#stuff can spiral quickly

[whenthegoldrays]

Clark using his newfound x-ray vision to watch Lana and Whitney inside Lana’s house and Clark asking his mom what she’d do if she could see anything and Martha answering “learn to close my eyes”

[elodieunderglass]

I wish I had something intelligent to say but I really like His Delicious Materials. I’m waiting eagerly for the next chapter. Thank you for some truly excellent writing!

(In reference to the Dungeon Meshi Daemon-AU fanfic)

You are very very welcome, and don’t worry about saying anything in particular, it’s nice just to have readers for the weirdest fusion in the whole ao3 tag

[sodamnbored]

Jason, talking about work: Yeah, I helped him out. I dabble in pro bono on occasion.

Percy, zoning back in: Oh, tell me more, handsome. I’m also pro bono.

Frank pinching his nose, embarrassed: Percy, that’s not what that means.

[pillowenvelopchair]

A quick long-winded analysis on Magdalene's character design

Hi again!! this is me being insane again lol. The character I'm doing an analysis is Magdalene, who is the Tarnished from Still Waters Run Deep that's made by @un-local (hi again... erm... ignore me being crazy about your fic again... for who knows how many times at this point)

This was supposed to be a short analysis but it quickly grew wayyyy out of hand (as all my rambles tend to do, this one just happens to be a bit more coherent... maybe... I hope so at least.)

Magdalene's Character design and my read on it

Character design can be broken down into two groups: Functionality vs Fantasy (see this video by Proko and Knight Zhang, it’s explained wonderfully). And funnily enough, Magdalene and Rogier just happen to be on opposite sides of each other!

-----

Magdalene, at the start, is someone who is aimless and refuses to follow Grace no matter what. And because of that, she’s covered head to toe with dull neutral colors, and it even reaches her scimitar and shield. The clothing she wears is all practical, there's a reason for why it is all there. 

She fits within the world of Elden Ring seamlessly and blends right in with the rest of the cast of characters we meet during the game. She's just as worn down by the world as most of the NPCs and it shows (those killer eyebags).

Her design doesn’t have any ornate patterns on it. The most pattern-y thing I can think of is her top, but even then it’s a simple design. There isn’t any of that fancy schmancy stuff Rogier has adorned all over his clothes (this guy’s garb…goodness gracious). 

Because of her practicality + her colors, it doesn’t let her stand out from any of the other NPCs in the game. She blends in and it makes her almost invisible. Like she’s nothing of note. 

-----

(I was supposed to draw something but noooo my motivation didn't allow for it to be fully rendered. It's still stuck in its sketch... So here's Magdalene edited onto the armor itself instead lol)

Her clothes and even her shield and sword are all strictly neutral colors (minus that little colored thing that's attached to the sash on her top... not too sure what that is exactly). Her clothes are all washed-out browns, and even the patterns on her top are also neutral colors. Her scale armor is silver and her gauntlets are all silver too. Hell- even her shield's all neutral colors too. 

Her colors are almost a reflection of nature, albeit an almost dulled-out version of it. Soil, for growth, and wood for strength, are all that Magdalene embodies and displays (with anxiety added for flavor lol). It almost feels weakened.

-----

While other NPCs have other colors in their design (such as Millicent or Sellen), they sort of show what faction they belong to. But Magdalene? Her colors reflect how she doesn’t quite believe in anything these lands have to offer. She’s not keen on believing in the Order’s fundamentals, in fact, she’s quite skeptical of it all. 

It does, however, show how she is aimless within this big world. With no one to really guide her in this dangerous world she just kind of wanders, avoiding where Grace points.

Interestingly enough, she actually gains color once she kind of sides with Rogier. 

-----

Rogier's Rapier

When Rogier gives Magdalene his rapier she gets her first vibrant hue. She was given a purpose, and hope for once after coming to the lands between. 

Red and gold are what she was given. 

That red gem in the middle could mean blood, vigor, passion, and even life. It's the core of the Order, literally. Marika had ordered Godfrey to wage war so the Order spread. He had vigor, took the lives of many all in the name of the Order, and was forsaken by it.

Passion is what made the Order what it is today and what is needed to be able to fix its faults.

And what sprouts from the red gem? Gold branches that intertwine with each other. Fluid, curved, a show of adaptability. It's almost like a representation of the Erdtree, how it was able to adapt magic into its Order. It is what the Order was before and what it needs to be now.

When Rogier gives his Rapier to Magdalene her vigor is renewed. She finally has a new hope, a new purpose that she truly believes in. A new goal to give it her all, an escape from a destiny she had never asked for.

-----

Squares, people, SQUARES!

I noticed that her design has a lot of squares too.

Her top has a boxy shape (the patterns too), and her shield even has squares as a pattern. Even her bangs are square-ish too! It gives it a sort of coherency and a bit of a whisper of her general character.

Squares are traditionally used to show a character that is strong, reliable, and stubborn. They are usually straightforward and have that sort of stability that triangles and circles don't really have.

However, they aren't as flexible as a circle or as cunning as a triangle would be, and blah blah blah you get the gist.

Magdalene perfectly embodies those square characteristics. She is strong, sturdy as an ox, and reliable as hell. But at the same time, she doesn’t quite have that roundness Rogier has. That sort of adaptability he has.

She doesn't really know what's really happening in these lands and (probably) doesn't want to figure out all those fine details that don't really mean much to her (that's Rogier's job).

She may be strong in her beliefs but she doesn’t quite know what to believe in (yet).

-----

Also... her scavenged Banished Knight's Shield...

A tall medium-sized metal shield. Given to knights who, whether by misfortune or misdeed, were forced to abandon their homes. Most of these knights were sent to the fringes, where they were forced to start anew with only despair for company.

I just think that this is a neat little thing that I found out about while I was looking for anything that had any relevance to Mag's character. :0)

-----

A quick comparison to Rogier:

Rogier is a very ambitious and driven man (see my last ramble on my thoughts about him– oh and you bet I had so so much to talk about lol). He has all the vibrancy and he really stands out compared to everyone in the Roundtable hold.

Most NPCs kind of look like Magdalene, with their regards of color. They're usually covered with neutral/dulled-out colors but with a splash of hue that shows their purpose/backstory.

But Rogier uses a bunch of colors and he is covered by it, head to toe. Like... look at him!

Another character I can think of who’s also covered head to toe with another color is D with his armor (which is one of the most impractical armor I’ve ever seen. Why are you wearing that D). This gives us an… interesting show of his backstory and his beliefs (I talked a bit about Rogier's colors and how they related to his beliefs over on HERE it's at the very bottom of the whole ramble lol)

But compared to Magdalene? Well, if Rogier's covered by vibrancy, vigor, and life, then she is covered by dullness. Lifeless and purposeless.

-----

Magdalene's scar:

Her scar is what you notice first about her (or at least it was for me) and it lets her stand out from her invisibility. And since it's on one of her eyes it really makes you focus on it. It shows us that there is a story behind it, how she had a life before coming to the Lands Between.

She was able to survive WOLVES, you guys. WOLVES. A PACK OF THEM. WOLVES.

Even though it's "a very painful acquisition" (Ch. 4) it shows that she was able to survive despite it. It is a show of stubbornness, strength, and vulnerability all in one. You can even consider it a 3-in-1 shampoo if you so desire...

Though, despite all her strength, it does show that she's still human. She's able to be cut, bleed, and scarred like one.

Also, it totally gives her intimidation points too lol. With those eye bags and a nasty scar hoooo boy.

-----

Anyway, that's it for the ramble!! I hope you guys enjoyed my insanity lol. I had so much fun trying to pry out some stuff from Magdalene's design andI believe that the choices made for her design were purposeful to be able to tell her character :0)

This is probably just me reading too much into it and seeing things I'm imagining, but I still hope I was able to give some more insight into her character

Feel free to add in stuff you've noticed if you want too! This is just what I've noticed

an extra thing but this is totally her lol:

have a good week everyone!!! I'll be going back to drawing hell.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[eclips-moon]

Batboys headcanon: What type yanderes they would be

Tim Drake (Red Robin) would totally be the Creepy Genius yandere. He’s super smart and uses that brainpower to keep tabs on you. Think of him as the quiet guy in the corner who knows everything about you—like what your favorite coffee order is or the exact time you leave for school. Tim's all about manipulating situations to make you feel like you need him. He’d engineer little “accidental” run-ins and always be there to save you from awkward moments. If you ever hint at wanting space or breaking up, he’d hit you with guilt trips, saying stuff like, “You wouldn’t really leave me after everything we’ve shared, right?” He’s the kind of yandere who won’t get violent but will definitely mess with your head to keep you close.

Jason Todd (Red Hood) is the Obsessive Protector yandere whose love is intense and chaotic, quickly turning possessive. He follows you around, showing up uninvited when you hang out with friends, claiming it’s to keep you safe. If anyone glances your way, he’ll confront them in a rage, insisting they back off. His jealousy runs deep, and if you hint at wanting to hang out with someone else, he’ll spiral, snapping, “You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me!” Jason showers you with gifts, but if you assert your independence, he’ll manipulate you, saying, “I did this because I love you. How could you turn your back on me?” At his worst, he resorts to intimidation or violence, convinced that his love is the only protection you need. To him, love is a battlefield, and he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you by his side.

Damian Wayne (Robin) is the Possessive Prince. This guy sees you as his, and he’s not shy about it. Damian expects loyalty from you, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t stray. He’s the kind of guy who’d tell you who you can hang out with and where you can go. It’s all wrapped up in his twisted idea of love, and he’ll spoil you with fancy gifts, but there are always strings attached. If you even think about breaking free or hanging out with someone else, he’ll flip out and say stuff like, “You belong to me, and anyone who tries to take you away will regret it!” His obsession is intense, and he won’t hesitate to remind you of your place.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing) is the Charming Obsessive. This dude is all about charm and romance, making his love feel like a fairytale—at first. He’ll show up with surprise dates and sweet gifts, making you feel super special. But soon, his overwhelming affection starts to get a little suffocating. If you start feeling like he’s too much, he’ll just brush it off and say he’s just trying to make you happy. Dick honestly believes he’s the only one for you, and if anyone else comes around, he’ll be all smiles while secretly plotting how to keep them away. His jealousy can get intense, but he’ll always put on a charming facade, making it hard to see how deep his obsession runs.

[atinyslittleworld]

Step By Step

wooyoung x f!reader

Summary: When Y/N confides in Wooyoung about her inexperience with kissing, he offers to "teach" her. What begins as innocent lessons soon spirals into something neither can ignore.

Word Count: 3,072

Genre: friends-to-lovers, slow burn, romantic tension

Warnings: kissing, mild suggestive themes

“You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Wooyoung’s voice echoed with disbelief as he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape.

“Can you stop saying it like that?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his lack of remorse. “I’m just shocked. Like, you’ve dated before, right? Not even a quick peck?”

“Not everyone is as… free-spirited as you,” you retorted, your voice muffled by your palms.

“Free-spirited?” he repeated with a laugh. “You mean hot and irresistible.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” you said dryly, finally lowering your hands. The amused sparkle in his eyes was both endearing and infuriating.

“So,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Why bring this up now? It’s not like you to care about this kind of stuff.”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “There’s this guy…”

“Wait, a guy?” Wooyoung interrupted, his eyes widening.

“Yes, a guy,” you confirmed, already regretting bringing it up.

“Okay, continue,” he said, leaning closer.

You sighed. “He’s been flirting with me for a while, and I think he’s going to ask me out.”

“Well, that’s exciting,” Wooyoung said, though his smile faltered slightly. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” You paused, searching for the right words. “What if he finds out I’ve never kissed anyone? What if I’m bad at it and he decides I’m not worth the effort?”

Wooyoung blinked, his playful demeanor shifting into something softer. “Y/N,” he said firmly, “any guy who would ditch you over something like that doesn’t deserve you. End of story.”

His words warmed you, but your insecurities lingered. “You don’t know that,” you murmured.

“Yes, I do,” he said, sitting up straighter. “And if he does pull something that stupid, I’ll fight him. With my bare hands. No gloves. No mercy.”

The serious tone in his voice paired with his exaggerated expression made you laugh despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously devoted to you, yes,” he said, grinning.

“Thanks, Woo,” you said quietly, his reassurance soothing the knots in your stomach.

Then his grin turned mischievous, and you immediately braced yourself.

“I have an idea,” he said, his tone laced with that dangerous kind of confidence only Wooyoung could pull off.

“Oh no,” you said immediately.

“Hear me out!” he exclaimed, holding up his hands. “Let me teach you.”

Your brow furrowed. “Teach me what?”

“To kiss,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You’re joking.”

“For once, I’m not,” he said, his smirk widening. “You trust me, right?”

“I…” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The idea was insane—wild, even—but something about the sincerity in his eyes made it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling sharply. “Teach me.”

It started innocently enough.

You sat cross-legged on Wooyoung’s bed, facing him. He mirrored your position, his usual cocky grin softening into something more genuine.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Lesson one: the peck. It’s the foundation of all kissing. Super simple, super easy.”

He leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing against yours for the briefest second before pulling back.

“See? Nothing to it,” he said, smiling. “Now you try.”

You nodded, leaning in to mimic his action. Your lips pressed against his, quick and soft, and when you pulled back, he gave you an approving nod.

“Not bad,” he said. “But you can hold it a little longer. Watch.”

This time, his lips lingered against yours, the kiss lasting a few seconds longer. When he pulled back, you mirrored his actions, holding the kiss until he hummed softly in approval.

“Good,” he murmured. “Let’s move on.”

Each step grew more intimate.

Wooyoung guided you through the basics of lip movement, teaching you how to match his rhythm. His kisses were slow and deliberate, his lips soft yet firm against yours.

“You’re getting it,” he said after a particularly long kiss, his breath brushing against your skin.

“Really?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes flickering to your lips. “You’re a natural.”

The next step involved using your tongue. “It’s all about subtlety,” Wooyoung explained, his voice quieter now. “Open your mouth a little, like this.”

He demonstrated, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before retreating. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t pull away. When it was your turn, you hesitated, but Wooyoung’s patient gaze encouraged you to try.

Your tongue brushed his tentatively, and for a moment, he froze. Then his hand moved to the back of your neck, steadying you as he guided the kiss, deepening it slightly.

“Like that,” he murmured when you pulled back, his voice low. “You’re doing great.”

The kisses grew longer, harder to break.

Wooyoung’s hand lingered on your neck, his fingers occasionally brushing against your hair. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, holding onto him as the tension between you thickened.

Neither of you noticed when you began leaning back, but suddenly you were lying on the bed, Wooyoung hovering over you.

“Woo,” you whispered, your chest heaving.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t quite name. “Are we still practicing?”

You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. Your lips tingled from his kisses, your body warm and buzzing with an unfamiliar energy. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and for a moment, he seemed torn. Then he smiled—a small, almost shy smile that made your heart ache.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t. And when he kissed you again, slower this time, you responded without hesitation.

The line between practice and something more blurred entirely.

Wooyoung’s kisses grew deeper, more insistent. His hand slid from your neck to your waist, his touch warm and steady as he pressed closer. Your hands, once tentative, moved to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands.

Every kiss felt like a revelation, the heat between you building until it was almost overwhelming.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse.

“Hmm?” you replied, too dazed to form actual words.

His lips hovered over yours, his breath warm and uneven. “We should stop.”

