You make one of your dinosaurs eat her.

Usually, when you play with dinosaurs, Mom comes over to play with you but she and Mommy are cuddling on the sofa and talking in hushed voices.

You know that means they're having an adult conversation about Mom's injury that they don't want you to hear about.

You know the very bare minimum about Mom's knee. You knew she hurt it when she went on holiday with Chelsea and recently came back home from the hospital surgery she had.

She walks around on crutches now and isn't allowed to pick you up or run around with you anymore.

It's very annoying and it makes her sad sometimes. You try to cheer her up but Mommy always directs you to play by yourself because she's scared that you'll hurt Mom.

"What are you doing there, chook?" Mom asks when she watches you take the clothes off of one of your princesses.

"Dinos can't eat clothes, Mom," You reply," Got to be naked to eat."

You brutally smack your Spinosaurus against the princess and make crude eating sounds with your mouth.

Mommy wrinkles her nose in disgust like every time you do something like this. You think Mommy's a bit like a princess sometimes because she likes dressing up all pretty and is less willing to play rough with you like Mom does.

"What happened to playing nice?" Mommy asks," We have to treat everyone with respect."

You roll your eyes. "Toys aren't real people, Mommy. They're just pretend."

Mom laughs. "She's got you there, Kristie."

Kristie is Mommy's grown up name and you think that's kind of cool. Her name is even like a princess name and sometimes Auntie Sam jokes that she's the princess of eyebrows.

Mommy is very proud of her eyebrows but she's not been taking care of them like she usually does because she's very focused on helping Mom with her knee.

At the thought of Mom's injury, you huff and bumshuffle your way with your Spinosaurus and Allosaurus over to Helen sitting in her cat tree.

Sam watches you go. You've been different since she came home injured. Not different enough that she's overly concerned but enough that she's begun to notice it.

"She's doing it again," She whispers to Kristie as they both watch your little shoulders slouch into yourself when you turn around, as if to check that they're both still there.

Your eyes stay focused on where Sam's leg is propped up on the table.

"I think the injury is throwing her off a little," Kristie replies with a sigh," I imagine this is a lot."

"Are we paying enough attention to her? I mean..."

They watch you as you wander back to your play corner and try to drag your big tub of dinosaurs over to Helen's cat tree. You're practically obsessed with dinosaurs ever since you caught a rerun of Dinosaur King on the tv.

It had launched an obsession that Sam likened to her own for football and your absolute favourite thing was handing her and Kristie dinosaurs so they could play with you.

"Heya, Chook," Sam calls out," Do you need some help there?"

"Can't help," You grunt as you helplessly tug at the box," You're hurt."

"Well, I can help," Kristie says, already moving to get up.

You freeze her with a look of contempt. "Can't help either. You have to look after Mom." You move around the box to push it rather than pull and it suddenly gets a lot easier.

It's a stupid thing to be proud of, Sam thinks, but she's proud nonetheless. You're a good little problem solver and you're clearly picking up on hers and Kristie's behaviours without it being fully explained to you.

You sit in front of Helen and put out a dinosaur in front of her. Sam's not sure what kind it is but that's fine because you clearly do, as you choose your own dinosaur from the box and make it fight Helen's.

Kristie moves to sit crosslegged next to you. You spare her a glance but go back to playing.

She reaches into your box.

"Can't touch unless you're playing," You say firmly," And you can't play.

"Why can't I play?"

"Because you have to look after Mom."

"And that means I can't play?"

"No." You make Helen's dinosaur lay on its side and die because that's what happens with dinosaurs. "Because Mom's more important than playing and I'm littler so I can be forgotten."

Your words don't really make sense and yet somehow makes perfect sense to Kristie. She sighs.

"Are you feeling sad? Because I haven't been playing with you since Mom hurt her leg?"

"I'm not sad," You say as you pick out another dinosaur for Helen," I'm littler than Mom and she's bigger and has a boo-boo so she needs to be looked after."

"Mommy can still play with you," Mom says from her spot on the sofa. She hasn't said much since Mommy came over but she has been watching. "If you bring the box over here then I can play too."

You glance over your shoulder with a look that makes it clear you think she's lying. "You can't play, Mom," You say," Because you've hurt your knee and you're delicate. You said so."

"I did, didn't I?" Mom laughs a bit awkwardly. "As long as you don't run around or anything, we can still play. Here." She awkwardly moves to sit on the floor, throwing a sofa cushion down to rest her leg on as she sits by the coffee table.

You're still a little sceptical and you glance at Mommy to check. She's in charge of what you do with Mom because you're littler than her and she's got working knees.