You nodded, but neither of you moved. His gaze dropped to your lips again, and before you could think, you were pulling him back down, your lips meeting his in another heated kiss.

Wooyoung groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you as his hand slid under your shirt, resting lightly on your waist. The weight of him above you was intoxicating, grounding you even as your head spun.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice a mix of desperation and restraint.

“Do you want to stop?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, his lips red and swollen, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “No,” he admitted finally.

And just like that, the last thread of restraint snapped.

[noearchives]

sober me up

(what happens when the one piece boys are drunk?)

characters: portgas d. ace, trafalgar d. water law, sanji.

note: personally i've never been drunk enough to the point where i lose my mind or anything like that ... so this is just based off of my imagination and stuff i see in movies ;;

cw/ tags: gender neutral reader, mentions of alcohol, unestablished relationship, mutual pining.

portgas d. ace

"woah,” ace whispers, head tilted to one side as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, saying your name in the same way he did when he met you for the first time.“is that really you?”

you're not sure if he’s putting up an act to flirt, or if he’s actually so drunk to the point where he can’t tell his imagination from reality. not knowing how to reply, you hand him a glass of water in a fluster in hopes that he’ll sober up, and he downs the entire thing in one go, mistaking it for liquor.

“wow,” ace says again, awestruck. it’s like his eyes are put in a spell to look at nothing else but you. his reaches for your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. nonsense runs off his tongue as he stumbles deep into your gaze in spirals. “you're so pretty i could kiss you.”

he pauses. “can i?”

fuck it, you think. he’s drunk out of his mind, you're tipsy enough to use it as an excuse. it won't hurt if you kissed your best friend who you’ve been pining for since the dawn of time when he won't even remember anything the day after, right?

so you agree to his request, and ace wastes no time with how quickly he slides his tongue into your mouth just after two seconds of his lips meeting yours— it’s like he doesn't want you to breathe.

when he finally lets go of you, you gasp like a fish out of water while he looks at you stupidly. his mind is filled with you, you, you. one kiss isn't enough to satisfy him— he’s been dreaming of this for months, afterall. with both hands on either side of your face, he makes a bold statement once again.

“let’s do that again.”

trafalgar d. water law

law doesn't drink much, but he can't say no to his crew when they offer. initially, he planned to stay sober for the rest of the night to look after all of you, but as shachi and penguin continue to pour him drink after drink, his head grows heavier with every sip of liquor.

he stays quiet even when he’s drunk. no bold confessions, no impulsive acts, nothing. he just watches his crew drink themselves stupid, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

with the loud hustle of the bar and the deafening laughter of your crewmates, it’s hard to notice how intoxicated law has become until you feel a foreign weight on your shoulder. a white fur hat lands on your lap, and you only realise your captain’s resting his head on you with his eyes closed then.

“captain?” you say. your heart’s beating out of your chest. “captain, you're drunk.”

“i know.” he mumbles in reply, looking silly with his cheek squished against your shoulder.

“let me get you some water.” you try to move out of your seat, but your body doesn't budge. law’s arm holds you down firmly, and you feel the skin under his touch tingle. “captain," you say again, weaker this time. you're not sure if your lungs are working properly with how he's rendered you breathless. "you've gotta let me go," you say, betraying your heart.

"no," law mumbles against you. his hold on you tightens, and you swear he's nuzzling into your neck.

at that point, you decide that he's had one too many and that he needs to be sobered up or else he'd be in a sour mood the morning after. you awkwardly prop his arm on your shoulders as you drag him back to the polar tang with the knowing gazes of your crewmates on your backs, your captain's hat in your hand as you strain to support his weight.

"ah, young love." penguin sighs.

sanji

being an absolute lightweight, sanji's already swaying with his tie off and a few buttons undone after two shots.

"oh, my love." he sing-songs. my love? you raise an eyebrow at the nickname. "the way you look at me makes my stomach flip. your eyes are brighter than the stars, and the way you say my name tugs at my heartstrings. would you make a poor man like me happy by just looking his way?" he rambles, freestyling a verbal love letter for you right then and there. you've heard him do the same for robin and nami, but never for you. (until now, of course.)

the crew's swordsman physically cringes in second-hand embarrassment. "curly, do all of us a favor and shut that mouth of yours."

miraculously, sanji doesn't retort like he usually does. instead, he takes your hand in his as he continues his weird love poem. "if only this wasn't a dream, and i had the courage to confess my love for you in the real world. alas!"

... and he starts crying. actual tears rolling down his cheeks and everything. "but i know you would never love a pathetic man like me!" he sobs into your lap, kneeling before you as your ship's navigator averts her gaze out of embarrassment, grumbling about how her efforts of keeping his secret are wasted.

though ridiculously stupid, his confession made your heart stop. after all this time, it turns out that he's equally as smitten as you are when you thought his heart belonged to someone else. (it's hard not to assume with the way he behaves around good-looking women.)

"why did nobody tell me...?" you ask, looking around as the strawhats look away with a supressed grin.

"because he said he'll kick our asses if any of us said anything. geez, both of you are so stupid. can't you see the way he makes those disgusting heart eyes at you every time you pass by?" the swordsman grumbles.

sanji's arms are still tightly wrapped around your waist after he's done with his improv love poem. "you're so warm, even in my dreams..." he mumbles. it seems like he still hasn't realized this isn't a dream.

the two of you are going to have a looooong talk when he sobers up, you're sure.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Since last time I believe we only got the main Trio (Classic, Red and Horror), how about the rest of the Bad Sans crew for mistletoe kisses? (Only if you’re feeling up to it, no pressure at all)

Dust is very logical about it. You'll see mistletoe, and jokingly point out that the two of you are standing under it. When he gives you a somewhat blank stare you shyly explain that it's human tradition to kiss under mistletoe. He thinks for a moment... then shrugs, puts out his cigarette, then pulls you in and kisses you right there. He doesn't care where you are, or who's watching. He's just respecting your human culture, right? If any of the guys are upset at him for making out with you right there they should take it up with culture.

Horror will notice the mistletoe before you do, because he's much more observant than people give him credit for. You'll be able to tell that you're stood under mistletoe together because his whole face will be bright red, and he keeps blatantly staring at you, waiting for you to notice too. If you bring it up he'll blurt out that he's not even bothered, he doesn't care about that kind of stuff, he was just looking, who even follows that tradition anyway haha, You'll have to be the one to initiate because this softspoken giant is talking himself into a stupor. It'll only take one kiss to fluster him back into silence again. But he'll be glowing all day.

Killer would carry around a piece of mistletoe in his pocket. Every time you're looking away, unsuspecting and clueless, he'll steal a kiss from anywhere he can reach. Usually your cheek or hand, but if he's fast enough, maybe your lips. When you turn to look at him in surprise and confusion, he's already using magic to float the mistletoe over both of you - it's tradition, see? The mistletoe is right there. Not his fault. If you want to, you can catch him off guard by getting him under actual mistletoe that he didn't plant, and kissing him first. That'll send him into a complete spiral. Might even get a chance to see his real eyelights~!

Nightmare seems to think it's amusing. He can't help but find this particular tradition very cute. If you point out mistletoe to him, he'll play along, asking if you really want a Christmas kiss from a Scrooge like him... he'll happily give you one if you're up for it. He appears entirely above it all. ... But if you pay attention when he turns away from giving you a kiss, you'll see the little flicker of cyan across his cheekbones. Or even the tiny swirl of lilac in his eye that quickly vanishes. He's always been a romantic, deep down, under all the spooky and intimidation. This particular tradition appeals to all of his hidden cutesy/amorous fantasies. He's going to catch you under the mistletoe any chance he gets.

[babyleostuff]

── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.   

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.” 

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh. 

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”  

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone. 

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short. 

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox. 

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially. 

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff. 

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know. 

there went your peaceful morning. 

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes. 

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics. 

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you. 

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered. 

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true. 

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed. 

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank. 

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.” 

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing. 

“also if i may suggest one thing-,” 

“you may not-,” 

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice. 

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations. 

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck. 

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven. 

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.” 

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf. 

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing. 

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.  

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only. 

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said. 

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.  

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,” 

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?” 

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look. 

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it. 

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes. 

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand. 

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name. 

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking. 

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged. 

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?” 

…

you did not think this through. 

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.  

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. 

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something. 

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.” 

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim. 

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!” 

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.” 

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could. 

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.” 

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.” 

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said. 

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly. 

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch. 

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.” 

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?” 

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.” 

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.” 

“just… don’t let go, okay?” 

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.” 

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.  

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.” 

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more. 

“yes, you are!” 

wait. why was his voice so distant? 

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his. 

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed. 

“just don’t turn around-,” 

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control. 

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact. 

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air. 

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon. 

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.” 

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries. 

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.” 

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile. 

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.” 

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.” 

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that. 

“were you serious, though?” 

you frowned, not really sure what he ment. 

“that you want to watch me skate?”. 

any other day you’d say no, but… 

“yes. i’d really love to.” 

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that. 

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?” 

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all. 

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart V

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You're sick

Ingrid knew there would be health issues throughout your life. She knew that routine doctor's appointments would happen every year for you. She knew that the medication you took lowered your immune system.

She knew that at some point, you'd get sick.

She didn't realise it would be this quickly.

You woke with the sniffles which turned into a sore throat and then a headache and a bad tummy. It all spiralled from there.

It started on the weekend.

Saturday was spent going to a check up. Sunday was game day but on the drive home, you threw up all over yourself.

Monday was a day off and it was clear that you had no hope of getting better quickly. You were sniffly and tearful and it was an all-around bad time for everyone.

They take it in shifts with you. Ingrid stays with you for one half of the night. Mapi takes the rest of it.

There's twenty minute powernaps fitted in between it all when they can manage but most of their time is spent up with you as you struggle to find sleep.

"Mapi!" Ingrid calls," Come on, we've got to get to the car!"

She paces the length of the apartment with you in her arms. Your nose is all stuffy and you've woken up with the worst case of blocked ears of your life.

It's clear your ears are giving you the most grief. You whine and huff and desperately pull at them as if it will dislodge the build up in them.

Mapi's getting changed from her evening shift with you and Ingrid can do nothing but pace and pat your back in the hope of settling you back down.

It's been another bad night. You slept in short half an hour bursts in between crying, puking and crying some more.

Mapi skids into the room, still in her socks as she throws things into your bag, stocking up on medicine and water and your favourite toys. She hops around the room as she forces her shoes onto her feet before practically sprinting out of the door.

You make it to training just on time despite your awful wails the entire journey.

Patri and Pina both wince as Ingrid walks in with your sobbing form.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's sick," Ingrid says plainly," Badly. The doctor said it's the flu."

As if to prove her point, you burst into a violent coughing fit and Mapi is instantly trying to soothe your throat with water as soon as it's over.

"Did you give her medicine?"

Ingrid angrily drops her bag into her cubby. "Oh, wow, Patri! What a revolutionary concept?! Giving medicine to my sick toddler! Why didn't we think of that?!" She snaps.

Ingrid sighs deeply as she looks at herself in the mirror.

"Sorry," She says after a long breadth of silence," I'm tired. I didn't mean to shout."

"No," Patri says quickly," You've clearly got a lot on your plate. I hope the little one feels better soon."

There's a respite briefly during training when you decide the hot Barcelona sun is perfect for napping in and you sleep under a tree nearby, wrapped up in a blanket despite the warm weather.

Mapi learnt very quickly not to fight you when you said you were cold despite the fever ravaging your body. All she can do is hope that the extra warmth breaks your fever so you can feel better when you wake up.

She's kind of happy with the outcome of your nap.

You've sweated out your fever which is good but you still feel bad. Your nose is still stuffy and you keep rubbing at your ears to unblock them.

The worst part of this now is that you've got clingier than ever before. You latch onto Mapi as soon as you see her and refuse to let go.

She's kind of glad all they're doing now is general fitness stuff because there's no way she could do anything technical with you still attached.

It's pushing it doing fitness stuff too but Mapi had come prepared.

It was an impulse purchase when you first fell sick and Ingrid had laughed until she cried when it arrived. Mapi was not dissuaded and she brought out her purchase, ignoring the snickering from Patri and Pina behind her.

With you still clingy and wanting nothing more than to crawl into Mami's skin, you let her manipulate your limbs into the toddler carrier.

She straps you in and then straps it to her chest.

She stands and has to find her balance quickly before triumphantly turning around to show everyone her solution.

They all laugh but Mapi doesn't care, not with the way you relax so easily against her and not when you fall into another fitful sleep.

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: 🤭)

Word Count: 621

Summary- You can take it. You will take it; just like the good girl I know you are

Warnings: Size difference, Things break, Emmett stuffs you like a boston cream donut

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Emmett Cullen x Fem! Reader: Kinktober Day 6- Size Kink + Cumflation

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

"S'too big~" you moan.

Emmett's arms bulge from grasping the headboard above you as he works his cock into you. His muscles almost pulse from restraint.

"You can take it," he grunts out, wood creaking under the force of his grip. "You will take it."

You feel like you're being torn apart in the best way possible. His girth stretches you well beyond what you thought was possible. He always does -not that you can complain.

The further he shoves his cock into you, the further your back seems to arch off of the bed. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck- Emmett~"

You're surprised the sheets haven't ripped with how hard you're gripping them.

Emmett grunts out, eyes shut as he bottoms out. He practically shakes with the effort of holding back.

Your pussy clenches as it tries to get used to the sheer size of your mate.

*crack*

You don't have to open your eyes to know the headboard is splintered under his grip.

"God damn it, babe-" he grits out with clenched teeth. "If you do that again, I won't be able to hold back-"

"S-sorry," you gasp out. "Please move- please, Emmett- fuck me…"

A vicious snarl tips through the room at your words. Without warning, Emmett pulls out of you and slams back in. Your hands fly up to claw at his back and side; anything to ground yourself against the onslaught of pleasure as his carnal desires take over. The room echoes with the sound of skin on skin and the filthy squelch of your soaked pussy.

You cry out as Emmett pounds into you. His name falling from your lips in a symphony of lust and ecstasy.

"So fucking tight, baby-" Emmett growls above you. He heaves with unnecessary breathes as his hand sinks further and further into the solid wood of your bed frame.

"Oh, god~" you gasp, moans being punched out of you with each hit to your cervix. You can feel yourself spiraling insanely fast towards release as he abuses your cunt.

It only worsens as Emmett tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, burying himself inside you impossibly deeper. You swear you can feel him in your womb with how deep he's hitting.

Sharp huffs and grunts are falling from Emmett as he hangs his head between his shoulders. "Feel so damn good- s'like this pussy was made for me. You were fucking made for me, baby- my sexy fucking baby~ look at you, taking my cock so fuckin' well."

It's all you can do to keep your sanity as you cum. Your thighs shake with the force of your orgasm as your knuckles go white with exertion.

With how tight your cunt clenches around him, Emmett quickly follows, emptying his spend inside of you with a low rumble. His palm shoves through the headboard, punching into the wall as he falls forward. Specks of drywall and wood land on the bed around you as he continues to fuck into you.

Your silent scream turns into a soft whine as his balls pump more cum inside of you. You feel like you're going to burst with how full you are.

"Too much-" you moan out, hips shifting as he sets your leg back down.

All of a sudden, Emmett stills inside of you. "Fucking hell- Baby-"

You force your eyes open at the tone of his voice. He's staring down at your stomach with a mix of concern and pride.

Following his gaze, your own eyes widen:

Your stomach is slightly distended from how full you are. With his cock still plugging you up, Emmett's cum had pooled inside you to the point of inflation.

"Damn that's hot as fuck-" Emmett breathes out.

[therealbabycher]

⋅ ꒰ఎ 💸 ໒꒱ ⋅

Some stuff that helped me not spiral out from the 3D during my manifesting routines and get the hang of only deciding and believing I have everything I want in imagination instead of checking on the 3D

— Things from pinterest and tumblr

Acknowledging the fact that "Time will pass anyway", is a fact I have struggled with in the past. I've seen this phrase like idk twice? But it's only recently that I have started finding comfort in it. Because it reminds me that time isn't against me, and has never been against me. It just simply is. "Time will pass anyway" has been a reminder that pulls me back into the present whenever I start catching myself worry about things like "what if I dont manifest my dream life by christmas" "what if I dont manifest my ideal self by the end of the half term". As long as I have it and persist in it in imagination now (the real reality), then the 3D WILL conform instantly and the time the 3D shows me will never matter because it's going to keep going anyway, so stop worrying about it.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Remember when I rambled about being a grateful person and all that? While I was manifesting (scrolling) through pinterest, I found some loa posts that stuck out to me.

One was someone talking about the usual living in the end, but then they said something along the lines of "you're not affirming to get, you are affirming to remind yourself of what you already have/are. See it as you expressing gratitude for what you have/are"

Affirming that you have your desires is just you thinking as the version of yourself who has everything they want right. But seeing the way you affirm and the reason why you are affirming can change your mindset and determine what kind of mindset you have.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

— Thats why I changed the way and the reason I affirm

Another post was a bunch of "Isn't it wonderful.." affirmations. Now I used to see these be used a long time ago but I never got the significance of them until now. It's the manifester expressing gratitude towards having their desires instead of just saying they have them. Now, as someone who shows gratitude towards every little thing because everything brings me joy, something about this is incredibly powerful to me. The act of showing how grateful you are to having your desires in imagination (the real reality) leaves no room for you to check for it in the physical world (the mirror), because I already have it in my reality; what is there to look for in the mirror when I'm already thinking about how grateful I am for what I want in my reality?

The more I affirmed how wonderful it is to have my desires, the more I unintentionally started coming up with more affirmation ideas that came from a place of gratitude, believing I really do have everything I want, and the fact the 3D is bound to conform quickly as long as I persist such as:

"My imagination is the real reality, therefore I already have all my desires and the 3D conforms to my affirmations quickly anyway"

"I am so grateful to be living my dream life I manifested overnight"

"There is nothing left for me to wait for, everything is already done"

— Other stuff

All of these things I have figured out for myself have helped me persist in the 4D and "ignore" the 3D, knowing it will change the more I stay stubborn to my affirmations and believe my reality is the real reality with the power of faith, gratitude and stubbornness 😽🩷

⋅ ꒰ఎ 💸 ໒꒱ ⋅

[reidmarieprentiss]

Illicit Affairs

Summary: You married Aaron at a young age, well, you were young. It was a marriage born of fear of being alone. Nothing had yet to shake this bond, until you meet Spencer Reid. Now you see what could have been if you had waited.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: Hotch is kind of an asshole for most of the story, not cheating but kinda? (flirting with other people), suggestive content (16+), Spencer gets shot in the leg, case stuff, marriage concerns, insecurities, fighting, lying

Word count: 15.4k

a/n: this has taken me sooo long to finish because i could not decide where to go with it i hope this is good lololol

main masterlist

At 40, Aaron Hotchner faces his deepest fear: ending up alone. When Haley leaves him after his admission of not wanting children due to the demands of his job, Aaron spirals into panic. In his vulnerable state, he quickly becomes involved with you—a 22-year-old graduate student and aspiring registered nurse—who tended to him while he recovered from an injury sustained on a local case. 

Charmed by the attention and the allure of a mature, established man taking a genuine interest in you beyond physical attraction, the relationship escalated rapidly. Within a year, despite the judgments from his family and the concerned amusement from yours, you and Aaron are married. 

Now, with you as a registered nurse and Aaron as the unit chief at the BAU, it’s been a year of marriage filled with unspoken truths. Neither of you has acknowledged the haste of your union, nor the nuances of your feelings. Aaron cares deeply for you, yet he knows his love doesn’t mirror what he felt for Haley. As for you, while love may not be the right word yet, you care enough not to want to worsen his emotional struggles as you navigate what you truly want from this relationship.

—

When you arrived at the BAU to deliver Aaron's forgotten go-bag, you had hoped to make a quick entrance and exit, keen on avoiding too much attention, especially from his team. You hadn't met many of them, and the idea of them scrutinizing the age difference between you and Aaron made you uneasy.

As you walked hesitantly into the bullpen with the bag slung over your shoulder, the atmosphere was buzzing with agents moving briskly, their minds clearly set on the urgency of their next case. That's when Derek Morgan's voice cut through the hum of activity.

"Whoa, mama," Derek whistled, a playful smile on his face as he looked you over. "You lost, sweet thing?"

Startled, you turned towards the source of the voice—an undeniably attractive man with a confident air about him. "Uh, kind of," you laughed, trying to mask your nervousness with a bit of humor.

"Who are you looking for?" another voice piped up, this one belonging to a woman who stood just as strikingly, her presence just as commanding as Derek's.

"Aaron, Aaron Hotchner," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of timidity as you mentioned your husband's name.

"Hey, Reid!" Derek called over his shoulder, turning his attention to a younger man hunched over a cluttered desk, who seemed engrossed in his work until then. "You were just talking to Hotch, where'd he go?"

Spencer Reid looked up, his big eyes immediately magnifying through his glasses as they landed on you. There was a brief moment where he seemed to stumble over his words, a clear indication of his flustered state. "Um, uh, Hotch? Bathroom, I believe," he managed to say, sounding unsure.

"Thanks," you nodded, directing a grateful smile at Spencer.

"But!" Spencer suddenly stood up, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. "I can show you to his office," he offered earnestly.

Derek and Elle exchanged smirks, an unspoken understanding passing between them as they observed Spencer's demeanor change drastically. It was obvious, even to an outsider, that Spencer was momentarily disarmed by your presence.

"Sure, thanks," you said, feeling a mix of amusement and relief at not having to navigate the maze of desks and bustling agents alone. You walked over to where Spencer stood, slightly awkward in his hurried attempt to be helpful, and followed him as he led you to Aaron's office.

As you moved through the corridors, following Spencer's quick, slightly erratic pace, you couldn't help but feel the weight of many eyes on you, sparking curiosity and apprehension about how you were being perceived by Aaron's colleagues. It was your first visit here, and already it felt like stepping onto a stage. Yet, there was also a warmth in Spencer's clumsy kindness, and it eased some of your tension as you approached the sanctuary of Aaron's office.

"Here—here it is, um, his—Hotch's office," Spencer stammered, gesturing somewhat awkwardly toward the open door. The nervousness in his demeanor was palpable, yet there was an earnestness that made you smile despite your initial apprehension.

"Thank you again..." you started, stepping toward the threshold of the office.

"Spencer! Spencer Reid," he quickly filled in, as if realizing he hadn’t properly introduced himself yet.

"Thank you, Spencer," you said, making sure to use his name, appreciating the small comfort his guidance provided in the sprawling unfamiliarity of the BAU.

"What is—um, what's your name?" Spencer asked, his curiosity peeking through as he seemed to regain a bit of his composure.

"Hmm?" You were momentarily distracted by the various knickknacks and personal items that adorned Aaron's office, each piece echoing aspects of his personality and life outside of work. Realizing Spencer was waiting for an answer, you looked up, "Oh, I'm Y/N," you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. 

There was a momentary pause as you considered the implications, realizing subconsciously that you didn't want this young, attractive, and age-appropriate man to know you were taken, even though you were there precisely because you were Aaron's wife.

The omission wasn't missed by Spencer, his gaze briefly flickering with a mix of confusion and intrigue, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he simply nodded, a polite smile gracing his lips as he stood by the door, giving you space to move inside the office.

"Are you... bringing something for Hotch?" Spencer inquired after a moment, his eyes hinting at his natural inquisitiveness, the profiler in him never fully off duty.

"Yes, his go-bag. He forgot it in my car, and they need it for a case," you explained, moving to set the bag down on one of the chairs. The casual mention of your everyday interaction with Aaron served as a subtle hint of your relationship.

Spencer nodded understandingly, stepping back slightly. "He'll be back soon, I think. Cases like these, everyone's a bit on edge," he added, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone as if sharing a small secret about the inner workings of the BAU.

"When is Aaron not on edge?" you grinned, finding a moment of levity in the constant high stakes surrounding Aaron's work life.

"Good point," Spencer laughed, a rare, easy chuckle that made him seem momentarily less guarded, less the genius profiler and more just a young man at work. His interest piqued, he asked, "What do you do?"

"Pardon?" you smirked, teasingly challenging him to clarify his somewhat direct question.

"I mean—uh," he cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed by his forwardness. "What do you do for work? Do you work?"

"Yes," you laughed, softening the moment with your amusement at his awkwardness. "I'm an RN—a registered nurse."

"That’s impressive," Spencer replied, his admiration genuine. "It must be demanding."

"It can be," you acknowledged, shifting the go-bag slightly as a physical reminder of the worlds both you and Aaron navigated—yours of healing and his of prevention. "But I like to think it helps me understand a bit of the stress that Aaron goes through. Not exactly the same, but patient care has its own kind of urgency, you know?"

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, obviously connecting the dots. "That does make sense."

Just as you were settling into your thoughts, Aaron returned to the office, his presence immediately altering the dynamic. “Hello, darling,” he greeted with a warmth that seemed as much for the benefit of anyone listening as it was for you. 

He leaned in for a quick kiss, a gesture of familiarity and intimacy. However, your reaction was a split second of hesitation; you turned your head just as he approached, resulting in a kiss on your cheek instead of your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer's surprised glance, adding a layer of awkwardness to the moment.

“Reid, I see you’ve met my wife, Y/N,” Aaron announced, a touch of pride in his voice as he introduced you formally.

“Wife?” Spencer choked out the word, clearly caught off guard.

“You didn’t tell him?” Aaron turned to you, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“We didn’t get that far,” you replied, managing a smile as you handed him his go-bag. There was an unspoken tension in the air, one that had nothing to do with the bag or the forgotten introductions.

Aaron grasped the bag firmly. “Thank you, darling. Will you be okay while I’m gone?” His question seemed out of character, tinged with a concern that he hadn't shown before, at least not openly in such a manner.

“Uh, yeah, Aaron. I’ll be fine,” you assured him, trying to mask your confusion with a calm demeanor. His sudden display of worry, although perhaps meant as reassurance, felt somewhat performative, especially with Spencer still lingering nearby.

Sensing the strained energy and perhaps feeling like an intruder on a private moment, Spencer quietly excused himself from the room with a polite nod, leaving you and Aaron alone.

—

On the jet, the atmosphere shifted from the usual pre-case seriousness to a lighter, more teasing banter among the team. Derek and Elle, never ones to miss a chance for a bit of fun, seized the opportunity as soon as everyone was settled.

“Hotch, you want to tell us who that dime piece in your office was?” Derek teased, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, chief,” Elle chimed in, her tone playful yet genuinely curious. “Pretty young thing like that, who knew you got game.”

Aaron rolled his eyes fondly at their comments, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement despite his attempt at maintaining decorum. “Inappropriate,” he muttered, though the softness in his voice betrayed his stern exterior.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek nudged his shoulder, pushing just a bit further as he often did. “Who is she?”

With a small sigh, Aaron couldn’t help but smile, a hint of pride seeping through as he responded. “That’s my wife, Y/N.”

The revelation sent a ripple of shock through the plane, turning into an uproar of laughter and exclamations, except for Gideon, who simply nodded with a knowing smile, having been privy to Aaron’s marital status. 

“What? You got married? Again?” JJ asked, her voice tinged with incredulity as she leaned forward in her seat.

“And we weren’t invited to the wedding??” Elle raised her voice in a teasing yell, feigning outrage over the missed opportunity to celebrate.

“Two hot wives in one lifetime… teach me your ways, man,” Derek laughed heartily, clapping Aaron on the back, clearly impressed and amused by his boss’s apparently smooth personal life.

—

With the house quietly humming with solitude and Aaron away on a case, you found yourself alone with your thoughts, which, much to your own surprise, wandered inexorably toward Spencer Reid. The brief interaction earlier in the day had ignited a curiosity within you that refused to be stilled. You knew it was somewhat improper, a slight betrayal even, to take such an interest in your husband's subordinate. Yet, the intrigue that Spencer sparked in you was undeniable, reminiscent of the initial excitement you had felt when you first met Aaron.

Sitting down at your computer, you hesitated for a moment, the cursor blinking back at you as if challenging your intentions. Finally, you typed his name into the search bar. Spencer Reid was not just any FBI agent; he was a prodigy, his credentials filled with accolades and commendations for his brilliance and his contributions to solving complex cases. As you scrolled through articles mentioning his work, interviews, and a few scattered photos, you couldn't help but feel drawn to his intellectual allure and youthful sincerity.

He was your same age, giving him a relatable vibe that Aaron, with all his mature charisma, sometimes lacked. And yes, Spencer was undeniably handsome in a way that was entirely different from Aaron's rugged authority. There was something about Spencer's shyness and the awkward charm that accompanied his genius that made him deeply attractive to you.

You found yourself imagining what it might be like to befriend someone like Spencer. He seemed sweet, thoughtful, and someone who could understand the nuances of being surrounded by older, more experienced personalities. Perhaps you and Spencer could share a bond, something platonic but meaningful—a connection based on mutual interests and intellectual pursuits rather than the complex web of emotions and duties that your marriage to Aaron entailed.

As these thoughts spun through your mind, you felt a pang of guilt. Was it fair to Aaron? Was it fair to Spencer? You weren't planning anything inappropriate, of course. Friendship was not a crime, and everyone needed friends, especially in a world as isolating as the one you found yourself in. You resolved to approach this potential friendship with Spencer carefully, respecting boundaries and being mindful of the professional and personal dynamics involved.

—

When the team touched down again in Quantico, Aaron was surprised to find you waiting for him in his office. His smile broadened, clearly pleased that you were finally visiting. He assumed your first trip last week had helped you overcome your nerves about visiting the BAU.

"Y/N, honey, what are you doing here?" he grinned, the warmth in his voice palpable as he closed the distance between you.

You scratched your arm nervously, the sudden reality of being in his workspace making you momentarily uneasy. "I just couldn't wait to see you," you managed to say, hoping your words sounded more confident than you felt.

Aaron walked over, his expression softening as he kissed you soundly. "Missed me?" he asked huskily, his voice lowering as he pulled you closer.

"Mhm," you hummed against his lips, lightly pushing him off. "We're at your work, Aaron."

"I can close the door," he mumbled, leaning in to kiss and nip down your throat, his hands moving to draw you in.

As if on cue, Spencer chose that moment to intervene. "Hey, Hotch, I was wondering about this form—oh my god, I’m so sorry," he stammered, his eyes widening as he realized the intimate moment he had interrupted.

You jumped back, hiding your face in your hands from embarrassment, while Aaron confidently chuckled, unphased by the interruption. "No worries, Reid. What’s up?"

"Oh, uh. This, um, this form? For the, uh—" Spencer flashed the paper toward Aaron, handing it over hesitantly. "Do I need to fill this out or is it optional?"