She gives you nod. "If we all stay sitting, we can play at the table."

Kristie tries not to feel the guilt in her chest when you light up like a Christmas tree and shove your box across the floor. You never used to look so happy when she and Sam offered to play with you.

"You can be the Microceratus, Mommy, because it's pretty like you." You hand her the toy. "And you can be my Ornithomimus because it's fast." You hand Sam the toy.

Sam smiles. "Thanks, chook. What are you going to be?"

"I'm going to be Spinosaurus," You say," Because they're my favourite."

You dip into your box to grab your little trees and bushes to dot around the table to make a scene. You go to grab your Spinosaurus before stopping. You glance between Sam and Kristie.

"Can...Can we play later too? Please? If Mom's knee is less hurt?"

Sam smiles at you. "Of course we can play later, chook."

[schizoidcurly]

Best way to approach the topic of the Captain’s disability? Also what’s ur opinion on the “post-game” art of the captain?

hi!! thank you for this question.. please keep in mind while i am (higher support needs, unable to be independent) disabled myself and i frequent disabled spaces, i am NOT a burn survivor nor do i speak for people who are! i would love to hear input from anyone who is, and corrections! but here are my thoughts on these things :]

abled people can reblog and such but please do not add anything. please kindly correct me if i am wrong on anything here and i'll add it.

the best ways to approach the topic of the captain's disability

one thing i see many people with facial differences like burns and such say is to not refer to burns as a "facial disfigurement", if you must refer to it, i've seen it said that "facial difference" is much preferred opposed to disfigurement. while this opinion is just that, an opinion, tread lightly here and use what you think it appropriate, but alwaysalwaysalways stay away from referring to curly's body as "deformed". i recommend checking out face equality international and the pheonix society for burn survivors.

on that note, pleasepleaseplease do not use curly's appearance post-crash as shock value or refer to it as "body horror". if it's newly burnt curly, i believe tagging him as gore or injury would be accurate as he hasn't been administered any real medical aid aside from painkillers and still very much is injured, but not body horror, and do not use gore or injury trigger tags for a rehabilitated curly; he is no longer injured in that case. this is a person. not an eldritch horror, not a monster, a disabled person. listen to disabled people about this, especially burn survivors.

don't say that curly's disability is his "karma", punishment, consequence, etc, or use the common "theory" that he is a metaphor for anya's unborn child. curly is not a child. disability is not a punishment. curly is a vulnerable, disabled, adult man. treat him as such. ableism & disability is as much of a theme in mouthwashing as rape culture & abuse is. curly does not stop being a flawed human adult man because he is disabled.

and, please do not debate whether it would have been best to kill curly, or say one of jimmy's crimes was "keeping curly alive" in his burnt state. while curly's injuries are absolutely to some extent exaggerated, and injuries like that would be much different in real life, curly as he is presented in the media is alive, conscious, and aware. he is not actively dying, based on the fact he can be kept alive (albeit with significant pain) without much effort in an area without any actual medical aid besides what anya can do for him. these discussions easily segue into eugenics, especially if you are an abled person.

generally, just approach his disability with the fact in mind that he is still living, conscious, thinking, and a person. do not allow yourself to dehumanize him or infantilize him on the basis of his disability, or act as if curly is "dead". curly is still alive, he was not lost in the crash, he is just disabled now. in game he has proven that he is still very much aware, very much alive. do not ignore this.

ALSO. a fandom thing, but PLEASE. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DO NOT USE HIS DISABILITY/CONDITION FOR ""WHUMP"". PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. and please also just as much do not use them as a gag or joke or for the punchline of one.

my opinion on "post-game captain curly"/rehabilitated captain curly

i see absolutely no harm in it! real people are burnt and then treated and rehabilitated. so long as it's not a way to attempt to erase his disability, i see nothing wrong with it. a disability is not a death penalty, even extreme burns! burn survivors are still people who can live happy lives after their burns.

however, do your research when writing/drawing about rehabilitated curly! look into how to draw and write burn scars, facial differences, how healed burns may affect people later on, the treatments done for people with extreme burns like curly's, etc. especially look into info written by burn survivors (but please don't go around asking random burn survivors these things)! when drawing, reference real people, look up pictures and look at them! do lots of research, ask lots of (respectful) questions when it's appropriate.

some things to avoid: the mask trope, there isn't a real reason to cover up his burn scars, and especially not just to use it as a shocking moment later. avoid needlessly mentioning a recovered curly's disabilities and burns, or using it as a point of pity/sympathy.