Aaron took the form, quickly looking it over with his usual efficiency. "Optional, only if you want to be really thorough," he replied, slipping back into his stern business voice.

"Th-thanks," Spencer stuttered again, then glanced your way. "Hi, Y/N," he waved, trying to ease the tension.

"Spencer," you nodded, managing a smile. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise," he returned the smile, but the awkward air in the room hung heavily.

Sensing his continued presence might be intrusive, Spencer quickly stepped out of the office, leaving the two of you alone once more.

"Where were we?" Aaron looked back at you with a sinister smirk.

You laughed awkwardly, shaking your head. "Going home?" you suggested, hoping to escape the building tension.

"That, I can get behind," he agreed, starting to gather his things.

Later that evening, as you both sat down for dinner, Aaron began telling you what he could about the recent case, clearly animated by the day's events. "And then Reid managed to talk the unsub down, surrendered—it was impressive," he noted with a hint of pride in his team's performance.

"Spencer seems great," you mused, feeling a twinge of curiosity spark again.

"He is," Aaron said, and there was something in his tone that you couldn't quite place. "He’s your age, you know? Has three PhDs."

You did know that, but you couldn’t admit it. "Wow, that's amazing," you replied, trying to sound as impressed as you felt.

"Mhm."

"Maybe we could have him over for dinner sometime? You always say I need more friends," you laughed, trying to steer the conversation into lighter waters.

Aaron looked at you a bit suspiciously. "Friends for when I’m gone, Spencer’s always gone with me."

You nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, well, it would be nice to hang out with someone my own age."

"Ouch," Aaron chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh no, honey!" You quickly corrected, realizing how your words might have sounded. "I didn’t mean you; I meant the ladies at work."

The conversation drifted into other topics, but the brief exchange left a lingering thought in your mind about Spencer and the future.

—

As you made your rounds at the hospital, the nursing coordinator handed you a new clipboard with a patient assignment. "24-year-old male in suite 104, just here for a physical," she informed you. Quickly scanning the file, your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name—Spencer Reid. "Got it, thanks," you replied, masking your surprise with a nod and a smile before heading to suite 104.

Upon arriving, you knocked lightly. "Come in," came the response from inside. Opening the door, you introduced yourself with a professional flourish. "Hello, my name is Y/N. I’ll be your nurse today," you announced, offering a wide smile.

"Y/N! Hi!" Spencer greeted you with a warm grin.

"Hi Spencer," you replied, your cheeks tinting with a blush at his enthusiastic welcome. "Alright, let me get all set up here." You sat at the computer, logging in and pulling up Spencer's medical chart. "So, I’m just going to get your blood pressure and pulse," you stated as you began the routine checks.

"It’s nice to see you in your element," Spencer commented sweetly, watching you work.

"Yeah? The purple scrubs doing it for you?" you joked, playing along.

"Purple is my favorite color actually," he admitted, a blush coloring his cheeks. As Spencer observed the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves, he couldn't help but think to himself, Hotch is a very lucky man.

"Of course it is..." you murmured, smiling softly as you noted his vitals. "Well, doctor, you’re as healthy as an ox from what I can see."

"Why thank you," he chuckled, clearly at ease.

"You’re just here for an annual checkup and a physical, it seems?" you inquired, noting the details in his chart.

Spencer's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and he adjusted his glasses nervously. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, momentarily forgetting that you could see everything noted in his file.

"Listen, if it makes you uncomfortable talking to me or having me as your nurse, I can have someone else take over. I should have offered that earlier, I’m sorry," you said, realizing the potential awkwardness of the situation.

"No!" Spencer quickly protested. "No, I like—having you as my nurse, I mean."

You laughed, his fluster endearing. "Okay, okay, thank you. I like having you as a patient. But I do have to ask some questions before the doctor comes in, is that okay?"

"Yeah..." he exhaled, seeming to relax again.

"Alright… what is the nature of your request for the physical?" you asked, following protocol.

Spencer blushed even harder, if possible. "I—um, it’s required for being in the field for work. Hotch requested I renew mine after I got injured," he explained.

The mention of your husband's name grounded you. "Of course, what injury did you receive?"

"Uh, it sounds weird, but I—I promise it was necessary and it’s okay! But um, Hotch kicked me in the stomach," he mumbled.

"What?!" You couldn't help but exclaim. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"He had to make it seem like he was on the unsub’s side," Spencer explained quietly. "But it’s okay, I’ve been hit—hah—I’ve been hit a lot harder by middle school girls."

Your heart ached for him. "Oh, Spencer... because you were a prodigy?"

"How did you know that?" he asked, a trace of surprise in his voice.

Now it was your turn to blush. "Oh, uh, Aaron, he told me..." you stumbled over your words.

Spencer looked at you with a hint of suspicion, perhaps wondering how much you knew about his past. The air between you filled with unspoken questions, but you smiled reassuringly, hoping to convey your professional integrity and personal respect for his privacy.

—

As the flickering images of a House episode danced across the screen, the dialogue and medical jargon nudging at your daily reality, you casually mentioned your encounter earlier that day. “Oh, I saw Spencer at work today,” you said, not thinking much of it, just a simple statement to fill the quiet between you and Aaron.

Aaron's interest peaked instantly at the mention of his young team member. “Oh?” he prompted, his tone subtly shifting as he waited for more details.

“Mhm,” you replied nonchalantly, not inclined to elaborate. To you, it was a trivial interaction, hardly worth dissecting. However, Aaron’s thoughts seemed to veer down a path marked by deeper, more instinctual concerns. As if propelled by a need to assert his presence, he made a move that was more assertive than affectionate. His hand found its way high up on your thigh, his actions bordering on possessive as he leaned in to kiss your neck.

“Aaron,” you coughed out, a hint of warning in your voice, “no marks, remember?” You tried to keep the tone light, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness you couldn’t mask as you felt him begin to suck and bite.

He merely grunted in response, his actions undeterred, driven by a desire to leave physical evidence of his claim over you.

“Hey!” you pushed his head back, more firmly this time. “I’m serious, I don’t want marks at work. It’s unprofessional.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, his response petulant, his body language childish as he crossed his arms and slouched deeper into the couch.

Frustrated and needing space, you stood up decisively. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announced, heading towards the bathroom and making sure to lock the door behind you to prevent any follow-up attempts from Aaron.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, the water cascading down your back, you allowed yourself a moment to reflect. The tense energy that had just unfolded between you and Aaron wasn’t new; it had become a recurring theme over the past few months. You wished you could attribute this strain to the brief, unexpected spark with Spencer, but these issues predated his brief entry into your narrative. The shower wasn’t just a physical cleanse but a brief respite from the emotional turbulence waiting outside the bathroom door.

—

The atmosphere in the BAU was usually charged with the undercurrents of their intense casework, but today, a different kind of tension was threading through the air, sparked by personal intersections that typically remained outside the office dynamics.

“I heard you saw Y/N at work,” Hotch casually mentioned to Spencer the next morning, a hint of curiosity underlying his seemingly offhand remark.

Spencer, caught a bit off-guard, nodded. “Huh? Oh yeah, she was my nurse. She's great,” he smiled slightly, reminiscing briefly about the pleasant yet professional encounter, unaware that his innocent smile was stirring something in Hotch.

“What were you there for?” Hotch’s tone was casual, but his gaze was probing, picking up on the slightest hint of something he couldn’t quite place.

“A physical, like you requested,” Spencer answered, his response straightforward, his mind still on the professional aspect of their interaction.

“Whoa! Pretty boy got a physical from Hotch’s pretty wife?” Derek chimed in from across the room, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that instantly drew more attention to the conversation. The wolf whistle that followed his words only amplified the implication, turning several heads in the bullpen.

Hotch’s expression darkened, a flash of anger crossing his features as he turned his gaze sharply towards Spencer. “Is that true?” he demanded, his voice carrying an edge that was rarely directed at his team outside of a reprimand for professional oversights.

“What? No��no!” Spencer spluttered, immediately understanding the seriousness of Hotch’s tone and the potential misunderstanding his earlier smile might have conveyed. “The physician did the physical, Y/N just checked my blood pressure,” he clarified quickly, his words rushed and his tone anxious, eager to dispel any misinterpretations that might further fuel Hotch’s apparent ire.

The clarification seemed to simmer down the immediate flare of tension, but the residue of the exchange lingered, casting a brief shadow over the usual camaraderie of the team. Hotch’s reaction, though swiftly controlled, was a rare glimpse into the personal stakes he felt, perhaps revealing more about his own insecurities or troubles at home than he would have liked to admit in the professional setting of the BAU.

Spencer, feeling unsettled by the day's earlier events and Hotch's uncharacteristic outburst, sought out Derek for a private conversation. Finding a moment when the hallway was empty, ensuring their discussion remained confidential, Spencer approached him.

"Hey Derek, can I ask you something?" Spencer's tone carried a mix of curiosity and concern.

"What’s up, Reid?" Derek responded, always ready to lend an ear, especially to a teammate.

Spencer hesitated, gathering his thoughts before diving into what was troubling him. "Did I do something to upset Hotch?" he asked, his voice timid but earnest.

Derek pondered the question, leaning against the wall with a thoughtful expression. "I don’t think so… He’s been touchy since we met his wife though. Maybe—nah, nevermind," Derek started to dismiss his own thought, but Spencer's need for clarity pushed him to continue.

"No, what?" Spencer insisted, sensing that Derek was holding back something potentially insightful.

Derek sighed, realizing that perhaps sharing his observation might help Spencer understand the situation better. "He might be insecure that his wife is so much younger than him, it has certain… implications. Especially since he didn’t tell any of us he was married, again," Derek revealed, his voice lowering slightly with the sensitivity of the topic.

The information clicked into place for Spencer, helping him piece together Hotch's reactions and the underlying tensions that might be affecting his behavior. This understanding, while it did not solve the issue, gave Spencer a new perspective on how to approach his interactions with Hotch.

"That would make sense…it just seems like he’s only taking it out on me," he admitted, the feeling of being singled out gnawing at him.

"I doubt it’s intentional, Reid," Derek assured him, clapping a supportive hand on Spencer's shoulder. "It's possible he sees you as a threat, you are the youngest on the team, and we don't actually know how old Y/N is. He could be worried about that," Derek explained, hinting at the potential for unintentional rivalries or jealousies, even within a team as close as theirs.

Spencer furrowed his brow, the confusion evident on his face as he processed Derek's words. The idea that Hotch might view him as a threat due to his youth and proximity to Y/N was unsettling. "About what?" Spencer asked, his voice tinged with innocence. He wasn't fully grasping the implications of Derek's insinuations about Hotch's possible insecurities regarding age and attraction.

"Don’t worry your big brain about it too much, pretty boy. I’m sure it will blow over," Derek concluded with a slight chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. He knew well that sometimes, the dynamics within the BAU could get complicated by personal lives intersecting with professional roles. His advice was meant to reassure Spencer that whatever was brewing beneath the surface, it was likely a temporary ripple rather than a permanent shift in their team's dynamics.

—

It, in fact, did not blow over. The addition of Emily Prentiss to the BAU team introduced a dynamic shift that no one anticipated, least of all Aaron Hotchner. Emily, at 35, arrived with a blend of sophistication, experience, and undeniable charm that unwittingly unsettled Aaron. Her presence, which resonated so closely with what Aaron imagined as an ideal partner, stirred up complex emotions within him.

His feelings towards Emily were fraught with guilt, especially considering his recent marriage to you, a much younger woman whose rapid involvement with him had been born of circumstance and perhaps a mutual need for companionship rather than a deep-seated compatibility. Aaron's realization that Emily aligned more closely with his own age and interests only deepened his internal conflict. It was as though her being there illuminated the stark differences between his relationship with you and the potential of what could have been with someone like Emily.

Witnessing your easy rapport with Spencer, Aaron now found himself empathizing with your situation more than ever. Perhaps, he thought, you were drawn to Spencer because he represented something youthful and vibrant that Aaron himself could no longer provide. This thought nagged at him, seeding a bitterness that began to further color his interactions with Spencer.

In response to these tumultuous feelings, Aaron decided to double down on his commitment to you. He made more deliberate efforts to connect, to foster a deeper bond, and to prove to both himself and you that his decision to marry wasn't a misstep. At the same time, his interactions with Spencer took on a more patronizing tone. He began to treat Spencer less like the valued colleague he was and more like a naive child, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to reassert his dominance and control over the unsettling emotions Emily's presence elicited.

This shift in Aaron's behavior did not go unnoticed. The team, adept as they were at profiling others, began to pick up on the subtle undercurrents of tension. While professional on the surface, these personal conflicts threatened to ripple through their tightly knit group, challenging their cohesion and effectiveness.

—

Emily, still acclimating to the team's dynamics and personalities, found herself in the breakroom with Elle and JJ, seeking insight into the enigmatic unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. His stern demeanor had piqued her curiosity, leading her to question whether his aloof nature was a constant or situational trait.

"Hey...the chief, Hotchner, is he always that cold?" Emily asked, trying to sound casual as she stirred her coffee.

Elle snorted in response, her voice tinged with amusement. "Yeah, but he’s had his panties in a triple twist since his wife started oggling our boy genius," she said, not one to mince words.

JJ laughed, shaking her head slightly at Elle's blunt description. "What Elle means is," she interjected, giving Elle a loving glare meant to soften the bluntness, "he just has a very serious demeanor. He's a good boss."

Emily nodded, absorbing this new piece of information with a mix of surprise and intrigue. The revelation that the very handsome yet stoic chief's wife might have a soft spot for the 'geeky kid with the crazy IQ' was unexpected. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident as she processed the rumors swirling around Hotch's personal life. "No kidding, his wife is into, uh, Reid?" she said, the situation seeming almost too melodramatic to be real.

JJ chimed in with a more cautious tone. "Well, we don't know that for sure," she cautioned, her voice low as she glanced around the breakroom to ensure their conversation remained private. "But from what we’ve seen, Aaron doesn’t like when the two of them interact. Makes you think," she added, her words hinting at the undercurrents of jealousy and discomfort that seemed to affect Hotch more than he let on.

Elle, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. "Spencer was a blushing mess when he saw her, couldn't get a full sentence out. He practically had hearts in his eyes. Something's going on there," she declared, not shy about voicing her observations. "Not to mention his wife is way young, like Spencer's age probably."

Emily's laughter lingered in the air as the conversation drew to a close. With a newfound awareness of the team's dynamics, she resolved to keep a watchful eye on the interactions within the group, especially those involving Hotchner and Reid. 

—

Navigating his own slew of emotions regarding Emily, Aaron found himself at a crossroads. His increasing insecurity about his feelings prompted an unexpected move—inviting Spencer over for dinner. This decision, however, was not solely his own; it came per your suggestion.

Spencer, on receiving the invitation, was initially perplexed. Hotch's recent demeanor towards him had been notably cold, and this sudden gesture of hospitality seemed incongruent with their strained interactions at work. Despite his reservations, the underlying curiosity about the personal aspect of his boss's life, coupled with another opportunity to see you, piqued his interest enough to accept. 

The idea of profiling both an individual and a couple’s dynamic in their own environment was too intriguing for Spencer to pass up. Thus, with a mixture of professional intrigue and personal anticipation, he agreed to the dinner, thanking Hotch for the invitation.

Come Saturday evening, Spencer’s nerves were on the fritz as he approached your house. His mind raced with possible scenarios of how the evening would unfold. Upon arrival, the scene that greeted him only fueled his apprehension. Seeing you in the kitchen, donned in an apron and bustling about with the final dinner preparations, contrasted sharply with Hotch, who was lounging with a glass of scotch in hand, seemingly content to observe rather than participate.

This sight stirred a mix of emotions in Spencer. He knew of Hotch’s more traditional views on many aspects of life, but witnessing it firsthand—seeing you labor while Hotch relaxed—irritated him more than he anticipated. It highlighted a dynamic that seemed uneven, one that Spencer couldn’t help but feel protective over.

When Hotch offered him a drink and a seat, Spencer’s immediate reaction was to politely decline. Instead, he turned to you, offering his assistance with the preparations. This act was not just a gesture of helpfulness but also a subtle challenge to the traditional roles he observed, a way to engage with you directly and perhaps, in his own way, to shift the evening’s dynamics towards something more balanced and inclusive.

This move was sure to set a tone for the evening, one that Hotch might interpret in various ways, but for Spencer, it was a matter of principle as much as it was about making the evening more comfortable for everyone involved.

As Spencer stepped into the kitchen to assist you, Hotch’s demeanor shifted. From his position in the living room, he watched, a huff escaping his lips—a clear sign of his brewing discontent. The sight of Spencer comfortably mingling and helping in what Hotch considered his domain added fuel to the already simmering jealousy. It wasn't just the invasion of space; it was Spencer's evident enjoyment of your company, the ease with which he moved around you, clearly favoring your presence. This did not sit well with Hotch, making his blood boil as he observed the interaction.

Once dinner was served and everyone settled at the table, Spencer was effusive in his praise, clearly appreciative of the effort and skill you had put into the meal. "This is really excellent," he commented with genuine enthusiasm, turning towards you with a warm smile. "Everything is just perfect, thank you for such a wonderful dinner."

Hotch, meanwhile, struggled to remember that Spencer is more than just a colleague, but truly a friend. However, each compliment Spencer heaped seemed to tighten the coils of resentment within him. In an attempt to assert some form of dominance or to regain a sense of control, Hotch made several pointed comments aimed at Spencer. These remarks were thinly veiled attempts to undercut him, to question his masculinity or his competence in subtle ways. "I suppose it's a good break from all those microwave meals, huh, Reid?" Hotch quipped with a tight smile, implying a lack of domestic ability.

Unfortunately and unknowingly to him, Hotch’s strategy backfired. Rather than diminishing Spencer in your eyes, his comments only highlighted Spencer's qualities—his sensitivity and respect for your efforts, traits that aligned well with a more progressive, feminist perspective. This contrast between Spencer's appreciative acknowledgment of your work and Hotch’s antiquated attempts to belittle him only served to deepen your attraction to Spencer.

The atmosphere in the living room was charged as you and Spencer returned from clearing the table. Aaron, attempting to steer the evening back to a semblance of normalcy, offered Spencer a drink.

"Reid, can I get you that drink now?" He asked, a note of forced casualness in his voice as everyone settled into their seats.

"Oh no, thank you, I don’t drink," Spencer politely declined once again, maintaining his composure despite the underlying tension.

Hotch, with a slight smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, seemed to have anticipated this response. "Right, I guess that kind of goes against NA rules, doesn’t it?" he said, his tone poorly disguising the jab.

Spencer coughed, the discomfort evident on his face, his earlier ease fading into strained politeness. "Aaron!" You couldn't help but scold, your voice a loud boom of shame, humiliation, and anger for the inappropriate remark aimed at Spencer's personal struggles.

Spencer quickly interjected to diffuse the brewing conflict between you and your husband, very uncomfortable with witnessing an argument. "It’s fine, Y/N, he’s right," he said, forcing a sad smile that didn't quite mask his discomfort.

"I do not care if it’s true," you whispered to Spencer before turning your attention back to Aaron. "That was completely inappropriate to share such personal and likely painful information," you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of your disapproval.

Aaron’s expression shifted to one of regret, the smugness replaced by embarrassment as he realized the gravity of his words. "Spencer, I’m so sorry," he sighed, his tone reflecting genuine remorse. "I don’t know why I said that."

"Please, Hotch," Spencer waved him off, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment. "It’s fine, let’s just move on."

Despite Spencer's assurances, the tension remained. You stood abruptly, taking both your and Aaron’s drinks to the sink before returning with three glasses of water, your actions signaling a clear desire to reset the tone of the evening. The look in your eyes dared either man to challenge your decision, underscoring your authority in the situation.

Aaron seemed to shrink a little, his posture deflating as he recognized his childish outburst. Meanwhile, Spencer felt a newfound sense of validation; the evening's events, while uncomfortable, had somehow highlighted a mutual understanding and respect between you and him.

As the conversation tentatively resumed on a lighter note, Spencer's observant nature picked up on another detail—the conspicuous absence of family photos in the living room, save for one. "When was that taken?" he asked during a pause, nodding towards the picture of you and Aaron kissing under a rose arch.

"On the day we eloped," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of nostalgia with a touch of defiance as you caught Aaron's stiffening posture out of the corner of your eye.

"You eloped?" Spencer asked, curiosity piqued by the simplicity and suddenness suggested by the term.

"Mhm," you nodded, not shying away from the details. "It was a quick ceremony, neither of us felt the need to have some long extravagant thing."

Spencer listened, his mind piecing together the implications of your words and the dynamics of your relationship with Aaron. Each sentence revealed more than just factual information; it hinted at underlying motivations, desires, and perhaps even regrets. The evening, while fraught with tension, had inadvertently provided Spencer with profound insights into your marriage and, by extension, into you and Aaron as individuals. 

—

“How was dinner with the boss man and his pretty wife?”

Derek's question on Monday morning startled Spencer, still processing the dinner's events, as he responded with a nervous laugh that perhaps revealed more than intended.

"Exactly as you’d expect it to be," he replied, managing to keep the details vague but his tone indicative of the underlying complexities.

"Tense and uncomfortable?" Elle chimed in, her voice laced with humor and concern, knowing well the kind of stress that could emanate from such a personal encounter with their typically stoic boss.

"With a side of regret?" Penelope added, her tone playful yet unwittingly accurate, hitting closer to the truth of the evening than she realized.

Spencer, acknowledging their spot-on assessments, tapped his nose and nodded, confirming their guesses without going into specifics. His gesture was enough to convey the essence of the evening—tense, uncomfortable, and tinged with regret, reflecting the strained dynamics and the personal revelations that had surfaced.

—

The team's assignment in Texas was a typical scenario—gather evidence, coordinate with local law enforcement, analyze the scene. However, the dynamic shifted noticeably when Hotch decided to keep Emily close while distributing tasks to the rest of the team. It was a move that didn't go unnoticed; eyebrows were raised, and even Gideon, who usually partnered with Hotch in the field, found himself reassigned.

Derek decided to confront Hotch directly about his decision. "So, keeping Prentiss close, huh? What’s up with that?" Derek inquired, half-teasing, half-serious.

Hotch, maintaining his composed demeanor, replied, "I want to see how she does in the field firsthand." His tone was matter-of-fact, an attempt to veil his true motivations under the guise of professional mentorship.

The team, however, sensed there was more to it. They exchanged looks that conveyed a mutual recognition of something beyond a simple professional assessment. Spencer, particularly sensitive to Hotch and his…relationships, felt a twinge of empathy for you. He recalled the dinner, the dynamics he had observed, and now Hotch’s behavior, which seemed less like mentorship and more like something personal.

As for Emily, she found herself in an uncomfortable position. Aware of Hotch's marriage and the rumors about potential strains in his relationship, she tried to maintain professionalism but couldn’t help noticing Hotch’s less-than-subtle glances. Emily's discomfort was palpable to anyone paying attention, and it added an extra layer of tension to the team's interactions.

Hotch, internally conflicted, recognized his own inappropriate behavior but felt almost powerless to stop it. His actions were not lost on him; he saw the hurt it could potentially cause, not only to you but to the team's cohesion. The possibility of a midlife crisis crossed his mind, a cliché that seemed to fit yet made him despise his actions even more. The more he reflected on his behavior, the more he disliked the person he was becoming. This self-loathing, rather than deterring his actions, seemed to fuel them, creating a cycle of mistrust and regret that he struggled to break.

—

The evening out with the team was a needed change of pace after the intense case in Texas. Hotch's acceptance of the invitation to join everyone for drinks was a surprise, given his recent pattern of declining such outings. The team couldn't help but speculate that his change of heart had something to do with Emily's decision to come along, but they were in for another surprise.

As you walked into the bar with Hotch, his hand resting reassuringly on your back, it was clear that he was making an effort to present a united front. Spencer lit up at your arrival. You looked effortlessly gorgeous, a sight that brightened the young profiler’s evening considerably. After making your way to the table and exchanging greetings and proper introductions with the team, you and Penelope excused yourselves to head to the bar for drinks.

At the bar, you ordered a non-alcoholic blackberry lemonade, a choice made in solidarity with Spencer, who you now knew avoided alcohol. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Spencer, who saw a man making advances towards you. Your polite but firm rejection of his advances mirrored the dignity you maintained despite the complexities of your personal life, stirring a mix of admiration and protective anger in Spencer, especially considering the recent tension with Hotch.

Returning to the table with drinks in hand, you chose to sit next to Spencer. Handing him the lemonade, you playfully assured him of its non-alcoholic nature, sharing a moment that felt like an inside joke between you two. Spencer, charmed and somewhat flustered, thanked you and sipped directly from the glass, mindful of germs.

“That’s really good, it could be sweeter though,” he commented with a teasing smile, sparking a round of laughter from the team as they delved into stories about his well-known penchant for sweets. Hotch watched the interactions from a slight distance, his expression one of his usual sternness, yet it seemed out of place in the casual setting of the bar.

As the night progressed, it became apparent that neither you nor Hotch had driven to the bar; you had taken a cab. This revelation meant your choice to avoid alcohol was deliberate for reasons other than driving, a detail that didn't escape Spencer's keen observations. The profiler, trained to read subtleties and unspoken signals, started to sense that perhaps there was something growing between you and him—a spark that seemed to flicker more with every interaction.

Later that night, as Spencer reviewed the evening's events in his mind, he realized the minimal interaction between you and Hotch. Most of your time was spent engaging with him, sparking further speculation about the state of your marriage. The profiler couldn't ignore the possibility that you might not be as invested in your relationship with Hotch as everyone assumed.

As Spencer lay in bed that night, his mind raced through the possibilities, the profiles, the subtle cues. He couldn't help but feel that something significant was unfolding, perhaps the beginning of a shift in your relationship with Hotch and potentially the start of something new with him. He was a profiler, after all, and his instincts rarely misled him.

—

The night unfolded differently for you and Aaron once you were back home. Aaron's attempt to initiate intimacy was met with your refusal, sparking a serious conversation between the two of you. His words, "Okay, Y/N, I have tried to be patient and understanding...and I never want to force you or make you uncomfortable, I simply want to know why you haven't let me touch you in weeks," brought the issue to the forefront.

You were taken aback by his observation, suddenly aware of the distance that had crept into your interactions without your conscious decision. "I don’t know…honestly, Aaron," you responded, taking his hands in yours, seeking physical connection even as you discussed your lack thereof. "I didn’t even realize I was closing myself off, I guess I just haven’t been in the mood to have sex."

Aaron's understanding in that moment—his gentle smile and reassuring words, "That’s okay, you know you can tell me anything, yeah?"—reminded you of the reasons you fell for him initially. It was a reminder of the connection you once felt so intensely that you had decided to elope, driven by the desire to be his partner without delay.

Your nod and his reassurance bridged the gap that had formed between you, allowing a moment of true intimacy to return. "I know, thank you," you acknowledged, feeling a resurgence of the affection and attraction that had characterized the early days of your relationship. It was in this renewed closeness that you found yourself genuinely wanting to be with him, leading to a night of intimacy that was chosen and cherished, not prompted by obligation or his inquiry.

That night, as you reconnected with Aaron, your thoughts were entirely with him. 

—

Feeling a renewed sense of commitment to your relationship, Hotch intentionally kept his interactions with Emily strictly professional. However, the undercurrents of previous tensions and suspicions didn't completely dissipate.

During a subsequent case, Spencer, being watchful and sensitive to nuances in behavior, noticed Hotch and Emily standing a bit too close for his comfort. His protective instincts towards you, coupled with residual concerns from the past, prompted him to confront Hotch. The mixture of genuine care for your well-being and perhaps a bit of personal bias led Spencer to issue a stark ultimatum: "Either cut it out, or I’ll tell Y/N everything."

Hotch's reaction was immediate and intense. He was livid, not just because Spencer had threatened him but also because his interpretation was incorrect. In that particular moment, Hotch had been comforting Emily over a professional setback, not engaging in anything that crossed a personal line. 

Hotch’s stern response reflected his frustration and the precarious balance he was trying to maintain between his professional responsibilities and personal life. “Reid, I need you to stay out of my private affairs. I hope inviting you into mine and Y/N’s life was not a mistake, do not make me regret it,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of warning and disappointment.

Spencer, taken aback by Hotch’s stern admonition, was left flustered. He nodded, realizing perhaps he had overstepped, influenced by his own emotions.

—

When you returned to the bureau weeks later with coffees to celebrate Penelope's birthday, the warm welcomes quickly shifted to concern as you noticed Spencer on crutches. Your reaction was immediate and filled with genuine worry. “Whoa! What happened?” you exclaimed, rushing over to help him with his files.

Spencer, slightly amused by your concern, simply replied with a shrug, “I got shot.” His nonchalance about such a serious injury only heightened your worry and surprise.

“You got shot?” Your voice rose in alarm, drawing the attention of others, including Aaron, who emerged from his office just in time to hear your exclamation. His response, however, was not what you expected. “It was in the line of duty, it should hardly affect you,” he stated, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of dismissiveness.

Your reaction was swift and pointed. “It’s nice to know when friends are hurt,” you retorted, turning your attention back to Spencer. “I could have gotten you flowers, or a card, or chocolate!” 

Spencer laughed, his cheeks reddening slightly under your attention. “It’s okay, Y/N. That’s a sweet thought though, thank you,” he said, clearly touched.

Intent on making sure Spencer was well cared for, you suggested, “Come over later? I want to look at it,” leaving no room for debate. 

However, noticing Spencer's hesitant glance towards Aaron, you quickly amended your offer. “Or—uh, you’re injured, why don’t I come to your apartment?” you suggested pragmatically. You handed him a sticky note, asking him to write down his address, ensuring you could be there to support him.

Aaron, witnessing this exchange, looked on with a heated expression, his discomfort palpable as he observed the closeness between you and Spencer. His reaction did not go unnoticed by the team.

Elle, Derek, and JJ watched uncomfortably from the sidelines, the tension thick in the air. Elle leaned in to whisper humorously to her colleagues, “Do you guys think actual steam can come out of Hotch’s ears?” 

JJ playfully hit Elle’s arm, responding in kind, “Shut up, it’s obviously going to come out of his nose.”

Their laughter was a brief reprieve from the tension, but Derek brought the conversation back to a more serious note. “Seriously though, do you think things will ever be okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“What do you mean?” JJ inquired, looking towards you and Spencer.

Derek sighed, nodding towards the pair. “There’s clearly some chemistry there, I mean, it’s obvious Pretty Boy likes her. And Hotch looks ready to kill anytime Spencer talks to her.”