some things i recommend you look at: face equality international's 'international media standard on disfigurement', cripplecharacter's tips on writing/drawing a character with facial differences/disfigurement, niki averton's tips for writing about burn survivors, saszor's guide to drawing burns, an interview with zaid who is a burn survivor by SBSK

[babyleostuff]

[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 11

나를 숨 쉬게 하던 건  / 온통 너로 가득했어  / 네가 없는 나의 마음 모자람은 / 구멍 난 아픔 같은 거야

☁️ "yawn" by seventeen [ vocal unit ]

being loved by boo seungkwan means having a fierce protector. he might not be the tallest or the buffest out there, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t step in the second he’d see someone making you uncomfortable, making fun of you, or treating you in a way they shouldn’t. even in situations when nobody is really bothering you, like in big crowds, or when you’re walking by a busy street, he is always there, with your hand in his, ready to fight anyone and anything. his sharp tongue, and ability to make people crumble by one sassy stare is enough to keep you safe, protected, and comfortable. boo seungkwan really is your knight in shining armour.

being loved by boo seungkwan means having a shoulder to lean on. a comfort person, a safe bubble, a place that feels like home - that’s how boo could be described. he is the epitome of comfort, and he never fails to remind you that you can always count on him, no matter what you’re struggling with, no matter how ugly he gets - he’s always there to be a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold you tight, voice to soothe your worries.

being loved by boo seungkwan means having someone you can be completely, unapologetically yourself with. for boo it’s the greatest joy to see the real you, the you that not everyone gets to know, and he’s forever grateful that you chose him to be the person you’d open yourself up to. he never judges you for what you do or what you say (unless you’re joking around), and he’s always hyping you up like his life depends on it. seungkwan doesn’t want you to hide any parts of yourself from him, and he’d gladly spend the rest of his life uncovering the next layers of you, and your beautiful soul.

being loved by boo seungkwan feels like spring, like freshly picked strawberries, like late night talks with your love cuddled under a blanket, like a kiss on the forehead, like a lemonade on a hot day.

“you are part of my existence, part of myself. you have been in every line i have ever read (...)" - charles dickens, great expectations

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[blarshwritezz]

hallooo

can i request angry sex with your teacher when hes just so angry that you keep getting low grades on his subject

hope this gets noticed ^^^

Why most certainly!

Teacher x Failing Student Reader

M x gn reader

TW - NSFW, noncon, abuse of power(?), sadism

You were his favorite student. Never annoying, never acting out, exactly his type, and you had so much potential. But it was all wasted on useless things! You could have been putting that big, beautiful brain to good use, but instead you focused on other things! Useless things that would never help you in the real world!

So of course, being a concerned teacher, he simply had to ask you to stay after class so he could conference with you. So he could find a way to rectify this situation.

But it did not go like that. Not at all.

"If failing your stupid class is really going to ruin my whole life, I'll just become a hooker. I don't need anything you teach here for that." You said sarcastically. It was (mostly) a joke. Bit seriously, your life goals didn't include the subject he taught.

But hearing that really sent him over the edge. A hooker? You? Some bitch on the street offering up your body for money? Maybe you didn't realize exactly how people treated hookers. Maybe he should show you. It was only fair. After all, you always get him so hard whenever you're so close to him.

Without another useless word, he roughly grabbed your scalp and forced your lips to meet his. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring as his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled down his pants. His throbbing cock sprung free, already leaking precum.

He disconnected his lips from yours, only giving you a second to breathe before forcing you head down to his cock.

"Lick it. You think you're ready for the life of a whore, then prove it." He demanded, his grip on your scalp tightening slightly.

Nervously, you did as he said. You licked his veiny cock up and down, the salty taste of his pre hitting your tongue.

"Now open wide." Without even waiting for you to do it yourself, he slipped his thumb past your lips and forced them open. He guided his cock into your mouth, making you gag when he hit the back of your throat.

He fucked your mouth hard, probably bruising your throat and making you cry. "That's a good fucking whore."

You looked up, meeting his eyes. He smirked seeing your tears, only more turned on by the sight. He seemed to get off at the fact that you were in pain.

"Damn slut...always turning me on. This is your damn fault." His fingers duh deeper into your scalp, holding you down as he finally came. The hot, white liquid spilled from your lips as you tried to take it all in. It drippled down your chin and onto your chest, staining your shirt.

Finally he let you go and at last you got a gasp of. You coughed out a bit of cum, catching your breath. But then he grabbed you chin and roughly forced you too look back up at him.

"You know, a good whore would swallow. Now clean your self up and get you damn work done."

Yayy I did it (finally)