Elle agreed, her expression somber. “I can’t see things being normal unless one of them is suddenly out of the picture.”

As the team members exchanged their thoughts, none noticed Gideon passing by. Having overheard a snippet of their conversation and knowing Aaron and you better than most, he chimed in with a perspective that was both mournful and insightful. 

“Aaron thought she reminded him of Haley. Y/N thought she was in love,” he commented, encapsulating the emotional confusion and misinterpretations that had led to the current state of affairs.

—

In the quiet confines of the records room, Derek took the opportunity to offer Spencer some brotherly advice, a moment that felt both necessary and urgent given the recent tensions.

"Yo, kid," Derek called out, catching Spencer's attention as he rummaged through files on crutches. "Can I offer a word of advice?"

Spencer, slightly confused by the serious tone, nodded. "Sure?"

Derek exhaled deeply, the gravity of his words weighing on him. "Cool it with Mrs. Hotchner. Hotch looks like he’s going to pop a vessel every time you talk to her."

“Actually, in order for a vessel to pop—” Spencer started to deflect with a technical correction, a habit when he felt uncomfortable.

"Reid, I’m serious," Derek interrupted, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation.

Spencer sighed heavily, the reality of the situation sinking in as he slumped on his crutches. "I know," he admitted, his voice low.

Derek gave him a sympathetic smile, understanding the emotional turmoil Spencer was in. "You got it bad for her, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" Spencer looked truly pitiful, his usual composure replaced by a sense of vulnerability.

"I don’t think Hotch has caught on," Derek comforted him, but then added a layer of complexity that Spencer hadn’t considered. "I think he’s threatened by how much she’s clearly taken a liking to you."

That statement caught Spencer's full attention. "What did you say?"

"Come on, kid," Derek laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension. "It’s so obvious. She has googly eyes every time she sees you. Not to mention inviting herself over? Without Hotch? She should just write ‘I heart Spencer Reid’ across her forehead."

Spencer’s anxiety spiked at Derek’s observations. "Wait, what? No, no, and Hotch? He sees that? He knows?" His questions tumbled out rapidly, each one laced with panic.

Derek nodded solemnly. "I think so, I mean, she doesn’t look at him like that." Spencer was inclined to believe Derek, given their training as profilers, but Derek’s next words were cautionary. "Just, be careful, okay? Especially being alone with her."

The advice left Spencer conflicted. As a profiler, he knew the importance of understanding the dynamics and emotions at play, but as a man, he was deeply drawn to you, complicating his ability to remain detached. Derek’s advice resonated with a warning he knew he should heed, yet part of him wondered about the possibilities that your mutual attraction could lead to, despite the obvious risks. This conversation was a stark reminder of the delicate balance he needed to maintain, not just professionally, but personally as well.

—

The tension between you and Aaron had escalated to a breaking point. The conflict, fueled by the growing closeness between you and Spencer, brought underlying issues to the surface in a harsh, raw confrontation at home.

Aaron's frustration was palpable, his voice raising despite his attempt to keep calm. “I just don’t understand why you need to go take care of him, he’s a grown man!” He argued, his irritation evident in his tone.

Your response was equally charged, born of exasperation and a fundamental difference in how you each viewed the situation. “Because, Aaron!” you exclaimed, your arms gesturing wildly to emphasize your point. “He is my friend, I am a nurse, and I care about him!”

Aaron's skepticism was clear as he rolled his eyes dismissively. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you challenged, glaring at him, your arms crossed defensively across your chest.

His accusation came sharply, his voice louder now, betraying his own emotional turmoil. “Oh, come on, Y/N! You so clearly have a thing for him!”

Your defense was instinctive, a mix of denial and irritation. “A thing? What are we, 12?” you retorted, trying to diminish the weight of his words.

But Aaron’s next comment cut deeper, harsh and dismissive. “You’re a lot closer than me,” he said, his words echoing like a slap.

That comment hit you hard, a verbal blow that felt like a punch to the gut. Anger and hurt boiled over as you retorted sharply, “Fuck you, Aaron. I’m going to Spencer’s. Call it a playdate,” you snarled, the sarcasm biting.

With that, you stormed out, leaving Aaron in the midst of a silent, tense atmosphere, the air thick with the residue of words that couldn’t be taken back. The drive to Spencer’s was a blur, your mind reeling from the argument and the hurtful things said.

—

Spencer's apartment felt like a sanctuary at that moment, a sharp contrast to the charged atmosphere you'd left behind. His initial excitement to see you quickly morphed into concern as he noticed your distressed state. His question was gentle, filled with genuine worry. “Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?”

Your request for a hug, a simple yet profound need for comfort, was met with immediate warmth and understanding from Spencer. He didn’t hesitate, his usual concerns about personal space and germs momentarily forgotten, overshadowed by his care for you.

As you wrapped your arms around him, the feeling of connection was palpable—two friends finding solace in each other's presence. Spencer’s scent, a comforting mix of old books, sandalwood, and balsam, enveloped you, offering a stark contrast to Aaron's colder, harder essence. This sensory difference wasn't just olfactory; it was symbolic of the emotional warmth Spencer offered compared to what you currently felt with Aaron.

Spencer, too, was comforted by your presence, finding the scent of your hair and the feel of you embracing him soothing. When he finally spoke, his voice vibrated softly atop your head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your response, though muffled against his chest, was candid. “Aaron and I got into a fight,” you admitted, not wanting to hold back the truth from Spencer, especially not while seeking comfort in his embrace.

Spencer pulled back slightly to look at you, his suspicion about the nature of the fight needing confirmation. “A fight? About what?” he asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

Your gaze met his, frustration and defiance shining through, though not directed at him. “He doesn’t understand why I wanted to come over here and take care of you,” you explained, your voice tinged with both irritation and sadness.

Spencer's reaction to you telling him Aaron's words about him being a grown man and insinuating that you were behaving childishly was mixed with disbelief and amusement when you recounted calling it a 'playdate'. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, a laugh escaping him despite the seriousness of the situation.

You walked further into his apartment, the space between you allowing for a momentary physical separation but not diminishing the emotional closeness. “He deserved it, he was acting like a total ass,” you said, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Spencer nodded, understanding the gravity of what you were facing at home. “Do you guys fight a lot?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry, that was invasive,” Spencer then said, immediately regretting the question as he saw your posture tense.

You sighed, the weight of the situation settling on you. “No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him, though your voice carried a hint of resignation. “We don’t… fight. We argue, but they never get resolved. We just ignore and move on. Sounds healthy, right?” Your words were laced with sarcasm, reflecting the growing realization of the unhealthy patterns in your marriage.

As you tried to brush aside the gravity of the conversation about your relationship with Aaron, Spencer gently but firmly acknowledged the situation. “No, Y/N… that doesn’t sound healthy,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. His response, filled with genuine concern, only intensified the emotions you were trying to suppress.

Feeling the tears well up, you quickly sniffed them back, wiping at your cheeks. You forced a smile, attempting to shift the focus from your troubled marriage to something less personal. “It’s fine, let's talk about that leg,” you suggested, clapping your hands together as if to physically dispel the tension in the room.

Spencer gave you a knowing look, his eyes conveying understanding and a bit of reluctance to divert the conversation. He recognized your deflection for what it was, but he respected your wish to steer away from the emotional turmoil. “Yeah, I’ll go put on some shorts,” he said, nodding towards the hallway as he prepared to make himself more comfortable for your examination.

Your next comment came out a bit more casually than you intended, blurring the lines of appropriateness given the complexity of your feelings and the situation. “Pshh, we’re friends, you can just take your pants off,” you said. It was a jest, meant to lighten the mood, but even as the words left your mouth, you recognized the potential implications.

Spencer coughed, a clear sign of his discomfort mixed with a hint of amusement at your boldness. He was acutely aware of the precariousness of the situation, both as a man who harbored feelings for you and as a friend who wanted to respect boundaries. “Oh-okay,” he stuttered, his response reflecting his internal conflict between desire and propriety.

The air between you thickened with unspoken words and suppressed emotions, the room charged with care, concern, and an undeniable connection that both of you felt but were cautious to explore further. This delicate balance of friendship and the undercurrents of something more made each interaction both precious and profoundly complicated.

Spencer’s hesitant actions, as he awkwardly pushed down his sweatpants, unintentionally revealed a side of himself that was both endearing and utterly human. His choice of polka dot briefs, stark against his usual buttoned-up demeanor, caught you off guard and your reaction was spontaneous—a burst of surprise and delight.

“What?” he shrieked, his voice pitching as he instinctively covered himself with both hands, embarrassed by your amusement.

Your laughter filled the room, a genuine response to the unexpected whimsy of his underwear choice. “Y/N! Stop laughing,” Spencer whined, his discomfort palpable yet tinged with a hint of humor despite himself.

“I’m sorry!” you managed to wheeze out between giggles, trying to compose yourself. “I just wasn’t expecting polka dots on such a scholar, they’re adorable,” you added, your smile broadening as you spoke, hoping to ease his embarrassment by affirming the charm in the situation.

Spencer’s face turned a deeper shade of red, his bashfulness evident. “Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to see my underwear today,” he mumbled, his words soft and a bit self-deprecating.

“Oh?” You couldn’t resist a playful jab, your smirk playful. “No suitors stopping by later?” you teased, lightening the mood further.

“No suitors, period,” Spencer replied, his tone resigned but gentle, hinting at his acceptance of his solitary lifestyle.

You thought you heard a soft “good” from your own lips, but neither of you dwelled on it, choosing instead to focus on the reason for your visit. Spencer redirected the conversation to his injury, a touch of nervousness returning as he scratched the back of his neck. The simple action unknowingly highlighted his physique, drawing your attention momentarily to the muscle bulging appealingly from his bicep.

Spencer's inadvertent display of vulnerability, combined with the physical closeness of the moment, charged the air between you with an electricity that was hard to ignore. Despite the lighthearted banter, there was a palpable tension that neither of you could completely sidestep.

Clearing his throat, Spencer moved to a more practical topic. "Let me show you the injury," he said, guiding your gaze down to his leg where the reason for your visit lay. He explained, "The bullet grazed here—missed the bone, thankfully."

Spencer, recognizing the need for a bit more comfort as you continued your examination, carefully maneuvered himself over to the couch. With a slight grimace that spoke to the subtle ache still lingering in his leg, he eased down into a seated position. Once settled, he gestured for you to come closer. The move allowed him both the comfort of the soft couch and the chance to observe you more closely as you focused on his injury.

As you knelt closer to inspect Spencer’s leg, the atmosphere between you seemed to shift. The clinical detachment you aimed for was subtly undermined by the intimacy of the moment, with the dim light of the apartment casting soft shadows around you. You gently positioned Spencer's leg to get a better look at the wound, your hands careful and precise.

"It looks like it's healing well," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. Your fingers brushed against his skin, delicate yet deliberate, tracing the line of the scar with a touch light enough to be barely perceptible. The warmth from your fingertips seemed to linger on his skin, an inadvertent caress that was clinical in its intention but personal in its effect.

"You’re lucky it wasn’t worse," you continued, your eyes fixed on the wound but acutely aware of every minute response from Spencer—each small twitch or change in breathing. Your proximity allowed you to notice these subtle cues, each one heightening the charged air between you.

Spencer's response was a soft exhale, a sound that might have been relief mixed with something more restrained. "Yeah, I really am," he agreed, his voice a whisper that matched the quiet intensity of the room. His eyes, fixed on your face as you examined him, seemed to search for something beyond the professional concern you displayed.

As you continued to attend to Spencer's injury, the intimate setting and your proximity began to stir a warmth that was difficult to ignore. The air between you thickened as your hands inadvertently moved beyond the scarred area, softly rubbing up and down his thigh in what started as a comforting gesture.

Spencer's response was almost immediate, a shaky breath escaping him as he felt your touch glide over his skin. The tenderness of your actions, innocent in intent, brought a heightened awareness to the simplicity of touch, sparking a flutter of something deeper between you both.

You couldn't help but giggle lightly at his reaction, breaking the tension with a playful tease. "Wow, Spence. Your legs are so smooth," you commented, your voice a mix of amusement and surprise, trying to keep the atmosphere light and friendly despite the undercurrent of something more stirring beneath the surface.

Spencer chuckled softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks from your teasing comment about his smooth legs. He tried to deflect a bit, maintaining a light, playful tone. "Well, I guess I have to keep up some standards, don't I?" he quipped, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a twinkle of mirth.

"Oh, absolutely," you responded, grinning as you continued to gently massage his thigh, carefully avoiding the healing wound. "I mean, who knows when you'll have to model for a 'Legs of the BAU' calendar?"

Spencer laughed, the sound rich and genuine, easing some of the tension that had built up. "Oh, no. If we're doing that, you know Morgan's definitely taking Mr. July. I might settle for Mr. November, less pressure."

"You’d make a great Mr. November," you teased back, enjoying the easy banter. "Mysterious and intellectual. Maybe throw in a few leaves and books around you for that autumn scholar vibe."

He raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Books, huh? I thought you’d suggest more polka dots to really sell it."

"You know, that could work," you said with a mock-serious nod. "Polka dots could be your signature style. Very chic."

Spencer laughed again, the warmth in his voice melting into a more confidential tone. "I think I’d rather keep this between you and me, no need for Aaron to find out about me and my polka dots," he joked, but the mention of your husband's name changed the atmosphere abruptly.

"Right, Aaron," you echoed, the reminder jolting you back to reality. You quickly retracted your hands, placing them on your own thighs as a physical barrier to the closeness that had just been. "Well, your leg looks great," you added quickly, trying to steer back into safer waters.

Spencer sensed the shift and regretted his words immediately. "Thanks," he said, his smile faltering into awkwardness as he recognized the boundary he'd nudged. 

You stood up, suddenly unsure of how to navigate the space between comfort and propriety. Spencer, watching your hesitation, didn't want the conversation to end on an awkward note.

"Uh, Y/N, do you want to sit down? We could talk," he suggested gently, hoping to extend the olive branch. He knew you weren't eager to return home quickly after your argument with Aaron.

You smiled, the warmth in your expression returning as you appreciated his thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Spence, you're the best," you responded, grateful for his continued support and friendship.

As you sat back down, settling into the couch beside him but at a respectful distance, Spencer continued, trying to lighten the mood again. "So, aside from my fashion choices and medical updates, what else is new with you? Any more adventures in the world of nursing?"

Your laughter returned, easing the tension. "Oh, you know, the usual chaos. But no more polka dots, unfortunately," you quipped, grateful for the return to an easy air. The conversation flowed more freely again, both of you navigating the fine line between personal support and professional boundaries, grateful for the sanctuary of friendship in the complex web of your lives.

—

Returning home after spending hours with Spencer left you feeling a mixture of emotions. The casual and friendly conversation had not only provided comfort but also stoked a confusing array of thoughts and feelings. It was a bittersweet sort of clarity, easing the immediate stress but deepening the internal conflict you were experiencing about your relationship with Aaron and the unexpected connection you felt with Spencer.

As you quietly entered your home, relieved to find Aaron asleep and not immediately faced with the need to explain your prolonged absence or the emotional residue it carried, you had a moment to reflect. The silence of the house offered a stark contrast to the lively, engaging discussions you'd had with Spencer, highlighting the growing chasm in your marriage that seemed more pronounced in the quiet.

Settling into the familiar yet increasingly foreign space of your living room, you grappled with your thoughts. Your actions throughout the evening—seeking solace and comfort in Spencer's company—were not inherently wrong, yet they carried a weight of implications you couldn't easily dismiss. The levity of your interactions with Spencer was a stark reminder of what was missing in your marriage, and your returning thoughts were anything but calm. They flitted, unbidden and unsettling, between your current reality and the 'what ifs' that Spencer represented.

The evening was long, filled with introspection and a tumultuous inner dialogue. You wrestled with feelings of guilt, confusion, and a burgeoning realization that the feelings you had for Spencer might be more profound than simple friendship. These thoughts were lewd both in their nature and in their implication, suggesting a desire for a connection that went beyond platonic, something that felt both thrilling and terrifying given your commitment to Aaron.

That night, the couch became your makeshift bed, a silent statement of your desire not to disturb Aaron, reflecting the distance that had grown between you. When morning light filtered through the windows, it found you still asleep, wrapped in the uneasy peace of slumber away from the shared bed.

Aaron's awakening was starkly different. Upon finding your side of the bed cold and empty, a rush of panic and suspicion flooded him. His thoughts spiraled immediately to the worst-case scenario — that you had chosen to spend the night with Spencer instead of at home. Fuelled by fear and anger, he stormed out of the bedroom, his mind set on confronting what he perceived as a betrayal.

However, the sight of you sleeping on the couch halted him abruptly, though it did little to cool his temper. “Y/N!” he yelled, his voice sharp and loud in the quiet of the morning.

Startled awake, you lost your balance and tumbled off the couch, your heart racing from the sudden shock. “What the fuck, Aaron??” you screamed back, your voice filled with fear and confusion.

“Why are you on the couch? Couldn’t bear to face me after you fucked Spencer?” Aaron accused, his words cutting through the air, heavy with suspicion.

“What is wrong with you? I looked at his wound and we talked,” you replied, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you.

Aaron, however, was far from pacified, his anger intensifying at your composed response. “I’m so sure,” he spat sarcastically.

“Why are you so quick to assume I would cheat on you? Are you projecting? Is there something I should know about?” you countered sharply, your eyes narrowing as you scrutinized him, searching for signs of guilt in his own actions.

Aaron’s reaction was immediate and defensive, his body freezing as he responded with paternalistic scolding. “No, Y/N,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive as if he were reprimanding a misbehaving child. “I have not done anything to betray our marriage, unlike you.”

The tension in the room escalated as you confronted Aaron, your voice edged with defiance and pain. “Pray tell, Aaron, what have I done to betray you?” you asked, the word 'betray' laced with cruelty due to the sting of his accusations.

Aaron's response was a bitter laugh, a sound devoid of any actual amusement as he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I don’t want to get into this right now,” he deflected, avoiding a direct confrontation but also signaling how deep his frustrations ran.

“Exactly because I haven’t done a goddamn thing,” you retorted sharply, your voice rising slightly, a clear indication of your anger and hurt boiling to the surface.

The room fell into a charged silence, the air thick with unresolved tensions and unspoken grievances. It was Aaron who broke the silence, his voice carrying a weight that was both resigned and decisive. “You know what, Y/N?”

“What?” Your response was terse, bracing for more accusations.

“I want a divorce,” Aaron declared, the words heavy with finality.

The statement hung between you, stark and irrevocable. Yet, instead of the devastation such words might once have wrought, they brought a grim sense of relief. “Me too,” you responded quietly, your voice steady. The admission was not made out of spite but from a profound recognition of the irreparable rift that had grown between you.

The resolution to end your marriage, though born from a place of profound discord, strangely ushered in a wave of relief and mutual understanding between you and Aaron. As the initial shock of the decision faded, an unexpected camaraderie emerged—perhaps it was the absence of the oppressive weight of trying to save a failing relationship, or maybe it was the clarity that came with acknowledging the truth out loud. Whatever the reason, you both found yourselves laughing, the sound mingling with a sense of liberation that hadn't been present in your home for a long time.

Sitting together, perhaps more honestly than you had in months, Aaron began discussing practical next steps. He was methodical, suggesting legal pathways forward, leveraging his connections with friends in the law to ensure that the process would be as smooth and painless as possible. He proposed to find an alternative place to stay temporarily, giving you space to decide your next moves in an environment free of pressure. 

"You should take your time figuring things out, Y/N. No rush," Aaron offered, his tone sincere. This gesture reminded you of the man you had fallen for—the kind-hearted, generous person whose presence had once felt like a safe haven. 

While the romantic part of your relationship was ending, this newfound platonic understanding sparked a hope within you. Perhaps you hadn't completely lost Aaron; maybe there was a potential to salvage a friendship from the ashes of your marriage. It was a comforting thought, considering how intertwined your lives had become. 

"I appreciate that, Aaron. Really," you acknowledged, feeling a genuine gratitude that was devoid of the bitterness that had clouded recent months. "And, maybe we can try to be friends? I'd like that," you suggested tentatively, unsure but hopeful.

Aaron nodded, a small, genuine smile appearing on his face. "I'd like that too, Y/N. I think we could be good at that," he agreed, the idea seeming to please him as well.

—

Monday morning in the BAU was palpably different. The air felt less tense, the usual undercurrents of stress and unspoken emotions seemed to have dissipated somewhat, leaving a lighter atmosphere that even the most preoccupied team members noticed. The change wasn't just personal but had subtly permeated the professional environment as well.

Ross had agreed to let Hotch stay with him while you figured out your living arrangements. This arrangement was made quietly, a testament to Rossi’s understanding of the delicate nature of personal matters and his respect for privacy. He had no intention of sharing this information with the rest of the team, believing that Hotch would disclose the details when he felt appropriate.

The subtle changes in Hotch's demeanor, however, were not lost on Derek. "Hotchner, looking good," he called across the room with a smirk, adding, "Have a relaxing weekend with the missus?"

Hotch, caught somewhat off guard but used to Derek's probing style, managed a small, tight smile in response. The question hung in the air, a bit more pointed than usual, given the personal circumstances Hotch was navigating. 

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone non-committal.

Rossi, observing the exchange from a distance, gave Derek a subtle look that spoke volumes. It was a silent signal not to push too hard, a reminder of the boundaries they all respected when it came to personal matters. 

Derek caught Rossi’s glance and nodded slightly, he shifted his attention back to the task at hand, letting the matter drop without further comment. 

—

Your life was undergoing a significant transformation, marked by both endings and new beginnings. The divorce with Aaron, facilitated by his legal knowledge and the connections of his friends, concluded more smoothly than you had anticipated. This closure allowed you to move forward without the lingering bitterness that often accompanies such separations.

Finding the perfect apartment on the other side of town felt like a sign of new opportunities. It was an older building brimming with charm, exactly what you had hoped for—a place without roommates where you could start fresh. The apartment quickly became your sanctuary, reflecting the new phase of your life with its inviting spaces and the personal touches you added.

Professionally, your career was flourishing. Being assigned to oversee the new wave of nursing residents placed you in a vital role at the hospital. This responsibility not only affirmed your skills and experience but also provided a social outlet, connecting you with peers who shared your passion and dedication to healthcare. These new relationships were enriching, offering friendships that matched your energy and enthusiasm.

Your interactions with Aaron had settled into a comfortable, if occasional, rhythm. You both had managed to salvage a friendship from the remains of your marriage, a testament to the mutual respect and platonic love that still existed between you. 

Aaron, too, was finding his path. Engaging in triathlon training was initially a way to channel his energy and emotions into something productive. It was during these sessions that he met Beth, someone who was better suited for him in this new chapter of his life. She was closer to his age, shared his interests, and understood the complexities of his past without judgment.

The day you met Beth was serendipitous. Arriving at the house to pick up a few remaining items, you stumbled upon them during a break in their training. The meeting was unexpectedly easy, devoid of any awkwardness. Beth was instantly warm and understanding, recognizing your past role in Aaron's life but also appreciating the boundaries now in place.

Seeing Aaron happy with Beth brought you a genuine sense of peace. It reassured you that moving on was not only possible for you but for Aaron as well. This reassurance was a final piece in resolving any lingering doubts about the divorce. Your life was truly beginning anew, marked by burgeoning friendships, professional fulfillment, and a contentment in your personal life that had been missing for some time.

As you settled further into your new life, it became clear that the decisions made, though difficult, were leading to a brighter, more fulfilled future. You were not only surviving the changes but thriving, finding joy in the freedom to redefine yourself and your relationships on your own terms.

—

When Penelope spotted Hotch and Beth sharing a kiss outside the coffee shop where she was enjoying her afternoon, it sparked a chain reaction of whispers and concerns within the team. Penelope felt compelled to share what she saw with Derek, who then passed the news along through Emily, JJ, and finally to Spencer, who was perhaps the most affected given his close friendship with you.

The news eventually made its way back to Rossi, who felt it was his duty to inform Aaron that the team was aware of his new relationship. With this knowledge, Aaron knew he had to address the situation directly. He called a meeting with the entire team to clear the air.

Sitting in the briefing room, the team waited as Aaron stood at the front, visibly gathering his thoughts. Spencer's emotions were particularly tumultuous, swinging from concern for you to confusion over Aaron's actions.

The BAU team absorbed the news of Hotch's divorce and new relationship with varying reactions, from JJ's sympathetic sigh to Rossi's light-hearted attempt to bring some humor to the situation. Hotch's own laughter, a rare break in his usually stoic demeanor, helped to somewhat lighten the mood, though the underlying seriousness of his announcement lingered in the air.

As Hotch assured everyone that everything was above board and that you were aware of his new relationship, the team members nodded, accepting his words and moving forward with their day. But for Spencer, the revelation stirred a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each more conflicting than the last.

Caught in his own head, Spencer barely noticed the passage of time as he fixated on what this development meant for his own feelings and the potential of a relationship with you. These nagging thoughts began to consume Spencer more deeply than he anticipated. His contemplation was so intense that he almost missed Derek approaching his desk with a characteristic smirk.

"Hey, pretty boy," Derek greeted, snapping Spencer out of his reverie.

Spencer looked up, slightly startled. "Hey, Morgan. What's up?"

"You gonna ask her out now?" Derek jibed, giving Spencer's shoulder a light shove, his tone teasing but probing.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately shook his head. "What? No," he blurted out, the idea seeming too sudden, too soon.

Derek tilted his head, a puzzled look crossing his face. "Why not?"

"Um, she just got divorced, she probably needs some time," Spencer rationalized, his voice tinged with hesitation and concern for your well-being.

"Hotch didn’t need any time, and from the sounds of it, it was a mutual decision," Derek pointed out, challenging Spencer's cautious approach.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and confusion. "Okay, well she was still with Hotch. That would just be weird," he argued, trying to justify his reluctance to act on his feelings.

"Have you actually talked to him about it? I doubt he’d care, he’s already seeing someone else," Derek countered, pushing Spencer to reconsider the boundaries he had set for himself.

"Maybe Y/N is too," Spencer muttered, the thought striking a chord of insecurity within him. His comment was more to himself than to Derek.

Derek observed Spencer's troubled expression, understanding the respect and apprehension that held him back. "Just think about it, man. Sometimes, you gotta take a chance," he advised before leaving Spencer to his thoughts.

Left alone, Spencer continued to wrestle with his feelings, the conversation with Derek leaving him even more uncertain about the right course of action. He knew he needed to think carefully about his next steps, not just for his sake, but for yours as well, respecting both your recent past and the potential future you might share.

—

The bar was alive with the energy of celebration, the team gathered to unwind after successfully closing another case. Laughter filled the air, with each member of the BAU team indulging in their own version of relaxation. Emily, Elle and Penelope were engrossed in their playful betting, Derek was the life of the party on the dance floor, and Spencer, ever the intellectual showman, was charming a group of college students with his magic tricks.

As the evening progressed, the ambiance was electric, a perfect blend of leisure and fun—until the bar door swung open, ushering in a fresh wave of energy. The sudden shift was palpable as you entered, laughing along with a group of new nursing colleagues. The brief moment when everyone’s attention turned towards the door didn’t go unnoticed by the BAU team.

You spotted Aaron and Beth quickly, approaching with a bright smile to exchange hugs and greetings, showing no signs of awkwardness or residual tension from your past with Aaron. Spencer watched the exchange from a distance, his card trick momentarily forgotten as the students around him found other distractions.

When you moved away from Aaron and headed towards the bar, Spencer found himself inexplicably drawn to the space you had just vacated. Approaching hesitantly, he joined Aaron, Beth, JJ, and Rossi.

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch greeted him with a rare, genuine smile, an expression of peace that seemed to lighten his entire demeanor.

Spencer returned the smile awkwardly, glancing at the group. “Hi. Was that Y/N?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of his internal churning.

Beth and JJ couldn’t help but giggle, picking up on the undercurrents of Spencer’s interest, while Hotch confirmed with a nod. “Yup. You should say hi, she always liked you,” he said, still smiling warmly.

Spencer was visibly taken aback by the comment, his confusion evident. “Is that not weird for you?” he managed to ask, trying to gauge Hotch’s reaction.

Beth laughed lightly, and JJ chimed in, playfully nudging the conversation forward. “Are you going to ask her out, Spence?”

Mortified, especially with Hotch there, Spencer spluttered, “I—I, uh, well…”

Before he could flounder further, Hotch cut him off with a chuckle, showing a level of understanding and acceptance that Spencer hadn’t expected. “It’s fine, Reid,” he reassured, nodding towards where you stood at the bar. “Go ask her, I bet she says yes.”

Spencer's heart raced as he approached you at the bar, each step filled with apprehension and hope. His friends' eyes followed him, their expressions a blend of encouragement and amusement, knowing just how significant this moment was for him.

When he tapped your shoulder, you turned with a start, and the surprise quickly melted into a warm, inviting smile when you recognized him. "Spencer?" you said, your voice tinged with a delighted confusion.

"Hi," Spencer managed, his grin tight but genuine as he tried to contain the nervous energy bubbling inside him.

"How are you?" you asked, your smile widening. Without waiting for his response, you added, "Can I give you a hug?"

Spencer’s nod was immediate, and he opened his arms, welcoming the comfort and familiarity of your embrace. As you stepped into his arms, both of you were enveloped in a sense of warmth and security, a feeling of coming home that neither of you had anticipated but both deeply appreciated. 

As you pulled back slightly, maintaining close contact, you looked up at him, your eyes locking in a moment that felt suspended in time. It was intimate, profound, and spoke volumes of the connection that had quietly grown between you.

Meanwhile, Hotch, sitting at the table with the rest of the team, had discreetly turned his attention away, giving you both the privacy of your moment. Though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something indescribable, he was genuinely happy to see you moving forward.

"Um," Spencer cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Do you want to go out with me?" he asked, his heart hanging on your answer.

"Yes," you responded instantly, before he could even finish his question. Your eagerness and certainty cut through any lingering doubts he might have had, filling him with a joy that was almost overwhelming.

The bar around you faded into a blur as you both shared a laugh, relieved and excited about this new beginning. Spencer’s friends, watching from a distance, shared knowing looks and soft smiles, happy for their friend who had finally taken a step toward personal happiness.

As Spencer escorted you back to join the group earlier that evening, there was a notable spring in his step, a visible joy that seemed to radiate from him. The warm greetings from everyone made you feel welcomed and cherished.

After the night came to a close, and your nursing friends gave you a teasing but affectionate goodbye, clearly delighted by the developments they’d observed. Spencer, in a gentlemanly fashion, offered to take you home, a gesture you gladly accepted.

Standing outside of your apartment door, the night quiet around you, you pulled Spencer into another long, rejuvenating hug. It was a moment of comfort, this time, however, he was the one to pull back first. When you looked up at him, he couldn’t help but lean down and plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

The sweetness of the gesture made you swoon internally; he was so endearing, yet it left you wanting more. With a playful sparkle in your eyes, you teased him, “You missed.”

Spencer’s smile broadened, his nose crinkling adorably as he let out a soft laugh, puzzled. “What?” he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

You pointed to your lips, closing the small distance between you as you whispered, “Here, this is the target,” and added with a flirtatious tilt of your head, “Doctor’s orders.”

Spencer's smile grew wider as he listened to your teasing words, a light chuckle escaping him. His heart raced at your forwardness, a delightful contrast to his usual careful deliberation in personal matters.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice a mix of humor and earnest desire to respect your wishes. The proximity of your faces, the warm glow of the porch light casting shadows that danced around you, added a magical quality to the moment.

"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice soft but confident, your eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Encouraged by your assertiveness and feeling a surge of courage, Spencer closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours gently, a tender and careful contact that quickly deepened as both of you confirmed the mutual longing that had been simmering beneath your friendship. The kiss was sweet and slow, a perfect capstone to the emotions and connections of the night.

As you both finally pulled away, a comfortable silence settled around you, filled with unspoken promises and understandings. Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found only warmth and a shared smile.

"I guess I hit the target that time," Spencer said with a relieved and happy grin, his earlier nervousness melting away into a contented ease.

"Yes, you did, doctor," you replied, your voice playful yet sincere. The chemistry between you both felt natural, right.

Standing there, in the quiet of the evening, you both knew that something significant had begun. It was more than just a culmination of mutual affection; it was the start of a new chapter where both of you could explore the depths of your connection.

As Spencer finally said goodnight, leaving with a promise to call you the next day, you entered your apartment with a fluttering heart and a hopeful spirit. The night had not only reaffirmed your new beginnings but had also sparked the potential for something deeply fulfilling and joyful. The future seemed bright, and you were ready to explore it, hand in hand with Spencer.

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

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[notmuchtofind]

Inpatient | r.c

word count: 2k

tw: 18+, daddy kink, degrading, masturbation, slight abuse, praise kink, c0ckwarming, slight mental b0ndage, pillow grinding, dark rafe, dom rafe, fingering, p in v

synopsis: Rafe catches you pleasuring yourself and isnt overly please

a/n: ahhhhh another feral read!!!! be prepared <333 I hope you enjoyyy. also thank you sm for just over 100 followers and over 1000 likes so quickly! lyyyy🤍 alsoooooo, hbd drew! ✨eeeeee xox

You walk your bare feet across the floor and through into the ensuite of Rafes bedroom. You begin to brush your teeth and as you do so you check your phone; 11:23pm. You sigh as place your phone on the side of the sink basin. Rafe told you he'd be back around 10pm, he's not text or called to update you. But to be honest, this isn't unlike him, it doesn't worry you too much. You just wish maybe he would let you know from time to time... He said he had a few things to take care of when he left this morning, things he does not discuss with you and you're okay with that, you have an incline that not everything Rafe gets upto is legal, you know he doesn't want you to get mixed up in any of his work.

Rafe insisted you to stay at his whilst he was out, The nights come earlier as its now winter, even though the temperature is still pretty high and it can be quite pleasant. the rain and fog in outerbanks is substandard today, its not safe for you to be out there in Rafes eyes. Rafes protective, if anything bad was to happen to you he would blame himself, And you'd rather abide by rafes rules, probably because he praises you when you do and to be honest, you'd do anything to hear rafe tell you you're his 'good girl'. and partly because you're very hesitant to get on the wrong side of rafe. You've been there a few times and you try everything in your power to not make it a frequent occurrence.

You walk over to the bed ,still not made from the night before. you sink into the sheets and contemplate what to do with yourself...you twiddle with the drawstrings of your pyjama shorts as you run possibilities through your head. But the one thing that's forced to the front of your mind is rafe, you've missed him all day, desperately craving his touch and you have no idea how soon it is till he's home. The thoughts of last night with rafe circle your head, his hand trailing down your thigh when you're just about to drift off to sleep, signalling what he wants. If he's feeling soft, he'll always begin by planting kisses on your neck, then wander down your body and stopping when he reaches your core...

The thoughts send you spiralling and you can't help but reach down your pyjama shorts, rubbing gentle circles on your pussy through your panties, already slightly soaked from the thoughts of your boyfriend. You arch your back and let out a soft moan as you slip your hand into your panties and begin to trail a finger up and down your cunt, making sure your wetness is covering your folds. another soft moan slips out of your mouth.

Your clit begins to throb and is begging to be stimulated. But your fingers just don't seem to be enough, you're longing to be riding rafes length, you just want to feel yourself straddling him whilst his cock stuffs you.

You sit up without hesitation and begin to look around for a possible object to satisfy you... your mind is racing. You stare at the pillow that had been propping up your head and slowly remove it from its position.Your heads spinning thinking about the pleasure you're about to endure. You begin to kneel and straddle the pillow whilst positioning it correctly so it will be enough to stimulate your throbbing core. You pull your shorts and panties to the side slightly as you are too eager to take them off. You place your folds onto the pillow and begin to grind, you feel yourself growing wetter and your juices are quickly absorbed into the pillow, making the friction between your pussy and the pillow feel like heaven. "mm rafe" you whimper as you throw your head back and imagine Rafe underneath you. 

"mmm fuck rafe, you fuck me so good" you cry . "I know I do baby" 

You're startled. you quickly twist round towards the door, unstraddling the pillow.``What the fuck Rafe" you snap holding your hand close to your chest "you scared me..." said with slight embarrassment. "I didn't say stop, '' Rafes spits as he's leant against the door frame "Have you missed me that much? That you couldn't wait till daddy got home to be a slut?" Rafe walks over to the bed and towers over you. You're lost for words, you're frozen, he makes you so weak. "Answer me y/n!" He spits, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the edge of the bed, you gaze up at him and nod. "use your words pretty girl" he encourages..."yes i've missed you '' you say with slight hesitation. not because you're unsure you'd missed him, but because you're nervous of what comes next. Are you going to be punished for pleasuring yourself when he wasn't here or is he going to let you off...?

Rafe brings his hand up to your jaw and grasps it, just enough to make you wince slightly. '`yes what y/n?" he says with a slight impatient undertone, tilting your head up higher to make sure your eyes are definitely on his. "yes daddy...i've missed you ''. 

"My good girl" Rafe praises, making your heat grow even wetter. He loosens his grip and intertwined his fingers into your hair " why don't you show daddy how much you've missed me? Show me how you fucked the pillow, like a whore when I was away" Rafe suddenly grabs your hips and lifts you up before turning around and replacing your place on the edge of the bed, placing you on top of him. 

You're now straddling him. Rafes hands are at the back of him propping him up whilst his eyes wander over your body. "go on, show me, like a good little slut".

You look Rafe in the eyes and begin to hesitantly grind on his lap, you're slightly embarrassed, and unsure of what to do,but before you have another moment to think you feel a harsh pain seer through your face as your head whips to the left after Rafes palm leaves your face. "Fucking chop chop y/n! I gave you an opportunity for me to go easy on you but if youre gunna be a little bitch, you get fucking treat like one" Rafe spits, you wince in pain before rafes fist snakes around your neck "Works been rough today baby, I came home to see my girl could've even wait for me before pleasuring that pretty pussy?" he coos " You pleasured yourself in my home? on my bed? without me here?" he questions whilst tilting his head, his fist still gripped around your throat. "The least you can do is show daddy how much you missed him...So fucking show me you slut!" Rafes grip loosens as he uses his hand to slap your arse, Asif he was telling a horse to giddy up. You feel your pussy sticking to your panties as your folds overflow with juices. You lock eyes with rafe and begin to grind your hips back and forth on rafes growing bulge, aroused, but slightly scared to know what could come next if you don't abide . "Good girl" he spits, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back, before unbuckling his pants. you lift yourself up slightly as he lays back on the bed, he pulls his jeans and boxers down past his length. His cock springs up and he groans when it slaps on his stomach, causing the precum on his cock to leave a slight residue.

Rafe then sits back up and pulls your top down past your tits, revealing your hardened nipples. "Pull your panties to the side my sweet girl" as you do so rafes fingers trace your pussy and with no hesitation he puts 2 inside, causing your pussy to drip a little as he pushes the resting juices out of you. You begin moaning, grinding yourself on his fingers "r-rafe" you whimper. "That's it, make a mess for daddy" he states, whilst curling his fingers inside you.

Rafes lips meet yours, vigorously inviting his tongue into your mouth, he abides and follows it by biting on your bottom lip, with his fingers still inside you you both let out groans, as the kissing intensifies, becoming faster, sloppier. 

"fuck, c'mere" he demands and lays on his back once more, whilst spreading his legs. He pulls you so your hole is now lined up with his cock before he thrusts his hips up, "ahh shit" he groans as your entrance is stuffed with his throbbing cock, you're wet core once again making a mess, dripping down rafes dick as he pumps in and out of you. You sit ontop of him, a weak, whimpering mess as rafes fingers enter your mouth "open for me slut" he groans. Rafe begins to slow down and he removes his fingers from your mouth, saliva strings from your mouth as he pulls his fingers away. "mmmm,Now show me how you fucked that pillow baby girl. let daddy have a rest".

"yes daddy" you state as you begin to bounce yourself up and down, and rafe watches in awe as your tits bounce in sync. He throws his head back and arches his hips up. You then start to grind yourself, using your feet to stable you. Your head and hair bob up and down and the moans come out in sync with your movements. "ugh fuck y/n, i'm gonna have to pound this pretty pussy" Rafe snaps. He grabs the back of your head without warning ,slamming it in between his shoulder and neck, forcing your whole body down on top of him. He begins to upthrust, forcing his dick deep into your walls, hitting just the right spot. He pumps and pumps faster and faster, groaning with every out stroke. "stay just like that, dont move baby, just be daddy's little cum slut and let me use your holes how daddy likes,mmm fuck" he says whilst still forcing your head down with the palm of his hand and the other grips around the back of your waist.

Your body bobs up and down with rafes thrusts and shakes under Rafes' grip as it's about to be pushed to its limit. You can't help but let out a moan that almost could've been a scream and you feel your walls tighten around rafes girthy length, you feel your juices begin to gush out of your cunt and down rafes dick, stopping at the base of his cock and making your inner thighs sticky as he carries on pounding you "mmmm that's it baby, make a mess for me, you've taken this dick so well my good girl" Rafe praises, and It sends butterflies flying around your stomach.

As rafe begins to still pump in and out you feel his dick twitch inside you slightly, signalling he's close. "let daddy fill you up, Your mine, this pussys all mine" He groans before shooting his thick load inside your walls, you feel the warm liquid coat you and mix together with your juices and your pussy squelches with the last couple of thrusts that rafe pounds into you. 

"fuck baby" Rafe pulls your head up by your hair and forces you to look at him whilst his cock still rests inside you. You giggle slightly as you cant believe how amazing he makes you feel "thank you daddy" you say and rafe tries to hide a grin forming on his face... "you're so perfect" he whispers, meeting your eyes with his before forcing your head back down and wrapping his arms around your frame, engulfing you into a hug.

pls feel free to repost if you enjoyed 🥺!

[autisticlalna]

how to watch Skyblock Kingdoms!

because i'm dragging all of you down with me.

what is Skyblock Kingdoms?:

Skyblock Kingdoms, or SBK, is a Skyblock survival server made by VikingPilot where 18 20 players are split into groups of 2 and have their own island to take care of. each island has a unique wood type, and have a monopoly over that wood type! trade between kingdoms is allowed and encouraged, but any saplings belong solely to their original island-- with the exception of oak, which is a freebie anyone can have.

the teams are theoretically a mix of seasoned skyblockers and people not as familiar with it, but in practice there's more novices than experts so comedy has quickly ensued.

what's the story?:

in most cases, SBK is more of a casual improv vibe. think Hermitcraft rather than Empires. what this means is that there's no overarching story everyone is following, but some players have bits they've decided to commit to that, in typical MCYT fashion, are spiraling. some perspectives stay away from the action, some are playing along with whatever bit is tossed their way, some have their stories to tell, and Avid is the reason i'm having to rewrite this paragraph.

we've got capitalists! we've got OSHA! we've got witches feeding the void to try and appease it so it stops eating their bridges! we've got signs of the timeline falling apart! we've got a fortune-telling wizard! we've got something trapped deep down in limbo! we've got somebody cursed to be a monkey by british sun tzu! we've got selling your soul for a weekly lootbox! we've got a kingdom being overtaken by snow and sculk! we've got an airline with a 75% mortality rate! we've got a lawyer?

as of this version of the post (Avid's episode 17, Marma1ade's episode 15, Viking's episode 13, Vintage's episode 13), the first major story arc has wrapped up and things are going in a very interesting direction.

what's the format?:

there are edited videos being released regularly on Youtube by most of the creators, but a couple of POVs are stream-only so far. however, you can easily keep up with the server shenanigans without watching any streams-- there's some stuff that doesn't make it into videos, but not anything that would leave you locked out of the loop.

you can find all of the episodes out so far in release order in this one massive playlist by Doovid! thank you Doovid <3

on top of videos and streams, SBK has songs written and performed by Avid for his episodes! please listen to Through the Void, it's really good. there's also an animation for it that's used as his intro, which is also really good. if you want to listen to cool tunes made for SBK by one of the creators, you should watch Avid.

who to watch?:

depends on what you're looking for!

if you want a focus on building, then Fixxitt and KingElffe are both working on large-scale projects that are downright stunning to see in Skyblock. if you're interested in the Void storyline, then your best bets are Avid, Marmalade, and Trog-- and if you want lore in general, you can add Rubyco, Vintage, Milkman, and Anathra (and potentially Viking) to the list. if you want something chill, then Doovid, M1G, Kale, Anathra, and Leon are pretty laid-back. if you enjoy cinematic editing, then you should check out Avid, Trog, Doovid, Leon, and Viking. if you're here for comedy, then you'll want to check out Viking, Doovid, Milkman, Leon, CodeNeon, and Kittrix, but honestly everybody gets in on that one as they mess with each other constantly. and that's still not covering everybody!

i recommend watching everyone's episode 1 to get a feel for their style and go from there. Anathra, Artemis, Neon, and Leon's perspectives start around the Ender Dragon fight, and Fool and Tea are stream-only.

who's on the server?:

as mentioned, some of these POVs are stream-only!

Dark Oak (VikingPilot + Fixxitt 412) - industry on a massive scale Cherry (Rubyco + vintage_applesauce) - friends with everyone Jungle (AvidMC + Doovid) - the universe has it out for them. Birch (TheFoolsFam + SadMilkman) - the villain is always capitalism Bamboo (M1G + KaleHameron) - space samurai shenanigans Mangrove (Marma1ade + Teaish7) - witches with a void problem Acacia (Dr. Trog + Kittrix) - triangle-loving chaos-causers Spruce (AcornBandit + Anathra) - very chill (both definitions.) End (CodeNeon + LeonSBU) - have been here the whole time! Mushroom (KingElffe + Artemis8bit) -

tl;dr Watch Skyblock Kingdoms.